Hidden away in the backstreets of Finsbury Park, I used to share a house opposite this pub, where it assumed the role as our second living room. A real north London gem, I still go there these days for the tree-house-like, leafy terraced beer garden, which is perfect for summer evenings.

The thing I love most about London is the juxtaposition of urban and rural, and nowhere is this better illustrated than in Lea Valley Park. A genuine wilderness where I’ve seen everything from ponies, to a rogue Costco outlet, and all less than 20 minutes from my front door.

This is the stuff nightmares are made of. Good nightmares. A perverse Aladdin's cave of treasure and artefacts.

There are libraries full of screaming children and strip lighting, and then there are libraries like The London Library. Whenever I’m there it’s hard to believe I’m not caught inside a wonderful dream, because everything about this place is so perfect as to be almost unreal.

Not long in the custody of the National Trust, designed by Philip Webb and commissioned by William Morris, in 1859. Tucked away in Beckenham. William and Jane Morris only lived here for five years; not a happy time of their marriage. But there is humility, authority and even bite, in the domestic scale. The rigorous, holistic design-hand at work belies any sense of souvenir shop Morris-lite. The vegetable garden in late Summer is the place to be.