An ode to the X68 bus

Oh X68, or eXpress 68 to give you the full title you so gallantly deserve. Travelling aboard your blue speckled double decks is such sweet sorrow. You are the bane of my commuting life yet you know all too well I would be lost without you.

There are countless reasons why the seemingly uneventful journey from West Croydon to Russell Square is so eventful, my current route to work now that I am living temporarily in the Crystal Palace area, but here are some of the reasons why I love you, X68.

1. You laugh in the face of the bus timetable (helpfully available in PDF form on the TFL website). You are a free spirit, the nomadic pilgrim of South London. You are not restricted by life's inane structures or plans. You drive to the beat of your own drum. You turn up when you feel like it, preferring to operate by the timetable of life. What I really mean is you are usually sodding late.

2. Sometimes you choose to terminate short of your final destination and instead of concluding at Russell Square, as advertised on the overhead destination board, you stop somewhere else en route. Like Kennington. Or Camberwell, setting us a Krypton Factor-esque challenge to get to work via alternative means - on foot, by tube, via a hitchhiked ride for the more desperate. This presents another problem to solve ahead of an already full day and is both stimulating and good for developing my navigation skills. Thank you.

3. In the nicest way, your drivers are mildly psychotic. Cyclists in the bus lane, traverse at your peril. Passengers who speak to or obscure the driver's vision while the bus is moving? I wish you luck. Running for the bus in a frenzy, perspiring and cursing along the way? Chances are they will wait until you are an inch away from making it and then close those whooshing doors, laughing maniacally like Vincent Price at the end of Thriller. I have seen it with my own eyes. I have also been that passenger, keeled over gasping for breath and shaking my fist at the back of the bus. (Swearing).

4. Said drivers have rather a penchant for the brake pedal. This creates a jolting, bumpy jaunt with repeatedly abrupt stops and starts and leaves poor unsuspecting passengers flying all over the bus, flailing their arms wildly and hanging onto a pole for dear life. Composing a text or reading at least one page of a book is virtually impossible without the use of Hyoscine to ward off extreme travel sickness. Some poor woman the other day ran off with her hand over her mouth ready to spew, the roller coaster ride too much to endure. I could feel her pain. Wedged at the back last week between two hefty gentlemen I had to take deep gulps of breath and fix my glare on a stable object to avoid my own unfortunate puking incident.

5. The commanding announcement 'this is an express service and will now run non-stop to Waterloo' always, without fail, prompts the Theme from S-Express to whirl constantly around in my head for the entire journey. Despite this announcement that confirms the service runs continuously to Waterloo, there is always some poor b*gger who does not know the drill. They are an X68 virgin if you will. They want to get off in West Norwood please, they do not require the onward hour journey to Waterloo, thanks very much. They innocently ding the bell in good time, ready to disembark. Ding. As the driver continues past their stop they press it again, a little more firmly. Ding. Perhaps the bell is not working. Ding. Oh dear, maybe the driver hasn't heard, oh well never mind I'll get off at the next stop. Ding. Then sheer panic sets in. They are not getting off this bus anytime soon. Ding. I am going AN HOUR out of my way and will be horribly late for work. Ding. My boss will never believe me. Ding. Perhaps I'll never get off. Ding. OH GOD. They realise no amount of 'DRIVER, LET ME OFF!'s are going to work here. Ding. Ding. DING. (For those Breaking Bad devotees, think of Tuco Salamanca's uncle Hector and that incessant bell). Someone bravely whispers 'you can press the emergency button to open the doors' and someone else says encouragingly 'go, run for your life'! As they press the red button heroically they are released into the fresh air and we wave, smiling sadly, as we continue on our jerky way.

Yet, how can I possibly moan? You take me all the way from home to Waterloo (usually) without stopping. Thus, you are slightly superior to the 68 or even the 468, parallel services that run along the same route more or less but have to stop. Ha. Inferior route sisters, we laugh at your perpetual stopping. You offer unbeatable views of amazing London town and all it has to offer.  As the brilliant Phil Earle quoted in his article for The Guardian 'one minute it's the electric buzz of Elephant and Castle, the next time I look up, I'm in the shadows of the glorious South Bank and Big Ben'.

