Getting up at 5.30 in the morning, and on a Saturday morning at that, isn’t usually my idea of a good time. My drive through the empty streets of the East End is eerie and somber. A hoary drunk props up a bus stop. The last of the morning mist clings to the Limehouse canal known, with Ripperesque undercurrent, as The Cut. A gull squawks and hovers overhead; the city, at the cusp of day and night, is taking a breather.

As I step out of the car, a bitter spring wind howls straight from Norway, over the flyover on the A1261 and up my sweater. Small sacrifices. I’m hunting the freshest fish in London, at Billingsgate Market, which has already closed by the time any advanced civilization is eating breakfast.

Read the rest at Perceptive Travel

Gordon Ramsay’s York and Albany, 127–129 Parkway, Camden, London NW1

Tel. 020 7388 3344

Set lunch menu: £18

Main courses: £14–18

There are many Saturdays when I can’t afford to lunch at a Gordon Ramsay restaurant, and last Saturday was yet another of those. Because, and let’s get this straight up-front, the York and Albany isn’t a Gordon Ramsay restaurant. Not really. The “Patron Chef” is Angela Hartnett, Ramsay’s talented right-hand-cook, but quite what an Executive/Patron Chef actually does isn’t always clear to me. I picture her getting a menu faxed through every now and then, scrawling “fine” on the bottom and faxing it back to Head Chef, Colin Buchan. But then I’m a cynic.

Chicken with foie gras and chicken liver parfait

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It costs me about £25–30 in petrol to drive the 55 miles from my home in Hackney to Brighton, and the same 55 back again. First Capital Connect is asking north of £90 for a return ticket for our family this weekend, starting from London Bridge. So if there’s a traffic jam on the northbound M23 this Sunday evening (inevitable), you can blame me.

If I lived in Florence, a family return trip of similar length to Livorno (birthplace of the PCI, home of the cacciucco) comes to about €33. From Brussels, a weekend rail trip to Bruges, 90km away, would cost us just over €49. A slightly longer journey in France, from Lyon to Chambery and back, comes to €59. [Read more →]

Not long after I moved to Hackney, I witnessed an armed robbery. From a range of about three feet, the fact that the robber was a crackhead was as obvious as the hammer and kitchen knife he was waving about.

A few years later, my partner and baby daughter were abducted outside my house. The guy, later convicted of kidnap and assault, was no Moriarty: he was in custody by nightfall. He was a known local crackhead.

Last month, a 27-year-old bloke had his phone stolen at knifepoint at 6pm in the next street to mine. A couple of days later Jamie Simpson, 33, was murdered for the day’s takings in my local Matalan. It would hardly be surprising if either or both attacks were drug-related. [Read more →]

Two stories from the afternoon of 11th September, 2001 that you won’t hear anywhere else.

1. I’m standing in Throgmorton Street with my face pressed against the glass of a private banking building. The TV in the corner opposite the reception desk shows the collapse of a tall grey structure. It’s the WTC, North Tower. The channel is Sky News. At the bottom of the screen the LSE stock ticker is scrolling. The prices are changing.

2. I’m in the mail room of Tower 42, the basement of the building formerly known as the NatWest Tower. It’s forty minutes later. Rumours are going around that several airliners are missing over the Atlantic, perhaps heading for London. The workers in the 183m of building above have been told to evacuate. To go home. “Why are you all still here,” I ask the postroom workers. “We’ve been told we have to stay.”

First published at The Sharpener.