From Essex Road in Islington to Soho you go down the straight line of Rosebery Avenue, except I don’t see it. That’s twice I’ve made that basic mistake now. My passenger has just won an academic research grant, which is an occasion that requires quality liquor. I know that feeling, as I once wrote a research proposal that, eventually, got about £220K off EPSRC, which was one of the happiest days of my life. A good listener; a professional. What am I going to do now? More of the same, probably.

There is a straight road in London?!

I don’t believe you.

Did you feel even the slightest guilt of bilking the ignorant populace of money for your personal gain?

Indeed, there's Watling Street and Ermine Street, built by the Romans. I don't know how things went awry after that.

I stopped the meter when we hit roadworks after Holborn, all the while ranting and raving about the nature of infinity, so he got a reasonable price at least.

I was sure there is a novel that begins “I was born in an area of Chiswick called Bedford Park…”, but the internet appears not to agree. In any case, it is an intensely Victorian area, and more recognisable and agreeable than the back streets of Acton. And a lady is waiting at Turnham Green, wanting to go to Chiswick Village. Don’t worry, I’ll direct you, she assures me; she gets cabs home there a lot. It is too suburban even for the Knowledge, but I had been there once before, by mistake, and it is as easy to get lost there as it is difficult to find, bounded as it is by railway lines, the Thames, and the M4 motorway. A well-built, inter-war, apartment block estate, manifesting a different, more modern philosophy to the individual, although no less uniform, homes and gardens of Bedford Park. London has an endless supply of slightly remarkable buildings you’ve never seen before, and an internet article, which now I also can’t find, argued that Chiswick Village is most definitely art deco rather than modernist, whatever that means. Something to be discussed with the lady, for sure. Except that she’s deaf, even when I shout, and apt to repeat herself, which precludes the conversation she craves. Sad.

To get from the Euston Road to Old Street roundabout, I have taken to taking a slight detour through Clerkenwell, in order to avoid getting stuck at Angel. It’s the percentage move, but it seems wrong, going too far south when it doesn’t, owing to the alternative Pentonville and City roads being straight but at angles to one another. My passenger questions the route, and in an intelligent way. She wants to go to Middleton Road in Hackney, and wonders if I am not taking her instead to Myddleton Square in Clerkenwell. A discussion on etymology ensues. Myddleton Square is unquestionably named after Sir Hugh Myddleton, who was instrumental in the construction of the New River, which finishes near there; whereas Middleton Road, she insists, cannot be named after him because of the i rather than y. That’s not conclusive evidence, I say. We resolve to both research the matter. Damn, must I always be right?

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

I've been meaning to ask, this post reminded me. In the age of google maps and real-time traffic, do you see The Knowledge going away or being lessened, and drivers just using apps?

Not having used a SatNav, I don't know how good they are at navigating London's endless, ubiquitous, and inherently unpredictable supply of road works, road closures, diversions, building sites, 4-way temporary traffic lights, ruptured, poorly maintained, Victorian water and gas pipes, broadband and temporary crane works, and demonstrations, protest marches and festivals of all kinds. Increasingly sophisticated technology only makes it more necessary to limit the supply of taxis, and city traffic in general. There is a limit to how cheap taxi travel can become, because the majority must still travel by bus or tube or train. In any case, black cabs will continue to have a time advantage as long as they're allowed to use the bus lanes. Judging by the number of passengers who give me the postcode rather than the address, and try to put their luggage in the boot (trunk), many people use both black cabs and Uber anyhow, and I think there a place for both. But it is true that the number of black cabs is dwindling, no doubt owing to a perceived lack of job security. Ironically, and this is a pure guess, perhaps it will be saved by Uber drivers doing the Knowledge. If you're driving around London all day anyway, why not do it in parallel? It is a potential escape, at least, from being exploited by a scumbag company that will fight tooth and nail in the courts to not give them sick pay and other basic benefits, and then when it finally loses in the Supreme Court, it makes an advert (which I can't find) saying what a nice, caring company it is for treating its drivers like human beings. Sick world.