Your passengers are true heroes. A quick peek on Twitter reveals that you already have your own admirers, your bus groupies, throwing themselves at you and queuing up to get on board. The X68 has a unique passenger community of its own, amazing individuals with an unbreakable spirit, a strong stomach and a cracking sense of humour. I have noticed some passengers embark, courageously say hello to the (psychotic) driver and take their time to wave at people they know, say hi, as if it they were among great friends rather than fellow commuters.  I love these guys. Some of them also tweet gems such as 'Honestly, the X68 bus never fails to entertain. Always a drama!', 'The mighty X68 bus is like warp drive to S London'... and 'Power to the people! X68 bus driver goes off course, his passengers start shouting directions. #humansatnav saves the day'. This makes me smile a lot and feel part of a high-achieving team. I'm an X68'er and proud of it.

When I move back to the East End next year, I am not ashamed to say that I will miss it - the unpredictability, at times the downright cruelty of it all, the jerkiness, and the drama.

X68. I've got the hots for you.

 

Dishoom!

So to Covent Garden on a beautiful, boisterous Thursday night in London where the autumnal light was suitably golden and there was music and merriment in the crisp air (and excessive post-work wine). A perfect night to visit Dishoom, London's first ever Bombay Café and a modern, fresh interpretation on Indian food.

Dishoom first opened its ornate doors in Covent Garden in July 2010 and is named after an old Bollywood sound effect, made when the brave hero lands a cracking good punch, or when a bullet flies through the air. It is similar to popular slang usage of the expression mojo or he's got Dishoom!, and mojo it certainly has evident by the sizeable queue of patient diners chattering outside (and offered a steaming hot chai to warm their cockles while they waited). The original ‘Irani’ Cafés of Bombay, which inspired Dishoom, were abundant at the beginning of the 20th century, and welcomed people from all walks of life across the vast city – rich businessmen would sip chai next to sweaty taxi-wallahs, courting couples, and writers finding their character.

From almost four hundred at their peak in the 1960’s, sadly there are now fewer than thirty remaining, as commercialism and expansion dominated the city of Bombay. Dishoom draws on the heritage of these cafés, with their all-day menu paying homage to the food of Bombay and they are keen to capture some part of this disappearing tradition, and share it with us hungry Londoners. Dishoom's Chowpatty Beach bar sprung up on the South Bank from May to October 2011, closely followed by a second café in Shoreditch in October 2011.

रंगमंच सजावट

So, back to the other bustling city of London. On entering Dishoom, pow, your senses are immediately awakened, in an exhilarating way instead of a great big in-your-face kind of way. The decor is striking with rich panelled floors, fans whirling slowly to cool the sizzling air and sepia photos of ancestors and Bombay starlets in wooden frames adorning pistachio brick walls. This creates a sensational visual display and each tells a fascinating story of its own. The restaurant is classy and stylish, and although the queue and hard-to-get-a-table offers a sense of exclusivity, Dishoom manages to do what other modern restaurants can often fail - make you feel welcome and part of a big gang of mates rather than grateful to be there, and the faded elegance welcomes all. Your mates for the night are a mixture of hot young things, distinguished ladies and gentleman, chattering friends, and chic couples and Marcus Wareing was dining on the night, which was a very good sign. Yet, there's no snobbery here. Dishoom could afford to be a bit sniffy if it jolly well felt like it but instead it doesn't take itself too seriously or compromise on its values, instead treating you like a long-lost friend come round for tea.

The toilets are a sight to behold. Yes, I did say the toilets. Although I cannot speak confidently about the gents (that would be weird), the ladies' loo has huge pictures of the champion Parsi body builders from the 1960s and vintage Indian toiletries in medicine cabinets provide a point of interest, and charm, while you, ahem, go on with your business.

