A Tad Humdrum

This appeared in yesterday's Guardian Weekend magazine:

Hooray, we're on the map! But the piece appears worthy of some closer analysis.

Firstly, how come Nunhead (popn. over 10,000 towards the end of the nineteenth century) has been yoked with the evil empires of Honor Oak Park, Brockley and Ladywell? Recently Burnham-on-Crouch (popn. 7,600) had its own page to itself, and it is far less interesting. I note the page is differently titled on the Guardian's own InterWeb site (Let's Move to south-east London), so maybe they now recognise their mistake.

There is quite a lot missing: not least any mention of Nunhead Cemetery. One of the Magnificent Seven, and a terrific, overgrown, wild place to visit.

It mentions Ayres the bakers but somehow ignores Sopers wonderful wet fish cornucopiae.

And then again, it talks about boozers - fair enough, although several have shut in the last few years - but then fails to mention any of the pubs on Nunhead Green or the Lane itself. Not even the Old Nun's Head, from where (roughly) the photograph was taken. Nor the Pyrotechnic's Arms with its interesting history. The only pub it mentions, The Herne Tavern, is miles away (often described elsewhere as being on the "East Dulwich borders") and not that exciting apart from the garden. If you have to mention a pub on the Rye, The Clock House is surely the one to go for.

And as an aside, why illustrate the piece with a picture of the Great Wall of China seen from a distance? Nice enough fish and chips I know, but hardly the true heart of Nunhead, unless you are very, very fond of fried food.

It mentions Dulwich far too much for any sane person.

And what does it say is wrong with the area? That it's "a tad humdrum" is about it - (everything else in that section is about speed humps (a good thing) and house prices outside the area).

A tad humdrum? Well possibly, but I suspect that may be no bad thing. However, several people have commented that 'humdrum' appears to be the tone I try to set in this blog, so I may be biased.

But - suddenly - I want to react against it and speak of the marvels of the area. The wonders and the joys. And add such astonishing things to this poor archive that will give man pause and cause frail women to faint in astonishment. Just give me a sec.

On the other hand, when the piece speaks of where to buy it describes a "magical hilly world almost entirely comprised of brick terraces". Fair enough, I suppose, although I suspect the writer is thinking more of Telegraph Hill when he says that.

And he does call this land a "pocket of niceness" - which I suspect is what causes all the humdrumitude.

So I'll forgive him for now and go back to sleep in the shop window.