Osteopath, anyone?

Sadly the Phantom is not infallible when it comes to matters of health. I haven't had the necessity to call an osteopath for years so when a friend asked me just now if I knew of a good one in the area, all I could do was reach for the Yellow Pages - hardly a scientific method of selecting someone who will be doing things to your body when you're just wearing a pair of pants...

So - can anyone reccommend a good one in the SE10 or SE3 area?

Hirst & Sons, Bakers

Royal Standard

This shop is worth visiting if only for the lovely ceramic tiles on the walls. I might be wrong of course, but these feel like they've been there since the shop was built - and that's just the sort of thing I love (we have sadly just lost a similarly pretty shop along Trafalgar Rd, where the new Tescos will be) The walls are set off nicely by the old-fashioned curvy glass counters and the more modern wooden signs abover the bread.

If I'm honest, the bread isn't much to write home about. Baked at the sister shop in Lewisham, the bog-standard breads and commercial-quality cakes could be found in any similar bakers - but Hirst have several things in their favour - they're a small company, local and they're not Greggs. There is some character left here and the service is generally friendly and efficient - as long as you don't accidentally turn up behind a bunch of builders who've come in for a bulk order of egg rolls at the sandwich counter.

They seem to be doing ok at the moment, given the depressed state of the Standard. I hope they survive - they provide a valuable service - even if their bread is nothing out of the ordinary.

Super Casino goes to Manchester

Well - there's a turn up for the books. Certainly not what the bookies were predicting, eh, which just goes to show you shouldn't gamble - it's a risky thing...

I'll nail my colours to the mast now. I was in favour of the Casino. I really thought that all things considered it was good for Greenwich. I know all about the crime/addiction/degeration arguments - and can't say it was all going to be perfect - but nothing is and I tend to think that it was well out of the way of where most people live, in a separate area - it's a reasonable distance, I'd say, to the nearest current flats. I'm not, of course talking about residential areas waiting to be built - frankly if people choose to move into an area after a casino's opened then that's up to them. So I'm mildly disappointed - but not gutted. I wasn't enough in favour to march...

Anschutz were holding the Dome to ransom, of course, saying that huge amounts of development money would be witheld if they didn't get their own way (I've got to say that if I had been on the committee I'd have not given them the licence just for that - blackmail is never an attractive thing.)It will be interesting to see how much of that development is actually stopped. In fact, I'm fascinated about that entire Penisuala development. I bet Mr Prescott isn't popular in a few circles today.

Personally, I predict that AEG will have another go. They've always said they wouldn't go for a smaller casino - it was all or nothing for them - but I suspect that now they've lost The Big One they'll change their tune and go for any second round that may just happen to appear.

In the meanwhile, it's dug Anschutz out of one small hole re. the Tutankhamun exhibition which is due to hit the Dome in November. The Egyptian Head of Antiquities had refused to allow the exhibition to come if there was a casino, saying it would be disrespectful to the relics (though contrary to other reports the famous mask was never going to come our way - it's too fraglie to leave Egypt now.) Anschutz was going to have to decide whether they should delay the casino to accommodate the exhibition - now they are relieved of that decision.

I know many of you will be delighted to see that the Dome lost the bid. For my money, I think it would have been a good thing.

Red Door Gallery

Turnpin Lane

Another Turnpin Lane curiosity, The minute Red Door Gallery is a shop showcasing local artists - especially sculptors, like Katherine Morling, whose pottery palm trees and odd colonies of skulls on sticks (based on the giant - and very creepy - memento mori on St Nicholas Church, Deptford) are enticingly fresh and original. Ceramics are heavily featured, often weighing towards the practical - vases and plates etc - clearly with the gift market in mind. If you do end up buying something you can also get the wrapping paper and card at the same time.

I can't afford most of the stuff in there, even though they claim to have "prices to suit every budget," - but it's always intriguing to have a look. The "quilted" ceramic vases are particularly good, and there are some lovely jugs and mugs which are a little less pricey. The shop also sells dinky objets d'art and scented candles of the love 'em or hate 'em variety. Word to the wise - if you hate 'em, make sure you bring a peg if you go in; they're very powerful indeed. The displays change, as do the exhibitions at the back, on a regular basis.

www.reddoorgallery.co.uk

Kerala Zone

Trafalgar Road

I'd heard a fair bit about Kerala Zone before I'd visited it - I was still a little sad at losing Lauras. But most people thought the food was pretty good, though many complained the waiting times were long.

I don't generally tend to think that waiting times are things to be worried about if the food and the company are good - it at least implies that the food is being cooked to order and I was intrigued by that food - South Indian cuisine which is different from the usual bog-standard British Curry menu, which seems to be the same in every subcontinental restaurant/take away no matter what the origins or tastes of the chef.

I can't make up my mind about the decor. They've obviously made an effort to be different from the classic flock-wallpapered, strangely cross-cultural curry house, complete with velveteen-and-gold scenes from the Koka Shastra and a shiny calendar with pictures of waterfalls. These walls have silhouetted palm trees painted as murals against a dark orange background. So far so good. I didn't even object to the furniture - dark wood high-backed chairs and simple tables. But the rest of it slips badly - dodgy plants in the window supplemented by lighting-up cacti that change colour and disco rope lights. A neon sign announces the opening times and a dot matrix display sends enticing messages to the outside world. The clock has swirly lights around it and they appear to have forgotten the Christmas decorations are still up.

So - a hybrid - is it tasteful or kitsch? Regular readers of this blog will know I am a big fan of kitsch - but I'm an all-or-nothing kinda phantom - I either want to be utterly surrounded by plastic palm trees and golden tissue boxes in the shape of the Taj Mahal - or I want minimalist chic (to be honest I think I'd rather go for the former but I don't mind - the only sin is not being wholehearted.)

Of course the real issue is food - if that's fabulous I can forgive pretty much any decor. We didn't have as long to wait as I had been led to expect - though this could have something to do with the fact that we were the only four people in the place. We nibbled on poppadums with not-quite-enough pickles. They were crisp and fresh and the onion salad that I had ordered when I realised the paucity of the pickles was absolutely delicious - some kind of vinaigrette dressing brought it out of being mere chopped onions and tomatoes - this attention to detail is always a big hit with me. The starters seemed quite heavy and cakey, but were also declared a hit.

Kerala Zone doesn't use artificial colours so most of the curry dishes looked exactly the same - a sort of brown goo - but all were tasty and different. One of my companions had a splendid fish curry in delicate yellows and whites - with a similarly light flavour. I wasn't entirely convinced by the rice, but it was still totally edible - and I am a fussy rice eater.

