Gertsamtkunstwerk

Boqueria Tapas

I am so behind with my blogging that before I have got round to writing about my June visit to Boqueria on Acre Lane, I have revisited. We have been three times this year, which is probably an indication of how much we like the place.

It helps that it's very close to home, eminently walkable - but why walk when there's a bus service practically door-to-door! The staff are lovely, can't fault them. Don't interrupt you when eating, in order to ask spurious questions about 'everything okay'* and yet are very approachable. Also, as happened on Saturday, we didn't quite finish everything on our plates. The waiter, who I think is also manager, asked with genuine concern whether there was a reason we hadn't finished. I reassured him that we had been in that awkward position of being hungry but perhaps not hungry enough to eat a full meal, had had rather a large breakfast (and rather a large snack at the Lambeth Country Show). 

Boqueria do some things extremely well. The seafood paella we had in June was exceptional, better than paellas I have had in Spain. I enjoyed the Rape a la Catalana con gambas - monkfish and prawns I ate Sturday (but forgot to photograph!) And you can see from the photo above an excellent example of how to present a simply described 'Mixed salad' with fresh succulent ingredients.

Less successful was Espinacas a la crema gratinada con piñones (fresh spinach with melted cheese raisins and pine nuts). It was eatable and not unpleasant, but I found it to be surprisingly bland - perhaps I expected more of a piquant taste from the goat's cheese. It was a generous portion of spinach, which led to the dish seeming unstructured.

I also enjoyed the Crema Catalana. Although, it  wasn't as delicious as the supreme tarta I ate in January, and, to be honest, it's difficult to find a commercial Burnt Cream to match my own!

On Saturday, I started with a gazpacho, which was perfect, especially given that I had arrived somewhat dehydrated from a trek through the Lambeth Country Show.

As we left, I said to the staff "See you again soon". A welcoming and relaxed restaurant with good food and friendly staff. 

*I hate it when restaurants do that - it's paying lip-service to some artifical notion of customer service. Good restaurants such as Boqueria are sufficiently observant to tell that customers who are chatting away and eating their food are probably very happy. Interrupting conversation diminishes this.

A quick trip down to Brixton

This was ages ago now, but I decided to bring my camera when we went shopping. It was just before the Diamond Jubilee. I am fervently anti-Monarchist, but I always like Morleys' window display, even if it's Christmas in November, or promoting Valentine's Day, the ultimate miserable capitalist corruption of imagined romance. And their Diamond Jubilee display was eye-catching!

A queue formed behind me of other people also wanting to photograph it.

We went into Market Row to stock up on fish and vegetables. At which point, being that it was Friday afternoon, and the start of a long Bank Holiday weekend, it seemed wrong not to go for Cocktails at Seven.

I ordered an Electric Avenue, named after the Eddy Grant song, which was about the famous Brixton shopping street. I was warned that this was pretty much the end of range, because they were bringing in the summer menu and they were to introduce the Guns of Brixton cocktail.

I was also tempted into trying a mushroom boccadillo. Simple but tasty and filling. It's a nice little bar. I understand that there are Art Installations upstairs, although we didn't venture that far. Some people sat out the front on deckchairs, playing board games. It's a good spot to people-watch. I tweeted:

Twenty-something dual-heritage hipster bloke walks past rolling a crystal ball in his hand

Lots of little black kids - but no whites - walking around in cardboard crowns. Seems a pretty cruel act of deception

And later

A cream coloured Morris Minor festooned in Union flag bunting. Suspect a more modern car wouldn't get away with it.

Sometimes I think...Live theatre or the fillums cannot compare with Brixton on a Bank Holiday Friday afternoon

Seven cocktail bar stays significantly this side of hipster wank - someone trying to copy it might end up too far up their own arses. But, nevertheless, I was not oblivious to the elderly, poor-looking, largely Afro-Caribbean people walking by with looks of bemusement on their faces. There is a lot of discussion about the so-called gentrification of Brixton, and much of the discussion ignores the wider economic context, and the housing crisis in London and the South East. But with similar and disparate discussions about everything from opera to Olympic sports, the fact that some people have no disposable income should not act as a guilt-trip and a choker on people who are trying to run a small business or who do earn a living and do want to spend their 'disposable' income. It's almost as if the anti-gentrification hardcore want Brixton to be somewhere that shops lie empty, part dormitory, part ghetto.

 

Olympic Torch on Acre Lane

The Olympic Torch has been parading around the United Kingdom - and beyond - for more than two months. I had seen reports from various places: when the relatives went out in their areas, when it was carried by celebrities I like, when I was bored and decided to watch the livestream.

It came very close to home on the Monday, which finished with an event on Tooting Bec Common. I thought of going, then read it was 'ticket only' - and tickets were only available for Wandsworth residents; then I read that the opportunity for Lambeth residents to apply for tickets had closed. I could have gone and watch it progress to the Common, but didn't.

Instead, on the Thursday, I went to watch it on its route in an ever-decreasing circular tour of Inner London (or so it seemed). A show was planned in Brixton, with performers, and celebrity appearances. Sebastian Coe cancelled but did send Edwin Moses in his place, But I decided - rightly, judging from the photos I've seen - that I would get a better view elsewhere, so I headed for Acre Lane and the junction with Kings Avenue. 

There's not a great deal to say about it. A convoy of vehicles went by. Then someone carrying the Olympic Torch passed by; if I read correctly, this torchbearer was Neil Robinsonand he passed to Harry Urquhart-Briggs just past the junction. That much I knew because someone with a microphone was getting the crowd to chant 'Harry! Harry! Harry!'

If you tried to analyse or deconstruct the torch relay, or objectively find meaning, you wouldn't. But I went out of curiosity and came away with a positive feeling. People out for a few minutes' pleasure, chatting to random strangers, feeling part of a geographically-based community, cheering on, amongst others, the police. 

When it started, I read some people smugly pointing out that the Olympic Torch relay started under the Nazis. Whilst technically correct, it strikes me as a bit of a so-what? It also occurred before the immediately PostWar 1948 Olympics held in a blitz-ravaged London. Were they Nazi sympathisers? Are all people who buy Volkswagens also Nazis? And was there anything in the London 2012 Torch Relay consistent with Nazi ideology? No.

I'm glad that I went, and I'm pleased I got a few usable photos. It started with the police motorbikes...

and then the NHS bicycle paramedics, to great cheers

A police car advertising Twitter

An official Torch Relay car

A bus carrying the torchbearers for further down the route

and vehicles representing various commercial sponsors

The cyclist in the grey kit was one of many police officers guarding the torch relay

Another coach

And a logistics vehicle, which carried on its back the Torchcam crew

People cheered and took photos

Open Gardens

Various open garden schemes exist, where ordinary people open their ordinary residential gardens to the public on payment of a small fee towards a charity.

I saw that several gardens in our area were to open as part of the 'Chelsea Fringe' - timed to coincide with the Chelsea Flower Show. They were raising money for Trinity Hospice. 

It's a good idea but it was rather poorly executed. We paid to go into two gardens. £3 per person a time. Yes, that's £12 for two gardens. In retrospect, perhaps the tickets were transferable between gardens. But they didn't say so, and I've checked the website again, and again it seems to imply a separate entrance fee for each garden. It gets rather expensive. Some places advertise that they served refreshments, with some implying that the refreshments are inclusive and others implying the opposite. So, basically, poor communication!

Still, we went to a very nice garden only a few roads away from us. The people were very pleasant and welcoming, although I found it an odd experience walking into someone's back garden, nosing around and making sotto voce observations. They have a relatively long garden, and have divided into three phases, each of which resembles a garden in its own right, but also mesh well together.

 

We went to a second garden, where again, the people were very nice and welcoming. We were surpised that their garden seemed no bigger than ours, although they have a lawn as a centrepiece, whereas ours is based around a paved area. It's informative to  see how other people use the space, and to ponder whether we could learn anything from them. And, of course, for about ten minutes, I had this mad idea that, of course, next year, we'll open ours to the public, too. Of course we won't. We're far too sensitive. It would only take malicious criticism from one ill-mannered buffoon to cast a cloud over our entire existence. Also, I guess it must take a lot of work to bring them absolutely to standard, whereas if you're just entertaining friends, you can get away with a stack of empty plant pots or a patch that's unplanted.

 

Deciding we didn't want to pay any more, we went for a coffee on Clapham Common, which was so horrible I blogged about it that day

From there we moved on, and found ourselves, somewhat inadvertently, on Northcote Road, the beyond trendy shopping parade on the Battersea-Clapham borders. By chance we found ourselves in Gail's, from where we purchased some artisan bread to take home. We stopped for a snack. This was my coffee and cake. Very nice. 

A stroll around the North East of Clapham Common

It was one of those days. I was taking the day off Sick. I was told in no uncertain terms that I would never not be sick if I don't get out and do some moderate exercise. The plan was, to walk across Tooting Commons and catch the bus back. But the sky looked ominous. I didn't want to be out, let alone walking, and I certainly didn't want to be caught in a downpour in the vast open space of Tooting with no shelter. Change of plan and bus to Clapham.

Stroke of genius, rather than get off the bus at the Underground station, as one usually does, stay on for an extra stop, traversing the Common by bus along the A3 and alighting north of North Side.

The fun is in observing the detail. Cedars Road is flanked by two glorious 19th century buildings now converted into modern 'luxury apartments' ie Yuppie Flats. I tried to take photos but the view was blocked by a constant parade of coaches and bin lorries. Instead we strolled along to Trinity Hospice. Trinity Hospice is a well-loved local institution providing skilled compassionate end-of-life care. The blue plaque is for Eminent Architect Charles Barry, who lived at the house long before it was a hospice. 

There are some very attractive houses along North Side. I pass occasionally on the bus, and very occasionally indeed on foot. I have often thought about stopping & photographing. Today was my opportunity.

 

 

 

The row is full of history.  Two new blue plaques were installed in 2011. One, by The Music Hall Guild of Great Britain and America for Marie Kendall and one by English Heritage for Graham Greene, whose The End of the Affair was partially set locally. The internet tells me there is also a blue plaque for Edvard Grieg, but I overlooked it.

Indeed, another blue plaque was actually being installed on The Chase by a man in red trousers as we walked past, so I went to have a look. And nearly fell over laughing. There was already one up to commemorate a street party held for Edward VII's Coronation. This second plaque was to commemorate a street party held for the wedding of Kate Middleton. I later saw that that particular road got BBC Dumbed-Down London News to film their Diamond Jubilee Street Party. I have to say, if the zenith of your life's achievements is organising a barbecue, I'd keep quiet about it and reflect upon the empty pointlessness of your life!

  Clapham is synonymous with the Clapham Sect, known for their tremendous work in abolishing Slavery, lead by William Wilberforce. They were Evangelical Christians within the Church of England, but their reforms were opposed by the always conservative/reactionary Church of England no doubt eager to protect its entrenched privilege of maintaining slaves on its Caribbean Plantations.

They attended Holy Trinity church. This is actually - and, at least in my experience, unusually - on the Common. The 'Trinity' in its name is lent to other local institutions not least Trinity Hospice and the ought-to-be-Michelin-starred Trinity Restaurant.

 

 

 

The Church seemed to be closed - entirely understandably - and, to be honest, it doesn't seem particularly appealing as a building, at least from the outside. Rather stupidly, I wondered what could possibly have caused damage to this plaque, stubbornly denying it was bomb damage. It was almost as if I hadn't walked past the Graham Greene plaque and mentioned 'that film we watched' which was set on Clapham Common!

From the Church we strolled along to Old Town, most famous for being a bus terminus and hard standing. Also, site of closed down toilets. I think I have forgotten more about toilets on Clapham Common than most people ever needed or wanted to know, but they are good solid brick public conveniences and could probably make a nice chic on-trend café.

Instead, we went to Nardulli's. A decent enough coffee. Remarkable neither as excellent nor poor, I would return. My ice cream boy tried a couple of scoops of their ice cream. He has returned several times. It has become a destination for him out on his bike, when I'm working, or not well enough to go out. He says it's the best he's had in this country. He says it's better even than Lab-G in Brixton. I'm happy he has ice cream places to go to in both Brixton and Clapham.

