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In this issue
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The Fringe...
...the Festival
Martin Rowson
News in Brief
Readers Letters
Park Life
News in Brief
Dissent
Tapas Time
Back to the Fringe
Straight to the Point
Royal Bengal
Handy Contacts
Summertime Blues
Summery Justice
Up the Junction
Books/Poetry
The Factory
Summer Allergies
Farmers Market
The Arts
Away Days
A Royal Visit
Coffee Corner
Surfing N16
Man in North Bank
XWord
View from the Lane
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Issue 1
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Let’s talk about beggars. One of the crosses I have to bear
is being buttonholed by people with their Stokey moans. I’ve lost count of the number
who’ve recently asked if this mag knows why they are now more beggars in Church
Street than Downtown Calcutta. In an unscientific random survey last week I counted nine
between the old Town Hall and Bar Lorca. No-one can keep a shopping list in their head for
the cries of ‘got the price of a cup of tea, love ? ’
This place might be a dump in many ways, but it is essentially peopled by many caring,
liberal, laissez-faire folk who find the sight of so much panhandling profoundly
distressing. And there is a large cross-section, many with young children of which I am a
member, who also feel horribly intimidated on a daily basis. There but for the Grace of
the Almighty etc, but life is difficult enough in N16 and we should be able to go about
our business without feeling overwhelmed and, I say again, intimidated.I’m an old
cynic, as you know and an observant one, but talking to many shopkeepers in the area has
convinced me that our compassion with the beggars is often misplaced. I’m entitled to
that view, and although it mightn’t fit comfortably with others’
‘political’ agendas, issues like street begging are complex and profoundly
dependent on individual human nature. To think otherwise is not to think.
There’s a beggar freshly ensconced at the end of my road and I’ve lost count of
the number of earnest, closely cropped heads bent down chatting, cheap Peruvian earrings
thrashing furiously at the injustice of it all. I am honest enough to say that each time I
pass him and feel my daughter’s hand tense in mine I deeply wish he would piss off.
Do I give to the homeless? Yes I do – to a well-known charity who told me this week
that their firm advice ‘along with others in the field’ is don’t give to
street beggars.But why here? Why are there more street beggars per square inch in N16 than
any other London borough I visit? It can’t all be down to Stokey naivety and that
good old left, kneejerking way. Like everything else around here initial enquiries lead
straight to that hoary old cob-webbed monolith – Hackney Town Hall, the place with no
coherent policy on anything, including street begging. Apparently many of these beggars
have been moved on from some of our neighbouring boroughs and are thus congregating herein
large numbers.
We all know pushing a problem on is not the answer. But street begging’s got to be
dealt with by those with expertise, knowledge and a true understanding of the
tangled issues. I can only repeat what they’ve told me. Don’t give to street
beggars. Do as I did, she says pompously. Get out the Yellow Pages and make a standing
order. The only result from street giving, apart from a nice fuzzy feeling of
selfrighteousness for five minutes, is that pretty soon there won’t be a square inch
of wonky Church Street pavement left.
So the roadworks, gasworks, waterworks or whatever the hell they’re
doing continues apace. I know these matters have to be seen to and God Knows Stokey badly
needs the presence of Bob The Builder. But I live a stone’s throw from the upheaval
and work at home for some of the week. Why is it, pray, that the diggers, grinders,
shovels and whatsits remain blissfully silent during the working day but at the crack of
dawn on a Sunday morning I’m woken by a pneumatic drill with my fingernails hanging
off the ceiling. They only give it a 10 minute blast and then push off. Surely it
can’t be more lucrative to turn up on a Sunday, sign on bright and early then bugger
off for a good fry up ?
But there soon won’t be any roads left to drill, apparently, due to
the new bus routes. I’ve been revelling in the birth of buses in N16. I no longer
take a laptop to the 73 stop and bash out a few scenes of the BAFTA winning sitcom,
compose my gracious but witty acceptance speech and design my dress for the evening while
waiting for 17 of the red-topped nightmares to turn up at once. But, according to those in
the know, Stokey’s already potholed roads are literally collapsing under the strain
of so many 
buses, all run by different companies,
racing each other for custom. I was given a fascinating guided tour of the damage this
week. Quatermass and the Pit came to mind.
And now for my first competition. Fetching the Sunday papers last week I saw there was a
dust-up at that strange establishment opposite The Blue Legume above the insurance
brokers. Our boys in blue were in attendance mobhanded, the clientele were falling about
Church Street in various states of disrepair with bits of doors and glass everywhere. It
made me think. What exactly goes on there?
Can we all go? Do we want to? N16 will bestow a bottle of champagne on the best answer to
‘What goes on at that funny place in Church Street next to the Daniel Defoe and
across the road from the Caribbean funeral directors?’ Email info@n16mag.com. Try to
amuse me in no more than 150 words.