Gay Camberwell

By Layla

Last night I met up with my ex-flatmate. Both of us have now left Peckham for the bright lights of SE5, though she has opted for the Loughborough Junction end. Which was a good excuse to pop into the Cambria for dinner. I hadn't been for a while, but the vibe is still as good as ever and I envy my ex-flatmate's proximity to its delights. Though she wasn't impressed with her steak, my winter vegetable, thyme and feta pie lived up the the Cambria's usually very high standards of food, and we had a cosy meal amidst Christmas trees and festive decorations. I do like Christmas decorations. Christmas in itself doesn't excite me much, but string up a bit of tinsel and a twinkly light, and I'm already feeling festive. Camberwell's attempts at Christmas lighting this year have struggled to warm even this very susceptible heart though: bits of tinsel wrapped around the lamposts near Camberwell Green, boasting about 3 fairy lights apiece, does not an adequate yuletide decoration make, Southwark Council! When I worked down in Beckenham I used to take the 176 to Penge and pass through all the little areas of that part of south east London: Forest Hill, Anerly, Sydenham, etc. For each new area, there was a special themed display, with each area clearly trying to out-class the other on the festive decor front. It's a shame Camberwell does not feel moved to join the contest. On my cycle to Waterloo, by the back street route via Portland Road the other day, I saw that someone on Portland Road just past Albany Street has taken matters into their own hands: Santa's sleigh is being pulled across the council estate with an absolute explosion of flashing lights and festive cheer, each window adorned with a twinkling display and the garden and surrounding area all part of the fun. It may be environmentally unfriendly, and a tad American (this type of display was the norm when I once lived for a year in Minnesota) but I say hooray for the family who have rebelled against the scrappy tinselly nonsense deemed all that SE5 deserves.

But back to last night. Having polished off my Cambria pie, we walked around the corner to the Red Gate Gallery, who were having a private view of This is Maroc, a photographic exhibition exploring Morocco's burgeoning hip hop scene. The photos did not dazzle especially, but I continue to love the Red Gate Gallery for their completely incongruously lovely gallery tucked under the railway bridge, and we sipped mulled wine amongst the arty crowd of Loughborough Junction and beyond, while gazing at photos of blinged-up teenagers standing in the Marrakesh medina. The Red Gate Gallery has a private view ewith cheap bar pretty much every Friday - a brilliant hidden delight. And the amount of fairy lights they have in their courtyard outnumber those that Southwark Council has scraped together for Camberwell's lamposts.

I have no idea why the Oval House Theatre has such a consistently gay-themed programme, but it’s a bonus for us Gay Camberwellians – a mere 5 minute cycle last week brought us to the double bill of Lobster and Vantastic, two one act plays examining the concept of living in a confined space. Both were very interesting, but ultimately rather depressing. Pleasingly in both, the gay characters were portrayed in a very matter of fact way. So often in plays, if there is a gay character I find that there has to be a big issue around homophobia, or self identity angst, or coming out, or suchlike. In both these plays, the characters simply happened to be gay. That said, the plays both had quite enough issues taking centre stage: incestuous relationships with granny, for instance… kidnapping… elderly masochism… gratuitously bizarre, but while they didn’t make for comfortable viewing, they were well written, well acted, and in particular made good use of the Oval House’s two theatre spaces. With a welcome break in the rather pleasant bar in between shows. It’s a shame the Oval House isn’t nearer the centre of Camberwell: it’s definitely a bar I’d drink in regularly.

Speaking of which, Grand Union has become just that. I can’t seem to get out of the place, probably due to the excellent mohitos. I popped in for a post-work hot chocolate on Friday night with a couple of my work friends, and it was just the right mixture of cool and cosy (and festive – their Christmas tree has just gone up) for comfortable chat. But really I hankered after a mohito… Later that night, Roz and I cycled over to the V&A Museum, where they were having a gay night as part of their Friday Lates series. We arrived to find a colourful drag queen in the foyer proclaiming very loudly and repeatedly “I am a tranny!” Clearly this was to be a queer performance art extravaganza. Indeed, Camberwell’s very own Michael Twaits did a monologue, and there were all manner of intriguing queer arty performances lurking in various galleries around the museum. I joined in David Hoyle’s art class, where I spent a cheery half hour learning about the surrounding sculptures and under instruction, producing increasingly ridiculous drawings in the company of about 20 other ‘artists’ and a very colourful David. It made me very reminiscent of teenage late nights at my equally closeted male friend’s house in darkest suburban Scotland, secretively watching The Divine David on TV…

And of course after that, we cycled back to Camberwell and straight into Grand Union where a very pleasant woman who may have been the manager produced mohito after mohito with pleasure and efficiency, delivering them to our table and even giving us a free one in a very appealing manner. We stayed into the wee hours before tipsily wheeling our bikes home. Hooray for this excellent addition to SE5.