When you've lived near somewhere for a long time, you tend to take it for granted and often just see it as a transition, so it's actually nice to stroll around and look at soem of the details in just a small area.

I was intrigued by this building. Granted, I haven't searched the net exhaustively or asked a direct question of Claphamites, but I don't really know what it was.

  
Then there's the statue to Temperance. Jimmy pretended to be quite angry later that I had 'dragged him' along to look at such blasphemy.

 
While we were standing there, something very odd occurred. I think there was a drop in air-pressure but that may be the product of my post hoc imagination. But, suddenly, all the birds swarmed. There was n eerie silence. They hadn't been disturbed by a dog, a siren or a bang. But they all swarmed and sat at the top of just a couple of trees. Vaguely Hitchcockian

We walked to the bus stop as it started to drizzle. Just after we got home, it started to rain properly. And I went for a lie-down.

Bistro Union

This is newly opened, and, as I write, still doesn't have a website, except for booking.

It is related to the superb Trinity down the road, although aiming at a different slice of the market. I commented to our waiter that I was expecting red gingham tablecloths - the tables are actually bare - and he commented that at Trinity they iron the tablecloths.

They run a very good Twitter account, posting photos of their current food choice, which looks so tempting. This photos is theirs, showing their barsnack menu

They've put a lot of thought into the decor and theme. Clearly designed to be a bit reminiscent of school or the 1950s, or both, but not quite.

The menus are presented in a folder which is essentially a school exercise book such as I remember from the 1970s. The water glasses are like these Gigogne ones. Ours at school were Arcoroc, but essentially the same. The dishes and plates were similar to the odds and sods that still populate mother's kitchen, dating from the late 50s and early 60s.

I noticed on the drink menu that if you wish to buy your spirits by the bottle, you can store your bottle in a locker above the bar - you keep custody of the key. Very clever, I thought. Encourages the customer to return.

The bar is at the front, and you can have the full menu as well as the bar snacks. At the back is a dining room. I think we arrived at 7pm, with twenty minutes or so it was full. A noticeably young crowd, compared to many restaurants.

We both started with mussels in cider, and were very pleased. Mussels aren't that hard to do, and handy for restaurants because they're so quick. But so many places get them wrong. These were cooked just right, juicy and succulent. Good ingredients.

 

I followed with a fish pie. This was reasonably good. It was packed with salmon, and I'm pretty certain it was farmed. It could possibly have contained a greater variety of fish, although the clam decoration was a nice touch. The mash was well done, smooth but with a crunchy top. However, the portion was far too big, even for me, and I rarely have problems tucking things away. And serving it in a metal dish was a big mistake, because it never got a proper chance to cool down to a temperature where you could eat it properly. It was, overall, veering to the slightly too salty. (Note, I have a slight aversion to salt. Note further, this does not affect my ability to enjoy eg salt-caramel, or butter sprinkled with sea salt). 

This photo adds no further info but I like it as a work of art!

Jimmy went for the catch of the day, which on that day was John Dory. He was not impressed. I don't think he'd ever had John Dory before. I'm not sure I'd even heard of it until a couple of years ago. The bones: flesh ratio isn't satisfactory. Additionally, the menu hadn't made clear he should have ordered a side dish, too. It did come with a horseradish type sauce, which he thought was horrible. He noticed the woman on the next table also abandoned her horseradish and was struggling with the bones:flesh ratio. To be honest, I'm surprised he ordered it: there were other dishes on the menu I'd have thought were more him.

We finished with pudding. Again, he chose ice-cream, and again was disappointed. He ordered three scoops, which isn't clear in this photo. Each scoop came in a separate jar. I thought that was a bit gimmicky. One was described as mint, but didn't really have a mint flavour. The others had beguiling flavour-titles, and he confirmed that they tasted all right. But he didn't rate the quality of the ice cream. I think he has finally realised - ably abetted by his new favourite place, Nardulli by Clapham Common - that if you want decent ice cream, don't order it in restaurants.

 

 

 

 

My pudding was blackcurrant jelly, shortbread and clotted cream, which, all things considered, is a perfect little pudding. Everything just right, and so beautifully presented. The shortbread was delicate and mouth-melty. the jelly was the right balance between sweet and sharp. And who can resist clotted cream?

I would go back to Bistro Union again, but I think Jimmy would need some persuading. He feels that - setting aside alcohol prices (and he only had two glasses of wine because he was driving) - it's no cheaper than Trinity. The food is aimed to be more 'cheerful', not 'fine dining' and the service was less formal - although very good.

I've looked at a few 'professional' reviews. Once you've waded through the hackneyed 'I didn't know restaurants existed south of the Thames' crap, or describing Abbeville Road as a 'backstreet', (which suggests the 'professional' critics know less than they think), they seem to concluded that there are some real strengths in the place but also some weaknesses. I hope - and assume - that as a new place, they can address the weaknesses, because, Jimmy's reaction aside, I think it has a lot of promise. And seems like a breath of fresh air.

whatiate-whaticooked

All the Food I Eat

no kitchen orphan

Crap park cafés

I like to walk in a park, find a nice café and sit down, have a cup of coffee, maybe a cake, maybe even a hot meal. If you have a café in a park, you're sitting on a goldmine. Effectively, there's no competition. Customers generally don't have anywhere else to go. Even if there's another café somewhere else in the park, or on a neighbouring street, the customer has to walk there. Easier to go to the park café.

In prosperous areas of South West London, and, I daresay, elsewhere, good or adequate park cafés are great social places for 'types' to congregate. Lonely 'yummy mummies', dogwalkers, pensioners can meet up with similar people to talk about what they have in common. Other people can break off their walks and enjoy the fare on offer. Couples can go for an escape from the rat-race.

On Saturday we went to the café by the Windmill in Wimbledon. We should have seen warning signs. A huge place, but no one was sitting down indoors. Most outside tables were unoccupied. The dog walkers sat alone with their dog, not in groups of regulars. It did not seem familiar territory to the small children demanding ice-creams.

An appalling place, that really should be ashamed of itself. We'd walked quite a way, and this was the first eating place we had passed in an hour and a half. We went in. I decided I would have a cup of tea, and, ooh, why not, a scone! 

The manager - straight out of Jennifer Saunders or Victoria Wood - asked if I wanted a fruit scone. Ooh yes, I said. We then had to move along and instruct one of 'the girls' what we had ordered, whilst the sit-com woman instructed 'no more than one girl on each thing' (filter coffee machine, teapot, microwave) - she was having to micro-manage schoolchildren. The cup of tea was pushed at me, with a mere mention of milk. No oppotunity for topping it up with further milk. And the scone, butter and jam were presented on a paper plate.

Note the lack of fruit in the fruit scone. Note also the plastic pack of strawberry 'jam' - jelly with seeds, never seen a bloody strawberry.

What this photo can't show you is stale saltiness of the cheap scone, mass produced in a factory. Or that the tea was stewed. It's not really too much to ask, is it, to have a cup of tea made properly, to be able to add my own milk without being under suspicion of wanting to steal it. And a scone that was made this month? Last time I had tea and scone, the tea came in a pot. The crockery was crockery: cup and saucer, plate, milk jug. The scone was big, bobbly, rustic and fresh. The jam had pieces of fruit in it, and along with the clotted cream, was served in a little ramekin. Apparently we can't expect such luxuries in Wimbledon.

It is entirely possible that tourists might come to Wimbledon. A town that is famous around the world for its tennis and its Wombles, an Olympic town. Disgusting.

On Clapham Common is a café called Oasis. Someone sat down one day and thoughtfully designed a chilled place. Inside, cushions on benches round a central table. Outside, picnic tables on decking. We should have been alerted on arrival by how empty the decking was - this photo was taken as we left, this woman's man had just gone inside. Don't know if they stayed.

An attractive-looking menu, with mint tea and green tea, with paninis filled with crayfish or mozzarella and tomato. 

The amiable but dim server tried to charge immediately after we (two people) had ordered just one drink. Neither Jimmy's espresso or my latte actually tasted of coffee. Several Clapham types came, took one look, and walked away. They seemed to be doing a roaring trade in selling chips and fizzy drinks to the kids in the new, nearby skate park. Which, by the way, is great. The kids looked happy, and occupied, and I'd hate to see a café that turned kids away for being, well, kids. 

The cushions smelled.

What a waste of a great location and a good concept. We didn't dare eat, didn't have confidence that the current management knew the first thing aboout food hygiene - no certificates on display. Would you buy a crayfish panini in a café that smells as if someone's been sleeping there?

It's increasingly an irritation to me. How do these people get away with it? How have they got the franchise or lease to run these places? There are so many people with a passion, the drive to make a success out of business, understanding of customers, who could make these places a destination, but are denied that opportunity by these complacent dullards who are happy to serve up crap from te 70s, or  who mess up a good idea and drive people away?

Reviews by others:

Windmill Tea Rooms by Wimbledon People

This place provides the sort of customer experience which I thought had disappeared along with Communism!...A cup of coffee and a rather overcooked flap-jack came to over £4...Overall, a disappointing experience which I won't be paying to repeat.

Windmill Café & Tea Room - Virtual Tourist

She had pre-warned me that she hadn't had very good experiences there in the past, so I wasn't expecting much.

Dinner at the Lido

Last month was the first time we'd ventured to the Brockwell Lido café for dinner. It was interesting to see how they transformed the place from a spot for coffee, snack or casual lunch to somewhere to eat an intimate dinner.

Most obvious change was to décor: bare wooden tables transformed by table linen. Candles and dimmed overhead lighting. The play area removed. And a different menu.

We went on the third Saturday of April. It already felt like it had rained for ever, and yet it seems so long ago. Because of the forecast rain, we did the two bus trick, change at Windrush Square. We didn't want to risk a drenching walking across the park - who would - but, actually it didn't rain. Part of me was a bit sad about that, because I had already planned to blog or tweet "Dinner looking out as the rain pours into the pool. Just like being on holiday".

The dinner menu is fancier than at lunch time. They change it every month to reflect the seasons, although some items appear to be perennial, and not every single item seems to change every month.

I very nearly ordered Smoked salmon with pickled beetroot and rye bread as a starter but, in the nick of time, realised this wasn't the wisest starter for my preferred main. I always choose my main first. The starter must fit round that. Instead, I had smoked haddock fishcake, creamed spinach, sorrel and a poached egg. Perfect dish in itself. I could happily live on poached eggs, except that making them myself is so hit and miss. always great to order one when out, and this did not disappoint. I'm also a big fishcake fan, having loved them when I was a kid. They seem to have gone out of fashion for a long time, so it's great to see them back on menus.

For my main I had Sea Trout with crushed Jersey Royal potatoes, White Wine herb sauce and Spinach. Which of course means that I had spinach for both courses. A fate I could have avoided by having both salmon and trout. I see in May's menu, one could have either a pea starter or an asparagus starter, and then an asparagus and pea risotto. Not so much a criticism as an observation. It doesn't bother me in practice as it does in theory!

I couldn't fault the taste or presentation of either dish. I think they have a a splendid combination of elegantly presented fresh food that nevertheless veers to the accessible, rustic or homely - in a good way. It's not pretentious or poncey, and the prices are modest. The prices for alcohol are less so, but I have absolutely no problem with places that hike up the booze prices to keep the food reasonable.

I finished with Almond and pistachio tart with orange and cardamon. This was perfectly fine, with no cause for complaint. But, having declared in February: 

I feel my future lies in roaming round Brixton eating almond cake

this almond cake felt like a poor relation to the ones I had tasted in Brazas or Boqueria. But it didn't detract from the evening, and was at most a minor quibble. I no longer recall the eminently quaffable wine I enjoyed with the first two dishes, but I do recall I started with a Manzanilla, and enjoyed a Pedro Ximénez, as recommended. Service was fine, and ambience was pleasant and relaxed, and far more intimate than one would ever imagine from what is essentially a cafeteria attached to a 1930s municipal swimming pool.

It is entirely possible we ill return to sample May's menu. If not, flaming June!

