Church Street is a winding lane (bear with me) off the main High Road that leads all the way to Clissold Park, which is cemented in my memory as the park where my Nan fainted one hot summers day when I was but a nipper, and that while she was recovering with a ciggie in the shade of the porter’s cabin, the porter very kindly bought me an ice-cream. Oh happy days… apart from the Nan fainting bit.
Anyway, Church Street itself is where every yoga bendy bean munching individual that cannot afford N1 aspires to live, ‘so close to all that culture, darling’ as they look towards the high road and shudder at the close proximity of winking neon, promising kebabs and cheap phone calls to Nigeria.
It is very strange, this influx of trendies to the area. I do wonder if they think they are being very ‘right on’ by having an N16 address, especially the ones you see pushing super power baby buggies, or with expensive Meccano-like fold up bicycles. But that’s London for you – in one direction rich, the other poor! And people that live in the Church Street vicinity are definitely rich, the food shop Fresh and Wild do not plonk their organic roots into the ground otherwise.
I was in Church Street as one of the shops is my secret weapon when buying presents for the J, although one quick poke at the parcel will reveal the present is of the material persuasion, as opposed to containing a Wii. And what does J want? A big fat Wii, of course. The budget doesn’t extend to things like that; I absolutely cannot spare a penny for a Wii. (I've done it again, made myself chuckle. Oh dear.)

It is my happy place. The coffee is pretty decent as well.
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