पेय

I had vowed to stay firmly on the wagon the night I visited, but the Dishoom cocktail menu laughed heartily in the face of my abstinence. They could see right through me; they knew my game and that I am partial to a tipple or two. Before I had the chance to feebly make my excuses, I found myself with a flute of the delicious BollyBellini in my hand, and disappointed I was not. With sweet raspberries and lychees, fragrant rose and cardamom topped off with sparkling first-class Prosecco it was a bellini to be reckoned with. The menu describes it as a very pretty missy and pretty it was, although I fear after one too many of these easily drinkable delights this here blogger would not be a pretty missy, rather a shouty and dancing mess.

अन्न

Enough of the decor and the loo's and my unnecessary tales of tipsiness. It is, of course, the food you are clamouring to know about and my goodness, it does not disappoint. At Dishoom the menu is easy, welcoming and not too try-hard, with distinct strong flavours, tasty marinades and food that gives the impression it is created using good, quality produce. The all-day café menu takes inspiration from the food of Bombay. Our waiter, the very amiable Keith, encouraged us to order a number of small dishes and share the feast among ourselves and we took his very sound advice. We started with some Far Far, described on the menu as a carnival of snackery, which were like a salty, lemony, crisp-popadum hybrid that conjured up memories from our childhood.

Being a vegetarian, for once, is advantageous in Dishoom as it caters so well but it does not discriminate against carnivores. Fellow meaty diners tucked in to a number of Grills on offer, including Spicy Lamb Chops marinated in lime juice, ginger, warm dark spices and jaggery - a traditional uncentrifuged sugar consumed in Asia and Africa. The Bhel was heartily recommended - puffed rice, the infamous Bombay Mix and savoury nylon sev, all tossed beautifully with fresh pomegranate, tomato, onion and lime, tamarind and mint that worked together so harmoniously.

The Ruby Murray's were tasty and satisfying - including a silky Chicken Ruby and as someone who never really felt like cheese with my ruby, I am now a Paneer devotee, thanks to Dishoom's Paneer Tikka, marinated and then gently charred with red and green capsicums.  I'll let you discover the rest of the main menu for yourself, but DO NOT leave Dishoom without gobbling greedily the Gunpowder Potatoes - spuds in brown skins, smoky-grilled and tumbled seductively with butter, green herbs and crushed aromatic seeds. You'll finish them, look around sheepishly and think to yourself, will I look like a gluttonous pig if I suggest ordering one more portion? before going ahead and ordering unabashedly anyway.

Leave room for dessert but if your belly is bursting, attempt to share with friends. We shared the Kala Khatta Gola Ice, and before tucking in were warned that the first spoonful tastes bizarre, the second is captivating, and we unanimously agreed. Fluffy flakes of ice soaked gloriously in kokum fruit syrup, blueberries, chilli, lime and white and black salt - this was more than a palate cleanser, it was a powerful taste explosion in your mouth with a huge kick. It had mojo.

सोटा

Staff are attentive, knowledgable and so affable by the end of the night high on spice and life and one too many BollyBellini's you find yourself wanting to stay in touch, have a beer, swap email addresses etc but thank goodness you stop embarrassing yourself. Our waiter Keith was a gem - he knew the menu inside out, stopped us over ordering unnecessarily and was there with spare napkins and cutlery before we even realised we were without.

My initial dealings with Dishoom were by email, as an enquiring and humble blogger, with the fantastic Tom, Dishoom's Marketing-wallah and Dipak, Reservations-wallah, both absolutely top blokes. They shared with me proudly that Dishoom freely admit to having a sentimental side (too much Bollywood), and they love to see a birthday party celebrated well - that is, starting with something spicy, and ending with singing and dancing. How could anyone resist that?

So, to summarise Dishoom in my opinion it is slicker than your average. It is wallet and taste-bud friendly and serves fresh, modern indian food in a stylish, buzzing and beautiful place. The decor is gorgeously kitsch and ornate and the beautiful magentas, teals and vintage artwork is right up my street. The service is impeccable - from the initial chai in the queue, from entrance to bar to table and everything in between, and combined with the food this gives everything an impeccable, flawless finish. We were treated like VIPs, but with just the right amount of fuss.

Delectable Dishoom, you are vibrant, you have swagger. I cannot wait to see you and your mojo again soon, if you will have me.

