Here are this week’s picks:

1. A Vintage Fair

Organiser Gina Santangelo invites readers on Sunday May 20th to the Torriano Craft & Handmade Fair (from 11.30 until 3pm) at Torriano Infants School, Torriano Avenue.

Expect culinary creatives, toys, jewellery, cards and upcycled vintage treasures. ‘One not to be missed for the community,’ she says. So there we go. Go.

2. New Contemporary Art Gallery in Camden

The new Red Red Shoes Gallery opens today on Delancey Street with a show by Alina Gavrielatos. We went to the preview last night and were impressed with inaugural show The Ghost of Morris Horn, ‘a mixture of dramatized reconstruction, animation and documentary techniques,’ used to tell the story of the English soldier and the Greeks who hid him from the German Army during the Second World War.

3. A Cool New Bookclub at Map Cafe

Bookworm? Why not head to the next Byte The Book
group at lovely Map Cafe (Mon 28) at 7pm.

Organiser Justine Solomons is very keen for a Kentishtowner turnout and says: ‘We’ll be reading Kurt Vonnegut’s ‘Slaughterhouse 5′. It took Vonnegut 20 years to write it, and is his response to being part of the bombing of Dresden and has the absurdity of war as its main theme.’

4. E.Mono set to launch, um, ‘Mike.’

And finally, we ran into E.Mono owner Mike this afternoon and had a quick catch-up.

It’s three weeks until the opening of his new outlet (6/7 June) which, contrary to expectations, will be an all-day patisserie (open 7am-7pm). Its name? ‘Mike,’ he says proudly. And why not?

Meanwhile, excavations into the basement in preparation for E.Mono’s new downstairs restaurant continue. ‘It hasn’t been touched for 40 years,’ he says, with a shudder. ‘We may be sometime.’ Quick, Mike, quick. A postcode holds its collective breath. And get in before Chicken Shop!

Enjoy this page? Repost it as it’s all about the community, innit. Wartime spirit an’ that.

I’m a complete urbanite but nevertheless I’ve long been obsessed with stepping out of my front door and walking to the ‘countryside’. And so here’s how we did it from Kentish Town, on one of those sunny Sundays when the clouds are so pillowy and the sky so blue there’s really nothing better to do with the morning.

From Parliament Hill Fields we ambled across the Heath, climbing up over the viaduct, the clouds reflected in the lake, and past Vale Of Health to what they eerily call Middle Heath, between Spaniards Road and Jack Straws Castle.

Never crowded, on a Sunday morning we had the gnarled old oaks, gorse, boggy lake and sandy paths to ourselves.

Continuing over the Hampstead Heath Extension (whoever dreamt up that dreary name?) we crept through the pin-drop suburbia of Hampstead Garden Suburb, founded in 1906 by Henrietta Barnett, (whose other winning idea was the Whitechapel Gallery). The Suburb was an attempt to create accommodation for ‘all classes of people, and all income groups.’ Somewhat ironic now, of course.

From the Garden Suburb we picked up the Dollis Valley Green Path, a 10 mile route to Moat Mount Nature Reserve in Mill Hill (with links to the 78 mile Capital Ring, which we walked here), through the bluebells of Big Wood and Little Wood, and on to Mutton Brook and Windsor Open Space.

The clear signs make the route a no-brainer, despite its fiddly weaving together of the various green spaces all connected by the tiny Dollis Brook.

Often no more than a few centimetres deep, it’s a tributary of the River Brent (itself a tributary of the Thames) and a calming presence with bridges, waterfalls, tunnels.

It’s hard not be impressed passing under the vast Victorian viaduct, built in 1863 and, at 60 feet above ground level, the highest point on the London underground, with trains rattling along above the trees. Eventually we turned left off the Route along the muddy hedgerow at Woodside Park Sports Club, so we could cross the ancient hay meadows of Totteridge Fields, a beauty spot of ‘Metropolitan Importance.’ And there we were: hello countryside!