Yesterday we cycled north, to sample the Christmas church fetes of Hackney, and a brilliant Christmas craft market in the crypt of St Pancras Church (randomly, this seemed to be organised by a Peckham group). If only St Giles crypt had more events like that! Later on, we headed northwest on a very rare excursion to Notting Hill to sample the famed delights of Book Slam in the Tabernacle. I had previously failed to take advantage of the efficiency of the 148 bus that zooms straight from Camberwell to Notting Hill, but it’s just as fast (or just as slow) as the bus/tube combo, and took about 45 minutes. Book Slam was absolutely brilliant. Yet again, come on, St Giles crypt – this sort of event would work so well there, and it was extremely popular… Lots of performance poetry, readings by Lionel Shriver, a choir and random goings ons (and food!). We had a brilliant night, though conceded that Notting Hill is a creepy place full of very rich people who made me feel I must have plucked my evening’s outfit from a rubbish heap… though they did have lots of nice cinemas and coffeeshops…

By Roz.


Following our flat viewing on Friday night, we managed to resist the urge to spend the weekend contemplating the virtues or otherwise of living in Myatts Fields.  But only just.  The profusion of good films that are out at the moment was certainly a help.  (I would, by the way, say that An Education is absolutely worth seeing; I was less convinced by A Serious Man - but I seem to be alone in this view. As you can tell, we spent much of the weekend at the Ritzy…)

But we really owe our very pleasant weekend to our neighbours’ estate agent.  Our neighbours have just put their flat (in theory identical to ours; in reality, much nicer) on the market.  For some reason (I wouldn’t like to guess!), the flowery description of the flat referred to some local attractions outside of Camberwell.  So for the first Saturday night in a long time, we remembered our proximity to Vauxhall and headed over there (having been sustained by a dinner in FM Mangals) to Duckie.  It has clearly been far too long since either of us went clubbing, since we arrived just as the RVT was opening. In fact it wasn’t actually open yet, but they let us in anyway… Having survived (albeit without either enthusiasm or panache!) the experience of sitting in the corner and hoping for company, the RVT was soon a hive of activity.  Two excellent shows - and the additional pleasure of seeing Gay Camberwell’s favourite drag queen, Michael Twaits (straight from his show at the Soho Theatre) – entertained the crowds. 

The estate agent also referred to Bellenden Road as “a short stroll away”. This reminded us that, whatever one’s view on a mile equating to “a short stroll”, it’s certainly only a fairly short cycle.  And thus on Sunday we found ourselves heading over to Petitou for brunch.  I used to go there a lot, but for some reason (perhaps the coming of House, and my discovery of Chumleigh Gardens café) I’ve been less (indeed not at all) of late.  But what an error.  We deemed our scrambled eggs to have the edge over those we’d sampled in New York on our honeymoon (and the whole meal as absolutely superior to the brunch I had on Saturday in Shoreditch’s latest innovation, The Book Club) and programmed Pink Screen Sundays for December and January.  Feeling virtuous, we felt a visit to Peckham’s chocolate shop, Melange, was more than justified.  Having unfortunately insulted the shop owner (by enquiring whether she had anything fairly plain which I could give to my mother, who likes all her food bland) and “tested” far too many samples before purchasing coriander and grapefruit milk chocolate, we went to lurk in Review (the lovely bookshop).  From here we needed no guidance from an estate agent to ensure we were back at the Castle in time to see Caramel, this week’s Pink Screen Sunday film. 

So I have one thing to say to estate agents: bring on the flowery writing! 


PS Good news - we've just heard that there's going to be a Moona party at the Castle on 5 December at 8pm. Regular readers of the blog will remember the fabulousness of the last one! More details on the calendar.  

By Roz.

