City space

North London is real-er than the south bank. Real lives happen there, not just one-year students’ reveries. The trees are old, not fast growing London planes. Some willows, some weeping, some bursty berry trees which are evergreen. The pubs are often local, the shops run by specific types of immigrants depending on location. And the bus stops are graffiti-ed more. Brown fallow railway land spreads behind colourful tin-sheets, awaiting regeneration; the tube stations are old and red. The ‘neighbourhood parks’ are a whole different story from the famed London Royal ones – St James, Green, Hyde, Kensington. The neighbourhood ones have fun-fairs, dirty-ish ducks, innumerable kids and beerful picnics (so do many royal ones, but the flavour is different). Local joggers abound, so do local lovers, also trans-local ones. The parks are quiet, peaceful, often lovely and satisfying.

But the river in SE1, the silty, living, regularly dredged, water-level-controlled, Thames-gateway-dependent, barge ridden, motorboat dotted river; when you see it, or stand by it, or hear it with closed eyes from your 7th floor window, the river makes you a part of the big things in this life and this world.