The Auld Shillelagh

Stoke Newington Church Street, N16

This used to be my favourite pub in North London but I haven't been in for a while. I must be getting old because the ruralesque walk around Clissold Park at night doesn't seem as appealing as it once did.

I was there with old friends from the Real Psychic Genius Football Prediction Society. The Shillelagh is really our spiritual home but we now tend to wander a bit down the road to the Rose & Crown, where the music isn't loud and there's lots of space for assorted fortysomethings to shuffle around slowly. Leeds v Spurs was on the telly. I picked a famously unlucky seat - where I had watched England lose to Brazil in the 2002 World Cup and from where countless times I'd seen Ireland throw away the lead in the last minute in qualifiers. It didn't disappoint. Leeds lost. But the Guinness was as good as ever and there's still a good mix of old and young drinking away. One big change is last orders which is now an orthodox 11-ish rather than four in the morning. But I suppose that's progress. As my wife said when I rolled in, last orders was invented for people like me who need authority figures such as barmaids to tell them what to do.

Clissold Park/Narnia Crossover

  Last week, as I tramped happily around in the snow, it occurred to me that in The Lion The Witch And The Wardrobe, CS Lewis created Narnia as a methaphor for Clissold Park in Stoke Newington. The gap in the fence on Church Street is the magical entrance to this world, certainly after pub closing time at any rate. Aslan the Lion represents the old bowling green.  It's got old lamp posts, deer, an old house.  Did CS Lewis spend a lot of time in Stoke Newington and are any of his other books about the area? A Horse and His Boy could be about the Lea Valley Riding School. Prince Caspian surely refers to that gastropub on Kynaston Road. The Last Battle might be a sly comment about the anti-bendy bus movement on Church Street.

Maybe this theory needs a bit more work.

Urban Tractor Scene

Sitting at a bus stop on Stoke Newington Church Street I heard a sound both familiar yet strange. In the midst of the normal sounds of the city - police sirens, buses, cars, motorbikes, car alarms, roadworks -  came a low rumbling engine rasp. Then, chugging slowly from Green Lanes, along came a weather beaten John Deer tractor, pulling some kind of plough/rake contraption. It carried on towards Albion Road then disappeared into the centre of Stoke Newington. 

Is this now the fashionable drive of choice for the smart Stokeyites?

Talking with The Dog People

While the numbers of Dog People frequenting Clissold Park has grown enormously over the past few years, one of the things that hasn't changed is their inability to 'see' normal humans. I have always been able to walk amongst them, seemingly invisible, without so much as a glance. I could have marched into the middle of a group of them and emptied a bag of Winalot on their heads and they wouldn't have noticed.

This week, because  our neighbour is poorly, I've been walking her dog most days (breed? Er, it's a little brown dog that looks uncannily like Robin Smith the late Labour MP)  and today we ventured into the park. I wasn't in twenty seconds when two Dog People approached me, smiling in a strange friendly way.

"Hello!" one of them said. Was she talking to me? I must have looked startled.

"He looks like he needs a good run!" beamed her friend.

"Aren't you going to let him off his lead?"

"He's very friendly!"

Their eye contact was unbearably intense. I didn't dare let him run free yet, I said. But if I let go of the lead perhaps I would become invisible again. Most likely the effects of the dog wear off over time. Luckily I was pushing a pram with the other hand and my son was able to get me out of danger by crying. 

The Liquorice Tree

Between two smallish trees in Clissold Park there is a long length of red twine that somebody (conceptual nature artist or mischievous kitten with a ball of wool) has wrapped round and round many times. It's saying "we are connected in ways that we don't fully understand". It's also saying "imagine a world where red licorice grows from the trees. Yum!" It might also be an advert for the wool shop on Blackstock Road. Or perhaps it's saying "look how fragile is mortality" or "look how fragile is the Arsenal back four when a ball is played over the top".

Goodbye Football Tree

A while ago (I can't remember - was it three years or six months?) a wicker sculpture was placed on top of the remains of one of the old trees that had died after the 2003 drought. It seemed to be saying that the tree could continue to have a life after it had died.

Every day my two year old son and I walk through Clissold Park and go up to touch the Football Tree.

