A letter from Stoke Newington
This landed in my inbox last night. It made me smile.
I was just Googling Nando’s to see if they do take-aways (they do) and came across your piece on the smug campaign to stop them opening. Great stuff, you echo my thoughts precisely. Stoke Newington was already pretty self-righteous when I came here 18 years ago, and bringing up a child here I have witnessed some appalling behaviour and mind blowing hypocrisy among the middle class. Over the years I have found myself being on the periphery, there through having a child with a bit of a funny name, being white and working in the media, of various mean spirited little groups. The trickle of children from state into private schools, and the reasoning given, as parents desperately tried to cling onto shreds of credibility to bolster their self images as socialists and unconventional, ranged from downright lies to pathetically transparent, to the offensive ‘a boy like Tarquin can’t stay at that school’ (sub-text… my son is brighter, more sensitive than yours, and we’ve got the money). I hope I can look forward to another such fine piece of writing about the annoying aspects of this place some time soon.
Published on 4th October, 2008
Nando’s Campaign Gets Ugly
A while back I touched a bit of a raw nerve when I argued that a group of local campaigners, determined to stop a Nando’s chicken restaurant opening on Stoke Newington Church Street, had an unspoken motive for their action:
The campaigners are trying to find reasons to stop people they despise from spending time in a street they’ve claimed for themselves.
It’s a motive that anti-Nando’s campaigners have denied, but far from being the only one who believes many of these people simply want to preserve (as far as possible) Church Street as a playground for a certain middle-class clique, David T over at Harry’s Place put the argument equally bluntly:
In fact, all sorts of people eat at Nandos. Rich, poor, gourmets, snackers. And I’ll be one of them.
I reckon that the horror that Nandos represents to the “latte sippers”, is that it will attract people like us to Church Street.
Anyway, someone out there is desperate to prove us right. Last night a commenter calling himself (or herself) Mr S.Hitchchicken left this comment:
IF YOU CAN’T AFFORD TO LIVE IN STOKE NEWINGTON THEN FUCK OFF SOMEWHERE ELSE - YOU CUNTS MAKE ME PUKE JUST LIKE THE NANDOS CHICKEN..WATCH OUT BEN COS WE’RE WATCHING YOU!
It was quickly followed by an email:
You’re not welcome in Hackney..go away and disappear
All of which rather goes to prove my point. The anti-Nando’s campaign is less about stopping a chain store from opening its doors, and more about keeping peasants out of a middle class ‘village’.
It just suggests I’m right when someone starts threatening me for exposing their pathetic prejudices.
Published on 28th June, 2008
Blue Letterbox, Yellow Pages
Something battered and beautiful I spotted this afternoon.
Allen Road, Stoke Newington N16.
Published on 11th May, 2008
I wasn’t going to say this…
Stoke Newington sunshine and a hairdryer breeze. Baby moorhens with sealing wax beaks. Empty Sunblest bags tied to pond railings; orderly waste in a park crammed with bins. Toddler and pink pushchair: ‘ello, kwack, g’bye.
Out into Church Street, boy sucking juice from a beaker. Arrogant mother slams pram into our wheels, her brood bob in her wake as she scowls into her phone.
Past the library and peer into shop windows. A man walks alongside and says:
“Your wife get you to look after the baby?”
“Yes, she’s not too well this afternoon. So I took him to the park.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by…”
“No, no. It’s just lovely to be out in the sunshine.”
I pause and look at my new companion. He’s got the dead eyes and walled-up face of the kid who grew up amongst violence, but the smile of a man who draws strength from hope. He’s wearing an England football shirt, his slight stoop making it hang loosely down the central margin of his back.
“I’d like meet someone and start a family some day,” he says.
“Yes, that would be nice. I’m sure it’ll happen at some point.”
“I hope so,” he continues. He’s in his forties. “I need to at my time of life.”
“Well, sometimes wonderful things happen.”
“I’ve had girlfriends before,” he says. Then: “I’ve had a few girlfriends. But…”
A heartbeat of a pause.
“So you’ve been to the park?” he continues.
“Yes”
“My dad used to carry me on his shoulders. I loved that.”
“I carry William, but these days he wants to clamber off and play.”
“I’ve just been to the library. For a course called Learning Direct. Have you heard of it?”
“Sort of. It’s a government-backed learning thing, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It helps you get back into work.”
“So what are you going to be doing?”
“I’ve been a bit lazy, so I’m thinking of doing a course in Maths and English. There were two really nice women. The course is recognised by some employers, but not all - I think it’s about 50 per cent who do.”
“Well, I’m sure the fact you’ve made an effort to improve your skills will go down with any employer.”
“I hope so. What I’d really like, if it goes well - in the future… .” He pauses for a moment. “What I’d really like is to go on, and actually do GCSEs in English and Maths.”
“That would be fantastic. I hope you do.”
“It would help me get a better job. Oh, is that the bus stop?”
“No, that’s just down there, near the cemetery.”
“Should I have gone back that way?”
“No, you’d have had to go round the corner. It’s probably a bit quicker this way.”
“What do you do?”
“Oh, I’m a writer. I write things for companies.”
“What sort of things?”
“All sorts. Newsletters, contract bids, websites, marketing materials - anything really. The good thing is that, when I get to know a company, I end up writing all the stuff they want to read nicely.”
We arrived at the bus stop.
“I wasn’t going to say this,” said my companion, reaching in his pocket.
Oh no. Here it comes.
“I just thought it was such a nice day, and I’d talk to you. But… .”
He presses a card into my hands.
“Please take this.”
“Thank you,” I say, thrusting it into my pocket. “Lovely to have met you.”
“Goodbye,” said the man.
I steered the pushchair round the corner and took the card from my pocket.
It read: “NORTH LONDON CHURCH OF CHRIST”, and in spidery writing on the back a name and telephone number. “Children’s classes are provided”.
Published on 7th May, 2008
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