DISHOOM

Dishoom Shoreditch – 7 Boundary Street, London E2 7JE

Dishoom Covent Garden – 12 Upper St. Martin’s Lane, London WC2H 9FB

www.dishoom.com

Become a Facebook Dishoom-wallah for news, events, gifts and suchlike: www.facebook.com/dishoomlondon

Follow us on Twitter – we're quite random: www.twitter.com/dishoom

 

 

Woolfson & Tay and loving independent bookshops

Books Are My Bag is the biggest ever campaign for bookshops – running right up until Christmas 2013 - and encourages all those who love books - like, real books you can actually hold in your hands where the words within are served on delicious paper - to share your book-love by visiting your local bookshop. This is, of course, the best place to connect with books, where you can see them, smell and touch them, and maybe event talk about them with people who care as much as you do. Regular readers of Material Whirl may recall I recently wrote about this subject here. I like books, and I like talking about them.

So I am always pleased to discover a brilliant bookshop that feeds my greedy book-love. Enter Woolfson & Tay, a stylish independent bookshop, café and gift shop a stone’s throw away from Southwark tube on the famous orange lamppost route in Bankside. Tucked discreetly away from the bustling commotion of  the South Bank, this is a great place to grab a coffee and while away an afternoon with only your favourite novel and a latte for company

Now I am a great lover of a secondhand bookshop but, to be absolutely clear, this is no antiquarian hangout. Instead, you will find an elegant and carefully selected range of crisp, new titles from the latest modern fiction to vintage classics – all with that intoxicating newly printed smell. The shelves are lined neatly with an impressive range of books that have been on your must-read list for as long as you can remember. This is a place to stop, slow down, take a breath. You can browse and select in your own time, and I think you will agree there is something rather beautiful about actually holding a book; reading the back page synopsis and absorbing its cover rather than scrolling aimlessly down a screen of images.

You'll find more on the menu at Woolfson & Tay than just sumptuous books. There are author talks and performances, events such as 'The Sunday Record' and tai chi classes and workshops. A homemade Asian lunch is available from Monday to Friday - a sample menu includes Fried Tofu Squares in Sweet Sour Soy Tamarind Sauce, with side of Asian Salad in Wasabe-Miso Sesame Dressing and Nasi Lemak with Malaysian Chicken Curry - as well as an eclectic mix of tea, coffee and cakes. Yum. The gifts and cards are stylish and unique and I guarantee your friends will love you if you purchase something special for them from here.

What gives this indie bookshop even more of an edge is the fact that it is independent. It contains real people and real books and it is right here, right now on your local street. So as well as enjoying the creative space you can feel content knowing you have done a good deed for the day – supporting your local community with every flick of the page and sip of hot, strong coffee.

Woolfson & Tay is situated on the charmingly named Bear Lane. Grab a hot drink and a window seat for ample opportunity to watch Bankside go by – office workers grabbing a lunchtime pint at The White Bear, actors on their way to Jerwood Space, tourists on their way down to the river. This could well be your dream indie bookshop in South London.

Check it out.

http://www.woolfsonandtay.com

http://www.booksaremybag.com

http://www.indieboundbookrecommendations.co.uk

http://www.booksellers.org.uk

I can watch a sunset on my own

Watching me like you never watch no one

Don't tell me that you didn't try and check out my bum 

Cause I know that you did

Cause your friend told me that you liked it. 

Any song whose opening lyrics include the word 'bum' and where the underpinning theme is heartbroken defiance rather than sentimental longing is a winner in my humble opinion. For those who are unacquainted with this piece of music, it's Merry Happy by Kate Nash and I think you should have a listen.

Merry Happy was the fifth song from Nash's number one album Made of Bricks and was released in March 2008. Although not commercially successful, I loved it immediately. Listening to it now catapults me straight back to my time in Australia and gives me a bit of a funny feeling in my tummy, a combination of nostalgia, excitement and poignancy. At the end of 2007, I was a pale Pom wandering around Sydney aimlessly, dazzled by the sights, and trying to work where on earth I should begin my antipodean adventure. All the while missing Blighty quite a bit.

