The British Raj, the blue-plastic clad replacement for Zara’s Kitchen, has closed down ‘for refurbishment’ — the same refurbishment that many other places have closed down for, never to open again.
Further down Camberwell Church Street, just past the Castle, there’s some building work going on, it looks like a a complete refit of a shop unit (formerly a solicitor’s, I think). What will it be? Who knows. But please god, not another takeaway.
On the subject of takeaways, Subway are opening a branch near Nando’s on Denmark Hill. Soon we denizens of Camberwell will be able to glut ourselves on every sodium mono glutamate and hydrogenated fat product known to man.
Many thanks to my faithful commenters for bringing these to my attention.
Yesterday, I met my favourite blagger outside the Somerfield petrol station on Peckham Road. He always has an inventive, if flimsy, excuse for making me part with my money.
The first time I met him he told me he’d run out of petrol, pointing to a stationary vehicle and holding up what was very obviously a house key. This time he was trying to sell me a painting which had been dumped outside a nearby house, a standard reproduction of a classic British landscape. He told me he’d painted it himself. I informed him regretfully that I didn’t have any cash, so he changed tack and pointed to a distant car, saying his daughter was inside and he’d promised her a can of coke, but he didn’t even have money for petrol so could I please buy her a coke with my card.
I agreed, bought him a bottle of coke and handed it to him as I left. He thanked me, then decided to back up his original story in case I hadn’t believed it.
He: “How long do you think it took me to paint that?”
Me: “A year?”
He: “Two weeks.”
Me: “You’re very talented.”
I meant talented at inventing cover stories, obviously. I don’t mind parting with a quid for someone who makes a bit of an effort with their story.