But on we climbed, up to ye olde Totteridge village, with its pretty detached cottages, after three hours on our feet focussed on our goal ahead: the 18th Century Orange Tree pub (owned by Hampstead’s Freemasons Arms) which sits by the pond.

The sun was still out (just), the breeze light enough, and so we basked alfresco with a glass of ice-cold rose, tearing off the flesh from juicy spit roast chickens and chips. And it was pleasing to observe the well-fed denizens of one of the most expensive parts of the capital rock up in their big cars, and roll out into the yawning warmth of the airless pub.

Bellies full, legs a little weary, we made the descent to Totteridge & Whetstone on the northern line – and, after this gentlest of adventures, were back in the sprawl of Kentish Town in fifteen minutes.

Fancy a wander? Have a look at the route properly here.

Words & Photos: Stephen Emms

‘New Ceremony’ is the current single from Dry the River, a London five-piece gazing at the shiny face of stardom. Angelic harmonies of Fleet Foxes? Check. Lyrics with a gloomy hint of the National? Check. A hardcore rock-tinged live show you’d never expect from the likes of Mumford & Sons? Absolutely.

And this is what we learnt the other Wednesday when they played the Electric Ballroom in Camden. It was sold out – good news for a venue that has long-resisted the developer’s bulldozers (since 1938, in fact). And for the band, named one of BBC’s Sounds of 2012, it was their first headline gig, and a return to London (they were no doubt cheering the small luxuries of success, too, like having a guitar technician to fetch you beer).

Frontman Peter Liddle and Matt Taylor on guitar are a scrawny pair, faces hidden behind Jesus-style hairdos. However, their bashfulness belies the strength of their voices, and beauty of anguished lyrics tackling bleak subjects such as alcoholism and depression, and littered with obscure, sometimes Biblical, references.

The setlist comprised songs from the recently released ‘Shallow Bed’. Opening with ‘No Rest’, they stopped only to step away from the mics for an acoustic version of ‘Weights and Measures’, one of their first EPs. For the encore they brought their support acts, Tall Ships and Bowerbirds, on stage and the collective group sung gospel song ‘Down in the River to Pray’ to a happy, swaying crowd.

It was an enthusiastic – and sometimes heckling – mob. For those wanting a more civilised viewing experience, however, a mezzanine curls around the main dance floor so you can observe proceedings at a demure distance.

Either way, it’s a great venue to have on our doorstep so if you haven’t been for a while keep an eye here on what’s coming up.

Words: Georgia Grimond.

The Gilbert Scott is the most glamorous dining room in NW1. Discuss. Other contenders? York & Albany, St Pancras Grand, Odette’s, Gilgamesh (if you like that kinda thing). Or perhaps even Meribel Brasserie. But, architecturally-speaking, there’s nothing to match the St Pancras Renaissance Hotel and its flagship.

Scott was the lucky bugger who, in 1866, won the competition to design the 150-bed Midland Grand Hotel, which finally opened in 1873 alongside the new St Pancras station. And the eponymous restaurant was once the ‘Coffee Room’, pillars of gleaming polished limestone lining its splendid walls.

You can indeed feel the history, taking a seat in the room, with its hushed grandeur, and formal (but very friendly) service. This is classical in the grand European tradition: oil paintings of stormy seas, banquettes, penguin waiters. A heavenly place to tinkle the ice in a Negroni.

The menu could be called heritage British, with its cobblers, corned beef and turnips (we were reminded of Dinner by Heston Blumenthal). Sommelier advised we select a Domaine de L’Hortus to accompany a rather simple courgette flower and heirloom tomato salad; whilst the floral, appley notes of a Touraine Chenin Blanc matched a superior starter of finely sliced pork belly (left),its earthiness made piquant by Yorkshire rhubarb.

There was a little wait between starters and mains, but it allowed time to people-watch, as the rain pelted down beyond the big windows, exuding a sense of place and time: who was the lone woman in a suit, swilling a glass of white wine, staring straight ahead? The big table of ten, emitting guffaws and congratulations?