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

As for the Knowledge being lessened, there is a lot of it that is ostensibly useless, and perhaps could be removed. It is anywhere within six miles of Charing Cross, but a lot of the more suburban places are poor areas that one rarely visits, and inevitably forgets one's way around, at least in the fine detail required to pass the exam. But it is not a well-known and iconic brand for nothing. Two thirds of those who undertake it drop out. There is a purity of spirit required. Those inclined to make a cheap dollar out of people are unlikely to persevere.

Cheap dollar?!

America is contaminating your brain old friend. Of course, this is better than having the Irish contaminate your brain.

Mentioning Charing Cross makes me think of Sherlock Holmes for some reason.

I grew up with it.

Another day, another dollar. I presume everyone here has read Last Exit to Brooklyn.

There's the Sherlock Holmes pub nearby.

It's the artificial central point of London. When you're coming down the motorway and it says London 50 miles, it means from Charing Cross. The name derives from here:

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

Regulatory capture. When they get rid of barriers to entry into a profession, it quickly becomes necessary to find a different profession.

I like the Freemasons. They wear suits and ties and have standards. And having a beer or three isn’t at all contrary to their credo. One of my grandads was one, although I’m told he never drank. And I don’t know what it is, but there is something about art deco architecture and Masonic symbolism that meshes perfectly, and they know it and embrace it. The Freemasons' Hall in Covent Garden is a spectacular example. And all lampshades everywhere are all wrong, except those in the nearby Freemasons Arms pub, which are beautiful. I had never been in it before, and it had to be done.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Freema...7_Hall,_London

God is a Freemason.

The cab is spewing water, which the garage hopes can be fixed by tomorrow. Although they are beginning to accept me, I have a funny feeling it won’t be. But nothing to be done on a Friday evening except stroll from Bethnal Green to Brick Lane, check out the art, and have a couple of pints of a good, hipster, Five Points pale ale in the crowded Pride of Spitalfields pub, until being jostled by the young becomes slightly intolerable. The Fanakapan in Star Yard is still there. Tell me this isn’t good art.

Did you blow a seal?

Don't know, but they fixed it. "Your heating is now like fire." But then all the brake lights failed, coincidentally a day after I changed one of them. Driving across London to the garage with no brake lights is fun. Let's hope my judicious use of the hazards is interpreted correctly. Yeah, that's probably some "switch" underneath one of the pedals. Fixed that, but now the electronic door-locking system and radio don't work. The passengers love it, of course. They love a little bit of the old school. And I got to drive through Brentham Garden Suburb for the second time today.

https://brentham.com/

There’s a hipster bakery near the cab garage called Breid. It is expensive and quality and I like them and they are on it and probably going places, but I don’t know what their market is among the railway arches and the general poverty and deprivation of the unglamorous end of Bethnal Green. I should have gone there because I want to buy something good, but Columbia Road flower market is at the other end, among the seductive knot of streets around Jesus Green that somehow survived the 20th century. Crowded, hipster paradise in its purest form; and they are disorienting me. Fast forward, via Pymmes Park and the back streets of N18, N9 and N21, to my aforementioned friend’s bar. Bitter, milk stout, keg sorrel and passion fruit, ESB made with wild yeast (it floats about in the ether), perry, cherry cider, cider. And two lady musicians not entirely butchering the blues canon. Folks from home. People who don’t like the Doors can **** off out of my blog IMO.

I love cherry cider. I grew up near cherry orchards that were in the process of being bulldozed for housing developments. If you turned your own cider, you could make it as sweet or tart as you like. I loved it tart.

I purchased The Doors: Waiting for the Sun, immediately on its release in the summer of 1968. Of course I was still a huge Monkees fan and also liked Rodger Miller. I was 15 and muddleheaded, like most 15 year olds.

nothings changed.

Silly you Ray; I’m more handsome than ever; have oodles of money; own land and a home; have an extensive library, and own enough guns to start a world wide revolutionary war. You should join me in my campaign for Freedom and Justice!

You what to change the world lastcard?! Organize a grand book burning in the East End or better yet in front of Parliament.
You should be able to get the rabble into a grand fear frenzy and get a good bonfire of books blazing away. Get off your ass and do something more useful than driving rich people about the tangled streets of London. Get it organized and I’ll come over and help. I’ll even supply all the Ale!

they closed the hiway near you. too much snow. now maybe you might have to put up some of the cali spring breakers at your place.
be a nice host.