OK, so much of my time is spent planning how to get out of London. But that doesn't stop me loving the way anyone with half an eye can have their minds thrown in wildly random directions by the bizarre signs and views the city throws up. I don't mean to get all Iain Sinclair, psycho geographic on yo' ass, but take today as an example. Finished recording The Word podcast on Pentonville Road, had a couple of hours to kill before next meting in Dalston, so wandered through Islington towards my destination.
And just south of Dalston Junction I stumbled across this sign. I's a dead end, one back from the shopfronts on Kingsland Road, and the name just leapt out as slightly incongruous in this neck of the woods. Having googled him, I now know that Nimrod was a biblical king, who got his hands on the clothes worn by Adam & Eve, which gave him great power and the ability to kick seven shades of shite out of anyone he wanted. He started building the Tower of Babel - and that's where it all went wrong. A classic case of over-reaching yourself. That he's now given his name to a cobbled alleyway in one of the most multicultural areas of London has a certain pleasant symmetry to it.
