Cycling up the canal, past broadway market, on a grey and drizzly afternoon, my flatmate and I are in search of towpath cafe. Some of the buildings behind Hoxton are really quite amazing. My head is filled with dreams of living in a studio, of freezing chills in the winter and compulsory mittens due to the lack of double glazing, and addition of high ceilings. It’s all very idealistic but if I’m honest, I like things to be comfortable. I’d bitch about the cold no end! But it’s nice to imagine myself working away at a massive desk, which fronts on to a great tall double hung weighted window. I can look out the window across the canal and the semi-industrial buildings to the cyclists and walkers going by. People on roof terraces.
We arrive at our location to find only shuttered doors to greet us; we’ve missed them for the day. ‘10am til dusk’ is a somewhat loose timeframe; depending on your idea of ‘dusk’.
We leave the towpath and head up de Beauvoir road to find Tina. Tina overlooks her subjects from some height. She rules with Victoria sponge and an iron fist. Her power is in her flat white microfoam and bonsoy selection. Tina's gilt-edged face is eyeing us...
Tina is a figurehead; a picture, rescued from a dusty thrift shop. But damn, she makes a good brew.
Cycle on to howl at the moon; plan for one drink; stay for 3. Stumble into a rugby fancy dress birthday party...stumble out again...roll down to the pizza shop after several ciders. Meet up with a friend in motherbar on old street and dance to dated hip-pop. Overheat, leave the club; fend off unwelcome drunken advances. Free my wheels from their chains and breeze down the road towards home, dodging the drunken east London hipsters all over the road.
It starts to rain on my face, and I smile.
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