A photoblog of the Big Smoke.

The Hope Workers Cafe on Holloway Rd. I've never eaten there but I love the sign outside.



The view at sunset from Chez MacKenzie.



The front of Chez MacKenzie.



Stack at the Museum of Childhood in Bethnal Green.



Me at the Museum of Childhood in Bethnal Green. I had to fight that kid for the right colour bricks. And his mum.



Mitch asleep while Stack and I built our names.



Melton Square out the front of Euston Station. Believe it or not but this picture is actually in colour and not black and white.



St Paul's at dusk. I love St Paul's, but then you knew that already right?



Shepherd's Bush H&C line station.



Camera stall in Portobello Market.



The erstwhile New Piccadilly Cafe by Piccadilly Circus. A lovely old London Cafe with formica tables and excellent tea. Daniel ate 6 sugar cubes in under a minute here for a pound. Happy days.



St Paul's again. I told you I liked it.



I think this is Baker St underground station but I'm not sure - can anyone confirm? If it is then it is my favourite underground station in London.

Serious question.

Is this the breakfast of kings?



It is a serious question! I had it this morning and I haven't eaten so well since yesterday at Blah Blah Blah on Goldhawk Road. I wish I had taken my camera with me- Mitch and I had the best meal I've eaten since the week before in Zippy's cafe a few doors down. Who knew of the culinary delights that awaited me in Shepherd's Bush?

So back to the question- breakfast of kings, aye or naw? If naw, I need an alternative. The closest I can think of is porridge with Nutella. I call it the Auld Alliance breakfast du jour.

Runnin'

Remember how I said I was on a treadmill? Well, it was to get a pair of running shoes. You know, for running. The things I do to get the right fit eh? Still, check out these bad boys:


Look, I even put 'em on!


Oh yes, I've been RUNNING in them!

And I looked like this before I went:


Sadly I don't have any photos apres running, but Mitch can vouch for me!

Homage to All Ears.

Drunk customer: "Hey, I served you like 5 years ago at a bar!"
Bartender: "Really?"
Drunk customer: "Yeah, now things have come full circle and you're on the other side, haha!"
Other bartender: "Actually, not really, things have only gone half way, full circle would be if you were serving him again after he served you. So really, it's just that the tables have turned."
Drunk customer: "Why does everybody have to get so f*cking technical at a Low gig?"

Ootside mah hoose.

As I promised several posts ago I would post some pictures of my 'hood. As the kids call it. I figured I'd start with a wee view from my window of the park, showing off its wonderful lustre. Or something.

This is the view from my desk of the park where it apparently lots of single men like to hang around doing absolutely nothing. All day, every day. Apart from shouting at each other and urinating in what might be London's largest public urinal- the wall at the side of my house. Nice.



And the view from my bed of the park. I know, I'm spoiling you all aren't I?



And the view from my kitchen window of the White City development of what purports will be London't biggest shopping centre. Great. Still, nice cloud and cranes combo.



So then I decided I'd wander into the park and take lots of amazing photographs of the shrubbery and green grass, showing you all how fantastic London is when it comes to parklands and commons. Instead the only thing of any real note was this tree.



But wait! What's that in the background? No not the Walkabout, which I've already mentioned and is already the bane of my life. Why it looks like the Shepherd's Bush Empire! Who could be playing there...?



Oh great. Jethro Tull. A guy hopping about on one leg and playing a flute. Just like it's 1978 all over again. Thank goodness I moved here for all the cultural delights London promised. I'm going home.

So I about-turn, and wander back where I see my room! It's where the magic happens. The one of the top middle two windows. And the bookies below? That's where a disproportionate amount of the guys I mentioned earlier seem to spend their time. Those guys must be really good at betting to not have to work all day.



So I go beyond the block to the side entrance, avoiding the puddles those kind aforementioned gentlemen leave for the residents, and walk through the back alleyway to my lovely front door, at the back.



Where I safely ensconce myself in my room (look at the difference!) and get back to work.



And there you have it, my Sunday afternoon.