London A to Z Runs : J   3 comments

With no clue what to do for the “J” run of the A to Z, I decided to plot a path to pubs starting with J in some unfamiliar part of town.  What I found on the way was the ugly side of Jentrification (I know how it is really spelled) and an increasingly pale population of hipster Jackasses (and Jennies).

I take POETS day seriously, each week, and, since the bulk of the lab was also off to a pub crawl of their own, I slipped away early and caught the Jubilee line to Canada Water changing there for a train in the direction of Clapham Junction. Alighting the Overground at Peckham Rye Station (above) I felt quite at home as the neighbourhood seems almost indistinguishable from Kraaienest in the Bijlmer.  My first stop of the day, John the Unicorn, seemed to be the only storefront that wasn’t African, Middle Eastern, or sub-working-class British.  But, more on the bar in its write-up.

 

 

From Peckham, the route skirted the great Victorian Nunhead Cemetery including a massive hill climb (and descent).  The approach to the hill passed through some ever-less-bleak housing estates and I seemed less a prey creature than a predator by the time the population shifted to urban homesteaders wearing matching exercise gear and sipping Costa coffees.  Jesus-fucking-Christ.  I was slightly heartened to see a group of street drinkers as I headed up Brockley Road on the far side of the cemetery hill but was once more yuppied into a funk at Jam Circus (more on the bar in its write-up, to follow).

The third bar, the Job Centre in Deptford (on the Deptford High Street, above, which was once actually poor but now just ironically so — just enough to make the wealthy young residents feel edgy), was yet another hipster hangout, and, again, not a bad bar at all in-and-of itself but a harbinger of doom for this neighbourhood’s previous residents (more on the bar in its write-up, to follow).

 

 

So, maybe the theme for the day should have been Juvenile.  I boarded my train at New Cross station and glanced out the window to see some Jerks in their mid-20’s WITH A FUCKING FRISBEE.  No one over the age of 16 should ever touch a Frisbee (and even then they should be massive pot heads) except to throw it onto a roof or into some briars or over a fence protected by attack dogs or off a bridge or into a bonfire; no one who isn’t stoned to the gills and over the age of 14 should go anywhere near The Disc, for any reason.  But, there they were right out in public — in broad daylight! — and seemingly happy as larks.  I am depressed.

Yes, Juvenile was the order of things.  Those guys, the decor at Jam Circus, the beer choices, the babies (EVERYWHERE…FUCKING BABIES!) left me glad to get back to my awful neighbourhood in the suburbs where these ‘pioneers’ actually belong but where, at least, an adult beverage is meant for an adult palate.

Next time, the letter “K.”

 

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Posted April 9, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Running, Tourism

Tagged with , , ,

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