Greetings from Clapton Pond, East London

Hardly has the same ring as Greetings From Asbury Park, New Jersey, but it'll have to do for now.

My friend Andy's just rung me from whatever Godforsaken lake he's currently bivouaced around in his latest attempt to snag a carp.  The whole pursuit sounds absolutely hellish in this weather.  Well, it is December.  What does anyone otherwise expect..?

Anyway, apologies for the rather rudimentary nature of this first blog.  I'm sure I'll eventually master the Dark Arts of posting pictures, Yootoob nonsense and such like.  In the meantime, here's some other good Clapton blogs:

www.simonecj.com

This is my upstairs neighbour, Simone, who's involved with all manner of worthwhile local activities.  She's a keen supporter of the campaign to return the wretched hive of scum and villainy formerly known as Chimes nightclub back to its former glory as a Cinematograph Theatre.  That's a cinema to thee and me.  She's also rallying the opposing for the proposed licensing of a massage parlour/sauna emporium across the road.

Quite bloody right, too.  In the six years since I've lived here, I've seen this area go from "London's Murder Mile" (as the cover of The Times T2 supplement screamed, oooh, roughly two days before we moved in to Colenso Road), to something approaching a pretty decent place.  It's not just that the Pond's been cleaned up, the fountain re-activated, the roundabout refurbished, Chimes shut down, an organic shop, an Italian deli and the mighty Biddle Bros open -- but, you know, the last thing we need is a knocking shop opening up over the road.  I MEAN, REALLY.

davehill.typepad.com/claptonian/

And this is another local, Dave Hill.  He's a journalist, like me, though he gets to write about proper matters for grown-up papers like The Guardian.  As you might reasonably assume from someone with his background, his blog is pretty forthright in its condemnation of the vagueries of local government, the endless saga of Clissold Leisure Centre and the Yoot of today.

Right, most pressing:  I need to find a new book to read...  I've finished Tree Of Smoke, Denis Johnson's Vietnam epic whose brilliance I'll cover on a later blog, raced through Ian McEwan's Enduring Love (nope, still don't like him), and I'm now toying with Frederick Raphael's The Glittering Prizes, after having listened to Radio 4's recent, excellent adaptation of Fame & Fortune.

Onwards.