The first place I lived in London as an adult was the Ralph West Halls of Residence, on Albert Bridge Road, opposite Battersea Park. I was 17, it was the height of punk, and I lived just a spit from King’s Road in Chelsea. Since then I’ve lived in most postcodes in the city, circling in towards the centre of town. It’s a litany of experience: Dulwich, Herne Hill, Stamford Hill, Peckham, Brixton, the Oval, Shepherd’s Bush, Notting Hill, West Hampstead (Kilburn, actually), and finally — hopefully — Bayswater.
At the time the cycle was one attempted by many people trying to find a foothold in London: squats, housing associations, shared houses, rentals and then eventually — overextending, obviously — a mortgage on a small, one-bedroomed, top-floor flat off Uxbridge Road.
