Hackney Road

The figures, mostly of men, which I have alluded to as appearing with something of a stealthy movement, are thieves, not young cadgers like him who was lately from the workhouse, but regular thieves of the ordinary stamp, the thieves of thief London in fact, not the known cracksman.

He and his like, for they are few, take furnished lodgings and live anywhere, Camden Town, Hackney Road, Islington, and for aught I know, but I think it likely, in Kensington.

Not the forgers, for they are criminal according to circumstances and belong to no particular class.

Not the coiners, though some of these have been engaged in that business, and many of them have been concerned in passing bad money, but the coiners live here or elsewhere according to their convenience, and seldom in any place so well known to the police and so often visited by them.

This desert of unattractiveness has its oasis.

Near the outer end of the Hackney Road is a park of two hundred and seventeen acres, fenced in, not by railings, but by a wooden paling, and containing plenty of greensward trees, a lake for bathers, flower beds with the flowers arranged carefully in patterns by the admired cockney art of carpet gardening and a sandpit, imported from the seaside for the delight of the children, but speedily deserted on its becoming a natural vermin preserve for all the petty fauna of Kingsland, Hackney and Hoxton.

A bandstand, an unfinished forum for religious, anti-religious and political orators, cricket pitches, a gymnasium, and an old-fashioned stone kiosk are among its attractions.

Wherever the prospect is bounded by trees or rising green grounds, it is a pleasant place.

Oh, don't talk about boots.

Your feet should be beautiful on the mountains.

My feet would not be beautiful on the Hackney Road without boots.

Come, Candy, don't be vulgar.

I'm an American over here from Chicago currently listening to episode 864 while recovering from an absolute culinary war crime.

[laughs] It all started at Kebab House on Hackney Road after a few drinks.

I walked in line to my, uh, I walked in to line my stomach for the Man City versus Coventry match tomorrow, only to realize the gents behind the counter were considerably more hammered than I was." [laughs]

[laughs]

I think he'd take your night.

So I went to see Joyner Dave down on Hackney Road at the Joyner's Arms, pitched my event called Comic.

And the reason it was called Comic was because I couldn't afford to print flyers in colour.

So it was everything was black and white.

Where are you coming to us from?

I'm just on Hackney Road at the moment, just living in an old converted children's hospital.

It's kind of amazing.

There's actually like an old film on YouTube of Queen Elizabeth opening it.

The figures, mostly of men, which I have alluded to as appearing with something of a stealthy movement, are thieves, not young catchers, like him who was lately from the workhouse, but regular thieves of the ordinary stamp, the thieves of thief London, in fact, not the known cracksman.

He and his like, for they are few, take furnished lodgings and live anywhere, Camden Town, Hackney Road, Islington, and for aught I know, but I think it likely, in Kensington.

Not the forgers, for they are criminal according to circumstances and belong to no particular class.

Not the coiners, though some of these have been engaged in that business, and many of them have been concerned in passing bad money, but the coiners live here or elsewhere, according to their convenience, and seldom in any place so well known to the police and so often visited by them.

Don't get me wrong, I love a roast.

The what's its face, what's it called, the one around the corner? That gorgeous one on Hackney Road.

Oh, The Marksman.

The Marksman, living.