I was excited about a lightly smoked pollock with soft egg and mustard – one of my all-time favourite comfort food combinations. Cooked sous vide at 50 degrees for 20 mins, its moist flavour was translucently luxurious, reinventing what can often be a disappointingly bland fish. And it was complemented by a bread-dippingly velvety mustard sauce.

A smoky VDP Collines Rhodaniennes syrah accentuated the caramelised turnip with a breast of duck (main pic) that, although tender and sweet, didn’t have quite the same power, but its presentation was pleasingly school dinner-style. And as we finished our mains, a rainbow appeared, lighting up St Pancras and north London beyond.

But we soldiered on (not difficult, it has to be said). A rich 10 year old Marsala accompanied fruity eccles cake with more-ish cheddar cheese ice cream (left), whilst the spicy Xmas flavours of a pear and walnut ice cream sandwich with salted caramel were swollen by the peachinesss of a Sicilian Kabir.

About to leave, the restaurant manager offered us a tour and the opportunity to sample more cocktails at the bar. Who were we to argue? The basement kitchen was vast, spacious, and brightly lit, and we paused at the obligatory chef’s table to survey its silent choreography.

Back up in the bar, under ornate ceilings and bell chandeliers, blind dates, old friends and high-fiving suits were tucking into fairly esoteric libations. We tried a Yupanqui – a smoky Negroni made with with Antica Formula, Campari, orange, chocolate bitters and a slow hit of Makers Mark that clung to the palate. More refreshing was a Parisian(Martini Rosato and orange Amer Picon) with its pinball citrus flavours of grapefruit and honey. These are grown-up drinks that encourage lounging; conversation. It was a shame we had to leave.

‘It’s a hell of a long way to the loo,’ we heard one silver-haired American say as she plonked herself down next to her grinning friend. Little did she probably realize that the same complaint eventually closed the original hotel in 1935. Why? Its lack of ensuite bedrooms required a crippling army of servants to ferry around chamber pots, tubs, bowls and spittoons.

Words & Pictures: Stephen Emms

It’s an oft-told tale that London’s piano industry was based in Kentish Town, but not so many folk know about this claim to fame: it was once home to the most famous taxidermists in the world. Rhinos, aardvarks, tigers, monkeys, elephant waste paper baskets, musical boxes made from tortoise shells – they were all stuffed and constructed in workshops in an unassuming backwater, Leighton Place.

Tucked behind the Grade II listed houses on Leighton Road, it’s worth a diversion anyway, its former warehouses surprising architectural gems, weirdly juxtaposed with slightly-out-of kilter 1930s terraces.

Many of the buildings do indeed have piano roots. Built in 1900 and the first on your left, our main pic was occupied by ‘organ key’ manufacturers Richard William Cork and subsequently piano-string makers Dettmer & Sons. In later years Nordoff Robbins Music Therapy moved here, and it’s recently had a spruce up to become Leighton Space, a rather lovely gallery and artist studios which hosts regular exhibitions. We like the Mediterranean plants too; a pleasant sense of oasis with the sixties blocks looming behind it.

Opposite stands the first warehouse to be built on the street (in 1898). More piano manufacturers resided here too until 1912 before it became the premises of a mapmaking firm in World War 1, an ‘air raid precautions base’ in the Second World War and, since 1986, Camden ITEC, which trains young people in computing.

But it’s the next line of warehouses that we’re interested in.

Some of these were also associated with pianos, but from 1920 Nos. 13-15 were the workshops of Rowland Ward, once the most famous taxidermists in the world.

Their vast showroom in Picadilly was even nicknamed The Jungle after a tableau called Jungle Life built for the Colonial and Indian Exhibition of 1886.

The company specialized in work on big game ‘trophies’, but their output covered all aspects of the trade. Rowland Ward was trained by his father Henry, himself a very well known taxidermist in his day, to whom he dedicated his bible on the subject, The Sportsman’s Handbook.

One of the workshops

Think of a type of taxidermy and the chances are Ward invented it – especially ‘animal furniture’ like Bird of Paradise lamps, stag antler cutlery, that kind of thing.