Kerala Zone is one of the better Indian restaurants in Greenwich. I enjoyed the difference in the recipes and it was nice not to see neon pink meat or bright yellow vegetables, the absence of artificial colour allowing them to bring out their naturally more subtle hues. It's not top-notch by any means - but you don't go to Greenwich for hard-core Indian food. This is a tasty, extremely friendly local eaterie to return to again and again so that you can work your way around the interesting and well-cooked menu.

Bullfrogs Shoes

Right on the very corner of Nelson Road, Bullfrogs is one of those places I've passed so many times and rather enjoyed the funky display but never actually gone inside. Perhaps a busy Saturday at sale-time wasn't the best time to check it out, but there I was anyway, standing in the middle of a series of pale green circular pouffe stools, trying to see past the gaggles of young humanity poring over the bargains.

It seemed to me that the boys' stuff was better than the girls' - good clubwear and interesting day shoes for guys, but the women's selection wasn't as good - slightly tacky-looking high heels and unexciting daywear - though perhaps that's what sales are all about - presuabably if it was that good it wouldn't have made it to the sale at all. The usual clubbing flyers littered the desk, and frankly it felt a little scruffy - but I'm giving Bullfrogs the benifit of the doubt. Nowhere looks at its best during saletime. I'll go back in a month or so for an update.

National Maritime Museum

I understand that this august building was once home to a rather dull display of paintings of rear-admirals and dusty models of ships. I don't remember much about a childhood visit which apparently included such items, but it's certainly not like that now. Bright and light, it houses well-designed, often interactive displays designed mainly, it would seem, for people with a passing rather than a deep interest in all things marine-related.

Objects range from the profound - sobering articles from Franklin's ill-fated expedition to Antarctica - to the frivolous - just what is that giant tank of water in the ground-floor gallery for?

I particularly like the no-nonsense polemic stance that the captions by the exhibits take. No wishy-washy sitting on the fence here. As the visitor walks around the museum a picture is gradually built not only of the exhibits, but of those who collated and curated them - for me something almost as fascinating as the place itself. (I used to find a similar frankness in its sister museum, the Royal Observatory, though it has changed somewhat now.)

My favourite permanent exhibit is the Ocean liners display complete with reconstructions of first class and steerage accommodation, posters, menus and films all with a very obvious sponsor. The scatological child in me enjoys looking for the people doing naughty things in the cabins of the scale models of liners at the end (or beginning, depending on which way you come in) and the plastic peeping-toms watching them through miniature portholes...*

I also enjoy the "exploration" section - a darkly sparkling jewel focusing on ancient mariners and treasure seekers, not to mention the odd merchant adventurer and pirate.

Upstairs there are some quite interesting interactive things, mainly for kids (though I quite enjoyed playing on them too)and a rather boring gallery of paintings, ancient and modern, which I always think is shut - but then find it's not - it just looks like it.

Ultimately I find the museum an excellent one-off. It passes a splendid afternoon for the mildly curious, but, as with so many modern museums, it fails to deliver any real depth. In trying to ensure that it appeals to all, it forgets that some would actually prefer a little more content. So though, as a resident (and friend of the museum) I do visit on a regular basis, it is really to see the generally superb temporary exhibits - Nelson & Napoleon was a particular favourite of mine.

Outside there is a fabulous view - to the front the Old Royal Naval College, to the rear the Royal Park. The cafe serves the usual tea, buns and olde-worlde lemonade at the usual inflated prices, but at least it's in pleasant surroundings. The gift shop is splendid - very well-stocked with interesting themed goodies as well as all the usual souvenir-shop-suspects.

Try not to be put off by the daft roaring sound just outside the entrance to the museum. It's supposed to be the sea - if you walk fast enough it will irritate you for at most a few seconds.


*made you look....

Daisy Cakes Bakes Shop

Deep down dark little Turnpin Lane, leading into Greenwich Market, which I will talk about in depth on another occasion,lies a dinky little pastel-pretty shop called Daisy Cakes Bake Shop.

It's tiny - so it's more the public face of a bespoke cake making service, but it does sell the odd gorgeous cupcake and cakey-slice as well as sugar roses for your own creations and a limited selection of decorating equipment. Cute Cath Kidston-esque cake stands and examples of the kind of cake that you can order for your special occasion line the window, as well as little sugar figures of brides and groomse - either standing or sitting with their legs hanging off the side of the top tier of your wedding cake. All in all, it's very pink indeed.

According to the website they bake everything on the premises. All I can say is that that shop must be like the Tardis out the back - or perhaps they're employing Ooompa-Loompas. They try to source locally, organically and ethically which is never a bad thing.

Don't expect this all to come in cheap - but you're paying for a unique service here, so it seems that you're paying for quality and individuality. I have never eaten a Daisy-baked cake - I would appreciate any comments from people who have.

www.daisycakesbakeshop.com

St Alfege's Passage (Oooer, Missus...)

A charming little early-Victorian slip-though running down beside St Alfege's church. The house on the end, next to the entrance to the churchyard is by far the prettiest at any time of year as they carefully keep their window boxes full to bursting point. What with the old stone paving, the splendid entrance to St Alfege's churchyard and the lovely lamp posts, this is an enchanting passageway.

At No 16, is St Alfege's Guest House, a dear little B&B - from what I can see on the website. I walked down there the other day to see if I could find it (before I looked it up) and it's so discreet that I couldn't tell which house it was.

Run by Robert & Nicholas (or so I read) it has, it would appear, three exquisite rooms, one of which is a single; another has a four-poster bed. The sitting room looks cosy too. The prices seem pretty damn reasonable for the centre of Greenwich - nay, for London - from £40 for a single room. It's predominantly gay, but claims to give straight people an equally warm welcome. Watch out, Robert and Nicholas. The Phantom or one of the team of spooky spies will be staying with you soon...

www.st-alfeges.co.uk

Winter Wonderland

Well - it's a bit of an event these days, isn't it? So - I trudged out this morning with my trusty camera - well - two of them actually. I managed to get (I think) quite a few good ones with my fabby camera - then the battery ran out. "Not to worry," I thought, "I still have my trusty point-and-shoot." I got about ten with that before the battery ran out on that too.

They're both on charge at the moment, and so far I've only been able to retrieve the ones on the point-and-shoot (see above.)

It's a shame really - I have never seen the deer so close to the side viewing point in the park and I didn't make it down to the Old Royal Naval College because it just wasn't worth the slidy-path hazards. But there were lots of people out taking pics - I certainly wasn't the only recorder of this rarer and rarer event.By 9.00am the snow was on the way out anyway.

I have no idea how often we'll see snow any more. Climate change seems to be coming on faster and faster. The local paper this morning says that the Thames Barrier was shut three times in four days last week - I had certainly noticed how high the tide was on Saturday. But this little snowfall proves all is not totally lost - yet.

