Fond memories of a Town called K

My preference for K-Town over T-Park is no secret and anyone who’s been reading this Blog over the past couple of months will know that I’m finding it hard to adjust to my new postcode. Even if the street code part of it titillatingly looks like ‘SEX’. In fact you’re probably fed up with hearing about it – I know my Homies are (they LOVE our new pad).

It’s not that I don’t like T-Park, I just prefer K-Town. They are such different places…despite sharing a Sainsburys Local.

For example, the local T-Park hairdresser is rather imaginatively called ‘Hair Centre’. In K-Town it’s Kutt Zone (see what they did there with the K-Town ‘K’? Genius). Guess which one I go to to get my hair cut. My Homie, Andrew also prefers the K.

That’s just a taster of the differences between the two places. Newcomers to the North of London can be referred towards a stroll up both K-Town Road and T-Park Road for further info. You will see that these are two very, very different tracks.

K-Town Road is a menagerie of independent shops, including the ramshackle hardware store where I went Tool-Belting, the Kutt Zone hair saloon and Blustons – the original roaring forties granny twin-set boutique, not to mention a plethora of the North’s finest battlecruisers (that’s boozers, for the un-cockney’d among you).

At the top of K-Town Road there are benches under a shelter where the train station used to be, near the current K-Town Tube station, allowing one to pause and reflect on the sights, while repositioning the weight away from the legs and towards the arse. It’s always a pleasure.

T-Park Road is a long strip of large townhouses-cum-terraced mansions. The only respite from the strip is Tufnells, the imaginatively named sports bar, where one can procure a BBQ’d burger and a pint of Fosters to accompany the big screen sport-related ents they have on there most weekends. Like K-Town Road, T-Park Road has a bench, situated outside our flat’s front window.

Initially I had high hopes for this – benches always attract waifes and strays (check K-Town out, if in doubt – there’s always a cider-soaked tramp passed out by the station). And promisingly, on our first day in T-Park a strange blond-dreadlocked lady with a whip and an Alsatian camped out for the day on our new bench. After spending a few hours doing whip-poi and frightening her dog, which then shat near the bench, she left. She returned once, but was ushered away by a parking attendent, of all people! I suppose technically, she was parked there. We haven’t seen her since.

Another K-T difference is the nature of our immediate neighbours. Instead of having a couple of roudy Australian dirty-thirty encore-gap-year goers living beneath us, we now have a reclusive old man and a one-dimensional midget female lawyer.

They don’t live together, but I reckon they’d get on just fine if they did – they both hate bikes and wont allow them in the hallway. That’s why Carson, my vintage Raleigh Vektar, is now camped out in the garden with only a plastic sheet and a strong chain for company, poor thing. He’s really not an outdoor bike – being an 80s legend he’s more at home on t-shirts and in eBay collectors groups.

True it’s quieter, cleaner and far ‘nicer’ and my Homies no longer get disturbed by noisy louts living beneath us, but I miss the edgy K-Town odd-bods and the peeling paper in the hallways in what I fear may have been the last vestiges of my era of student living. Oh it was a sad day when the Homies left K-Town. I even miss those middle of the night wake-up calls from the druggies across the road, who used to hammer down the door of the old man who’s house they went to for their four o’clock fixes…

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