"And then he said..."

In my household we tend towards the view that Douglas Adams wasn’t, in fact, a novelist but instead a philosopher and a researcher of the infinite who chose to present his theories and conclusions in the form of radio scripts and sci-fi novels. He was also - despite most of his work being set on other planets - one of the most observant chroniclers of London since Dickens.

Just after six he returned to Fenchurch’s house in the alleyway, clutching a bottle of champagne.

“Hold this,” she said, shoved a stout rope into his hand and disappeared inside through the large, white wooden doors from which dangled a fat padlock off a black iron bar.

The house was a small converted stable in a light industrial alleyway behind the derelict Royal Agricultural Hall of Islington. As well as its large stable doors it also had a normal-looking front door of smartly glazed panelled wood with a black dolphin door knocker. The one odd thing about this door was its doorstep, which was nine feet high, since the door was set into the upper of the two floors and had presumably originally been used to haul in hay for hungry horses.

So Long and Thanks for All the Fish

Adams famously drew on the parts of Islington he knew well for details to throw into the Hitch-Hikers’ Guide trilogy - for example, phone numbers as probability odds and the estate agency Hotblack Desiato as a minor character’s name.

The old Royal Agricultural Hall is still there, only it’s not derelict anymore, it’s the Business Design Centre and I work there a day or two a week. After Beloved Other Half reminded me of the passage quoted above I went off in search of the nine foot doorstep one lunch break.

Since I forgot it was down an alleyway I didn’t find it, but I did grab a few pictures of the sort of streets in the area - typical north London streets I suppose, except north London’s not my manor and the typical looks exotic to me still. Where I am, out west, we don’t have long rows of brick terraces like these and I was fascinated by the contrast - only yards apart were roads where the homes looked like elegant town houses and roads where they looked pokey and proletarian, despite being almost identical in design.

I found it easier to imagine Douglas Adams walking along the pavement than I did Arthur Dent floating above it.

Anyway, here are the pics.

If you're new here, you may want to subscribe to my RSS feed. Thanks for visiting!

I can remember when products were built to last and didn't stop working just because they'd been thrown across the room in a cold fury a few times. I say this because my phone finally started malfunctioning beyond a level I was prepared to tolerate, so I had to replace it.

Having said I didn't want a phone with gadgets, I ended up having to buy one with a camera - and of course I'm now bemoaning the low quality of the pictures it takes. Still, at least it's got me taking photos again.

Here's some recent shots:

Dancing on the ceiling
The dark shapes of fitters roped to the roof inside the Business Design Centre hang cables in preparation for an exhibition.

Nothing to show for it
A fitter stands in the middle of blank exhibition stands that will soon be filled with all the clutter and colour of a trade fare.

Why I hate living here
We have equal opportunity bigots here - they hate everyone, whatever their colour or creed. This bus shelter graffito, along with National Front stickers nearby, targets Muslims - but everyone gets it in the neck eventually here.

Reflections on a long wait
On a wet, chilly evening, the bus indicators reflected on the ceiling of the shelter - and demonstrated that how cold you got depended rather on where you were travelling.

They've landed!
Not, in fact, an alien invasion - just the old and new Feltham. The glare from a hotel marketed squarely at airport travellers shows behind what used to be a toilet block - and now seems to be an art studio, or some such thing.

Lights, camera, action
Wet Tarmac and sodium lights give the local cinema complex an unworldly look. This view, coincidentally, is exactly the one seen by the central character of my quarter-written novel at a crucial life-changing point in the narrative. Not that you need to worry about that.

Round and round and round about
There is a roundabout out Uxbridge way that has without a doubt the worst traffic jams I have ever had the misfortune to have to weave a path through. It really is a case of move forward by inches and every car for itself.

Ducks in a row
I'm not sure if they wanted the car wash or just to top up with unleaded, but these ducks marched across the forecourt of the petrol station where I was having my lunch in a very purposeful manner.

Do as you're told
This sign is on the garage of a house on one of my regular leaflet rounds during the council elections. There's nothing else on the outside to suggest the place is still conducting whatever dubious business produced the sign - but I'm certainly not canvassing there!

Don't even try it
Our local general store has the most enormous guard dog you ever did see. Shame it's usually asleep across the shop door…