I’ve been waiting all week for the weekend.  And not just because it gives me a respite from not filling in that job application that has been sitting on my desk…  It’s started well, with a relatively early departure from work to go flat hunting.   Any views on the merits or otherwise of living in Myatts Fields?  We’ve been very unenthuisatic (because it does seem a fair trek into Camberwell proper – is there anywhere to buy a pint of milk, even?) but last night we went to see a flat in a monastery and are now tempted…

Whilst part of me wanted to spend the evening googling “Myatts Fields”, we resisted that temptation for the lure of the east, and went over to Persepolis (“a taste of Persia in Peckham”).  It’s a shop I’ve cycled past many a time, and been curious about.  Discovering that they had a storytelling night (part of Peckham Literary Festival, but in fact something which seems to happen quite regularly anyway) I enlisted Layla and a few of our friends and booked us all places.  I became a fan of storytelling nights a few years ago (living in a different city, and just round the corner from a venue which had regular storytelling slots) and this enthusiasm was reawakened in NYC, when Layla and I went to a night called The Moth.  That said, its something that I anticipate could be quite cringe-worthy if not done well.  So, whilst waiting for it to start, we wandered round the shop nervously, gazing at the baklava hopefully.  It wasn’t like any of the storytelling nights I’ve been to previously.  The stories I’ve heard before have been modern – and true – whereas these were tales of the east, fairy tales, almost.  But it was rather fantastic actually.  The storyteller – Sally Pomme Clayton (who lives in Peckham and intriguingly seems to have recently done a gig at No 11 Downing Street) – created a magical atmosphere.  Quite remarkable, especially given the profusion of buses and sirens which passed on the road behind her.   Mind you, she seemed somewhat disappointed by the audience (mainly comprised of middle class thirty-somethings) who were (me included) reluctant to bring out any tales of our own…

From here, we headed back to Camberwell and over to the Grand Union.  And thus – with all the fusion décor there – didn’t quite leave the Orient…  We’d reserved our judgment on our first, jet-lagged, visit to the Grand Union.  But our verdict is in: the Grand Union is a fine addition to the Camberwell scene.  We spent the evening drinking cocktails –mohitos and brambles – and both were excellent.  Not as strong as those in Bar Story, mind you, but that’s probably a good thing (and means that I am able to type this at a fairly early hour on Saturday, whilst Layla sleeps the sleep of the just…or whatever the phrase is).  Friends of friends turned up – members of the wonderful Camberwell Composers Collective – and we swopped tales.  And recommendations.  I waxed lyrical about Whirled Cinema and the Red Gate Gallery and its private viewings, and they of the Chinese restaurant next to Caravaggios.  It was an excellent evening.  With just enough of the Orient to make me forget all about filling in a job application form.  Though I must confess to a little google of "Myatts Fields" when we got home...

By Roz.


Layla and I are back from our honeymoon and have just popped into Camberwell's newest hot thing, the Grand Union - which opened whilst we were away.  It's the old Grove pub (on Camberwell Grove) but couldn't be more different to the Grove.  A new cool interior with electric lighting, neon signs, and good seating.  There's a long list of cocktails (although not all were available on the night we were there - which was slightly annoying) and their 2 for 1 offer between 6pm and 8pm every day is particularly welcome.  The food was quite good too - it's also 2 for 1 on all main meals at the time being.  Service could have been quicker (or perhaps that was just my jet-lagged desire for a drink!) but was certainly very pleasant.  I didn't see any board games - which would have been nice - and I wonder what they are planning to do with the back room (called the Snug) - and whether they might think about using it for events, such as comedy, which would be good.  


I also hear that the people behind the East Dulwich Tavern are taking over the Silver Buckle, which is excellent news.  And Angels and Gypsies (the tapas part of the Camberwell Church Street Hotel) might, finally, be opening since they are advertisng for staff.  The George Canning is also being refurbished.  We didn't much like it's previous incarnation, so it'll be interesting to see what it's like now.  When I get the energy to walk up a hill (which may not be for some days).  


Oh and don't forget that Pink Screen Sundays are still running at 5pm on a Sunday at the Castle.  This week we're showing the excellent film Caramel and the week after Milk. 


That's it for now - now that the wedding is finally over (hurrah) updates on here will be a little more frequent! And I must remember to tell you about the glorious Whirled Cinema, in case it's news to you!  But that's for another day.  

By Roz.

Camberwell is abuzz at the moment.  The two proposals for revitalising Burgess Park have just been released.  The Grove is going to be taken over (hurrah) at the end of October and this seems to be causing much consternation (from local pub owners) and interest (from the drinkers!).  The fabulous collective Swing Patrol are bringing their very gay-friendly swing dancing to the Sun and Doves on Saturday 24th October – kick-off at 7.30.  It’s free, and if it’s popular it will continue as a regular slot, so do come.  Pink Screen Sundays are continuing with some very interesting films coming up (The World Unseen is on tomorrow, with Breakfast on Pluto the week after and All About Eve on the last Sunday of the month).  The Ritzy (which of course isn’t Camberwell, but I’m not going to hold that against it) has a revitalised upstairs space with regular performances, as well as a new café downstairs.  I was at the launch night party a while back which was fun, and almost made me forget that in terms of décor the upstairs really did bear a striking resemblance to its previous incarnation.  Meanwhile Bar Story (also not Camberwell) now has bizarre new closing times (with all the lights being switched on at 10 last night, just as I was settling into my fourth mohito.  