Bubba's Restaurant, Tulse Hill

We went here in mid-April, a month after it opened. I don't go to first nights, for restaurants or for operas. The critics cast their judgements and this becomes the accepted wisdom. I don't fully trust professional critics, anyway. I read a review of this restaurant which suggested that the customers were 'uncomfortable' with the 'formal setting'. A restaurant that is owned and managed by Black people, with a Caribbean-influenced cuisine, and, going by both their own photos and what I noticed when we visited, quite a lot of Black customers.The professional critic thinks Black people are uncomfortable in formal surroundings. Hmm.

Location. Challenging for professional food critics. With no parking. It's converted out of part of Tulse Hill Station, even having a ticket machine outside. But once inside, I didn't hear any trains and forgot I was near a station. Just along the South Circular from us, but too far (for me) to walk. So we bussed it, because loads of buses pass nearby.

Bloggers who had been before us made a big deal of the blue light. A blue light that makes photos of the food look either washed out or strangely, well, blue. I would say my biggest criticism is the blue light. It's not just about photography; it tinges companion and food (less obviously) with a slight but disorienting blue rinse. If I had one piece of advice, I'd say, get rid of the blue light.

Otherwise, I liked the decor. Clean and crisp and clear. It even smelled of new-ness. Lights that were optical illusions and looked like they were small alcoves with a distant vanishing point. I've been to restaurants where the decor is tasteful, modern and crisp - and bland and impersonal. Take away the blue light and Bubba's would verge on this. I prefer some details or touches that give it individuality and personality. There again, I don't like places where the decor becomes the dominant statement. It's a fine balance to achieve.

I'm not familiar with Caribbean food despite my decades living in South London. Jimmy, on the other hand, claims to be an expert. And this is where I made a mistake. He ate jerk pork and curried goat. Classic dishes with a 'fine dining' twist. Being that I don't eat meat, I didn't have those, but I should have stayed close to what I am familiar with.

We started with cocktails. I had a Gin Smash, which was luscious. My starter was Black sesame, kidney bean camembert fondants with plaintain smalls and glazed boad beans, elegantly presented and interesting to taste. I really liked the taste, but bizarrely, I'm not sure I'd necessarily have it again. A lot of complex flavours battling with each other, satisfying but perhaps rather heavy-going for a starter. Jimmy declared his jerk pork belly with apple and nut crunch and apple and cinnamon puree a great success.

Service was of a high standard, perhaps veering towards the deferentially subservient. The front-of-house manager and the waiter both introduced themselves, but didn't then give their life stories or attempt to engage in unrelated chit-chat. Attentive and prompt, without hovering and intruding. We'd booked for 8pm but arrived closer to 7.30pm, when there was only one other party. By 8.30, the place was full, with a good lively buzz. I've read reviews praising the RnB soundtrack, but I can't say I noticed, which is good, because RnB is one of those genres where I can get very quickly annoyed at the mediocre formulaic offerings.

I made a mistake with my main course. I saw the word 'crab' and pounced, not noticing or processing the words 'soft-shell'. And I have to be honest, I didn't like it. I think that was me, not a criticism of the restaurant. I liked everything else on the plate but really struggled to eat the crab. I just felt that it was a lot of salt water. So many other things on the menu I could have chosen. But I loved the plaintain chive mash and rustic tomato sauce. I ordered a Singapore Sling, but I don't think the drink that turned up actually was. In a fog, I'd recognised the phrase 'Singapore Sling' as something I like but not being able to remember what it was or what I liked about it. (And, no, I'm not stupid. the fog is a side-effect of fibromyalgia; not only does it occur, but it also diminishes one's confidence so you doubt you're remembering properly).

Jimmy was very pleased with his Authentic Caribbean curried goat in a roast petal tuille basket served with avocado puree and plantain rings. The goat was tender and well-flavoured. He didn't eat the filo basket, but, looking around, nor did other people. It makes for attractive serving, but I'm sure isn't really intended to be eaten.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jimmy finished with a selection of exotic ice creams. Yet again. He loves ice cream, almost invariably picks ice cream as his dessert and, more often than not, the ice cream isn't what he expects, and he's disappointed. I'm sure everybody else who likes ice cream would love these, but he only cares for ice creams made from organic unicorn tears and the noble perspiration of passionate artisans. This wasn't!

 

 

 

 

I had carrot cake with carrot and rum sorbet and spiced puree. The carrot cake was beautiful, dense yet light. Too many carrot cakes are stodgy; this was melt-in-the-mouth but substantial. I also enjoyed the trimmings. But the sorbet wasn't for me.

So, I am definitely going back to Bubba's and would urge other people to go, too. Remember, right next to Tulse Hill station, and close to a plethora of buses. And a cab office just round the corner. Next time I go, I shall opt for dishes that are closer to my comfort zone.

I think I concur with several other bloggers that there are a few hesitations about the place, but I feel that these are inevitable when an establishment is clearly ambitious and wants to be innovative. If you want to avoid this go to a chain restaurant or somewhere that has been cooking the same old same old for twenty years. 

Other blogposts:

Noshable

The Picky Glutton - special thanks for photographing the menu

How to Cook in High Heels

Hollow Legs

The restaurant has its website but as I write it's not really up and running. They are active on Facebook

Lunch at the Manor

I wrote at leangth about the Manor Arms Streatham in October, so I won't repeat myself. suffice to say we have been back several times. Most recently for a Sunday lunch on one of those hot days in March that seem so long ago.

I had Jersualem Artichoke soup

followed by John Dory with shrimps and mussels

Jimmy had beef and Yorkshire (he was a bit disappointed that it was slow-boiled beef rather than roast)

I finished with Burnt Cream

Very nice all round.

Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 3

For earlier stages see Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 1 and Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 2.

The final stage is from Brockwell Park to Ruskin Park.

To be honest, it doesn't really a merit a stroll in itself. But, when he tackled the earlier part of the walk, we had finished with late lunch in the Lido Café and had preferred to walk home across the park rather than continue to the end of the walk. The Lambeth guide includes a partial tour of the park, including the Walled Garden, the Mansion House and the Miniature Railway, but we're familiar enough with the Park. 

Instead, after a mooch round Brixton Market, we caught the bus to Herne Hill Station, and re-started our stroll. This was "built in 1862 in the Gothic Venetian style and is typical of the period. The square tower contains a water tank that held water for the steam engines."

It's a complicated junction, with 6 roads meeting and on the corner stands the Half Moon pub. For years, I assumed it was a Wetherspoons, given their liking for 'moon' in the names of their pubs, eg Lord Moon of the Mall, and, more ubiquitously, the Moon Under Water, after George Orwell. Jimmy remembers it as a boxing venue: his boys, now in their late 30s, attended a gym there. It's also renowned as a venue for live music and comedy, but I'm not sure its claims to be a 'gastropub' are really supported by a menu consisting only of pizza and burgers, albeit homemade, and Sunday Roast. We didn't go in.

We started the slow ascent up Herne Hill, pausing to note the former Fire Station

Built in 1906, it dates from a time when fire engines were pulled by horses. The fire station closed in 1920.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Next door is the former postal sorting office. I couldn't resist photographing the sign, noting in particular its missing apostrophe.

And, of course, its statement of employment practice! It only closed in 2007 or 2008, as far as I can make out from the internet - it's now a dancing school.

I have no objection to historic buildings retaining signs that point to a bygone era when women were not really considered to be workers - or, often, people in their own right. And I photograph them as a reminder that women have had to fight for what resembles equality today. None of what we have achieved was by baking cup cakes!

Incidentally, the Herne Hill Society doesn't seem to know the origin of Herne Hill as a name.

Not mentioned in the Lambeth Walk, but worth a deviation from their suggested route to have a look at St Paul's Church.

The original church built in 1843-4 by G Alexander was damaged by fire and rebuilt by Street in 1858.  The west tower, spire and long outer walls of the Commissioners' church were kept and the chancel was enlarged and embellished. It is Grade II* Listed for its special architectural or historic interest. (The pub and railway station are also listed). It seems that it is a joint parish with St Saviour's at Ruskin Park, perhaps more evidence that South London is over-provided with 19th century Anglican churches.

 

 

 

Some interesting views from Herne Hill - this of Battersea Power station

 

 

 

 

 

The Lambeth Guide suggested we walked along Fawnbrake Road.

Enjoy the late-Victorian houses and variety of doorways, some set back and at an angle. A few upper windows have original stained glass. Look out for pretty tiles beside the doors on the left.

At the time, the Bill to privatise the NHS was about to go through Parliament, so this sight was no surprise.

 

 

I enjoyed how the terraced houses were joined together behind the main line

I suppose it appeals to the snobby, who can almost pretend they live in a semi, but I suppose it also means that the main habitable rooms only share a party wall on one side.

 

 

A nice little touch, with flowers planted where you normally only see soil or litter.

 

 

I photographed the front of this house, not realising that the owner was there, tending to his plants. He, Mr Brooks, invited us in to view and photograph the rest of his garden, out the back, and show us some traditional hospitality. It is certainly impressive what he has achieved, and it is very different from anything I have ever seen in a suburban house. He has at least 120 hanging baskets, and can spend up to three hours watering the plants. He is a retired builder, and has constructed the double decker, and the system for capturing rain water.

I thought there were some lovely aspects about the garden, and it is evidence of hard work and dedication. I suppose, ultimately, though, it isn't really to my preference. I think I would feel hemmed in, and I'd miss chance to sit or lie in the garden, to dine al fresco.

  

 

       
At the end of the road lies the magnificent Carnegie Library. Closed on Sundays, of course.Grade II listed, it was opened in 1906 after Lambeth received a grant from Andrew Carnegie. I'm not sure if he had any connection with the area; he was born in Dunfermline and emigrated to Pennsylvania at the age of 12. He made a fortune from steel, and spent his later years as a philanthropists, donating to public libraries. Perhaps motivated by a childhood in extreme poverty.

Also an interesting view from the road opposite

Unfortunately, that ugly St George Wharf Tower, like The Shard is set to dominate too many cityscape photos in South London. Talking of which...

We wandered into Ruskin Park, which for me was hitherto mythical. Not only have I never been there, I don't think I've even been past it. And, I have to say, it probably isn't the most exciting park in Lambeth's portfolio. But pleasant enough. Or would have been if the weather hadn't deteriorated sharply. I was sensibly clothed in layers, but Jimmy had been over-confident about the temperature, and was beginning to feel cold. Still, it was good to see another park that's had money spent recently to do it up.

View over London

 

Another church, St Saviour's lies just outside the park. There's a lot of St Saviour's around these parts, and further afield, but is not listed by the Catholic Church. According to Wikipedia, Saint Saviour may refer to: 

Sanctus Salvator, a Latin dedication of churches or places to Jesus, translated in English as "Saint Saviour" or, more accurately, "Holy Saviour"

so, it seems to be somewhat of a historical 'head desk'! I assume this is actually the church hall (listed).

 

 

 

As we walked parallel with Finsen Road, I had one of those lucky moments. Despite the looming dark clouds the light was surprisingly bright, combining to set off the fresh colours of the housing terrace

 

 

 

 

 

 

We strolled around Ruskin Park, which was largely empty, except for the children's playground. I don't photo children's playgrounds unless unoccupied, for obvious reasons.

 
 

 

 

 

We retired to the Cambria for a drink. I can see that they're trying to make it a very nice place, but I'm not sure I'd return, even if I happened to be in the area, which, hospital visits aside, is unlikely.

On the way to the bus stop I saw a couple of random sights worth snapping. Or so I think, anyway!

 

I think they've rather ruined the stucco by painting it. But each to their own, I suppose.

Unfortunately, we made a right mess of getting home. There's a bus that would have taken us almost to our door (45), but the bus countdown app said it wasn't sue for half an hour. So we thought we'd beat the system and get a bus via Brixton (35) to intersect with a bus coming from Clapham (137 or 417). We waited more than 15 minutes for the 35, and then had another 12 minutes waiting for the second bus. And the weather was getting colder and colder.

Still, I'm glad we finished off the walk.