‘Elephants’, said Ward memorably,’ do not at first glance seem to lend themselves as articles for household decoration, and yet I have found them most adaptable for that purpose.’ The hide would be used for table tops, and the feet for waste paper baskets or stools.

So successful was the business that they even were awarded a royal warrant as taxidermists to the King. But of course by the late Sixties fashions had moved on: it was ‘game’ over for Rowland Ward Taxidermists and their connection to Kentish Town.

So: false teeth, pianos, carpets, Patak’s, Bikram Yoga, Sainsbury’s, wallpaper and now taxidermy. What else lurks beneath the bustle of modern-day NW5?

Words & pics: Stephen Emms

Sources: Rowland Ward, Camden History Society’s Streets Of Kentish Town (£8.50)

I’ve been following poet and rapper Kate Tempest since first catching her a few years ago at NW5 writer Salena Godden’s legendary Book Club Boutique nights, where she’d silence the boozy room with a winning combination of words and humility. Check out the awe-inspiring Icarus, above.

And now on Saturday her debut play, Wasted, is finishing its short run at the Roundhouse.

The premise is simple: three old friends, Charlotte, Danny and Ted, mull over the mundanity of their lives on the anniversary of a mutual friend’s death. They discuss the need to change things. They have a night out getting wasted.

The set is appropriately pared down, with a backdrop alternating between filmed South London locations, during their ensemble scenes, and the solo faces of each character, when they take to the mike for some perceptive monologues.

The three young actors – Lizzy Watts, Ashley George and Cary Crankson – deliver convincing performances, especially in the brilliant party scene, with its hazy aftermath. But the play belongs to Cary Crankson’s Ted, the one with the crap shiny-suited job who’s abandoned all hope of being fulfilled (and he’s only 25).

At the scrag end of their hedonistic night out, he and Danny, a wannabe musician, discuss happiness. No-one’s happy, Ted says, but certain things make him smile, like seeing two cars the same colour lined up, or when someone makes a cup of tea just how he likes it, or his girlfriend laughs with a mouthful of food. And, he adds, isn’t that enough?

These are lines delivered with intensity and passion, their images lingering afterwards, recalling themes in Tennessee Williams’ Glass Menagerie, or Chekhov’s Seagull. Sure, the play occasionally jars (such as the opening joke about being in a ‘theatre’) and the plot (as much as there is one) is functional, but the end result is punchy, visceral and hard-hitting. In short, it feels fresh.

So, a day in which nothing much happens becomes a day that may change everything. Or maybe not. But will tomorrow be the same again? That’s what this play is asking us to fight against.

Words: Stephen Emms

1. If there’s another Blitz, stay close to Belsize Park Tube Station. It’s one of the deepest in London. I was a trainee nurse at the Royal Free during WW2. We were evacuated to Epsom for the worst of the Blitz, but I remember the masses of people who would arrive from the East End every evening, hoping to shelter. Rows and rows of bunk beds lined the platforms and tunnels. Often in the morning when they returned home, their homes had been bombed and they were left with only the clothes they wore.

2. You have to work for everything in this life. When I arrived in England in 1937, I was only seventeen but I expected to work hard and I did. I earned a pound a month and I only had two days off.

3. Cut your cloth according to your material. People today want to have everything, even if they can’t afford it. It may be boring but we only ever bought something we could afford; we usually had to save for small luxuries. We didn’t have as much as people do today but we were never in such debt either.

4. Take every chance you get to go anywhere and everywhere.

5. Well made things last beautifully. I taught myself to sew through necessity. Eventually people began asking me to make dresses for them. I made a beautiful blue and silver patterned gown in 1949 which I wore with white, elbow length gloves to the Royal Free Hospital Ball in the Savoy. My grand-niece wore the same dress to her university ball last year.

6. Walk the Heath. I used to love it, whatever the weather. It’s amazing to have such wildness in the middle of London. And it’s never changed.