I have both cameras on charge in case we get another downfall.

If the other camera's pics are any good, I'll post them either here or on my forthcoming gallery.

Emporium

330-332 Creek Road

There are actually two different kinds of vintage shop from both ends of the spectrum which fill me with joy. The chaotic, full-to-the-brim junk store with piles of unsorted stuff where it's up to the buyer to sift through the rubbish to find a gem at a (sometimes, but not always) bargain price, and the more upmarket, beautifully arranged boutique where every piece is top quality - with prices to match. Emporium is defintely the second of the two.

It is one of those vintage clothing shops that make my heart sing and reminds me of the fabulous boutiques I used to frequent in Paris in the 90s (and which largely don't exist any more.) It also puts to shame practically every other clothing shop, vintage or otherwise, in Greenwich. This is clearly run by someone who cares.

Its exquisite vintage glass display cases house sparkling diamante and paste jewelery, dinky handbags, glorious gloves and fabulous compacts, lain out in mouth-watering treasure-trove style. High on shelves classic hat boxes with exotic names jostle with feather fans and old advertising paraphenalia, from old 1950s adverts for face creams and lipsticks, to the top of a Shell petrol pump.

High on shelves, old showroom-dummy heads wear trilbys, flat caps and homburgs. Even the pillars are covered in vintage wallpaper and age-spotted mirrors. Particularly worth noting are the fab chandeliers - of which there are several.

In the main body of the shop, the clothes, dating mainly from the 40s to the 70s, are beautifully displayed on easy-to-peruse racks of similar items - no rummaging to be done here. Not everything is stuff I'd buy - I found the selection of evening gowns disappointing and the vintage ties are frankly not much cop, but good examples seem to be very hard to get hold of nowadays. Where the emporium excels is in 70s jackets and trendy tops - I'd say there's more in the way of clothing for guys than gals, though the accessories are very good.

Don't expect to find a bargain here. What you're paying for is the rummaging someone else has done for you - but as opposed to Camden Market (one of the few places left where you can really rummage among unsorted stuff) you are far less likely to find an item ruined by moths, ripped fabric or - the real problem with the vintage lifestyle - heaviy stained with sweat or stunk-out with vintage B.O, perfume or must.

Placed on the 1950s cocktail bar are the usual clubbing flyers found in all trendy stores in the centre of town. There's a vintage cigarette holder/ashtray by the door, which often holds a lit fag - presumably the owner enjoys the odd drag when the shop empties for a moment. It creates an interesting aroma as you enter.

Mr Humbug

The Covered Market

Hooray for a good old fashioned sweet shop that sells childhood goodies out of jars that line the shelves and windows of this diddy little sweet shop. I always felt that Greenwich needed one of these - I even considered staring one myself, but I don't have the temperament or patience to deal with real live people on a daily basis, so I'm absolutely delighted that someone else has had the guts to do it.

I guess, being a kitsch-oholic, I would have made my version a little more cutesy old fashioned and gone for the full nostalgic experience similar to the delightful little sweetshop in Lincoln which makes you feel like you've stepped back in time. But I'm very happy to look past the modern downlighters and trendy fittings to the jars themselves and spend a cheery Saturday morning (yes, all of it ...) choosing what to spend my pennies on. Clearly others do exactly the same thing - the queues in here on a weekend are frightening, with the owners showing a hell of a lot more patience with small children's indecisions than I would. Mr Humbug is just one of the many reasons I love Greenwich and for that I have made it one of The Phantom's Favourite Haunts.

www.mrhumbug.com

Loo Update

I've been checking out a couple of the more obscure loos in Greenwich - a subject close to my heart. Let's face it - no one likes those godawful supaloos they're trying to bring in these days. I passed the one at Greenwich Pier today as a lady and her small son were hanging about trying outside trying to pluck up courage o go in. My good deed for the day was to point them towards the excellent loos in the visitor centre about twenty five metres away.

But onto my loo reviews. Firstly, the seedy-looking 1940s/fifties nasties behind Discount Cycles in Rodmere St. This dark-bricked, grim-windowed gloomfest of a building is a (very) minor revelation inside. The paint inside is peeling badly beneath some seriously heavy grafitti-work but the lantern-windows in the roof make the inside very bright and it is, amazingly, scrupulously clean. All the loos have china bowls and proper seats. It is definitely not the worst I've seen by far - and a lick of paint would render them almost pleasant.


Just as grim-looking from the outside, the public conveniences in the churchyard at St Alfeges are also very clean, have china sanitaryware and proper seats. The hard, shiny paper is a hark back to the 70s but at least it doesn't remind us any more that it is council property or order us to wash our hands. It's darker inside as the daylight lanterns in the Rodmere St bogs are absent here, but again it's not as threatening or as seedy as it might look from the outside. More research will be reported later.

The Coach and Horses

A splendid little pub on the South-west corner of the Market, the Coach and Horses has a traditional white-rendered exterior with old fashioned lanterns, and a comfy modern interior which manages to be both cosy and minimal at the same time. The drink's a bit on the pricey side - but I guess that's just London for you. The pub menu is consistently yummy, interesting and just that little bit different - though it rarely seems to change much in itself. It gets hideously overcrowded on market days when it's hard to find anywhere to sit either inside or on the benches spilling onto the marketplace, but at other times its much less hectic and the service is understandably less frenzied.

My Parents are coming to Greenwich for the first time and they are keen art fans, Can you suggest where they can see some art and maybe purchase some?

Seeing Art - it sort of depends what kind of art they're into. If they like traditional painting, the Queen's House has a new hanging of their maritime paintings (there's a review somewhere back in the blog.) There are quite a few maritime paintings and portraits in the Maritime Museum - mainly upstairs to the right as you go in. If they don't mind spending a few quid you could all have a meal at the Spread Eagle just so you can see the superb collection of local paintings - my suggestion would be a lunchtime or early week to get the best view.

If they like more contemporary art, they could try the Paul McPherson Gallery, which is opposite the Auction rooms in Lassell St. He has exhibitions from contemporary artists on a rolling basis - obviously I don't know what will be on when you go. There's a photogrpahers' gallery at the bottom of Royal Hill whose name totally esacapes me just now - but they opened an exhibition space last week.

As for purchases, I'd suggest The Inspired Art Gallery which is at the South end of Greenwich covered market They have a much larger floorspace that it might at first seem and are worth checking out. A few feet away in Turnpin Lane, Red Door, which hosts a lot of local artists' work has a small but curious selection. Warwick Leadlay mainly sells maps, but he does occasionally have contemporary art on display - he's an eclectic man indee.