"Football Tree!" my son will say. We'll then both have a quiet think about how great football and trees are, and walk on.

But the Football Tree is no more. The other morning as we approached it as part of our daily pilgrimage, we saw the wicker sphere lying smashed on the ground. Next to it was an iron pole, part of a nearby fairground display. Still fresh in the air was the sense that someone had decided that good stuff was rubbish and had to be ruined. Was this part of the artist's planned trajectory for the sculpture - to hire a gang of bored and drunk idiots to destroy it?

My son said he wanted to fix the football tree. I told him that it couldn't be fixed because it was a metaphor for the world's problems. Or the problems of bored and drunk idiots hanging around in parks at night. Or the England football team's problems. Or the problems of sentimentalising outdoor installation sculpture

Clissold Park Bowling Green Martial Arts Society

The old bowling green in Clissold Park has recently become a martial arts zone. Of particular interest is the modern hybrid form practiced by two white-tracksuited youngsters. It looks to be a combination of tai chi, judo, robotic dancing and generally hanging around looking bored. Quite how this form would fair in straight combat is hard to say, though the bright white robes/shellsuits might be off-putting enough to an attacker for the martial artists to leg it in the other direction.

Goodbye cherry blossom

The cherry blossom of Kingsbridge House, on Lordship Road, has gone, blown in the wind towards Seven Sisters Road. Up there amid the concrete they would have been greedily awaiting the annual visit of the pale pink swarms. The wind also trapped a red plastic kite in the branches of a Clissold Park plane tree, like a sliver of raw flesh hanging on thin ribs.

My kids find more blossom at the side of the road on Grazebrook. I explain that it's probably 40% dog urine but they don't care, and run down the path with it, letting it fly out of their hands behind them.

Golden skies over Holloway

The daffodils are out in Clissold Park. Squat dogs round and through them.
"Kaiser! Butch! Over here!" shouts an angry looking man with little hair. The sky over Lower Holloway is golden but greyness is descending as the wind picks up. A blue plastic bag joins us on our walk and keeps pace for a while before blowing up into the branches of a tree.

Return of the Dog People

The Dog People of Clissold Park  have been growing in number since the end of the summer. Now they are all over the park, hanging around in factions. Today the weather was bad and for some reason two of the Dog People factions had decided to face off on the footpath at the north east corner of the park. There were around 30 dogs in all, covered in mud, racing around happily. But the Dog People didn't look happy. They all just stared off into the mid-distance at the other Dog People faction as if to say "they don't know ANYTHING about dogs". Now and then someone would chat, probably about dog biscuits or flea powder. Then they'd carry on staring.

These are tense days in Clissold Park.

Magpies - saluting and de-saluting

This morning I saw a magpie and, without thinking, saluted it. "Good morning Mr Magpie!"

Then another magpie appeared from behind a tree trunk and I realised they were a pair. And I attempted to de-salute the first magpie. But it's tricky. How does one do this? It's obviously some kind of uninstall procedure. But do you say the words backwards? Or do you explain in depth to the magpie that you are taking back your greeting? Or do you let the greeting stand?

Trouble was, I wasn't wearing my glasses. As I got closer I realised they weren't magpies but rooks.

Action points: Attempt to access rational brain. Get eyes tested.

Trying to picture London: the bowling green in Clissold Park

Today I'm trying to picture London. It's now almost 6 months since we left and images are obviously in the process of being moved from short to long-term memory tanks, because I can't see them. To compensate I've been flicking through Wonderful London (Ed. St. John Adcock), a three volume set from 1926. This is the bowling green before it stopped being a bowling green and became an teen alcopops awareness centre. If this picture was taken now there'd be a mad-looking bloke with a bull terrier striding towards the camera shouting obscenities.

The text with the photo says:

"STOKE NEWINGTON IN SUMMER-TIME: THE BOWLING GREEN AT CLISSOLD PARK
A long journey through the dreary Kingsland Road and on through Stoke Newington brings one to Church Street, a curious survival in the surrounding villadom. There are old houses and a small sixteenth-century church, mellow with years, and farther on the fifty-two green acres of Clissold Park, through whose ordered lawns runs the New River. Beyond the bowling green is the spire of the modern parish church, built by Sir Gilbert Scott to replace the old one which was put up when the congregation was that of a country village."

