I had another interesting night out yesterday evening, but not as interesting as it might have been, which is a good thing. At about four yesterday afternoon, I decided to go out for a walk. My friend chopper had been unwell, so I thought I’d swing round his to see how he was. He invited me inn, as usual, and then, to my surprise, asked if I wanted to go to Deptford. I hesitated to begin with – frankly, I had planned to have a long, lazy Sunday evening in front of the TV – but Deptford has a reputation which both scares and intrigues me. Besides, I was going with one of the hardest men in south London, or so he says.

So, my Walter Benjamin hat on, at about six yesterday evening we set off. It seemed quite a way, and the busses caused us a bit of trouble, but eventually we got to a pub called the black horse. My friend had made this place sound like a den of rogues and villains, but it seemed friendly enough. chopper said he’d been going there a long time, and he certainly seemed to be well known there. For my part, I was fascinated by the place: it seemed ancient – I guessed it had not been refitted in a century or so. People probably drank there to celebrate victory over napoleon, and I daresay probably used the same bar stools.

After we’d had a couple in the pub, we made for new cross through what seemed to be a very large housing estate. Now, I’m still pretty much a good little cripple from a fairly affluent part of a sleepy town in rural Cheshire, and I found that walk, in the half-light and drizzle, rather scary. Even chopper seemed somewhat on edge. The buildings looked new, and I think there had been recent attempts to renovate it, but something told me I definitely wasn’t in Kansas any more. The estate had the feeling of foreboding and menace, although it may just have been the half-light playing tricks on my imagination. Chopper popped in on his cousin who lived in one of the houses, and then we made our way home.

Clearly there is a lot of this city I have yet to see; Chopper says we will go to many more places, and, to be sure I can’t wait. But, as much as I now love London, it still feels ominous to me sometimes in a way I cannot really describe.