Lambeth's guide is found as a PDF here and more about Walking in Lambeth here. 

Upstairs, Acre Lane

If it wasn't for the hyperlocal social media internet, I would never have known that Upstairs exists. It has been there about five years, and is not very far from home. An interesting restaurant, quite different from anywhere I've been to before.

It's not easy to find, the entrance being a door on a side road with a very small sign visible only when you are actually at the door. Buzz the entry-phone and climb several flights of stairs to the bar. We made a mistake in not going to the bar; I think you're supposed to sip cocktails and peruse the menu until called to the dining room. Part of an attempt to create a more intimate setting than one usually finds in a restaurant.

The dining room is several floors up, and a window seat gives a good view of Acre Lane, and, until the sun sets, the far vista of London. Cocktails and an amuse bouche were followed by our selection from a small menu - which changes every two weeks. I'm becoming more a fan of the tiny menu. Even though my non-eating of meat limits me, I feel more satisfied making a choice from just one fish and one veggie dish than worrying whether I've made the 'right' choice out of several, or wishing I could have this piece of fish with that accompaniment. Also, a smaller menu gives a higher guarantee of the food being cooked fresh, rather than taken from vast reserves in a freezer and pinged in the microwave.

I started with a Warm Jerusalem Artichoke Salad. I doubt I would have chosen this from a vast array of starters, simply because I'm unfamiliar with Jerusalem Artichoke, warm or otherwise.

It turned out nothing to be frightened of! The waiter explained the various ingredients, but this was some time ago, I didn't take notes, and I had a fair amount to drink - hence my current frustration. But note the dainty arrangement of ceps, and an emulsion, which, IIRC, was made from a root vegetable. The Jerusalem artichoke dominated, but the dish tasted as a coherent whole, not a main ingredient indifferently supported by others. Jimmy had Confit Pork Belly & Kumquats and expressed his satisfaction.

  For my main course I went for Lemon sole, Alexanders, and Jersey Royals, a daringly early exposition of Jersey Royals, which has clearly become a 'must-eat' of this season. Is this despite or because of their drought-caused rarity value. Nice to see something so traditional and seemingly humdrum as a potato acquiring almost celebrity status. 

I was not previously familiar with Alexanders, which is, apparently, also known as 'Horse Parsley' and has a flavour between parsley and celery. "It is common among the sites of medieval monastery gardens".  I was not overly thrilled at the prospect of a lump of fish, some boiled potatoes and an indeterminate greed veg, so was relieved and pleased when presented with a thoughtful dish. Again, the flavours all complemented each other. Most importantly, each element was cooked perfectly, allowing the flavours to linger tantalising in my mouth. Jimmy had Blackleg chicken & walnut gnocchi, with a veritable cabaret of additional adorning ingredients, each patiently explained by the engaging waiter.

We were undecided about pudding, changing our minds several time. Against my better judgement, I was talked into having the Blood orange & gingerbread, which turned out to be a delicious combination of all sorts of seemingly random ingredients. They included gingerbread (obviously), fresh and frosted blood orange, quenelles of mousse and sorbet in subtle flavours. There is another ingredient, visible at the front on the far left, that added some extra crunch; again, I can't remember what it was. The surprise ingredient was beetroot jelly. Slightly anxious, not being a big beetroot fan, but this Really Worked. A gently sweet taste and a smooth jelly substance, it didn't really taste like my bad experiences of beetroot. Perhaps close to a blackcurrant jelly but without any tartness. And, of course, adding an extra dimension of colour.

Jimmy went for Mint mousse, chocolate spaetzle & raspberries. Overall, he enjoyed it, including the additional unlisted ingredients, but the spaetzle just didn't work for him. The internet suggests that 'spaetzle' are German dumplings, typically an element of savoury dishes working similarly to pasta. Chocolate versions seem to be one US cook's idea, and, according to Jimmy, not that good an idea. But of all the ingredients in six dishes, this was the only one that didn't work.

We came away with mixed feelings. Very good service and an intimate atmosphere. Good attention to detail. I really liked everything I ate, and found the presentation fun and appetising. Jimmy enjoyed just about everything, appreciating the fresh ingredients and the attention to detail in the cooking. But, I think, ultimately he was disappointed. The dishes were too delicate, too 'poncey', and too much about presenting a variety of different ingredients. He didn't  feel as full as he felt he should have done after three courses. But he's a bit capricious. He referenced another restaurant previously visited as being 'hearty and wholesome' yet just a few days ago he stated he wouldn't go back there 'because it's nothing special'.

We also enjoyed the cocktails, which were different from the usual run-of-the-mill predictable names. He had several of an Irish whiskey based one, with 'Celtic' in the name, and I had a couple of gin-based London ones, which I would definitely have again.

We will definitely return to Upstairs. With an ever-changing menu, I'd happily go every month, if not more frequently, and I'm sure Jimmy will entertain another visit some time this year. Not least because it's so close!

Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 2

For the first part of this route, please see Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 1

After we had strolled around Windrush Square and its immediate surroundings, we turned into Coldharbour Lane 'once a winding country lane connecting Brixton to Camberwell' and followed the directions through the area dominated by the market. If I was a serious photographer, or fancied myself as one, I would take lots of photos of the market, the vibrant product and the 'interesting' characters, stallholders and shoppers. That's where I have a problem. If you are very self-absorbed I suppose it's easy to see people merely as objects to be photographed. I also feel uncomfortable being white and middle class and, somehow treating people who aren't as a curiosity. Either in far flung places or in my own town.

The first interesting sight to be photographed was the Six Sided Clock on the Railway Hotel. Several times subsequently, I have approached this corner from a different direction, and there is a much better view. But either I don't have a camera, or the weather is wet, or it's dry and I have a camera, but I'm also encumbered by shopping.

After I had started drafting this post, the Urban75 blogger posted some much better photos Brixton landmarks: the Brady’s clock tower, Atlantic Road. Brixton, London SW9 and links to further posts providing a bit of history.

...there's railways all around, with three separate lines passing within metres of the pub and this was reflected in the design of the clocktower: its six-sided design ensuring that it could be read from trains passing in all directions

Still, I accidentally managed to capture a couple of people on this photo, which seem, at least with this obscured view, to represent two of the many types of Brixtonians!

The route is supposed to go through Brixton Village, but we decided to by-pass it rather than spend/waste time, and I've recently blogged about an aspect of it.

The walk took us along Railton Road. I think this was taken along Kellett road, a distant view of St Matthew's shimmering in the haze.

This roadsign, and the housing development it describes, I suppose was a well-intended attempt by the council to remind shivering newly-arrived immigrants of sunshine, sand and palm trees. Unless it was meant to be homage to a British Leyland car

For some reason, we were then directed along Barnwell Road, which isn't exactly the most interesting road in Brixton, despite the council's attempt to convince us of the architectural interest of an incongruous bit of infill and the different styles of arches over the front doors of the cottages.

 

The most interesting garden was sadly obscured by a car parked outside

And so we came to Brixton Water Lane, which follows the line of the now buried River Effra.

A delightful Georgian villa, although I'm not entirely sure about the colour, which is better suited, in my opinion, to artisan cottages

Talking of which...

These were built around 1820 to house the staff of Brockwell Hall. 

This is called 'Surrey Lodge'. The internet throws up a historical reference to a Surrey Lodge, Brixton Hill, but I doubt this is it. I suspect it's a modern-day pretension, not necessarily by the current occupiers.

The walk then took us into Brockwell Park, a place we know reasonably well, having visited it numerous times. Nevertheless, it was a rare thing to enter from this particular entrance and take a walk along the Eastern side. 

This is the view of the rather ugly looking flats on Dulwich Road. I imagine though, that they're not necessarily a bad place to live, given that the higher floors will have a particularly pleasant view.

This is St Jude's church,

A very large church (originally 1000 seats). Last used for worship in 1975, it was declared redundant in 1979 and sold freehold in 1980 for £38,000 as a furniture warehouse (Budget Furniture plc) which was still in business as of 2005. An alternative sale to a wine merchant was rejected as an unsuitable use. By 2008 it was the home of Mark Allen Group (publishers). There were no burials in the churchyard, nor memorials of note in the church. The Willis organ was allegedly sold to a school.

The parish is united with St Matthew's in Brixton. It does seem to be further evidence of over-provision of unwanted churches in 19th century England. Unwanted now, probably not wanted then, but preserved in aspic for all eternity. I feel a future blogpost coming on, questioning the wisdom/public utility of the heritage-of-unimportant-churches industry!

The leaflet describing the walk suggests walking past Brockwell Lido, but we thought we would pop in for a coffee, as one does!

 

A coffee that 'magically' became the best mushroom burger I have tasted, lashings of umami.

While we were there, the actual pool was being pained in readiness of its re-opening (on 20 April). I worried that these chaps would end up surrounding themselves with wet paint and become trapped. The didn't.

As you can tell from the photos, it was a gloriously sunny and warm March day, but as school home-time approached, the warmth of the day was gone, and we decided to walk home across the park, leaving the final leg to Ruskin Park for another day, and another blogpost.

 

 The Shard, and other ghostly towers of London

Newly re-landscaped duckpond

The new children's playground

I laughed - cruelly - at the thought of a small child sliding down the slide, and down the hill, into the flower bed. Oops!

Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 1

London is full of interesting walks; you can make your own way, or you can rely on the research of others. If you  make your own way, you can discover some gems, if you follow a guide, you will find out more about the history that lies behind the sights.

Lambeth Council has several walks on its website. They use the term 'Lambeth Walks' somewhat hesitantly, with a knowing air that they'll be damned if they do and damned if they don't. In any case, one shouldn't confuse Lambeth Walk, in the old area of Lambeth, roughly Waterloo and Kennington, with the London Borough established in 1965, expanding from the 1900 Metropolitan Borough, which even then included Brixton, West Norwood etc

I have been to many places in England and beyond and taken a great many photographs - close to 20,000 - and very few of the place where I live, Brixton. so, one amazingly sunny and warm day in mid-March, technically still in winter, we set out on our epic journey.

We got off the bus outside the Town Hall and crossed over to inspect the Tate Library. What we mainly noticed was the shocking waste of having ground-lights on full beam in glorious sunshine. Frustrating when you know that Lambeth, like all authorities, is having to cut back vital services.

The walk starts at Tate Library, named after Henry Tate, who philanthropically donated towards the founding of this of and several other libraries, and an Art Gallery. The Lambeth leaflet describes him as Tate of Tate & Lyle, who invented the Sugar Cube. But Wikipedia says Henry Tate & sons only merged with Abram Lyle & Sons two decades after his death, and he only bought the patent for sugar cubes from a German concern. 

He lived in Park Hill, in the more rural part of Streatham. His house was a Convent until the late 90s, and is now a Gated Residential Community, providing some enviable Property Porn on Google Images.

 

I have heard accusations that he made his fortune from Slavery, which Tate & Lyle deny, somewhat disingenuously. I think it's probably fair to say that the business prospered on the back of ex-slaves and their descendants labouring for low pay and in questionable conditions. But the same could be said for much of Britain's Industrial Heritage. In his defence was his philanthropy; on the other hand, he made a major donation to the fraudulent quackery known as Homeopathy, which I had no idea dated back to 1796. His bust stands outside the library.

 

A major recent change to Brixton town centre was the landscaping of Windrush Square, which was formally opened in 2010. Previously, much of it had been Brixton Oval and Tate Gardens. An otherwise vacant piece of once derelict land was renamed Windrush Square in 1998, because its cleaning-up happened to coincide with the 50th anniversary of the arrival of the MV Empire Windrush. This brought the first large group of West Indian Immigrants to the UK. They were initially housed in the deep shelter at Clapham South, and some went to Brixton's Labour Exchange; this is why Brixton became the capital of Black Britain.

We walked into the gardens of St Matthew's Church. A large church with a capacity of 2,000 people

It was one of four new Lambeth parish churches commissioned under the Church Building Act of 1818, in which Parliament granted one million pounds for the building of new churches...to ensure that the masses were kept well instructed by the church and attention diverted from revolutionary ideas filtering over from France

The architect was called Porden; he is remembered in a pokey little road that goes round the back of the Town Hall and acts as a handy shortcut to Tescos.