If they're into prints, look no further than the Greenwich Printmakers Co-op - also in the covered marker (there's a review of that in the blog somewhere too) It's manned by the artists themselves and if you like the work of a particular artist, they can open drawers of more examples of their work for you.

To be honest there are little shops selling odd pieces of art all over Greenwich - some are better than others. There's one along Trafalgar Road, but I'm really not convinced about the general quality.

If they want to take pot-luck, they could try Greenwich Auctions. It's unlikely they'll find any good fine art, but the experience is fun (also reviewed somewhere in the blog.)

Other people may have some places to add - I know this list is not exhaustive - but good luck for now!

History Books

I love history - I have practically every history book there is about Greenwich, Woolwich, Blackheath, Deptford etc. I love 'em all - memoirs, dry monographs, exciting local reviews - you name 'em I've devoured them - yes even the one which purports to be the definitive historical guide but seems to have been written by someone (not a resident) who hates the place.

There are loads of absolutely brilliant local history books, written by people who have lived here and loved it longer than I have been alive, let alone resided in the vicinity. Which is why I'm not going to write another one. Instead, get on down to the Visitor Centre and buy a few for yourself. Support these local historians - they know their onions. Go on their walks - if they hold Greenwich Tour Guide badges they know enough to make my shaky understanding of the area collapse in thirty seconds flat. Of course some are better than others - and I will be reviewing them as I go along here. But good or bad their knowledge is generally unfaultable - their manner of imparting it is down to personal taste.

There are more being produced all the time - and often the more home-made the cover looks, generally the better the history will be - even if the writing style isn't always my cup of tea. Watch this space...

Greenwich International Early Music Festival

I love the Greenwich International Early Music Festival. Held every November in and around the Old Royal Naval college, it is an opportunity for beardy blokes in sandals & socks and ladies of a certain age in pony tails and colourful patchwork velvet jackets to get together, and enjoy the joy of the crumhorn, sackbutt and rommel pot. It's a weekend of instrument-building, museum displays, masterclasses and concerts and I go every year. There's something so reassuring about listening to music of Henry VIII's court played on the lute in sumptious surroundings whilst the candles flicker and the wind blows the leaves in swirls around the courtyard outside. Splendid. Pick up a leaflet from the visitors' centre.

House of Beauty

Situated somewhat prosaically over an estate agents at Blackheath Standard, Anita is a no-nonsense beautician who can wax your legs in a trice and still keep you smiling. She's just that bit older - which in my book means more experienced and therefore less pain. Her place is tiny - but quite big enough for her - she works on her own. She does all the usual - waxing, massages,facials etc, plus various specialist things like reflexology and electrolysis and keeps chatting so that you can take your mind off any horrid things going on. One day I must go and have something nice done rather than just treatments which cause exquisite pain. I have no idea whether she does "Brazilians" or not - by the time she's finished my shins I'm just counting the seconds until it stops - but then I'm a total wimp and Anita's are some of the least painful waxes I've had (the most painful was in a very posh French salon - presumably the more expensive the worse (and more snooty) the treatment.)

Hold your breath as you climb the stairs if you don't like patchouli oil - the building is occupied by a lot of holistic practitioners who seem to like that sort of thing.

The Junk Shop

I am pleased to say that The Junk Shop is exactly what it says it is - and has been, I suspect, since The Ark. It's exactly like junk shops should be - dusty, cluttered, slightly unsafe (I stepped down from the upper area and missed the mat, nearly going flying - more embarrassing than painful) and full of stuff that you can never work out will be useful to anyone - but for someone, somewhere, it will be the find of a lifetime. Outside, it looks like something out of one of those postcards of "Old Greenwich" - stuff hung up other stuff stacked up on the pavement. Inside the general feeling of chaos is compounded by a couple of slightly out of control pot plants, including a very elderly rubber plant high up on top of what looks like a standard lamp base.

There are dusty cases full of god-knows-what - handles off things, bits of odd china, bric-a-brac, geological specimens and stuffed things. On the stairs a box full of stoppers from cut-glass decanters jostles with several panels from the interior of someone's house. Panels of what, I have no idea. Suspended from the ceiling are a number of rickety-looking chairs and shelves full of interesting tat line the walls - though it's difficult to actually reach them for the stacks of odd furniture in the way. There are plenty of dusty old volumes and some real curiosities - including what I can only surmise to be a Victorian crutch - presumably owned by a Greenwich Pensioner...

I have no idea of pricing - there are none on display and I've never actually found anything I've wanted to enquire about. I'd welcome any comments from anyone who's actually bought something.

St Alfege's Church

This elegant, if rather sombre Hawksmoor church is typical of its architect in that there is something ever so slightly sinister about it. I fail to actually put my finger on it - perhaps it's merely that much of it seems to fall in shadow most of the day - and that the entrance is not on the street but at the back on a rather sweet, if car-infested, green.

Maybe some of its creepy quality is owed to the unfortunate St Alfege himself who was the Archbishop of Canterbury in the Dark Ages. He is actually a Greenwich Saint (yes - a local saint for local people ...) The poor bloke was captured by Vikings who'd moored their longboats at Greenwich and held for a fat ransom - 3,000 marks. Alfege refused to have a ransom paid for him so he had to languish in irons in a dark, dank cell with only frogs for company.

In a sturdy act of defiance, Alfege escaped - and fell straight into a bog. His Recaptured Holiness was put in more irons and a meeting feast was held to decide his fate. As the Vikings got more and more plastered, the drunken oafs started throwing food and ox-bones at him. Some say he died from the wounds, but others tell the no-less-cheery tale that he converted some of his captors who kindly cleaved his head open with an axe as an act of mercy.

King Canute ordered his bones to be taken back to Canterbury, a request apparently more successful than when he commanded the waves to retreat.

There's been a church here ever since, but the Hawksmoor version has only stood since 1712 - after the previous one was demolished in a storm and the religious folk of Greenwich petitioned for a new one. John Evelyn and Sam Pepys were both worshippers at one time.

It's in generally pretty good nick (apart from the poor cherubs outside whose faces have been worn away by years of pollution.) Like all churches of the neo-classical design, it's quite simple, and rather lovely in that simplicity. There's a gallery around the edge, which is a good vantage point if you go to one of the concerts they hold there on a regular basis. I'm particularly fond of the various wooden plaques commemorating charitable deeds for the poor done by various wealthy parishioners (who presumably didn't like to talk about it.)

Thomas Tallis (of Spem in Alium fame) is buried here - but don't look for him in the graveyard, which is what I once spent a good half-hour doing. He's in the crypt below - as is General Wolfe, whose statue must have the best position in London, high on Observatory Hill in the park. If you're into Tallis, the Thomas Tallis Society choir sings there on a regular basis. Last year they actually performed Spem in Alium - as well as another hitherto undiscovered 16th Century 40-part motet, which it's thought could have been Tallis's inspiration.

