"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.

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My vague potterings were interrupted last lunchtime by a cat's cradle of blue tape across the road in my path, cordoning off (among other things) the scene of a shooting the night before and the restaurant where I'd been planning on eating.

Police were still there in numbers, even though the shooting actually happened on the previous evening, and at one point a group walked line abreast, peering at the tarmac for kloos. They looked bored, like 14-year-olds on a geography field trip.

It was a bright sunny day, and nobody felt like hurrying so everyone was content to watch them quietly, apart from one irate truck driver who'd had to do a u-turn in his articulated lorry and wanted the world - or, at least, that part of it in a tall hat directing traffic - to know about it.

I ducked into an overpriced curry house for lunch instead (very small portions) where I tipped without checking the bill first, thereby failing to notice that service was included.

Here be pics.

Downer
Upper Street is taped off and empty at the busiest part of the day

You're fingered, sonny
By now, most of the police had nothing more challenging to do than answer questions from the public.

Blue tape
Lots of this stuff everywhere.

Pounding the pavement
A few people got past, but mostly the businesses behind the police line were stranded and closed.

Edit: An arrest has been made.

Ah well. Back in London after a month away.

Wonderful time in Cornwall, just managed to skirt the edges of all the bad weather (thanks to everyone who texted / emailed to ask if we were okay). Did have a powercut one night in a storm though.

Was working in Islington yesterday so I had the whole commuting experience, lovely. It seems I've got a bit thin-skinned from all that time on a hilltop with no-one around but Beloved Other Half.

Driving to the other client today, near Wycombe, which should be easier. Then back to Islington tomorrow.

Managed 19,000 words in the novel-writing challenge I was attempting - nowhere near the 50k target but a pleasing amount anyway, especially as it took me to a natural break in the narrative. Beloved Other Half has done rather better - everyone go say 'well done' to her, okay?

How's everyone been while I was away, then?