I have read that many of the churches in Brixton, and, I daresay, elsewhere, were built by local industrialists and property developers. Their purpose wasn't particularly to meet the needs and wished of the local population but as an ostentatious sign that they were full of Christian virtue and not seeking to make a vast profit, oh no. I don't know whether this includes St Matthew's, given the history quoted above. In any case, it is under-utilised and various parts have long been used for more worldly pursuits, the rent for restaurants and nightclubs funding upkeep of the building. I miss the wonderful Bah Humbug restaurant which in the late 90s was probably my favourite; two nightclubs have recently defaulted. The rents seem prohibitively high, but are presumably what is needed to maintain the building. I wonder how much public and private money is going to keep old churches preserved in aspic for fear of destroying our 'Heritage'. 

For a long time, the so-called Peace Garden was dominated by drinkers, druggies and other down-and-outs. It seemed almost bereft when we wandered through. It's nice to have an open space so close to a town centre; it's not something you often see in towns, whether they're part of big cities or stand-alone in rural surrounds. My eye was caught by an appealing park-bench, and the strong shadow it cast. 

 

At the northern end of the park stands what I firmly believe to be the worst statue in London, the Richard Budd Memorial Mausoleum. It also commemorates his son Henry and his wife Charlotte. They lived in Russell Square.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We looked to the left to capture Lambeth Town Hall, venue of perhaps far too many evenings of my life. Four figures represent  Justice, Science, Art, and Literature. Your guess will be as good as mine as to which we can see in this photo.

We then walked to the right, past the Ritzy Cinema, where, nowadays, the Trendies & Yummies congregate for coffee. I suppose if you're walking through the market, this is probably as safe a place as any to park your bike. I don't suppose many are taken from here.

We carried on into Coldharbour Lane, but that will form another blogpost on another day.

Brixton Village Market & Casa Sibilla

Brixton Village is nothing short of a phenomenon. Housed in the market hall previously known as Granville Arcade, and with some overflow in spirit if not in strict technical fact into Market Row. For years, the home of stalls you'd expect to find in any market. A useful if now somewhat dated article from the Evening Standard How Brixton's arcade got a new lease of life explains the background.

For a long time, there was very much a feeling that there's hardly anywhere worth eating in Brixton. I feel the renaissance of the market has had a knock-on effect more widely. I also feel that Twitter, Facebook, and sites such as Qype also help. I know you're supposed to find restaurants by word of mouth, but I've had too many people tell me somewhere's 'amazing', but their tastes extend no further than freezer-to-microwave-to-plate.

One Saturday in February, we made our way to the village. We had already decided on where we wanted to eat, although we also knew that if it were full, there were other options. We had been to Casa Sibilla before, and were pleased that a table for two, inside, came available just as we arrived. It is possible to sit 'outside' - actually under cover of the market, and most of the restaurants provide blankets, but at that time of year, inside is better.

 

I am amazed at how Casa Sibilla and other restaurants (I was similarly struck at Etta's Seafood Kitchen) do it - create a range of gorgeous food in kitchens that are smaller than mine at home. As far as I can see, there was only one person cooking and two serving, hence my biggest 'criticism', we did have to wait a while. I don't mind waiting for a main, but I did start to feel slightly impatient when I felt I'd been waiting an age for our bread selection, wine and tap water. I wouldn't wish to labour the point, though. The bread selection was a nice selection of sourdough, grissini and plain but delicious rustic white.

I opted for the spinach & ricotta tortellini, whilst Jimmy went for roast chicken with veg and roast potatoes. He was perfectly satisfied with his, and he's a hard man to please when it comes to roast potatoes!

I would have thought that there's very little one can say about spinach & ricotta tortellini. A staple of supermarket ready meal shelves, it is what it is. But this a tortellini which highlighted how poor the supermarkets are. Smooth and delicate pasta, filled with a subtle combination of flavours which remained in the mouth to savour after the substance had been swallowed. Simple traditional food, prepared and cooked to perfection. But photographed out of focus...!

Although the pudding selection was tempting, we decided to move on, and savour Laboratorio Artigianale del Buon Gelato, or Lab G, which is what it says it is. I loved my white chocolate and salt caramel combination; Jimmy, a connoisseur of good ice cream, highly rated his chocolate and pistachio scoops. 

Another highlight of the market is Dagon's fish stall, which supplies many of the restaurants not just in the market but in the wider area. They've been there 25 years, so are not part of the new hip Brixton Village sensation. We bought some very nice monkfish, which I had for my Sunday dinner while Jimmy and our guests had roast beef.

 

 

Brixton Village is a remarkable place, even if there are compromises - Metro

 

 

The Lido Cafe & Brockwell Park

One mild if cloudy Autumn day we decided to take a walk across Brockwell Park.

I sometimes describe Brockwell Park as my local park, but it really isn't. Both Tooting Common and Agnes Riley Gardens are nearer, as is Rush Common, which I have to cross to get to Brockwell Park. Streatham Common and Clapham Common can be reached directly by bus. Brockwell Park requires two buses, or, of course, can be reached on foot via some rather boring and steeply undulating residential roads. So, over the years I've tended to ignore its existence too much.

Considering it is a formally laid out and maintained park, Brockwell is full of surprises. Wide open spaces, some of the best views in London. Managed wilderness and areas devoted to specific activities. 

It is currently undergoing a programme of refurbishment, a process that is bitter-sweet to watch, knowing that the money being spent is probably among the last vestiges of the previous Labour government. I wonder how long it will take for our public parks to regress to the derelict, threatening no-go danger areas I remember from my teens and young adulthood.

The ponds are being dredged, re-lined and re-planted. I believe work is being done on drainage. A refurbished adventure playground is due to open in Spring 2012. And, over winter, the secret walled garden has been closed. The model railway isn't running, certainly not on weekdays. The tennis courts are empty, the BMX track barely used. Presumably there is relatively little to do in the Community Greenhouses

A new play area, using water and sand, has been developed, although the water is off during the winter months. We realised after we had walked round that, strictly speaking, as adults unaccompanied by children, we shouldn't have even been in there. Hopefully, as there was only one mother and child there, and we kept our distance, our mistake can be overlooked.

Each time we visit Brockwell Park, we try to take a different route. I often lose my bearings, never quite grasping its vastness and the different communities that abut it. And being high up, and vast, one can see for miles.

Previously, we always used to go into the café in Brockwell Hall, but were becoming increasingly dissatisfied. Basically, we found their coffee undrinkable, which makes one reluctant to try anything else.

It was purely by chance we heard about the Lido Café. We had both been to previous incarnations, but once you absorb the message that it's closed, you just forget it ever existed. But we decided to try it. "I'll have a coffee and some carrot cake," I decided, looking at the tempting display of cakes on the counter. One of the staff suggested we sit down, she'd bring us our coffee, and why don't we look at the menu. One French onion soup later, I was able to exclaim 'No wonder people rate this place so highly!'. I didn't take my proper camera out of my bag but was very pleased at how this phone picture turned out

Fast forward to February. Jimmy was due to have a minor hospital procedure on a Monday, and I decided to take the Tuesday off work just in case he needed looking after. It turned out he didn't even have a general anaesthetic, so he was more or less fine the next day. The next day was Valentine's Day, and neither of us wanted to go out for a Valentine's dinner. Nothing says 'Unromantic' quite like being spontaneous to order from the multinational conglomerates, or even spending an evening among the slight desperation of couples who think a Valentine's Special dinner is the only way to show they care. Yes, I know most decent restaurants do a Valentine's special, unfortunate for the numerous friends and acquaintances who celebrate a birthday that day or work away from home. It's business...

So, instead we booked ourselves a lunch at the Lido Café. We chose to walk there, along the uninteresting and hilly residential streets,

We took a different route around the park, and saw different sights.

The upper most duck pond being refurbished

Pond still frozen

The remnants of the previous week's snowmen: although it wasn't warm on our walk, the snow and the bitter cold of early February seemed distant memories

 

A random snapshot of the trees on the pathway next to Brockwell Park Gardens (a residential road)

Odd traffic signals at Norwood Road

 Mocking the stone-cladding

 I like this view but was too impatient to wait until a train passed. Stupid of me, because the grace and elegance of a train skimming across the sklyline is a sight to behold

 And finally into the Lido Café to fulfill our lunchtime reservation

 Mackerel bap with tartare sauce, crushed peas, and triple cooked chips; & Luscombe organic (medium dry) Devon cider. A simple cheerful meal, tasty and cooked to perfection, with some nice little presentational tricks. Incidentally, the novelty tomato, so often a disguise for cheap and nasty ketchup thankfully contained good quality stuff, Heinz or equivalent.

 And pudding was ginger chocolate pot with orange sorbet. Again, a simple dish most of us could probably make at home, if we could bothered, and presented in an attractive way that complements the tastes.

 Arguably, it's a misnomer to describe the Lido as a café. It's in a different league, and a different priceband, than the other café in Brockwell Park, and in some other neighbouring parks. But you can go for a coffee or soft drink, as well as a three course meal with choice wines and beers. I've never been when the pool's been open, and I've not been in the evening to this incarnation. I guess I'll just have to go back (and have been since I started writing this blogpost!)

These and other photos are in my Brockwell Park album

Brazas, Tulse Hill

I'd read positively of Brazas, and decided that it was worth trying. It's sort of quite close to where I live, but I just never go up Tulse Hill, never have any reason to. Once  upon a time, it used to be the Two Woodcocks, which I've never been in. I like the way that the interior is recognisable as having been a pub, and yet modernised. Accusations of gentrification, of course, because this is Brixton, and Brixtonians are never happier than moaning about Gentrification, which results from Yuppie Flats.

It's a good, local restaurant, and one we intend to go to again, and fairly soon. It was probably not wise going here just a week after going to Trinity. They're aiming at different markets. We went to Trinity for my birthday; we went to Brazas for a pleasant Saturday night out. We paid three times as much at Trinity.

One thing that attracted me on the website was a clear distinction between meat, fish and veggie dishes. It's like they take veggie seriously, not just tack something on grudgingly because they feel they have to. They also had a Specials board, offering a 2 mains for £15 deal

I started with Wild Mushroom Strogonoff in puff pastry sheets; Jimmy had Chargrilled Chorizo w black honey syrup & toasted bread. I'm sorry I didn't photograph that, because it was very eye-catching, even to me, although I wouldn't have eaten it! And their website Gallery is not good. They'd be better off without one - it makes it look like a cold unwelcoming place, which it isn't, and there are no photos of the food.

There was no sophistication in how the stroganoff was presented, but it was very tasty. The puff pastry sheets were noteworthy - a nice crumbly texture - and the Stroganoff was comforting. The right consistency, creamy but not greasy.

 

For mains, I had Chargrilled Whole Filleted Mackerel, crushed potato & fennel w gremolata. I Googled gremolata on my phone, having never previously encountered it. The presentation was rustic, unfussy, good home cooking. The photos don't really do it justice, partly because I didn't use the flash, and partly because their presentation doesn't do the food's flavour, preparation and cooking any favours. It's a moot point, I guess, because too much focus on plating turns it into poncey food, which is less comforting. Jimmy had the chargrilled piri piri chcicken and new potatoes, which he really liked, although he could have done without the sad salad - undressed green bits and only four halves of cherry tomato worth rescuing.

I finished with Blueberry, Raspberry and Amaretto Cake w vanilla ice cream, which again didn't really look all that, but tasted  delicious as it melted softly on my tongue. I also had some booze, so I tweeted 

Like the Flying Dutchman is doomed to sail the oceans forever, I feel my future lies in roaming round Brixton eating almond cake

 

I guess at the time I thought it was poetic!

So, to conclude, a good quality local restaurant that I couldn't really fault. Friendly staff, relaxing atmosphere, well-made lovely tasting food. Good value for money. 

Bits and Bobs

Looking through my photos, I found a good few which either were poor quality photos (blurry) of something worth photographing, or snapshots taken without much of a story to tell about the article spotted. Mostly not good enough to preserve for posterity in my photo albums, but stuff I don't want to go un-recorded.