7. Girls, be careful. You know what I mean.

Words: Louise Hogan

When you get to a certain age, you still kid yourself that your peers are somehow older than you. After all, you are young. Nothing has changed despite the advancing years. You like the same things you always did – gossip, lipgloss, bags, jewellery (like Patsy, I seem to have forgotten the word accessories). Not to mention the things everyone else loves too, from family to theatre to music.

And it’s music, or at least live music, that does my head in. I made a private pact a few years ago only to see bands where I could either sit down, knew all the words – or preferably both. It generally means that the rest of the audience will be my age. Which means they are old. And I am not.

Last week we were at an excellent gig at Bush Hall. Green Gartside. Not an absolute favourite but a real love from my 19 year old self. I looked around at the grey beards, the tent dresses, the specs, the bald pates and tasteful earrings, and thought, dear God do we look like this? And yes, I guess we do.

And then I thought, everyone in this room has the best musical pedigree. They have probably seen the greats the first time round, as well as the second and third. They have experienced music in the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, and 21st century. In real time. Not as back catalogue.

Yes, I realized, these guys are the original festival goers, as kids, as grown ups, and now with their own kids. Like me, they’ll have under their I-have-seen belt a selection of the following: Bowie, Lou Reed, Roxy Music, The Stiff. The Tubes, Two Tone. Springsteen. The Cure, The Flaming Lips, Primal Scream, Pulp. Kraftwerk. Dury, Dr Feelgood. The Stones, Sparks. Elton John, Joe Jackson, The Who. Not to mention the obscure bands that only you seemed to love, the flashes in the pan.

My kids and our younger friends drool at the idea of some of the things we have seen and again revisited. They are in awe of tales of the great venues – The Rainbow (Roxy supporting Bowie), Hammersmith Palais, The Music Machine (KOKO two brandings ago) where we saw Dexys Midnight Runners supporting the Clash. Even The Town and Country before it became The Forum.

Don’t get me wrong. I do ‘modern’ too. Sometimes I break my rule and go to see someone I don’t know well, a contemporary I have grown to love in the comfort of my home (thank you 6 Music).

This is where I encounter the opposite problem. The crowd are half our age. We have to stand and all the songs are unfamiliar. The performer gives a shout-out to their Mum and Dad, and eyes turn towards us before finding the other middle aged folk in the room with the proud smiles. But it’s still great.

So until the day comes when live music no longer appeals, I have to get over myself. Feel proud and privileged of my past and of present. Be dignified. And know that whoever is on stage, I am in the audience, a fan, and an integral part of the love in the room.

Words: Susie Innes

Why It Matters comes in association with Discount Insurance, whose big boss bloke Steve lives in NW5, so he’s offering Kentishtowner readers a £10 M&S voucher with every new policy. Which seems like quite a nice deal to us.

You can’t beat the Great British country fete, they cry to us city dwellers. A stroll to the village green for colourful maypole dancing. Jolly Punch & Judy show. Cream tea and locally-caught fish ‘n chips for supper.

Or how about a half hour drive to a muddy field, where a selection of unstable fairground rides blast crackling 90s Euro Techno, while grey burgers and candyfloss make up the food offerings?

The truth is London does a very good impression of the best village green experience. It’s possible to walk to a different community event pretty much every weekend of the summer. And this is what we celebrate today: they’re free, diverting and if the weather doesn’t play ball, you’re rarely more than a minute from a decent pint/coffee/curry. How many of our countryside cousins can claim that?

This summer sees a particularly hectic calendar of such events, with the Jubilee/Olympic ballyhoo throwing things into overdrive. Camden Council have really entered into the spirit and waived fees for such bashes this year too.

Our fiesta of free weekends starts with the Alma Street Fair on May 27th. Last year’s event was a heady mix of all that’s great about Kentish Town, from local beer to local chart bothering pop sensations.

Yet all the joy was perhaps a little too abandoned for some residents, so this year’s plans are set to be toned down. In fact, the organizers haven’t even answered a polite query from our good selves (thanks guys!) It’s also one of many annual events that has shifted forward in the calendar to avoid the capital’s big sporting moment, so let’s hope it retains the shorts-and-shades pleasures of previous balmy years.