Don't know about the copyright situation with pics like this. The photo was credited to someone called McLeish.

Kestrel Dowsing Overview

This afternoon I spotted a can of Kestrel Super K on the route of the lost Hackney Brook. I've noticed over the last few months that Super K has been making inroads into the Clissold Park scene (formerly a Tennants Super hotspot). I would have done some compass readings from where the can lay, but I was in character - I was King of the Dragon Pirates and we were escaping to Narnia via the track on the north side of Clissold Park, being chased by Giant Pirates. Giant Pirates are bad and Dragon Pirates are, generally, thought to be good - at least in the world of 6 and 3 year olds.)

You had to be there.

The Stone

As I was flicking through the Stoke Newington OS map from 1868 (it's a gripping read) I noticed that, north of the avenue and embankment that was once the New River, was a stone. No other explanation. Just "stone". Was it a milestone, like the one on the bend of the New River near St Mary's church? Maybe this is the same stone and it was moved into an enclosed area for safe keeping. Or was the "stone" something else, something older still? Like a neolithic marker which, though long gone, still gives off a strange magnetic pull that attracts summertime frisbee throwers and the Turkish football team (it's near the spot where they do their windsprints).

There must be a historian around who knows these things, some Professor of Invisible Ancient Stones of North London at University College.

Clissold Park Chainsaw Massacre

Another of the ancient horse chestnuts in the south western sector of Clissold Park, probable remnants of the old Newington Common, has been cut down. I asked one of the rangers why so many of the trees in this area were dying - was it something to do with the fair, which visits two or three times a year and always in the same spot. Perhaps some of the chemicals used in the candy floss making process have been leeching into the soil? Or is it connected to the groundwater problems in this bit of the park? The ranger said that he had wondered about the fair (though not the candy floss connection).

Old Tree's Time Has Come

More old trees in Clissold Park are being cut down. Some of the gnarled horse chestnut trees in the south west corner have seemingy died in the last year and spent the summer without leaves. Now they wear an X and wait for the chainsaw. Two came down last week and another three will soon follow. One of them has purple rangs tied around various branches in some kind of North London tribute the the 70s song 'Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round The Old Oak Tree'. But everyone fears that the oldest and most beautiful tree, on a little mound in the middle of the park, will soon be firewood.

Old St. Mary's Kestrel Connection

The little Hawthorne bush that nestles into an eastern corner of Old St Mary's Church is covered in bright red berries. Beneath it is a sign of local druid activity - a can of Kestrel Superbrew.

Saluting magpies on a sunny morning

"Hello Mr Magpie!" I whispered, as I reached the north eastern sector of Clissold Park. Why do I do this? I used to think it was kind of commercial TV brainwashing from the 1970s kids show (Magpie was presented by ex-hippies). But apparently it goes back even further than the 70s, to our fear of the devil or some celtic deity.

Some interpretations of the myth
here.

However, I'm convinced that it's something to do with leprechauns.

Fading leaves

Yet another of the old horse chestnut trees in Clissold Park is starting to peg out. On the south side, near the route of the buried New River, this tree always dominated that section of the park. Now, though, while the sides of the tree are still verdant and healthy, the whole middle part appears to be dying - the leaves are thin or non-extistent. It looks like it's had a monk's haircut. It's a Ralph Coates tree - actually, a Terry Mancini tree would be a more accurate description. Other old trees in that part of the park - I think the former Newington Common - seem to be on their last legs as well. Is this anything to do with the work to reduce the groundwater in the area? Maybe the trees liked it when it was boggy round there.

Compost in my rucksack

A hike through Clissold Park with the rucksack to buy compost at the garden shop. The fences have finally been taken up on the top fields of the park and been rolled up into little biscuit shapes. It's like a reference to the round hay bales I used to see dotted around the countryside as a kid. The middle aged bloke behind the counter starts telling me about Hull City's promotion and when he hears I'm a Leeds fan he talks about their downfall being down to the change from fast midfield running to a slow passing European style game. He looks like Ena Sharples' older brother.

"North, south, east or west - it doesn't matter where you plant stuff. If you want it to grow, it'll grow."