Crab-cakes as a starter at the delightful Exhibition rooms in Crystal Palace

Followed by fish (I forget what now, I'm a bit hopeless), enticingly presented. I had this twice in December

A good selection of artisan cheeses served with rustic bread

Goats cheese and walnut salad at Streatham's Manor Arms just before Christmas

New Year's Eve starter at the Manor Arms of tea-smoked salmon and quails eggs

 

My twenty-year old artificial mini Christmas tree rejuvenated by the inspired addition of fairy lights

Arguably the world's worst park café on Streatham Common, taken on New Year's Day. 2012 or 1977, it's difficult to say

 

'Faded London' poster seen in Tooting

Pram sheds, or maybe beach huts (!) on the Peabody Estate in Westminster

Trinity Clapham Common

So many positive reviews exist of Trinity restaurant that combines fine dining with being a short bus ride away from home.

We had been thinking of this as a possibility for my (pre)-birthday meal, anyway. The previous weekend we had ended up in the boozer next door; one thing led to another, and we booked a table. On the Saturday evening it snowed, bringing much of London transport to a standstill. So we felt doubly smug at choosing to dine fine and local.

I was totally and utterly impressed by every single aspect of the experience at this restaurant. Jimmy had a quibble - he found his Terrine of Chicken, Foie Gras and Artichokes, Pickled Apples and Brioche to be quite fatty for a starter; fat combined with wine affects his digestion. But that, I think, is an inevitable consequence of choosing Foie Gras. The restaurant is not cheap, but I felt that it delivered what we paid for. In any case, more than a third of our bill was wine; future visits will probably involve less wine. And they offer a truncated menu as a £30 for 3 course lunch.

We were served an appetiser of radishes and a cod roe emulsion; this was followed by sourdough - they explained that this had been in use for 9 years. I only recently learned about sourdough, and how each batch is made from leavening taken from the previous batch - more in Wikipedia. To be honest, I'm not sure of the objective advantages, but this tasted lovely, especially when served with home-churned butter made of Jersey cream.

My starter was Charred Mackerel, Oyster Mayonnaise, Cucumber and Shrimps, which looked and tasted much better than it sounds! I particularly liked how the shrimps were wrapped in a wafer-thin sheet of cucumber.

Jimmy's main course was Slow Cooked Veal, Truffle Walnut Pesto, Black Pudding and Artichoke. I'm not sure if he's ever had veal before, but we both watched an episode of Countryfile, which explained how modern British veal is reared, with the endorsement of Animal Welfare organisations. I can't say for certain that this restaurant sources its veal this way, but I'd be surprised if it didn't.

 

I opted for Butter Poached Halibut, Crab Tortellini, Crab and Ginger Broth. I had been tempted by a bream, leeks and mussels dish but, concerned about the inclusion of bacon, I asked the waiter how integral an ingredient it was and he patiently explained. He also suggested ways it could be made differently eg for someone who didn't like the overt taste of bacon but didn't mind it being part of a sauce. Which was nice, and has given me more confidence - I noticed in Masterchef the other week, one of the previous winners ie a professional chef specifically ordered a scallop and pancetta dish without the pancetta. 

The halibut dish was just perfection. A chunky fillet that nevertheless flaked away at the slightest touch. Even the bed of julienne veg worked well, densely packed almost as a nest, and providing lots of colour. The broth was the foundation of the dish. I find crab an interesting ingredient. The white meat is so delicate, and the brown meat has a robust flavour, which couples well with the ginger - two strong flavours bouncing off each other. And the crab tortellini was just an extra indulgence!

The food was good, but I also found the service to be just right. Plenty of staff but they never intruded. No over-fussy refilling of one's glass every time you sip, one discrete 'Is everything okay?' not while you're either mid-sentence or with the fork poised at your mouth, and, best of all, an easy friendliness that stopped well short of telling you the details of their personal life, their opinion of the food, or 'you've made a good choice' - I'm sure they were confident that every dish met the same high standards, so there couldn't be a bad choice!

They have a very large wine list, which I initially found daunting. But I figured out that, faced with information overload of wines sorted by region - region of France, say, not regions of the world - the sensible thing for me, not a wine buff, would be to select one of those sold by glass & carafe. We chose a New Zealand Pinot Noir which was fruity and very nice.

We chose the same pudding: Hot Chocolate Pot - effectively, a fondant - with Salt Caramel Ice Cream. The chocolate was very chocolatey - as it should be, and the salt of the ice cream provided a counterpoint to the bitterness of the chocolate and the sweetness of the caramel. We also took the recommended pudding wine, Domaine Mas Amiel  Maury, Languedoc-Roussillon. The waiter suggested it was like port but superior. Part of me agrees, another part feels that, in being lighter, it avoided the treacly nature of port.

So, a thoroughly enjoyable meal with, really, no criticism. I would not hesitate to go back, and would recommend it to anyone who enjoys good food and good service. I had been slightly anxious about whether I would feel under-dressed, but, actually, most of the diners were in more 'comfortable' clothes than me! Maybe the snow contributed to that.

 

Boqueria Brixton

We went here on Saturday 21 January, just a very few weeks after it opened, and I think it has the potential to be a very good restaurant indeed. The decor and setting is pleasing - stupidly, I took no photos. I found the staff to be friendly, especially considering that I did have a grumpy turn, and the food was exquisite. So the fact that there was a mess-up with service won't deter me from returning. I have, however, read another review where the writer experienced a not dissimilar problem with service. Teething problems, I hope, because if it persists, it will detract significantly from a potentially superb place.

It is on Acre Lane, opposite the Grand Union (formerly Hope & Anchor) near the junction with KIngs Avenue, Clapham Park Road and Bedford Road, so neither Clapham nor Brixton, but a short hop from home (if one regards the 137/417 route as a hop!). Until  a few years ago the premises were a butcher's, and they appear to have used the space well: a bar when you enter, leading into the dining room at the back.

As an aide, but also an important observation, I am not sure Tapas works in England. My experience in Spain involves going into a bar where Tapas are served almost as a casual aside to an evening of drink and conversation, whereas my experience in England is plates called 'Tapas' being served as option or alternative to a main course. The only real difference is that 'main courses' are usually (not always) served as a complete product - protein, sauce, starch and veg, whereas a tapas dish is what it is. So, I ordered a fish dish, Jimmy ordered a meat dish and I said we'd share some patatas bravas & grilled vegetables.

First the potatoes arrived, and, ravenously, we scoffed them. Only when they were finished did Jimmy's meat, and the vegetables arrive. I did enquire about my fish dish, which, eventually came only after Jimmy had finished his meat and the grilled vegetables had gone cold. It was explained that the fish takes time to prepare/cook. I'm more inclined to believe that the order was overlooked. Perhaps they assumed we wanted to share both protein dishes, one after the other, and it was a breakdown of understanding/culture. But they conceded that they're not serving them the authentic Spanish way; in future, I shall be clearer in how we intend to construct our meal. It's misery waiting for your main dish while your partner eats his - lest it go cold, as the vegetables did. I was offered a ham croquette on the house, which doesn't exactly do it for me, and they offered to replace the gone-cold veggies, but I had visions of my fish going cold as I waited for the veg! As it was, it went a bit tepid as we were discussing the issue. 

Fortunately, the Bacalao confitado was very nice, but Jimmy pointed out to me I had a long evening ahead of me in the cinema, and this would be my only meal of the day, so I then ordered revuelto de setas y langostino. I have to say this was the most exquisite egg dish I have ever tasted, and amongst the most beautiful dishes I can recall eating - it's basically scrambled egg with mushrooms and prawns, but so very different from what that phrase conjures up. A perfect blend of flavours, each complimenting the other, and just the right form and texture, neither too greasy nor too dry.

I finished with a Tarta de Santiago, essentially an almond tart. And that, too, was beautiful - a delicate melt-in-your-mouth texture with a robust flavour of almonds.

I can't comment on the wine, because, being mid-afternoon and ahead of a long operatic cinema evening, I chose to drink apple juice, while Jimmy had bottled beer.

To conclude, the staff were very friendly, and the decor is very nicely done. I can't forget the unfortunate hitch in service, or communication, but the food was so exceptional that it would be foolish not to return, perhaps for the Arroz Negro!

 

Brixton Space

As we're trying to get out a bit more, I thought it might be a good idea to revive the practice where I write a brief review of places where we've eaten. Although this would be better with pictures, which I didn't take!

Brixton Space is a Cafe Fusion Tapas Wine Bar on Brixton Water Lane just opposite the Hobgoblin pub. It's been open a few months, and we went along on Friday evening. They had a brand new menu and didn't open until 7 that particular evening.

It's a small place, basically a single shop front with chairs and tables. Nothing fancy. I was sitting on a stool with no arms or back support so an hour and a half was about my limit. There were three other parties in the same time as us, butt even though the place was small, they didn't impinge on us.

The place is run by a Polish woman, who has taken the idea of Spanish tapas and has introduced non-Spanish elements. This is something I have wished some bars in places I've visited in Spain would do, so is entirely in line with my thinking.

The menu isn't massive. We ordered olives & feta, organic bread (from Breads Etcetera), and Mexican Toast. Jimmy ordered some meatballs in tomato sauce and I had a goat's cheese and fig tart.

Put very simply, the food was very tasty. Quite simply done, with very little fuss and palaver, just good quality ingredients, imaginatively assembled. I specifically complemented the proprietor on the side salad. It was only rocket and cherry tomatoes; I'll often ignore the ubiquitous side salad as an insult to the main dish, but these were absolutely fresh and lightly dressed. Which doesn't seem a lot to ask but doesn't always happen. 

Overall, I really liked the place, and if I lived closer I'd probably go in quite often, even if just for a snack and a glass or two of wine. I don't know how busy it gets, and what's the peak time but it was full enough for their to be an atmosphere without it being too crowded.

Labour leadership Brixton Hustings 30 June

It's not often that we get vote to for leader. I've been in the party since 1984 and have only voted in three leadership elections; this compares to six General Elections.

Before the recent General Election I had been politically inactive for quite some time, but Labour Party politics - and, I daresay, other parties, too  - have this habit of drawing you back in.

So when I heard that all the leadership contenders were to be husting in Brixton - yeah, Brixton - I was, like, try and keep me away. I actually did hesitate, because it did occur at the start of the most hectic three weeks of my life, at least since leaving the council. Which is why this blogpost is so belated!

I took a few photos of the contenders. Their relative quality reflects only where I was sitting. I could have been more assertive and taken more and better photos, but I don't think that that's very comradely. And nothing can be deduced from my voting intentions from the photos.

Diane Abbott was the most interesting. I identify the most strongly with Diane. She tends to speak first and think later, or doesn't seem frightfully concerned about how a statement will come across, if it's something that she believes and wants to say. She's also a bit rubbish when it comes to stand-up comedy. I'm surprised that, with her experience, she hasn't realised that however funny one is in informal situations with off-the-cuff quips, it doesn't necessarily work on stage in front of an audience. I feels she knows most instinctively how benefit cuts and job losses will affect ordinary people, whereas I think the blokes are more like me - we can intellectualise from observation but it's not the same.

I am happy to give Ed Miliband my second preference vote. Of the chaps he seemed the one most able to understand the need for change, not just in matters of detail but in a wholesale philosophical approach. I think he has the intellectual capacity to be Leader, although his people-skills fall short of those of say Tony Blair or Neil Kinnock, or indeed Diane Abbott or Ed Balls, but are far ahead of Gordon Brown and Ken Livingstone, for example. I also think he has the capacity to grow into the job. He doesn't come across as a Prime Minister but some people are capable of stepping into giant shoes.

I felt that Andy Burnham's heart wasn't in it. He seemed the most affected by the tremendous heat in the room - by the end he looked a lot damper than this, with which I can sympathise. I think his campaign is so overwhelmingly North West  - so it was a bit weird when he announced himself the local - Brixton-dwelling - candidate. Before the meeting I disliked him intensely, now I don't, so he may count that as a victory, if he wishes. But I can't see any reason to put him above five on my list.

