Some days I don’t have much time to blog, and this is one of those. The sky is blue, the parrots outside the window are screaming, the rats below it (they’re repairing the sewer and at night I’ve been watching buggers the size of cats scuttle about) have gone to bed and I’m scribbling notes for a new book before meetings take me around town in BCN (see what I did there? Rule 16 from ‘Why My Friends Are Not Entirely Normal).
So here’s the best shop I’ve found this week – a treasure trove of reconditioned clocks, accordions, rare books, lamps, stoves and a million oddities so crammed together that browsing is a challenge – and I get the feeling that the owner doesn’t want to sell anything, like Peter Cushing in ‘From Beyond The Grave’.
And the worst public sculpture I’ve ever seen, one of several excrescences from my old friends Camden Council, known locally by the poor sods who have to live near it as a ‘ground fart’. I think this actually steals the crown from St Pancras’s appalling ‘The Kiss’, which is almost beloved for being London’s nastiest statue.