I purchased Made of Bricks with my first temp job pay and played it to death on a clunky, tinny CD player bought from Target. Clad in beautiful tea dresses and chunky heels and with a fiery flow of auburn hair, Nash's indie pop/rock/punk style really resonated with me. Her cockneyfied vocals, perky piano riffs and discernibly enunciated lyrics was like a home from home for me.  Her prose was chirpy and kooky, with references to cups of tea, CSI, mates who are fitter (and birds pooping on your head) and brought a taste of London Town to my little room in Darlinghurst.

I went to see Nash at Oxford Art Factory in Paddington, Sydney with my sister in the new year of 2008. She was engaging, hilarious and belted out some brilliant tunes.  However, a quick Google search will leave you in no doubt that Nash's work is not everyone's cup of tea, and  often polarises opinion.

Yet for those who've had their heart yanked out, stamped on and displayed for all to see either now or in a past life, then Merry Happy is the song for you. It's a great big potent tonic. It laughs in the face of heartbreak, of silly boys who muck you about and don't want to stick around. It piddles all over the belief that you are supposed to be a total wreck when you have been unceremoniously dumped and shows you that actually, you can  be quite alright, thank you. It persuades you to go away, find yourself, take a deep breath and laugh. Dance at discos, eat cheese on toast - do whatever you can to be, well, just you.

Listening to this song steadies me during wobbly moments, makes me smile, conjures up images of being alone somewhere far, far away on my own and not being in the least bit scared. It invigorates me and makes me feel I can do anything if I give it a bloody good go. It is defiance and hope with an accompanying piano and a cheeky grin.

Go find your sunset.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Zdi2IF5ezw&w=420&h=315]

Revenge Wears Prada

Tonight Material Whirl had the honour of attending a very special Q&A with Lauren Weisberger, the author of The Devil Wears Prada that was made into a $27 million-grossing smash-hit film starring Anne Hathaway, Meryl Streep, Emily Blunt and the fabulous Stanley Tucci to name but a few.

I had won a prize via Grazia magazine to be part of an audience at the very glamorous Charlotte Street Hotel to listen to Weisberger being interviewed by Decca Aitkenhead of The Guardian. She has penned a sequel, Revenge Wears Prada, and I was curious to discover her motivation for bringing the marvellously monstrous Miranda Priestly back into our lives, immortalised so skilfully by Streep. Oh, how I had missed her.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4MqiHurbexE]

It's hard to believe but Weisberger wrote The Devil Wears Prada ten years ago. Where on earth have those years gone? She wrote the book at the very impressive age of 24, a year after working as an assistant to the legendary Anna Wintour, Editor-in-Chief of the gigantic US Vogue. She admits that she never envisaged that the novel she started in a writing class would be turned into a book, let alone a phenomenally successful one. This is the stuff that dreams are made of.

We were skilfully taken by Aitkenhead on an interesting journey with the very unpretentious and self-deprecating Weisberger, who seemed very at ease and definitely the kind of girl you could go and have a beer with. She revealed she remains both fascinated and traumatised by her time at Vogue, and who can blame her? When asked what advice she would give to those who read The Devil Wears Prada and still want to go into fashion, she replied 'Read it again'!

From a career perspective, Weisberger said that she loved the writing aspect of being at Vogue, although more the travel and food and less the fashion, and gave some very useful career advice for anyone who had ever worked for shall we say, a challenging boss - work hard and keep at it, it may be painful now but it might only be for a short time and you'll soon move ahead. With the devilish Miranda in mind, when asked what she herself is like as an employer, she joked that she spends a great deal of time trying to get her team to love her. She also emphasised that it is mandatory to be successful and kind, and in real life it is possible to be a decent human being and good at what you do. Some very useful advice and one a lot of successful women could do with taking note of.