I cannot properly decide between David Miliband and Ed Balls. I feel that they both have way too much baggage I want to distance myself from. Miliband is too much a Blairite, Balls is too much a Brownite. Both of them have repudiated these positions and have declared they have moved on, but I feel some discomfort at some of the Miliband followers, and I just don't trust Ed Balls. I think Balls comes across as by far the most impressive as a campaigning politician, who knows how to seize the news agenda; I fear a Balls leadership would be back to the same-old same-old Mandelsonian/Campbell/Blair/Brown obsession with ephemeral headlines, which was successful for it's time but we've moved on. As for David Miliband, I tend to like him, and I think he has the intellectual capacity to be leader and a personable character  , but I think he lacks a certain indefinable 'leadership quality'.

I think it's brilliant that it's a long drawn-out leadership campaign and that they are touring round the country. Westminster insiders and the media wanted it to be over quickly, clinical and decisively. Instead ordinary party members have had the opportunity to hear the candidates unmediated by mass media and actually ask questions. Political parties get this luxury at the start of a Parliament. Whatever is lost by a sense of leaderlessness in the past couple of months will be soon forgotten. I believe that whoever becomes leader will know - and members and voters know - that they have an undisputed mandate from the members.

There is nothing like political involvement to get members involved. For the past dozen years, the wail has always been - how do we get members involved. And I've always said that people primarily want to be involved in political discussion and education. It's difficult to campaign when you have forgotten what you're campaigning for, or that it's the rather nebulous concept of 'to win'. It gets a bit boring doing local campaigning, a lot of which isn't really party political, but about jostling for position and trying to get inward funding in one's area.

And it was stiflingly hot in the hired premises, which somehow just added to the nostalgic feeling for old-style Brixton policies!

At one point, Diane Abbott stated that she is the daughter of immigrants. I could see reactions all round - the Milibands are the sons of immigrants, and both Ed Balls and Andy Burnham (and Andy Burnham's Dad) have stressed repeatedly that they are from backgrounds far from privileged. Then later, David Miliband proclaimed himself to be 'the first member of my family born in this country', which caused Ed to react, almost - but not quite - imperceptibly, and led to quite a bit of comment on my Tweetstream. So, after the hustings, when Ed came over to talk to the person I was standing with and say hello and glad-hand me, I did ask him whether he suffered from 'second sibling syndrome'. That probably counts as one of the most stupid remarks I have made to someone in such a situation. HE said he didn't know what it was, so I explained. Cringe moment, hey...

PS It was chaired by Steve Richards from the Independent, visible in the Ed Balls photo

Clapham Common

We went there for a picnic yesterday. I don't work Fridays, and Jimmy is free between 3 and 8 so we try and do something together most weeks. We were determined to enjoy the sunshine and hit on the splendid idea of a picnic. Clapham Common was chosen because Jimmy would spend less time getting there (and back) from work, because it's handy for shops from which to buy picnic food, and because there are plenty of bars and coffee shops handy for when the temperature drops.

It has its disadvantages, too. Chiefly that being flat and surrounded by a network of busy roads, without boundary trees, it's impossible to feel you've escaped from the urban jungle. But we knew that, and adjusted our expectations accordingly.

We sat down on a bench on the edge of large open field and began to eat our 'starter'. People passed by and there was a constant hum of traffic from the roads; we were barely aware of them. We looked out across a field and laughed hilariously as a dog chased after a child's football and pushed the child (aged about 8) to the ground. Our laughter turned to "What!" when we realised that the dog was no relation to the child, but happened to be passing him as he played with a teenager, perhaps an older brother, and just randomly forced him to the ground.

As it happens, the child didn't seem very bothered; nor for that matter did the dog's owner. Didn't seem to check whether the child was all right, and didn't put the dog on a lead. They continued on their walk, approaching in our direction, but I assumed the angle they were taking would take them well out of our way. Until the dog bounded over to where we were sitting, threw itself at Jimmy and then stuck its nose into the empty prawn tray he had carefully placed on the ground to separate rubbish out from from good stuff*. The owner followed and laughing said

"Oh, she eats anything she sees..."

I think this was our cue to say "Oh gagaga itchywitchy cudgie coo what a darling dog, can I please please pretty please lick her cutey wutey stomach". We didn't.

The owner tried again mouthing some platitude which didn't include the word 'sorry'. Sharply, Jimmy told her to take it away whilst I sat motionless glaring at her (I was rewarded with the sight of her shrinking and slinking away, cowed by my fearsome glare).

When we finished our starter we walked to another field on the Common, this much closer to Northside. We chose our spot carefully. Sufficiently far away from the two men focused on their ball skills as they quietly and unostentatiously kicked a football between them; and  sufficiently far away from two other parties lying down or picnicking in the glorious afternoon sun. We weren't encroaching on anyone and no one was encroaching on us. Ideal. Well, apart from the police helicopter that hovered and circled for about 15 minutes; again, in theory an irritation, in practice something you accept as an inevitability of urban life.

Until PoodleWoman came along. I wasn't best chuffed when said Poodle took a dump barely ten feet from where we were sitting. I was even less chuffed when it immediately ran over to us and stuck its nose in our food bag. Followed by Poodle Woman herself in no great rush to extricate her dog. Indeed she stood there waiting for us to say "Oodle doodle be my baby gagagagaga ickle cuteywootey." We didn't.

Jimmy told her to take it away. She started saying something resentfully, so I told her to keep her dog under control. Scornfully, she said "I'm supposed to control where the dog goes to the toilet?" I'm sorry I didn't ask her why she wasn't scooping it up - there are bins for that purpose on the Common. Today, someone was probably playing a ball game or letting their child run around in that dog poo (by the way, dogs don't 'go to the toilet'). 

What I did say was that it had stuck its nose in our food bag. She retorted that she had every right. I told her to keep her dog on the lead. As she walked away I said "That's probably what counts for hygiene in her household, letting the dog shit anywhere even when she's preparing food. That's really disgusting. Dirty woman." I did have the satisfaction of watching her shoulders slump as she slinked away; hopefully she felt shame.

Dog poo is disgusting. Indeed any poo from any meat-eating mammal is disgusting. I don't mind horse manure and accept sheep droppings as an inevitable part of the countryside. But dog poo. Eugh. Of course dog owners have the right to exercise their dogs on the Common, I don't dispute that. But rights only exist to the extent they don't interfere with other people's rights - or, to put it bluntly, my right to stick out my arm stops just before my fist hits your face. It is disgraceful when a dog attacks a child; it's disgraceful but inevitable when a dog shits in the open grass - and it's disgusting if the owner fails to pick it up. And it's utterly intolerable that, apparently, we have to put up with other people's dirty animals going through our food. 

I do stop and think - is it something I said, is it something I am doing wrong? Am I sitting in the wrong place, breaking some local unwritten custom-and-practice?

I know we all want our own way all of the time and I have been known to sulk or throw a tantrum when I don't (less so now I'm an adult). But surely, if you use your brain you must realise that it simply isn't possible and it's extremely inconsiderate. Perhaps my problem is that I am a follower of the creed of Deferred Gratification: in other words, by acting in a way that appears to be selfless, I later reap rewards. Obviously, this works best in a fairly closed group: eg if I help someone with a problem say at work, they are likely to help me when I need them maybe two years later, or, at the very least, they speak positively of me to others; that doesn't work so well in wider society. I do firmly believe that if everybody behaved in a fairly considerate way almost all of the time, we would all benefit from society being more harmonious. But that is a big IF because I am having to compete with people who want instant gratification or pursue rational selfishness.

Ironically - and  cross-refer to my post on Streatham Common  - this touches on the theory of The Tragedy of the Commons.

* when we had finished our picnic all the rubbish went in the bin

Streatham Common

But despite the kids from hell - or rather the childminders from hell - we managed to get something out of our visit to Streatham Common.

I am still getting used to my new camera; also I knew straightaway that the light was never going to do me favours (both are just excuses!)

I love it when in the middle of somewhere built up you get a brief glimpse of something that could theoretically be somewhere completely different - this brief stretch of Streatham Common North could easily be in the country

This is me in the Rookery



This is a cherry tree (or so it said on the label!)

This is a bit of a view of the terraced garden, cunningly taken to disguise the skyscrapers of Croydon otherwise visible on the horizon through the blue haze

And this is the bottom end of a fallen tree which has been left to rot away

On Streatham Common

The plan today had been to picnic on Streatham Common. The weather was not in our favour, so instead we had a rather indifferent pub lunch. We decided to walk on the Common, anyway, even if just to avoid the horrendous traffic queues on the High Road and catch a bus home.

For those of you that don't know, Streatham Common is a fairly large piece of green space. It's not massive, but it's certainly not a pocket park. It's certainly plenty big enough for kids to run around, especially on a weekday more-or-less in school term

View Larger Map

We stopped at the café halfway up and went to drink our coffees at the outside tables. I suppose there's about a dozen tables in a fenced-in space, just enough space in between them and no space for any more.

It was fairly busy, a party of five over there, a Mum and baby there, man and dog there, Mum with two quiet sitting children, woman with a book, us, and That Lot. Specifically two women of my age and eight girls age about 7 or 8, running around, screeching, yelling at each other. Perfectly legitimate play, and of course, it's healthy for children to run around. But in totally the wrong place. I had to keep interrupting what I was saying as another brat ran past screaming down my ear-hole.

Jimmy went to the loo, as I turned round yet again to glare at the screaming kids, I realised Woman-With-A-Book was looking exasperated. She turned to me and said "Can't they shut them up, they're completely ignoring them." Emboldened I went up to the women supposedly in charge of them, and said "There's a whole great big Common, do they have run around screaming in here, when people are trying to sit down quietly?"

One of them laughed. Not quite in my face, but clearly she thought it an absolute hoot that these children she was supposedly looking after (but was in fact ignoring) were being pains. So I mimicked her laugh back in her face, and she didn't like that. However, they  decided they were going. "Than God for that!" I exclaimed in a stage whisper. "We get the message," said the other arsehole bitch. But I didn't think they had, because there was no attempt to say to the kids "This isn't the best place to be running around screaming"

In time we finished our coffees and left the café and headed for the Rookery. I love The Rookery, a delightful secret. I don't go often because it's not so close to home; sadly I didn't go often either when it was much closer.

On Been There it says:

A beautiful Victorian garden in the middle of Streatham Common. Queen Victoria visited for the now gone spa waters  Tranquil even at the height of summer, an oasis in the middle of south London.

Indeed, outside is a sign saying in big letters "This is a quiet garden" and lists the activities that aren't permitted. It doesn't actually say 'No Noisy Brats' or even 'All children should be kept on leads' but *everyone* knows that people go there to read or contemplate.

But not this lot, oh no. The ghastly women sat on a bench on the terrace and the kids ran amok screaming their heads off as they chased round, their noise echoing round the natural bowl or amphitheatre. We tried to get away from them, not entirely possible because they were so loud, and when we returned to the main drag, we saw several independent adults looking at them, in annoyance or bewilderment; something was said, and suddenly, they cleared off again. 

This makes me really angry. As I say, I do think kids should get out and run around. There's a large well-equipped children's playground, there is a large open green space, so why they hell are they doing their running around specifically in areas not designed for it.

I am sick and tired of going out to places and having what should be a relaxing walk or sit-down ruined by out-of-control, atrociously parented children. I know I am not alone in this. I only had to look at the faces of the other café customers and the body-language of the other people in the Rookery that I am very much not alone in this.

It was abundantly clear to me that the ridiculous bints supposedly in charge of these children did not have the slightest clue what the matter was. These were women who knew each other via NCT classes and were dressed very presentably in clothes from shops such as Next, M&S: almost certainly educated and seemingly fairly prosperous.

Exactly the sort of people who complain loudly at how child-unfriendly Britain is. These ghastly women have probably ended up at home moaning to their husbands (who probably don't get home until after the children have gone to bed!) at how hostile everybody is to us 'just because we've got children'.