The church seems to be open at random times (though I'm sure there is a timetable) so my best suggestion for visiting if you don't want to actually attend a service would be to go to one of the concerts and enjoy the architecture at the same time. You might even get to see inside the wonderfully typical Great British Church Hall opposite the entrance, which has a minute stage for amateur theatricals and smells comfortingly of tea-urns and selection-pack biscuits. Delightful.

The Launderette

Trafalgar Road

I hadn't visited a launderette since I was a student - and was rather looking forward to taking my two pillows (that I had been told were past it and had been urged to send to an animal sanctuary for bedding) along to find out what happens at one these days. I have been feeling rather guilty about our washing machine (no tumble dryer at least) and thinking maybe I could get rid of it and just use the local services for a while.

The Launderette (don't you just love it when they DON'T give shops comedy names - and just call them what they are) along Trafalgar Road has that faint air of an Eastenders set - and is even rather cool in a clean, rough & ready sort of way. I brought my pillows in and asked the handful of pensioners where I could find the lady in charge.

When she arrived from the back room, I asked her what the best way of doing my pillows would be - and to be honest I jumped at the service wash option - I just didn't want to sit around for hours on end - and let's face it - there's not a lot to do in that part of Trafalgar Road while you're waiting. "£7 for two pillows - well - it's a personal service - that's fine if my pillows are going to be ok," I thought.

I went off to meet a pal in Buenos Aires (doesn't that sound more exotic than it is ...) and do a little shopping. After a few hours of checking out a couple more places, I checked in to the Launderette to see if my pillows were ready. The lady was nowhere to be seen, but my pillows were in a plastic basket on top of a machine. I felt them and they were still damp, so I assumed that they were waiting for another whizz in the dryer and went home.

The next day, my partner went to the Fishmongers, so I asked him to pick up the pillows for me. When they came back, they had clearly NOT been put back in the dryer - they were STILL damp - the only change in them from the day before was that they now smelled of cigarette smoke. Oh and I didn't get my little Tupperware box for washing sachets back either.

Frankly I think that animal sanctuary's going to get a couple of pillows after all, and there's no way I'm getting rid of the washing machine just yet.

Tumbling

Tumbling was outlawed in 1857, just one of many robust Greenwich and Blackheath activities that had a stop put to them by Victorian prudes. Which is a great shame as far as I can see, especially with the Olympics coming up - now they're getting rid of beach volleyball as an Olympic sport, they need something a bit saucy to perk things up.

Tumbling was a naughty game played by courting couples in cheekier times. A young swain would climb to the top of the hill in Greenwich Park with his lady-love, during the madcap days of the twice-yearly Greenwich Fair, then drag her, squealing - either with delight or sheer terror - down again, going at such a pace that she'd fall over, and roll the rest of the way to the bottom, legs and skirts akimbo, affording a splendid view to all and sundry.

It was quite a dangerous activity - accidents were an occupational (or should I say "recreational") hazard. In 1730 one lusty young wench broke her neck, another her jaw bone and yet another her leg in a single day. The Victorians, of course, took a dim view and banned it (along with the fair itself.) Presumably nowadays they wouldn't allow it on bloomin' health and safety grounds, but I reckon it's high time it was reintroduced - perhaps even as an Olympic sport. Of course you'd need the proper gear - ideally a crinoline skirt and frilly pantaloons - but it could provide hours of fun and exercise for all the family. Points would be awarded for the inelegance of the tumble and the amount revealed. For "Live TV" coverage, the pantaloons would be optional.

Stitches & Daughters

There's a scene in 'Alice Through The Looking Glass' where Alice walks into a shop owned, I vaguely remember, by a sheep who did knitting (entirely irrelevant to the point I'm making, but it might help you remember the bit I'm talking about.) It is full of the most delightful goodies - beautiful things on shelves up to the ceiling and bright shiny things that she KNOWS are just what she needs. The trouble is that whenever she tries to focus on anything the shelf she's looking at is suddenly entirely bare (though all around the shop still seems to be full) and Alice finds herself supremely frustrated because she is desperate to buy something lovely.

That's a bit how I feel when I go into Stitches & Daughters. I want so much to like this shop. From the outside it looks utterly beautiful - a cute little multi-paned window with lovely displays of Emma Bridgewater crocks and pretty greetings cards. I walk in the doorway, where there are some natty pieces of wrapping paper on rails and as I get to the main part of the shop my heart rises. The nice lady always says hello and I think "Today I am going to find something perfect."

The Buena Vista Social Club are playing gently in background (I have never heard anything else) and all around me I can feel the presence of sparkly, feathery, fluffy, painty things. I'm in the mood to spend. But when I get down to specifics, there's really nothing that particularly grabs me - not even as a potential present for friends even girlier than I am. There are usually some good quality, solid clothes - individual pieces or short-runs which I would describe as elegant items for ladies-of-a-certain-age - but nothing that truly catches my eye.

There is a glass case full of sparkly jewellery - but if I try to find a single piece on its own that I must have, I'm stumped. There's the odd antique - usually a pretty kitchen or household item - but nothing I really want enough to move something out to make a home for. Some of the toys for well-heeled kiddies are fun - including some pretty china plates, and there are some rather nice little leather bootees - presumably christening or First Birthday gifts - but still - nothing that I really need or want.

In the end I find myself having to wish the lady a polite "thank you" and beating a blushing retreat. This is a lovely shop. What's wrong with me that I can't find anything I want to buy in it? Am I trying too hard?

I am pleased to say that SOMEBODY must like the goods in Stitches & Daughters because it's been there a long while and shows all the signs of being prosperous. Long may it continue to be so. I'm going to keep going in there and one day, maybe one day, I'm going to buy something.

The Creaky Shed

This is just the sort of shop that needs to be encouraged. A Royal Hill Lovely, the Creaky Shed is a little gem selling all manner of good quality fresh fruit and vegetables mainly on a seasonal basis. I adore going in there because it's so well laid out - everything in neat baskets of overflowing plenty. Unusual vegetables jostle with more workaday favourites and there are also one or two interesting jars of accompaniments such as apple sauce and sundry jams and pickles. Outside the sweet little window is always a gorgeous display of abundance - flaming pumpkins and strange squashes in Autumn, jolly tangerines, nuts and shiny things in the run up to Christmas and shocking pink sticks of champagne rhubarb and giant naval oranges in the gloomy depths of January - just when you need a bright, cheery pick-me-up. That particular row of shops has to be my favourite in Greenwich, for colour and sheer cuteness.

