THE GREEN TOURIST
rumble of a truck and the intermittent “thwack” of a nail gun on a nearby house.
A boy and a Labrador dart up a path from a house below the line. Mothers propel babies in prams; a father and small daughters cycle in a mini peloton, and legions of joggers bound along. London might be gripped by an obesity crisis but there’s little evidence of it in the people out and about on the track.
Graffiti artists have had a party, daubing “Drone Attaaack”, “Slam Sub” and “Freak” all over the blank walls of the railway bridges and tunnels. (Perhaps they think their scribbles befit the walk’s surroundings. I just wish they’d left the proud Victorian brickwork alone.)
At Highgate station we leave the track and walk through the streets to Highgate Wood. The Pavilion Cafe is short-staffed and the coffee, when it comes, is ordinary, but it is pleasant to sit in the cottagey garden overlooking the open playing field. Here, in the heart of London, is a