She remained very gracious when asked for an insight into life behind Vogue's glamorous doors and would not be drawn into revealing anything defamatory about Ms Wintour herself. Instead she hinted that the 24-hour nature of the role was crazy with lots of things required THIS SECOND or face dire consequences, but admitted this was not particular to that one office. She also lightheartedly revealed that when she made the decision to leave the assistant role, she had to work up the nerve to approach Wintour, explaining 'you don't approach Anna. She approaches you'. Wintour though politely thanked her for her help and Weisberger admitted there was no huge dramatic ending as there was a modicum of civility to maintain. Interestingly, she also described how working for Vogue meant a complete immersion into that one environment and nothing else, which was even more apparent years later when she watched The September Issue (which she felt was more about Grace's story) and realised she had no idea how talented Coddington actually was.

Weisberger was funny and incredibly down to earth and at the end of the Q&A there was the chance to meet her and come away with her new book signed. We had a brief chat, she was very friendly and I plucked up the courage to ask for a photo to accompany this here blog post, which she happily agreed to. Unfortunately my plans were scuppered at the last second, as the Grazia team said they had to be the bad guys and ask for no photos due to the every growing queue of people waiting to meet her. They weren't the bad guys at all, on the contrary, they were lovely.

I found myself in a great audience of interesting, friendly and stylish women and as I made my way home through London town, goodie bag in tow, I felt inspired and motivated to keep writing and to keep on working hard, no matter what the circumstances.

In the words of the unforgettable Miranda Priestly and with a dismissive hand gesture to go with it, That's all.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3a5BsmxNJ0]

Revenge Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger is out now (Simon & Schuster, £14) from all good independent book shops.

Honey & Co. Restaurant

One of the many wonderful things about London is the huge number of places to get really great food. You can take your pick from fancy restaurant, trendy street food van, greasy spoon or the latest pop-up  in a park (or car park). However, with such a wide choice of cuisine and quality, and a fluctuating bank account if the truth be told, sometimes it can be impossible to find something that's really worth the money and provides a memorable experience - food that tantalises your taste buds but doesn't break the bank, and transports you to another time and location.

Then I found Honey & Co.

Honey & Co. is a gem tucked away in Fitzrovia that serves incredible food from the Middle East. The surrounding neighbourhood offers a plenitude of trendy restaurants and proper London boozers packed to the rafters, but it is this sweet restaurant I would visit time and time again.

It may serve exotic and flavoursome food, but the decor is simple and pretty. The clean white walls and subtle spotlights encourage the bright colours of the food and red wine to really pop and also showcase the intricately tiled indigo floor. Candles in deep magenta holders burn brightly, yellow flowers in food cans from far flung places places bloom cheerfully and crimson pomegranates fill big bronze bowls. White shelves are lined neatly with delicious homemade delights you can take away - from citrine preserved lemons to candy pink-labelled bottles of rosewater.

The food is stunning and gorgeously comforting. I would wholeheartedly recommend the Luxury Meze as a starter to share - little portions packed full of flavour that deliver a taste of heaven with each mouthful. The meze includes homemade pickles and juicy kalamata olives, marinated salty feta and homemade rustic hummus with spiced lamb (or without if you are a veggie, like me) and Alexandria style falafel with green tahini - all so deliciously satisfying you are nearly defeated at the first course. Main courses though are equally as impressive; I had the Lebanese Moussaka created with baked violet aubergines in a rich tomato sauce and gooey goats cheese and my dining partner had the Lamb, Chard and Chickpea Stew with cumin, lemon and yoghurt to delight his palate. Homemade cakes and pastries glisten temptingly on the counter, but it is hard to find room. I don't think it will be long though before the orange blossom cake seduces me.

The service is warm, cheerful and friendly and although the restaurant can be described as compact and intimate, this only adds to the appeal. The last time I visited with my husband, we chatted away to our fellow diners over strong, bitter coffee and left saying a warm goodbye to our new friends.

Dining at Honey & Co. is like experiencing the sights, sounds, and intoxicating scents of the Middle East - then stepping out of the door and boom, there in all its majesty is London Town.

What could possibly be sweeter than that?

God's Own Junkyard

Wandering home this weekend after bank holiday brunch on Wood Street (Lot 107, highly recommended), my husband and I took a detour along Vallentin Road to get to Walthamstow Village -  and thank God's Own Junkyard we did.

