I am sure I have previously extolled the virtues of the marvellous Bagel Bake on Brick Lane. But I can’t help but draw your attention to it again.
The other night I was heading back to the coast from seeing some pals when the urge to eat salted beef began to overcome me. I tried to ignore it, having already eaten and not needing to eat any more (logic).
But the bagel experience is more than just a bagel. It’s wrapped up in my DNA, however much I might want to overcome it or have attempted to deny it in the past. I am one-half a Londoner and an East Londoner at that. I need to live with it.
With folklore about the docks, the dance halls, old China-town from before the Blitz, tailors, cigar rollers, Jews, prostitutes, the old maid’s chemist, Ginger Marks flyover, Catholic processions, loan clubs, black shirts, gangsters and boxing.
I remember the tale of an ‘old father shovel hat’ who used out-of-work dockers to build his church on the cheap. In short, I am steeped in the place’s geography and culture.
I am sure I have previously extolled the virtues of the marvellous Bagel Bake on Brick Lane. But I can’t help but draw your attention to it again.
The other night I was heading back to the coast from seeing some pals when the urge to eat salted beef began to overcome me. I tried to ignore it, having already eaten and not needing to eat any more (logic).
But the bagel experience is more than just a bagel. It’s wrapped up in my DNA, however much I might want to overcome it or have attempted to deny it in the past. I am one-half a Londoner and an East Londoner at that. I need to live with it.
With folklore about the docks, the dance halls, old China-town from before the Blitz, tailors, cigar rollers, Jews, prostitutes, the old maid’s chemist, Ginger Marks flyover, Catholic processions, loan clubs, black shirts, gangsters and boxing.
I remember the tale of an ‘old father shovel hat’ who used out-of-work dockers to build his church on the cheap. In short, I am steeped in the place’s geography and culture.
I am sure I have previously extolled the virtues of the marvellous Bagel Bake on Brick Lane. But I can’t help but draw your attention to it again.
The other night I was heading back to the coast from seeing some pals when the urge to eat salted beef began to overcome me. I tried to ignore it, having already eaten and not needing to eat any more (logic).
But the bagel experience is more than just a bagel. It’s wrapped up in my DNA, however much I might want to overcome it or have attempted to deny it in the past. I am one-half a Londoner and an East Londoner at that. I need to live with it.
With folklore about the docks, the dance halls, old China-town from before the Blitz, tailors, cigar rollers, Jews, prostitutes, the old maid’s chemist, Ginger Marks flyover, Catholic processions, loan clubs, black shirts, gangsters and boxing.
I remember the tale of an ‘old father shovel hat’ who used out-of-work dockers to build his church on the cheap. In short, I am steeped in the place’s geography and culture.
I am sure I have previously extolled the virtues of the marvellous Bagel Bake on Brick Lane. But I can’t help but draw your attention to it again.
The other night I was heading back to the coast from seeing some pals when the urge to eat salted beef began to overcome me. I tried to ignore it, having already eaten and not needing to eat any more (logic).
But the bagel experience is more than just a bagel. It’s wrapped up in my DNA, however much I might want to overcome it or have attempted to deny it in the past. I am one-half a Londoner and an East Londoner at that. I need to live with it.
With folklore about the docks, the dance halls, old China-town from before the Blitz, tailors, cigar rollers, Jews, prostitutes, the old maid’s chemist, Ginger Marks flyover, Catholic processions, loan clubs, black shirts, gangsters and boxing.
I remember the tale of an ‘old father shovel hat’ who used out-of-work dockers to build his church on the cheap. In short, I am steeped in the place’s geography and culture.
I am sure I have previously extolled the virtues of the marvellous Bagel Bake on Brick Lane. But I can’t help but draw your attention to it again.
The other night I was heading back to the coast from seeing some pals when the urge to eat salted beef began to overcome me. I tried to ignore it, having already eaten and not needing to eat any more (logic).
But the bagel experience is more than just a bagel. It’s wrapped up in my DNA, however much I might want to overcome it or have attempted to deny it in the past. I am one-half a Londoner and an East Londoner at that. I need to live with it.
With folklore about the docks, the dance halls, old China-town from before the Blitz, tailors, cigar rollers, Jews, prostitutes, the old maid’s chemist, Ginger Marks flyover, Catholic processions, loan clubs, black shirts, gangsters and boxing.
I remember the tale of an ‘old father shovel hat’ who used out-of-work dockers to build his church on the cheap. In short, I am steeped in the place’s geography and culture.