The service is personal and friendly and I never feel embarrassed to ask for just one or two of anything or enquire what something actually is - and, indeed, what to do with it if I buy it. The fact that it's rather dark inside would normally make a shop a bit gloomy, but the friendly atmosphere and the veritable cornucopia of jewel-like fruits and vegetables is such that it feels sumptuous rather than dim. The prices seem initially high - but you don't have to actually buy a kilo of this or that - you can just ask for what you need and they'll happily weigh it out for you. Frankly the quality is better than some of the frankly manky stuff I've seen at Blackheath Farmers Market on occasion. (I don't mind odd-shaped or mudddy - I've got an allotment, goddammit - but some stuff is just plain poor quality.)

My only complaint is that there aren't more of these places. The quality and variety of veg on sale here makes it a must - but it would be nice not to have to travel a couple of miles for everyday essentials. I place the blame partially at the feet of the supermarkets - but have to take some of it myself for having supermarket-shopped in the past. I now make an effort to buy local and small as much as possible to encourage more brave souls to start quality businesses. That's not, by the way, to say I don't actually go to Sainsburys at all - but wherever possible if there's a (nice) local alternative I'm now trying to take it.

I guess it's getting me out and walking off those Christmas pounds.

The Creaky Shed is one of The Phantom's Favourite Haunts

Train Topiary

If you're taking a stroll around the Westcombe Park area, then make sure you look out for one of my favourite front gardens in Greenwich. Not only does number 23, Foyle Road boast a splendidly nautical theme in the shape of an old rowing boat, coiled rope and other seaside-related paraphernalia, but there is a delightfully-cut topiary steam engine hedge, complete with buffers, engine and bell. A lovely, flamboyant surprise in a generally architecturally restrained area, and something for children to look out for if you have to walk that way.

I had been worried recently because on passing it a few times it seemed to be getting a bit - well- fluffy round the edges. But I am pleased to report that on walking up there a day or so ago it had been very well clipped, was sharply defined on boths sides of the boundary and just as glorious as ever.

At the risk of looking like some kind of tragic stalker, I have chosen this as one of The Phantom's Favourite Haunts

The Meeting House

From the sublime to the ridiculous - Wednesday, I was in The Spread Eagle eating caramelised cod, yesterday I was in the Meeting House scoffing a jacket spud.

The Meeting House is one of my favourite cheap eats in Greenwich. Situated in the covered market, it gets stupidly full at weekends, but the rest of the time it just ticks by. It's basic stuff - bright fluorescent strip lights, basic tiled floors and aluminium picnic chairs which don't quite fit the marble-topped tables.

It's waitress service, and the selection is huge considering the size of the kitchen. You can have your usual greasy-spoon fare - egg, bacon and chips, omelettes, fry-ups etc, your sandwiches with multi fillings and ever-so-slightly 'exotic' stuff like curries and bagels with interesting toppings, but for my money the home-made pies, dishes such as lasagne - and those jacket spuds - are the best. Specials are listed on the chalk board on the wall - but they don't change much. If you get a jacket potato, it comes on a plate covered in so much salad it's hard to finish it, and the toppings are generous to say the least. You will not go hungry here.

They have wine racks on the wall, but I have never seen anyone drinking alcohol. This is a place to enjoy orange 'workman's' tea and Gaggia-made coffee.

We're hardly talking cordon bleu cookery here. But you'll fill up with something cheap and cheerful without having to lie down afterwards from the wallet-strain.

Service ranges from cheery to sullen, exemplary to indifferent depending on the day of the week, the time of day and the length of the queue.

The Spread Eagle

Crooms Hill

Yup, folks - it's the one you've all been waiting for...

A long one today - sorry.

I hadn't intended to visit the newly-refurbished Spread Eagle last night - I had a dinner date in central London - but it all went pear-shaped so I decided to have a drink there - as a taster for visiting properly later. Somehow, though, once we were inside we ended up going for the works after all...

I hadn't wanted to like the Spread Eagle. It annoyed me that yet another Greenwich institution had been corporatised by Greenwich Inc, which until the refurb had at least not done too much to the actual look of the place. I loved those little cubby-holes for private dining and the quirky décor. As soon as we found out that it was closing to redevelop, we went one last time so that we would have some sort of "control" meal to compare with the new-look S.E. It was good, interesting food, on the whole - we had the tasting menu, if memory serves, and it was perfectly satisfactory. I drank in the décor for the last time and "enjoyed" the splendid sink in the upstairs ladies' loo (ask any girlie who's been.)

Our other great loss was the ramshackle 'antiques' shop next door - which had originally been owned by the former proprietor of the Spread Eagle restaurant. I used to love that staircase leading up into gloomy labyrinthine bookshelves and down into even gloomier domestic paraphernalia. It was a "proper" antique shop - covered in dust and thoroughly enjoyable. It had a very long closing down sale and then one day it was gone.

We've been pressing our noses against the glass since then. For a while we started to wonder if they were actually going to bother re-opening - nothing seemed to be happening - then all of a sudden it was done. Swept away were the cubbyholes and the dusty antiques, brought in were giant chandeliers, downlighters and dozens of paintings on the wall.

And it's those paintings which will be the main selling-point of the new Spread Eagle. I had no idea about this collection - built up by the former owners of the restaurant, the Moy family, including the eccentric Dick Moy, last in line. Presumably it was kept in their private house or somewhere else out of public view because yesterday was the first I knew about it. I'd heard there were paintings of Greenwich in the new restaurant - but I'd expected cod junk-shop prints and auction-house finds.

What is actually here is extraordinary. It's a collection that easily outnumbers and perhaps outclasses that of the Queen's House's ground floor gallery, and what some of the earlier paintings lack in "Old Master"ness they make up for in quirk, local and historical interest and - well - sheer numbers. Each of these works is utterly fascinating - from a local person's, a historian's and an art lover's view and although the tables get in the way a bit, if you go on a quiet day, you shouldn't have too much difficulty walking around - every wall in the place is covered - yes - the corridors, loos, staircases too. The modern work is just as interesting - Dick Moy patronised a couple of local artists as well as the odd famous one.

What's even better is that they give you a full-colour glossy catalogue with your meal so that you can contextualise the work while you eat. My favourite? I can't decide between a delicate Tissot etching and a print of a strange-looking ruin in Westcombe Park that I'd never heard of. If you don't read it all you can take the catalogue home as a gift.

But onto the restaurant. Yes, they've lost the cubby-holes. Yes, they've lost the quirk. Yes, they've lost the joyful antiques shop next door. But what they have lost in character, they've made up for in elegance. This is a HANDSOME refurbishment - the walls (what you can see of them under the paintings) a delicate shade of green, the coving picked out in white. Downlighters give it a modern feel and if there are a few too many tables set for my liking - it's a little squashed - they are at least splendid.

