from mile end

I moved to the East End when I was 18.

The park with its sloping peaks provided views of the monied Canary Wharf to the South, the infamous shapes of the gherkin, and the walkie-talkie imposing from the city to the west. East was the iconic monkey-bar red beams of the Olympic Park. I would climb the grassy peaks in Mile End park to spot them before wandering along the winding canal, my new highway.

As the years passed, my bubble expanded. Familiarised with the surrounding neighbourhoods. Lunch from the elderly lady who made Gözleme on Roman Road, alfresco pints and pies at the camel, spring walks around the wild-garlic coated cemetery, hot coffees with the tiny orange biscuits, still warm from the oven at Victoria Park Village. Front seat DLR trips from Bow Church to Greenwich and Tuesday night runs down a less busy Brick Lane.