I found somewhere quite fascinating yesterday – a place I’ve been past many times on the bus, but had never explored. The north Greenwich peninsula is currently buzzing with building work, with modern, multi-story apartment blocks going up everywhere. These are snazzy, architecturally-designed buildings, giving the area an ultra-modern feel. Yet, amid all of this modernity is a lone row of nineteenth-century terraced houses, at the end of which stands The Pilot Inn. It’s as if it is a remnant of another era; a leftover from history. The juxtaposition with it’s modern surroundings was utterly striking: it does not really go. It felt like a part of a nineteenth century northern mining town had been lifted up and placed among the skyscrapers. Of course, if you go in to the inn, as Lyn and I did yesterday for a coke, you find a modern, well-kept bar, perfectly in keeping with the o2 just up the road; yet from the outside what was once a normal row of terraces, one among many in that area, now looks utterly at odds with it’s surroundings.