These two women were supposed to be looking after other people's children. I am not sure whether they were doing it for pay, or as part of a reciprocal arrangement, or as a favour (perhaps the school has failed to open, unexpectedly). But they were failing in their duty. These children encouraged to behave as if the world revolves around them grow up into teenagers and then adults who retain a sense of entitlement and are utterly bewildered as the rest of the world turns against them in hostility and disgust.

I think it's extremely unfair that these people behave like this. Not surprisingly, there were several elderly people in the Rookery; don't they have as much right to their relaxation as these kids?

It's very unfair to the children whose parents do know how to parent - the two sat quietly in the  café, or the little boy walking round the gardens with his nanny. It's unfair to anybody who has gone to the Rookery specifically for its advertised 'quiet' and its reputation for tranquillity.

And, actually, it's very unfair to the children themselves. They are not being taught about boundaries, about how we co-exist in a crowded city on a small island, or about consideration for others. It's all very well being right-on and going to NCT classes, but parenting doesn't stop there. I suspect that the children get a very clear message of being marginal to the lives of the adults who couldn't care less about them, who refuse to communicate or engage with them.

 

Splishy-splashy

There is a bit of a swimming crisis in South London. Unfortunately, the epicentre is pretty close to me.

So, let us take stock.

• Streatham Pool: closed, for Health and Safety, should have been completely rebuilt years ago, but the finance was via a deal with Tesco, who have been dilatory and recalcitrant;
• Clapham Pool: closed in order to be knocked down and rebuilt;
• Brockwell Lido and Tooting Bec Lido, both outdoors and unheated, and open only to members in the winter;
• Brixton Recreation Centre: currently having the Wetside changing rooms refurbished, meaning that swimmers have to change in the cramped conditions on the 6th floor and descend by stairs to the Pool on the 4th floor, also leading to limited opening hours - although not as limited as the propagandist agitators would have you believe*

Knowing that Brixton is a bit crowded, and not especially wanting to parade around in public half-naked**, I thought I would try:

•  Queen Mother Sports Centre which is near work, but closes at 7.30pm, no good for me if I finish at 6.30
• Balham, which is a little bit out of my way: closes at 6.30 pm

I thought to myself it's always better to go to an open pool than one that is closed, for whatever reason. So I went to Brixton. And it was okay. For the first two lengths. Then the disco music started, loud, so loud that people started shouting to each other. The Aquarobics arrived and took over the entire 'recreation' lane, 40% of the pool for 10% of the users. Stupid bloody activity anyway, Aquarobics. Learn to swim, not ponce around!

And the 'music' has a beat. I don't know about you, but whenever I hear a persistent dominant beat, I have to move in time to it. It's a fairly well observed phenomenon of crowds walking/marching etc. Trouble was, it was a bit too fast for my comfort, so there I was swimming faster and faster.

And just for good measure there was a man. It wasn't really his fault; by rights he should have been in the recreational swimming area, but he was slow. But I kept getting stuck behind him. Overtaking shouldn't have been a problem, because he was that slow. But he was so splashy, and then there was such a wake from the Aquarobics class that I felt like a little boat being buffetted on the sea, conscious that if I didn't get a move on, faster than the beat of the music that was too fast for me, anyway, there'd be someone coming up behind wanting to overtake me overtaking him.

Still, I got my arse into gear, refused to believe the lies of those with an agenda, and it's so easy once you get back into the habit! And I feel good.

* someone is Twittering as 'Brixton Recreation Centre' and claiming it's only open for one hour in the morning; that isn't true. What is true is that it is limited to schools and other lesons during the rest of the day, but re-opens for general admission at 6.30, and closes, I think at 10.00 pm (but why let facts  spoil a good story!)

** it's not actually a problem, it's down the back stairs, not the main ones, and you only encounter other people parading half-naked

Why I love Brixton

It's like when you love a man; yes, you can see the flaws but you love despite, because of, regardless of them. It really is love at first sight. I think I decided in 1984 I was in love with Brixton, even though, as a streatham resident I didn't actually get selected until 1993 and didn't take up residence until 1995.

I love Brixton because it has two hundred years of crap architecture visible as you drive round the residential side road.

 I love Brixton because you sit on the bus and listen to the two women behind learning Spanish by reading Oscar Wilde's Fairy Tales with English on one page and Spanish on another. A white baby with a white Mum, sitting on Mum's back wrapped in an African-style papoose shawl, watches them absolutely entranced.

 I go to the crappy local flea-pit cinema for an HD live from NY of Rosenkavalier and bump into a member of Lambeth Labour. The tills aren't working and I tut at the half-wit who needs a calculate to work out the cost of 3 glasses of wine at £4.20 each.

I go to a backstreet pub and sit up at the bar, smoking (sssshhhhh!) while the jike box plays classic 50s Rock 'n' Roll plus (the two) Greatest Hits of Dr. Hook. Yeah, kind of random...

I pass the "West Indian Continental Grocery" and the Fairy Lights still illuminating the trees of Central Brixton. The cab-driver's music proclaims "Our God is an awesome God" - the music is shit, but, somehow I love it, because it's Brixton I love. Half one in the morning and people are still moving around on foot. Rush Common is beautiful with its thin veneer of snow - sod it, Rush Common is beautiful full stop, this long thin strip of green that gives lungs to the congested A23, makes us different from every other arterial road.

I know just about every problem that besets Brixton, the  poverty, the violence, the absence of hope. But for me, Brixton is the greatest town on earth. Above all, it's home!

Cattle troughs on the Common - 365/10

Jimmy thinks this is the best photo I took on Saturday

whereas I prefer this one

Mind you, I haven't yet edited the ones I took round the City!

These were taken on small exclave of Clapham Common, where the old-fashioned entrance to the Tube and the old public conveniences are situated.

More about the Metropolitan Drinking Fountain and Cattle Trough Association

It lives on as the Drinking Fountain Association, its work still relevant today.

Sheer utter chaos and panic!

Jimmy and I went swimming yesterday. It was very strange. We rounded the corner from Brixton Road to Brixton Station Approach and were met by flurries of snow.

Afterwards we caught the bus to Clapham. I cannot remember at what stage I became aware of the snow as being a settled thing. Perhaps there wasn't any when we initially got there. We ate in Gastro which is quirky and worthwhile. Then it began to snow. Enough for me to write my initials on the table outside. As I was putting my coat on the woman on the table next to me said something about the snow being heavy, which I replied something like, it's not too bad, it will get worse, before turning round to see a veritable snowstorm outside the window.

On the way to the Tube photos were taken, but only with my crappy phone camera

 

Further photos were taken when we got off the bus. Then when I got home I changed to my proper camera.

We settled down for a night's TV viewing; when we went to bed I noticed that my footsteps in the garden had been covered over.

I was awoken by the alarm, and then by being brought a cup of tea, and finally by a scraping noise outside. My father used to get annoyed by pensioners who misguidedly scrape away the snow thinking it will clear it, only to create a surface that will freeze over and be even more treacherous. Dear Reader, I married one...(well, not married, but you know what I mean). I was not happy, not least because it reduced the aesthetic appeal of the garden.

I realised that this is the heaviest snowfall ever since I've lived in Gert Cottage. It might have been heavier in 2003 when we were in Sharm, sitting round the pool in our swimwear laughing bout the TV pictures from back home.

I read subsequently that this is the worst in London since 1991. I remember it well. I was living in Westcliff but had been on audit to the Isle of Man. Weather conditions were perfect at Ronaldsway. sunny, dry, and mild, but we were delayed a long time because of snow at Heathrow. Eventually we were flown to Southampton - being very short haul we were given low priority in favour of long haul. I could not get a train back to Essex that night - it was, famously, 'the wrong kind of snow'.

Jimmy went out to get milk only to find that both Tesco and Happy Shopper are shut. He says people are falling down on the pavements (wrong shoes, I opine) and cars are slipping on the roads (shouldn't be in a car of you can't cope with the road conditions, I opine).

I read on the web that the London bus network is suspended  (as of 11.30 there are a small number of routes in Central London). I have a hair appointment later. I feel foolish ringing up to ask 'are you open?' yet I have tried several times with no reply - so not so foolish!

Ringing from the landline, obviously because the mobile network won't work! I have to say that I am incredibly pissed off. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not having a go at the individuals who run my hairdressers; they have presumably made a decision based upon facts not apparent to me - like an absence of buses in Streatham - but my hair is seriously in need of being done. I thought maybe I'd go swimming instead. And the website says Brixton Rec is open. But the thought of the walk down there (And even worse, back up hill) doesn't thrill me. I know it sounds ludicrous, but although I quite enjoy walking, I do not like it on the concrete pavements of London, and especially not up Brixton Hill, which is sad because I live at the top of Brixton Hill.  I'm pondering whether to cycle down to Tooting Common (purely in the service of blogging).

And I can't get a satellite signal, either, which I assume is weather-related. The pissy thing is that I can't even access the menu of programmes already saved to the Hard Drive. Well, at least I am not being forced to watch the Jeremy Kye show, unlike a friend of mine, who has illness as an excuse.

Monday Leisure

I didn't get told off in the swimming pool today, despite the fact that I got an even bigger float, shaped like a duck, and lay back to rest. That was because I did it while the Lifeguard-who-examines-her-nails  was on duty. Another woman got told off, though, by Jobsworth-Lifeguard-with-A-Whistle, and was told 'floats only in the small pool'. Okay, maybe it's a rule, but it's a stupid rule, and it's not advertised. There's a fast lane, a middle lane, a slow lane and an area clearly for 'messing about'. There were two people in the slow lane, so need for anyone to do lengths in the 'messing about' area.

Jobsworth cleared up all the toys from alongside the big pool, even the armbands that look like dumbbells that someone had been using for a bit of an non-ostentatious aqua-workout. A bunch of six pre- or barely-teens got told off for using floats in the big pool. Then for playing volleyball over the fence between the small and big pools. Then when they gathered at the deep end and took turns to jump in...just copying me - I'd warned them I make a big splash and they seemed determined to outsplash me (never succeeded...!)...he got really agitated. I got a distinct sense that the six kids, the two women in their 20s/30s, and me all got an attitude that we were going to be the naughty kids defying teacher. We didn't have a problem with the kids, no it seemed did the two women. All the small kids and parents were in the Teaching Pool. If I had found the kids annoying, I could have stayed down the shallow end or gone in the slow lane.

Afterwards, in the showers, two women were saying how much nicer they are than the showers at Clapham. Agreed. Not least the fact that each shower is in a cubicle, also that you don't look strange if you get your kit off to shower (Clapham is like Sale, too genteel, shower with one's costume on). They were however lamenting that Clapham is closing down  - it's a shame they have to do it all at once, can't they stagger it. So I said - they're knocking it down, and one of them said, no they have to keep the shell because it's listed. Oh right, okay, I said, and thought 'but even if you keep the shell you can't partially gut the inside, or maybe you can, but you end up making compromises in the re-modelling'.

But the internet says it will be knocked down. I think I like the idea of glass frontage. Although a Muslim friend pointed out to me several years ago that Peckham Splash is glass-fronted, which makes it unsuitable for Moslem women, although they do steam the glass up for Women Only sessions, but sometimes they forget. I did read somewhere that there is still one pool to be identified for 2012 training. Maybe that will be Clapham. Perhpas we can arrange for the Australian and US teams to train there, and host them in tents on Clapham Common, like the passengers from the Windrush.

After swimming we went to Halfords, where Jimmy ordered a bike. Basically, we are due to collect his 'n' hers matching bikes. How romantic...

We then went to Currys to buy a coffee machine. We saw one we liked, but it was the end of the line. They were prepared to knock £30 off, but it was incomplete - would have been a deal if we were replacing like with like. I decided instead to source it on the internet. Until I checked out the internet and discovered that the desired model wasn't so desirable after all. It uses coffee pods - which is just stupid. Further examination of the internet revealed this to be quite common. Of all the stupid ideas. Talk about limiting your choice...Jimmy says it's just an excuse to over-charge you for crap coffee. I don't suppose there'smuch in the way of Organic and/or FairTrade coffee pods. So, time to think again.