I don't regard it as turning my life around. I was in the middle of doing a philosophy degree at the time, and they kindly allowed me to return to finish it. Life continued much as it had before. The stigma of it always remains, however. There are several times, even quite recently, it has been used it to make prejudicial judgements about my character, regardless of how long ago it was.

*Postjudicial judgments

I get it. Too bad there's no such word.

Starting late is difficult, is the point I'm trying to make.

Your point is correct enough to be almost self-evident.

Brian doesn't appear to like whingers.

By coincidence, genetics, or that they had already survived years inside, most of the lifers I encountered were physically hard people. True hardness is a charisma; it is unmistakable, cannot be faked, and will reciprocate being left alone. Among those with this quality on my wing were Welsh Dave, Richie the mercenary, and Don, a thick-set, surly, silent character, whom one left alone. Don had a lifer friend from another wing, whose name I forget, but who was one of the nicest people I have ever met. He looked like some Hells Angels version of Freddie Mercury. The guards liked and respected him, you could tell, and even Don liked him. Not somebody you would want to get the wrong side of, which I wasn't about to. I was obviously some nerd, college kid. I say obviously, but at least two guards thought they recognised me from some previous, young offenders institute.

I knew Dave and Richie a bit. The worst and most defining aspect of prison was the sheer 24/7-ness of it, and I think they tolerated me because I had some representation of the outside world. So one morning, Don walks up and starts a conversation with me, informing me courteously that he killed someone from his estate in Birmingham with a sword twelve years ago, in a drug deal gone wrong, and what did I think about that? I don’t know. Murder is a crime we are all capable of, right?

True, but you aren't much of one.

I read somewhere that, in terms of the number of defendants, the trial I was involved in was the biggest conspiracy trial in British legal history. There were 41 defendants in total, split up into three separate trials. On my trial, the third, there were 14 defendants, and 13 defence barristers. It lasted nearly six weeks. Jill Phipps sat two along from me in the dock. Bridget Bardot attended her funeral. Her mother, Nancy, sat next to her. I don't know who wrote it, but pages 35-39 are an intelligent account of the events:

http://www.thesparrowsnest.org.uk/co...ve/PAR0100.pdf

I think I have two chumbawamba Cds.

Good on you, Zeno. I am a slow reader, and I have little comprehension of history.

I read much of the suggested pages and etc.

Why the emotional driven frenzy that caused the initial break in. Young and exuberant? Not the way to get things done. I would have used all my exuberant youthful energy to rob a bank or set up a horse race beating scam. This is what happens when your morals get twisted in the wrong direction. This is a common mistake, even Plato made this stupendous blunder. So no disrespect to you, Charlie.

I was never one of the fanatics, and I doubt I have ever been exuberant. I was miserable and alienated, had no direction in life, and was easily led. As for the roots of it, unlike many of my school classmates, I was repulsed rather than attracted by a career in the City. I don't know, I don't seem to fit in anywhere, except here.

That building is called "The Circle" and I lived there 2 years!

Subbed, btw.

And how was your dinner?

Another hipster socialist. Just kidding. Welcome aboard.

Afraid I am very far from either of those things, sorry to disappoint

Just discovered this thread and working my way through it from the beginning. Great stuff here. Do you live in London, or on the outskirts? I'm in Limehouse now.

I live in Chelsea. I worked as a school teacher in the Limehouse end of Stepney for five years. I come from Enfield, was visiting there this weekend, and did a lot of walking. Here is what I thought I might say about it...

Middlesex is a grey area. The postcodes don't quite match up with the boroughs. Regardless of its official status, for a few square miles inside the M25, around Hilly Fields, Crews Hill and Whitewebbs, you are not in London, certainly not in Hertfordshire; you are in Middlesex. Whitewebbs is a municipal woodland, and has a good energy. Unnervingly, a part of it has become overgrown since I used to run inter-schools cross country there, to the extent that I'm not entirely sure it is the same place. I'm convinced that Flash Lane aqueduct is not the same place. Cross country was the only school sport I had any talent for. It is an individual sport. Nowhere to hide, mother****ers.

Interesting places, Limehouse/Stepney/Wapping. Lived in Stepney for 8 years. Hope The Grapes in Limehouse is unchanged.

My guide to Stepney/Limehouse:

The Peacock, Aylward St. Totally authentic East End pub. No tourist or hipster would ever find it.

George Davis is Innocent graffiti, Salmon Lane. Can't believe it's still there. Must be worth millions by now.

Hawksmoor Pyramid, St. Anne's Church. Spooky.

Eastenders or Maureen's Pie and Mash, Chrisp St. Market. Both excellent.

Yep, still there. I live about 5 minutes walk from it, in the marina.

Wapping is certainly rather quaint.

I saw the Crown Jewels for the first time today. I am unable to relate to anyone who wears jewellery, but I like extremes in general, and one has to respect the bling it takes killing many thousands of people to get hold of. The Black Prince's ruby is not some scarlet bauble like Jackie Kennedy might wear; a good ruby has a soft, translucent quality. The Koh-i-Noor diamond is the size of a silver dollar.

Hew Draper was imprisoned for sorcery at the Tower of London. His diagrams etched into the walls look like mathematics to me.

https://www.theguardian.com/artandde...ondon-graffiti

Pennsylvania, another London invention:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Penn

I am an autumn child. Mid-to-late autumn, when all the colours are beginning to merge and fade into one. Cedars park, between Waltham Cross and Cheshunt, always did have an air of times past and lost opportunities, even when I was a child. We drive through Cuffley and Goffs Oak on the way. Not a big detour, but neither is this the channels of my youth. JFC, full-on 1960s/70s movie set. This really is Hertfordshire, home of the New Town. Society designed along scientific principles rather than grown organically. There are worse philosophies.

The Victorians were awesome at building quality housing for the affluent. Catch Balham or Chiswick or Parsons Green at the right angle and the red brick uniformity of it is breathtaking. They didn’t get the rear of the houses right, however, because everyone needs an open-plan kitchen extension with spotlights in the ceiling. I have tutored many students in such residences, without once arriving late. Always arrive on time was the first sentence uttered on my PGCE course. The lesson starts when it’s supposed to start. Rule number one. I cannot remember if I was compulsively punctual before that.

But I want to talk about Victorian North London. My Crouch End year was in 97, the year I got my PhD. I lived in a large house divided into a zillion bedsits. It was next to the Parkland Walk, which is a disused railway line turned into a nature reserve, running east to west between Finsbury Park and Highgate, criss-crossing the streets, exactly as I remember it. Recommended.

There have been a lot of new buildings recently in the expensive area I live in. They are made with exterior wallpaper to make them look like they're made out of bricks when they aren't. It's fake. How can it even be legal to make a building look like something it isn't?

Not that it matters. London always has everything.

This is a strange coincidence but I lived on Hornsey Lane for a couple of years, with a garden that backed onto Parkland Walk. I went walking/running along it up to Highgate station many times in the 2000s.

You might remember hearing about how the owner of the large house a few doors down was notorious for being a brothel keeper in a different residence lol (I think she was done for tax evasion but can't remember).

Banners cafe around the corner made for a very relaxed hangover cure at the weekend, and during the week my friend Guy and I would often meet up in the Queens, The Railway or the Hope and Anchor in Hornsey. I used to enjoy the walk across suicide bridge and up to Highgate, or down the unusual steps to Archway. It's a fascinating area but lost its focal point for me, as Stepney/Whitechapel also did, when the pubs started to become food resellers.