Day 84: I Love Croydon

Ooh, don't ask me if I've travelled. I've been all over recently. Canterbury. Notting Hill. Stoke Newington. Dalston. The whole of North London, endlessly and without cease. (Not West London. I don't go there unless my parents are in their London residence and there's chat to be had about the will.) I have lived in Paris and New York, and nearly lived in Singapore and Belgium, but didn't.

Next week I'm going to - no, really - Glasgow and Newcastle, ON A TRAIN (First Class to Newcastle £8? And First Class to Glasgow £23? How? It's true!), but coming back on a PLANE (£56). In Glasgow I will see the oldest of my Dear Friends, who I have known for 33 years, an animal called Pepe who will apparently chew my earlobes, and her two small children. The week after that, I will go to Bedford and see the two doctors and their daughter, my god-daughter. At some point in the next three months, I will almost certainly go to France, and maybe even further than that.

But of all these places I have been and may go, I like Croydon the best. I like Croydon because everyone thinks it's rubbish. You can say, "yeah, and he lived in Croydon" if you are trying to explain something about someone, and leave it at that. But it's magical, is Croydon. Magical.

Now, it helps that One Of The Dearest Of My Dear Friends has been working there for a while, writing about what you can do with a Photo-Me booth and a bath of home made chemicals. This Dear Friend is Magical in his own way; he sees beauty where there is none (this is why, perhaps, he is my Friend), and knows of a magical shop in Hastings called "The 50p Shop", where we often go and buy rulers, books called "I Am An Artist", and buttons. Sometimes afterwards we have fish and chips, and sit next to ladies with red shaven hair who then send me emails about unicorns and driftwood. (One day in the 50p shop he found the exact replica of my mother's pepper grinder, which she acquired some time in the late 60s, and remains unsurpassed for its ability to grind pepper. I have its twin now, and use it every day. And every time I use it, I think of my Dear Friend, and of my mother wearing Ozzie Clark.)

He showed me sights, did my Dear Friend. (He saw Jesus in a root formation once. Yes. THAT'S how good.) He showed me that if you just look, a place that looks like it is somewhere you would only go if you were very much in love, or in need of a reminder of how lucky you really are, is full of Joy.

We had a delicious luncheon of ham and cheese omelette (me) and chicken and chips (him), both accompanied by beetroot in vinegar, in a restaurant made in the 1950s that believes Paris and Florence are Magical. (They are right, as it goes, but not in the way they thought.)

We had ice-cream made of pigfat and sugar with wafers in, and my Dear Friend reminded me of the Ketchup-with-white-worms-in story, which put me off my coffee.

But the shops. My dears, the shops! Such beauty to be seen at every turn. Items that pull at my heart, and remind me of Who I Really Am.

Across the shopping mall (est. 1973) from our restaurant was this shop which sells - amongst other things - "saucy novelties". I am too frightened to go in at the moment, but am assured that it's Quite Safe, so might go next time.















When I fall in love again (and I will, for my heart cannot ever have been entirely broken: it always mends itself eventually), I want to feel like this: a tiny golden lady held in the enormous paw of my Paramour (but without the fox showing her thighs off in the background).





And should I doubt that I have the ability to be Powerfully Moved, I need only think of my reaction to this poor, poor wounded elephant. My Dear Friend alerted me to his presence and wanted to shield my eyes - but no. I looked, and I saw Him, The Poor Wounded Elephant, and my heart Swelled, and tears sprang to my eyes.



I am going to Croydon again. Despite the extravaganza I am currently planning in celebration of my birthday (another Dear Friend helped me decide today on sausages in buns AND tarts, but not too eggy), at which I will see Dear Friend and his Lady (also a Dear Friend), the magical unveiling of Croydon will remain a joy we can both share for months to come. And because of this, I will always think of Croydon, the South London suburb off the A23, as a place I love.