Being a flaneur in Clapton

In October, I stayed with Jay and Bridget in Clapton - Sophie and Tessa had arranged for me to go on a day's cooking course, learning how to make a proper curry - one made with real spices, great pungent coils of squashed garlic and ginger, lavish handfuls of fenugreek seeds -

The course was held near Alexandra Palace, and staying with Jay and Bridget meant that I would not be catching the very early morning train from Wareham - I had caught this train many times, going to conferences in London, when I was a headteacher - I would, I swear, see two or three hedgehogs waiting to catch the train with me - they might be reading the Daily Mail -

I was, therefore, very grateful to Jay and Bridget for putting me up the night before the course - whilst there, I took the opportunity to wander round Clapton - I felt that I could have spent days looking at the small food shops, the taxi joints, fish bars, internet cafes, social clubs, phone card joints, berbers, Mediterranean food stores - 

I watched, very closely, the people going past me, entering and leaving these places, going about their business - I saw dark faces, wonderful hair, base ball caps, immense white trainers, powerful dogs, squadrons of BMWs - I heard languages other than English, accents other than those heard in my rural retreat -

I wandered along the cosmopolitan pavements - I wanted to enter every one of those places I saw - I wanted to ring up an aunt in Kinshasa, to play pool in a room full of smoke, to drink Tyskie on the upper deck of a red bus -

I thought of all those years when I'd worn a suit -  but now I had sworn never to wear socks - this was a mark of my new freedom -