SBR6
I lived on Southwark Bridge Road - SBR - for two years. It was loud, busy and almost always too hot for a coat. It was very expensive. I took these pictures on a Fujifilm X100F.
Home (1)
A wonderful house that could not be clean. Gaping floorboard gaps producing an unlimited amount of dust, mice and other matter. Those same floorboards were the judge, jury and executioner of every pair of socks I dared wear as I walked over them. People wanted to visit this house and it was a pleasure to have them. We hosted a cauliflower taco dinner party, prepared cheese boards with reckless abandon and served curry three ways at an ornament-themed house party. Elderly couples would often stop to remark at the signage above our home, a relic from its former life as a wardrobe shop. A younger audience would stare into our expansive front window to adjust their hair, awkwardly noticing my returning gaze only when it was too late. It was a bastard to heat in an era of gas price hysteria. This is the kind of house you dream about living in, and for a time, I did.
Baristas (2)
Baristas; they’re practically my friends. We laugh and I nervously shuffle my feet as they complain about the ULEZ. Most of them speak French so I pretend to. In this way I live and caffeinate and moving feels like going through a break up. Will they see other people?
Stay Trü (3)
Find yourself sober in Trü Chicken, during daylight hours, and you might reasonably become distracted by questions like “why is there an umlaut above the ‘u’?”. But find yourself drunk in Trü Chicken, after midnight, and you will feel a part of something quite magical. This restaurant (?) is as full of humanity as it is chicken. The staff take the range of drunken behaviour well within their stride and they nearly always laughed when I asked to “exercise my Mirinda rights” (if you don’t understand that joke, that’s okay!). I broke bread here with friends, lovers and strangers and very few of them dared to notice that I like to identify as vegetarian.
Market (4)
Borough Market was once the home of Bridget Jones and going to the pub there was a pleasant way to spend a Thursday evening or Sunday lunchtime. But its position on our doorstep never felt like a blessing. Tourists have an insatiable desire to pay restaurant prices to eat standing up and with cardboard forks and there is simply no better place in London, than Borough Market, to do it. It is exciting though. Walk in at the wrong angle and you end up on the wrong side of the Paella queue. At that stage all you can do is go home, you’ve been defeated. Eat humble pie? No, eat Humble Crumble.
Guinness (5)
Southwark and London Bridge are not short of pubs. We had three options depending on our situation. The Lord Clyde was the football pub. They serve Madri and don’t get grumpy if you only order a Diet Coke whilst the football is on. The Rose & Crown is the drinkers pub. With a hostel above and a rotating selection of IPAs, it is a great choice if you’re not sure where your date sits on the ‘boring to serial killer’ continuum. But the best of all is of course Mc&Sons. It’s a statement destination. Outside the gents is a signed letter from the White House. Whilst many pubs in London claim to serve the best Guinness, Mc&Sons actually does. And on Saturday’s a folk band plays.
Courage (6)
The familiar streets. The subtle moments of acknowledgement on the faces of those people you see around. The comfort blanket of an irrepressible hum. Tom Daley. The endless discounts on Sainbury’s cookies. “Take courage” said Southwark Bridge Road, when it was what I needed to hear.