Set against a blue cloudy sky and peeking over the top of some spiky barbed wire was a white sign emblazoned with these three intriguing words. I couldn't resist a peek through a gap in the fence and my brain failed to compute what my eyes were showing me - a heap of unlit neon signs, discarded lightbulb alphabet letters, and huge great circus wheels adorned with half-naked showgirls. Blue cows, vintage signs, gargantuan fluorescent shoes and a life-size Jesus himself with a beaming neon halo. It was like trespassing on an empty film set when shooting has wrapped and all the actors have gone back to their trailers. If this scrapyard was a scene in CSI Las Vegas, you can bet your casino winnings that a dead body would show up here.

It was eerie, almost apocalyptic but absolutely fascinating. I knew immediately we had discovered something extraordinary.

Walking inside God's Own Junkyard's pop-up space is a feast for the visual senses and it is so scintillating it literally stops you in your tracks. There is nothing sombre here - instead kitsch, neon signs and light sculptures adorn every wall, prop up chairs or lean gracefully against each other in blazing harmony. Also on display are old movie props, fairground and circus offcuts and architectural sign salvage.

This is the base for London-based light artist Chris Bracey, known as the 'Neon Man' and famous for over thirty years for creating iconic art pieces and installations for a dazzling list of high-profile clients such as Stella McCartney, Vivienne Westwood and David LaChapelle. He has a huge cult following in London and Los Angeles and is famous for neonising Gotham City, creating the Metropolis in Superman (in the original Superman movie the baby placed in the spaceship by Marlon Brando is his son) and providing the amazing backdrop for Willy Wonka's Factory for Tim Burton. He first got into the business in the 1970s when he started making signs for Soho's seedy sex industry including the infamous GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS sign outside The Pink Pussycat Club.

Chris creates and installs instantly recognisable signs that have appeared behind some of the world's greatest stars.When filming is over he also salvages unwanted and unloved neons and bulb icons before they disappear forever and then they are 'repaired and resurrected, coupled with quirky art and powered up to shine like jewels of light'.

He has a number of celebrity clients including Jude Law, Kate Moss and Jamie Oliver. His iconic work for popular culture includes creating powerful imagery for fashion shoots, bringing a sense of glamour and luxury. Recent work includes the lightning bolt for David Bowie's Exhibition at the V&A Museum, a neon Union Jack installation for Kate Moss in the new Rimmel advert and an installation for Jay Z's Roc Nation. He also produced work for the great David LaChapelle for his controversial and fabulous 'Vegas Supernova' window display for Selfridges in 2005.

We over stayed our visit at God's Own Junkyard - it was difficult to escape the pull of this dazzling and phosphorescent fantasy world and leave hyper-reality, and we reluctantly left already planning when we could come again (and if it would be feasible to re-mortgage our house, or rob a bank, to purchase our own neon collectible). At the very least I will be checking out his new solo exhibition at Scream from 12th April.

This is AwesomeStow at its best. I strongly encourage you to visit God's Own Junkyard - where neon never dies.

Gods Own Junkyard

Contact: Chris Bracey

Tel: 020 8521 8066

97 Vallentin Road, London E17 3JJ

www.godsownjunkyard.co.uk

https://twitter.com/GodsOwnJunkyard

Tube, Happy 150th Birthday to you

Londoners have a love-hate relationship with the Tube. Personally, I couldn't live without it - it gets me to work, prevents me from making excuses to go to the gym, and transports me to so many cool places in and around town. Plus, it is always warm (I try to forget this is unnatural and a bit germy). It is also creaky, susceptible to major delays and 'signal failures' and packed to the rafters from Monday-Sunday whether rush or non-rush hour. Annoying.

That said, most people love the Tube and simply could not do without her. Londoners are a friendly bunch and genuinely love tourists who want to experience our great city, but we also, ahem, get a little impatient with Tube amateurs.

So, here is my quick guide for http://www.true-london.com/ on how to use the Tube like a True Londoner - and survive.

http://www.true-london.com/2013/how-to-use-the-tube-like-a-true-londoner/