The least successful bit, IMHO is the first room - the bar - which has the tables set around the walls like a cross between a public bar and a waiting room, which, I suppose, is exactly what it is. They've kept the lovely cast-iron staircase and I noticed a little piece of what must be the original wooden fittings behind it that they've left bare - a nice touch. The bar at the back remains the same in essentials.

The main dining room downstairs feels very classy and they sat us in the unchanged bay window - my favourite position - though I suspect it was more to make the place look full than to please me. The paintings dominate, of course, but are not by any means an unwelcome intrusion. Next door, the private dining room in the old antiques shop ground floor is splendid - a fine place for a special birthday meal. The central chandelier is as sumptuous from inside as it is from the street. Upstairs is another little room - also cute, and the main dining room is much the same as downstairs - but worth making the trip to see just for the art works.

The service is friendly - though virtually nobody spoke good enough English to make anything other than basic orders - certainly questions would have been hard work, though the guy in charge seemed a bit better than the general waiting staff.

The menu looks very similar to the one before the refurb. We didn't bother with the tasting menu as it didn't look different enough, and went for the two-course option instead. My scallops were nicely done - not rubbery, though rather swimming in sauce and the sliced vegetable they came with was unidentifiable. It was cream and tasted of absolutely nothing but was very crunchy so had been clearly included for the texture. I thought it might be Jerusalem Artichoke, so I chewed very thoroughly (they're not called Jerusalem Fartichokes for nothing, you know) but it wasn't nutty enough to be that, so I'm plumping for celeriac. It wasn't unpleasant - and the crunch was welcome. My companion (note the restaurant-critic-speak) chose seared tuna which was divine.

The mains were also perfectly good. My Companion (there it is again...) chose the beef, which was enjoyable, if accompanied with rather chewy pancetta. I had the cod - which tasted wonderful - but not like cod. Or indeed any fish. It was juicy and succulent, and flaked beautifully. Caramelised and gorgeously browned in all the right places it was utterly lovely - but not anything like cod. I'm not sure what it tasted like actually. Sweeties, I guess. Yum.

There's an odd mix here between cutting-edge and curiously old-fashioned cookery. It's presented in a modern enough style, but some of the techniques seem to mask the actual flavour of the food. We didn't have desserts - but they seemed standard fare - the usual crème brulée-type options and the omnipresent pot au chocolats for the addicts. I will also watch with interest to see whether the menu ever changes.

I didn't dare ask for any wine advice - there didn't seem to be an obvious sommelier on duty - whose opinion I'd normally ask for a tricky combination of white fish and beef. So we plumped for a red Sancerre - light and fresh, but not, perhaps, worth the £38.50 they were charging for it. Frankly, I'd preferred the bog-standard Viognier I'd had with the first course at 3.95 a glass.

I am still in the dark as to the tipping policy at the Spread Eagle. I asked our waiter about the service charge but his English was so poor he couldn't make himself understood. We decided to send back the bill and get the service charge removed so that we could give cash as a precaution, and the guy in charge came to speak to us. He tried hard to explain, but I still don't get it. It seems to be ok but it's difficult to be absolutely sure. More research is needed.

Much as I hate to say it, the Spread Eagle is still the best restaurant in town. It's not going to get any Michelin stars in the near future, but the food is good, tasty (if somewhat unexpected sometimes) and well-presented. The place itself looks fantastic and it's worth a visit if only for those paintings. If I were visiting for the first time and hadn't known what was there before I'd say it was wonderful. It's only with the benefit of knowing what was there before that you get the slightest uncomfortable feeling that something has been lost...

Check out Andrew Gilligan's review in the Standard for another resident's view of things.


Oh - and that sink's still there upstairs in the ladies' loo...

The Fishmonger Ltd

Trafalgar Rd

So. Here it is at last, and very pleased many of us are to see actual quality fooderies finally coming to East Greenwich - aw- c'mon - it's hardly far for you Westerners to trudge across the park in your green wellies and barbours... ;0)

It's all clean and bright, and though some of the shop has a distinctly "unfinished" feel to it - there's a tantalising Global knife cupboard and price list but no knives and several empty shelves in the display cabinet, I guess the main priority is to get the place open - niceties come later.

The one area which WAS absolutely stuffed to the gills (oops - sorry...) was the main event - the fish counter. Julian, one half of the young couple who are bravely setting out in the pescatorial world, is just getting himself acclimatised to the daily 4.00am visit to Billingsgate - there are no dark circles under the eyes yet, but with opening hours that currently go to 7.00pm, that will only be a matter of time. He confessed that he had been nervous that Billingsgate would be having an "off day" on Fishmonger's debut, but from what I could see, his worries had been for naught. There was a fine display - from eye-bright bream to shiny monkfish, giant king scallops to scarlet sashimi tuna, all beautifully arranged on the classic bed of ice.

Elsewhere in the shop are lemons, limes and fresh herbs in wooden crates and racks with spices and dressings. There are various cookbooks - some of which are clearly for sale, others - vintage, by the look of it, are more for getting ideas from. I am sure that as the shop matures, it will fill out with other accoutrements.

As you go in, there's a gorgeous old vintage dining table stacked with crusty bread, which has been locally sourced (not, I am glad to say, from Greggs...) fish kettles and other paraphernalia. It also has a collection of "Fishmonger Ltd" bits and bobs - good to get in there quick with the merchandise, I always say. You can get reclaimed hardwood chopping boards with the Fishmonger Ltd logo stamped discreetly in the corner (make sure you scrub that bit well, eh?) and some snazzy Fishmonger aprons so you don't get guts down your gut.

Of course you don't need to get anywhere near guts if you don't want to. Julian gutted and scaled my fish for me while I (and, ahem, a bit of a queue behind me) waited. I am sure it will speed up with time - and it was beautifully done. Presumably his partner will come in for busy times - once they know when those will be - at the moment the opening hours are long, but they intend to revise them once they've been open for a while.

They plan to have tasting sessions and fishy-type classes - I hope they do this soon. I've suggested they get together with Theatre of Wine for occasional evening sessions - champagne and oysters, anyone? They should also put suggested wine at the bottom of their recipe cards, IMHO. Incidentally, don't miss the lovely marine-inspired display in Theatre of Wine just now, created, presumably, to welcome the new kids on the block...

I've just realised that this reads a bit like one of the advertorial articles in local rags that I'm always going on about how much I hate. This is pretty much unavoidable just now - the place is so new I can't really say much other than the fish is good and the rest looks as though it will come given a few weeks. I'll revisit in those few weeks to give a more detailed critique...


