I know, I know—you’re not an architect. But look at the terracotta bricks on this thing. They’re not just red; they’re the color of a slightly embarrassed lobster. And those windows? They’re bowed outward like a posh Victorian lady who’s just seen a mouse. The building was originally painted a drab mustard until 1993, when a rogue art student snuck in at 3 AM and repainted it the current “taxi-cab yellow” you see today. The landlord never noticed for three years. Legend.
Also, check out the door. It’s not a door, it’s a time machine. It’s the original oak, with 147 layers of paint. Geologists could study it and find traces of Roman Britain, Tudor ale, and a 1984 pizza delivery. Fact: a chunk of that wood is now in the British Museum’s “Ordinary Objects That Fascinate Nerds” exhibit. I am not joking. Go see it. It’s next to a Victorian hatpin.
The Local Neighbors (A Roaming Circus)
The street itself is a human zoo—in the best way. Outside, you’ll find the “Coffee Connoisseurs” who charge £6 for a latte served in a test tube. Across the street, there’s a crisp shop that sells only salt-and-vinegar and prawn cocktail. It’s been there since 1978. The owner, Doris, will fight you if you ask for “Thai sweet chili.” I have seen her do it. She uses her umbrella like a fencing foil. Do not test Doris.
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And if you’re lucky, you’ll catch the busker who plays “Wonderwall” on a recorder while wearing a full Batman costume. He’s been there since 2008. His name is Keith. He works at the building’s “co-working space” on the second floor. Yes, he wears the costume to work. The HR person, who is also the landlord’s cat, is fine with it.
