Emilia Randall has lived in West, North and East London neighbourhoods. She is moving back East and has no plans of leaving.
London Fields and Victoria Park make East London my home
Pulling into London Victoria has always felt like home - even when it wasn't. 'London's weird', 'It's just paying hundreds to live in boxes', 'I can't afford it'. These were the valid disparagements from my non-believing Bristolians as I left my university city.
They are right, you can't afford it, and it does often feel like paying hundreds to live in a box, especially in the mire of winter when stepping outside felt like being subjected to a pathetically powered rental shower for weeks.
And this is exactly how we separate the wheat from the chaff and keep London full of lunatics burning cash on living in the capital for no apparent reason. Apart from the days the reason is boiling hot tarmac lighting up the funk of a bin-strike, sitting back to back with a topless stranger in the park and failing to notice the sun has set. On these days the reason is clear.
I grew up in Chiswick, the bucolic child-rearing suburb of young professionals, or 'urban professionals', as I heard someone describe themselves the other day. Then I moved to a seaside town that will not be mentioned. Then I lived in Bristol, back to London, this time in East and then to North. This month I will be moving back East. If London is home, East London feels like what a bedroom is to an introvert.
Saying Hammersmith and Fulham is not the most exciting place to live as a twenty-something is at best a luke-warm take. However, North is by all accounts, the place to be. But moving North is the one time I have truly doubted why I was in London at all.
My favourite breed of dog, a canal boat dog.
Kingsland Road has the hostile energy of the wrong side of the school cafeteria and all the charm of a new-build prison. The bars and pubs are supposedly Gen-Z's answer to Shoreditch in the 90s, but either feel populated with pastiches of pastiches or are dead empty. You will not be able to predict when.
The lack of parks in North also feels understated. Finsbury Park is sprawling, yes, but is also an un-monitored hellscape where I've often caught a leering man at the wrong time of day. Clissold Park is beautiful, and comes with its own furry-horned deer, but it is tiny. If I am doing a weekend stroll - I want to feel like I've bashed out a good 5k - and this doesn't do that.
Balancing extension cords on bedheads and re-arranging shoes every four months to give the illusion of more space can be taxing. The phrase cabin fever comes to mind. But I did not realise the importance of what was right under my nose until I left it.
The canal connects Victoria Park and London Fields
When I first walked into Victoria Park, I felt taken aback. A wide stone fountain scattering water amongst a healthy school of ducks, couples on pedalos and young, pacey runners spawned into view. I thought I had stumbled into East London's answer to the Secret Garden if it had appeared on a Time Out list.
This became a daily visit. I actually had a garden (scattered with the upstairs neighbours rubbish) but it was nothing on Victoria Park. Early afternoon sunbathing, birthdays, reading, meet ups, pre drinks, post drinks and drinks drinks all wound up taking place in Victoria Park.
In a city where stepping out of your door feels like a financial risk, a park within walking distance is essential. This is a healthy 5k mooch. If you tack on a stroll along the canal, and loop around London Fields, its a 10k round trip.
London fields is more of a poser magnet but Victoria Park is a pristinely kept space. The trees are old and towering and give the park a sense of history and grounding. You can see flourishes of the elusive green parakeets, and there are a range of park-view pubs to plonk yourself down in to feel like you are experiencing the outdoors when really you are downing pints.
In Bethnal Green the bars look awful from the outside, yes. But on the inside there is something of substance. Whether it is tart, actually-mixed-behind-the-bar cocktails, or a pub where you are free to amble around and are not chained to post-covid antisocial seating, you actually can mentally and financially afford to not judge a book by its corrugated iron cover. In Dalston this is not the case.
La Camionera on Well Street is a singular queer space in London
On a boring but crucial note - you can also get to central without spending a tenner and travelling an hour. Bethnal Green Tube and Cambridge Heath are both well connected and you can dip up to North or down to South in a moment. This also lends itself to feeling like you are in London, something I felt was missing in North and West.
By the time I had schlepped out of my office, jumped on two different trains and walked 15 minutes I had enough mental and physical space from any city buzz that I felt almost isolated.
Tayyabs is a walk away and is a solid option for a night out with perfect curries and BYO drinks. Satan's Whiskers is packed out with bizarre taxidermy animals and serves delcious cocktails, with the menu constantly changing. Quarantacinque is manned by a charismatic Italian who delivers quick, hot, tasty coffee.
The McDonald's on Bethnal Green Road is open 24/7. The Lidl is one of the quietest I've seen with the most outrageous collection of knock-off toiletries and the Globe Town market serves fresh veg every weekend.
As for Bristol - do not listen to anyone who says this is a 'mini-London'. They are wrong. Pay hundreds for the box room or accept tertiary city status.