Update: This shop goes from strength to strangth. They are friendly, helpful people, doing their best to make a truly exciting business. It's now full of shelves of itneresting foods, equipment and books - not to mention a giant bowl of daffodils. This has already become one of

The Phantom's Favourite Haunts

The Fishmonger Ltd

Trafalgar Rd

So. Here it is at last, and very pleased many of us are to see actual quality fooderies finally coming to East Greenwich - aw- c'mon - it's hardly far for you Westerners to trudge across the park in your green wellies and barbours... ;0)

It's all clean and bright, and though some of the shop has a distinctly "unfinished" feel to it - there's a tantalising Global knife cupboard and price list but no knives and several empty shelves in the display cabinet, I guess the main priority is to get the place open - niceties come later.

The one area which WAS absolutely stuffed to the gills (oops - sorry...) was the main event - the fish counter. Julian, one half of the young couple who are bravely setting out in the pescatorial world, is just getting himself acclimatised to the daily 4.00am visit to Billingsgate - there are no dark circles under the eyes yet, but with opening hours that currently go to 7.00pm, that will only be a matter of time. He confessed that he had been nervous that Billingsgate would be having an "off day" on Fishmonger's debut, but from what I could see, his worries had been for naught. There was a fine display - from eye-bright bream to shiny monkfish, giant king scallops to scarlet sashimi tuna, all beautifully arranged on the classic bed of ice.

Elsewhere in the shop are lemons, limes and fresh herbs in wooden crates and racks with spices and dressings. There are various cookbooks - some of which are clearly for sale, others - vintage, by the look of it, are more for getting ideas from. I am sure that as the shop matures, it will fill out with other accoutrements.

As you go in, there's a gorgeous old vintage dining table stacked with crusty bread, which has been locally sourced (not, I am glad to say, from Greggs...) fish kettles and other paraphernalia. It also has a collection of "Fishmonger Ltd" bits and bobs - good to get in there quick with the merchandise, I always say. You can get reclaimed hardwood chopping boards with the Fishmonger Ltd logo stamped discreetly in the corner (make sure you scrub that bit well, eh?) and some snazzy Fishmonger aprons so you don't get guts down your gut.

Of course you don't need to get anywhere near guts if you don't want to. Julian gutted and scaled my bream for me while I (and, ahem, a bit of a queue behind me) waited. I am sure it will speed up with time - and it was beautifully done. Presumably his partner will come in for busy times - once they know when those will be - at the moment the opening hours are long, but they intend to revise them once they've been open for a while.

They plan to have tasting sessions and fishy-type classes - I hope they do this soon. My bream was a total disaster - and I pride myself on my culinary skills. The fish itself was fabulous - only I could have made the pig's ear of it that I did. I've suggested they get together with Theatre of Wine for occasional evening sessions - champagne and oysters, anyone? They should also put suggested wine at the bottom of their recipe cards, IMHO. Incidentally, don't miss the lovely marine-inspired display in Theatre of Wine just now, created, presumably, to welcome the new kids on the block...

I've just realised that this reads a bit like one of the advertorial articles in local rags that I'm always going on about how much I hate. This is pretty much unavoidable just now - the place is so new I can't really say much other than the fish is good and the rest looks as though it will come given a few weeks. I'll revisit in those few weeks to give a more detailed critique...

Glenister Green

Woolwich Road

This has to be one of the wierdest open spaces in the area. Surrounded on three sides by housing, edged by the "iconic" (ahem) Mr Fast Fry and every inch of it clearly visible from the road, it is, inexplicably, one of the creepiest parks I know of.

I have definitely never ventured in, for a very good reason, which I will explain in a moment, but I walk past it on a regular basis and I can now confirm that I have NEVER SEEN ANYONE ELSE IN THERE EITHER. I have a theory about that too.

Could it be because it's poorly lit? Certainly not. It was part of the grand "improvements" of East Greenwich which I suspect somebody's Section 106 paid for, and which gave it random paths (I went to the "consultation - ha-bloody-ha - and listened to the "consultant" who designed it talking about what the paths all meant - the usual arty bullshit which makes you nod in puzzled agreement at the time and think "what the bloody hell was that all about" later.) As far as I can make out, the paths make people walk in specific directions which deliberately avoid the quickest route so they can enjoy the open space, which frankly gives more of a labyrinthine feel than any kind of pleasure of the countryside.

The consultant also gave it copious lighting - halogen, which are very low and directional - presumably to prevent light pollution, which I am actually very much in favour of. The "transformation is completed with suspicious-looking litter bins and the re-erected mural that used to be on the wall of Greenwich District Hospital. I'm all for saving it - and am glad to see it back, but they've put it together again with such gaps between the panels that it has an odd, disjointed feel about it. They've saved the trees, the place's best (read "only") feature but there is no grass - merely large patches of ankle-height weeds, which are at least green.

It's taken me a long while to work out exactly why I find this place so eerie - especially when it is SO visible and SO well-lit. Then it struck me - it's the transformation itself that's done it. There's something deeply unhealthy about those low pools of street light - where anything can happen - where you could find yourself, not being able to see beyond the light into the darkness, swallowed up into some nightmarish vision - a parallel Universe of Doom.

If I were to walk in there might I reach some kind of mythical centre and disappear for ever into a dimensional timeshift bigger than the one in Cardiff? Could I one day actually witness an unsuspecting stranger walking through the park and suddenly disappear off the face of the earth or even spontaneously combust? I calm myself with the thought that no one would voluntarily walk into this trap.

I guess it's possible that Glenister Green doesn't exist at all - that it's a hologram - hiding a portal to another world. Perhaps that mural is merely a cover for a control panel - press the sailor's duffle bag and you'll find yourself on the operating table of a visiting alien ship.

I find it hard to believe that anywhere as small, weedy and, well - visible - could be so sinister but somehow that place makes my blood run cold. And I can't be alone in this - no one goes there. You might think it would be a meeting ground for the local youth - but even they steer clear. One of these days I will, saveloy in hand, lie in wait in Mr Fast Fry watching for unsuspecting mothers with pushchairs, men with dogs or teenagers with spraycans to walk into the Venus Flytrap that is Glenister Green. If I see them come out again, whole and un-gibbering, I will feel it is safe to venture in myself. If they disappear before my very eyes I will become a full-time conspiracy theorist and start staking out the Superloo next to the Cutty Sark. Only if I hear grating sounds and see a police box materialise under those halogen lamps I will relax.

Until then there is something deeply wrong down Woolwich Road. I intend to keep walking on the other side of the main road, well away from those innocent park railings and creepy pools of harsh neon light.

The post office opposite has just been refurbished - I am told there is to be a basement "internet café." A likely story. It's clearly the public front of the Greenwich branch of Torchwood monitoring the activity at Glenister Green.