The following weekend sees a rash of Jubilee street parties, with community centres like Holly Lodge and Highgate Newtown acting like it’s 1977 all over again. There’s tea, bunting and children’s activities aplenty on Sat 2nd June. Meanwhile, Bartholomew residents also have a street tea, as do the City Farm and there are plenty more through the long weekend to Tuesday, when it’s Clarence Way’s turn to display the royalist flag waving spirit.

There’s a glut of exciting options on June 16th, with the long established Primrose Hill Summer Fair returning to Chalcot Square. Last year Mini Kentishtowner declared the authentically violent Punch & Judy show as ‘ridiculously fun’ (although she was proper freaked out by the lady swanning about on stilts in Victorian dress), while I observed the mother-in-law’s mind boggling at the immodest carnival costumes up on the stage.

Meanwhile another established event in a ‘village’ location takes place on June 16 in Highgate at The Fair In The Square, where such country fete traditions as baking, preserves, plants and crafts feature alongside the children’s activities, music and other outdoor razzmatazz.

Don’t forget how easy it is to get to Kew on the Overground either (that’s out in the countryside isn’t it?) where the popular Kew Green Fete, also on June 16, has vintage rides, over 100 craft stalls and a dog show.

Slightly closer, the bunting will be out for the Festival on Kilburn Grange, July 8th, an alfresco party that is the culmination of the 10-day local Film Festival too.

There are community centre street events in both Ingestre Road and Somerstown on July 14th and we’re big fans of the Hampstead Heath Community Summer Fair that falls on Sun 15th too, with its posh dog show and the welcome pedestrianisation of South End Green. Throw in a breezy walk across the Heath and only a greased pig is missing to complete the authentic country fayre vibe.

The Olympics dominate from here onwards, so for your freebie party fix you’ll be headed into the shadow of a big park TV screen or the reliable South Bank, let alone stalwarts like Notting Hill Carnival that should enjoy an Olympic spruce up.

Once the Paralympics have rolled out of town, it’s back to hyperlocal business though, with Lady Somerset Road having their low key but lovely little street bash on Sept 9th, and a celebration of 200 years of Regent’s Canal taking place at Camley St Natural Park in King’s Cross on the Sept 16th, bringing music and events in this thoroughly idyllic countryside setting (with good links to central Paris).

Phew. We’re knackered now. And there are loads more, so please add comments with your favourites. And if you simply can’t wait to get the trestle tables out, this Saturday Parliament Hill Farmer’s Market have a spring plant fair to get your juices going.

Hell, those estate agents may just be right: we really are still living in a collection of villages.

Words & Pics: Tom Kihl

Who says nepotism is dead? Today we’re delighted to announce our 9 year old god-daughter, Amelie, as The Kentishtowner’s prodigious new columnist.

Amelie likes rabbits, stickers, dancing, and letter writing. She’s proud of her 6 award badges including one as school Eco Captain. And larks, she has even held the Olympic torch.

But food is her thing. She was hooked on smoked salmon by the age of two, and had developed a taste for olives at three. And now, as she confided to us over our home-made spaghetti bolognese last Saturday lunchtime (pronounced, diplomatically, ‘as good’ as her mother’s), she has begun a diary to review every single olive she samples. We predict in ten years’ time she’ll be editing The Kentishtowner.

What else could we do but take the young critic to Tapping The Admiral, during their rowdily packed London to Brighton ale festival, where she painstakingly worked her way through a bowl of the glistening green globes, as a succession of female singer-songwriters sold their wares in the corner.

So, over to Amelie: ‘These were pale green, medium sized olives stuffed with garlic. They had a unique quality of flavour – a little bit salty, slightly sweet and a bit juicy. I would have preferred them more if they had not been served with super spicy chillies. But I’d have them again and would recommend them too.’

And the verdict? ‘I would give them 7 out of 10.’

So, a cautious but fair start to Amelie’s Olive Diaries. But where should she review next? Earth Foods? Phoenicia? In short, where can she reach Olympian heights of olive-ness?

Words & Pics: Stephen Emms