An impromptu stroll through Camden after a visit to the (highly recommended)
Crick Institute.
A Camden stroll is not a Lambeth walk.
It's a strange land: you pass through
Somers Town where the population are fighting a rearguard action against a tribe of bastards. At least they have a [suitably
fortified] laundrette
Tripmisleader will tell you that Camden High Road is humming. Which it is, but I can think of lots of annoying things
that hum.
What passes for useful in 2018 certainly doesn't include tasty looking pubs like the Hope and Anchor
(although do pay heed to the figure surmounting the frontage), or the Princess Beatrice
which has lost its name to one of those silly quasi-enigmatic titles that are supposed to make it attractive.
Coming clean, I have to confess that I knew there was a
Burton to be found here:
Whether Santander get the credit for wrecking the street level decoration, or whether they inherited it from some earlier generation
of vandals, I do not know. But Monty's original and beautiful octagonal panelled doors survive (bottom left), so good.
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