But all these excitements haven’t generated quite the fever that they usually would for Layla and me.  This is because recently we’ve been wailing “if only” rather a lot.  If only we hadn’t gone to our friends’ civil partnership a while ago, and if only I hadn’t fallen in love with the elegant trouser suit which one of the brides wore.  If only I hadn’t asked a friend of a friend to make an outfit for me for our wedding.  If only said friend of a friend hadn’t agreed, then (a few months later) pulled out, then been bullied back into making me an outfit and then pulled out again.  If only the friend he then passed me onto hadn’t then been offered lots of work for London Fashion Week and also changed her mind.  And even more crucially, if only the person she then passed me onto hadn’t made me an outfit that magically turned me into a doppleganger for (a fat) Aladdin.

But the final “if only” is the most painful of all: why did I look for a solution outside Camberwell?  With the glorious Odie and Amanda shop, all other options are superfluous.  Following two jolly visits to the shop this week, I now have a number of glorious additions to my wardrobe, including the most fabulous dress I’ve ever worn. Best of all, I’ve tried on a trouser suit that, when it’s made in the beautiful Versace material that they’ve found, will be perfect for our wedding (which is in 3 weeks time).  If you’ve forgotten the shop is there – or haven’t been – tarry no longer.  It’s no wonder Camberwell is abuzz: it has it all*. 

 

Note to readers: any hyperbole which careful readers may detect is justified because of my relief in having, finally, got a wedding outfit solution.

by Roz.

A somewhat pretentious actor once refused to say which part he’d played was his favourite, on the grounds that the other parts would be hurt.  Certainly it’s not really the thing for us to have a favourite Gay Camberwell venue.  So many have done so much over the last year.  The Castle, bless Winston’s heart, has given over their upstairs room not just for our fabulous launch night party, but also every Sunday afternoon for Pink Screen Sundays*.  And the popular Sun and Doves had a gay film season throughout last November – as well as hosting the regular and wonderful Queer Complex.  And that’s quite apart from the glorious vision that Su-Thai - Camberwell’s best Thai restaurant - has of being filled with gay people.  (Speaking of which, they have another Gay Camberwell offer on this weekend.)

But I must confess (quietly, so as not to hurt the others) that the Cambria has a special place in my heart.  The fact that it’s gay-owned helps, but it’s really the enthusiasm of all involved in the venture and the quality that tips the balance.  And the particularly fine wallpaper…  It is, of course, the home of gay-friendly comedy in Camberwell (hosted by lesbian comedienne Rosie Wilby).  It also has very fabulous cabaret nights – and we made our way over to south Camberwell last night to one of these to hear the glorious James Cormack perform.  And it was one of the best shows I’ve seen at the Cambria – Cormack had immense personality - as well as a good voice!  The audience was enthusiastic – and so were we.  And that wasn’t all that was wonderful about the Cambria last night: the chips (which I would have liked to forget since they were definitely not pre-wedding diet friendly, but just can’t) were that lovely combination of crispy on the outside and creamy on the inside, whilst the white wine was certainly the best I’ve tasted in a pub.  It may be a trifle off the beaten Camberwell track, but it’s the place to be. 

On an entirely unrelated note, regular readers may be interested to find out how we got on with the dinosaurs in Crystal Palace.  I’m afraid they are going to be disappointed (lunch at House is calling) but the pictures below should prove sufficient enticement for those who haven’t been.


*Pink Screen Sundays are re-starting at the beginning of September following the summer break.  We'll be showing Victim (Dirk Bogarde), Imagine Me and You (Piper Perabo), Brokeback Mountain and Victor Victoria (Julie Andrews).  

by Roz


Finding myself unexpectedly off work (and in London) for a few weeks, I have been exploring the environs of Camberwell.  After all, I hear that there's more to south London than SE5...

The lure of cake took me to Rosie's Deli and Cafe in Market Row and very satisfying it proved too (though I was disappointed that the "mystery chocolate cake" proved to be lacking in suspense).  More revelatory, however, was the array of other lovely shops and cafes in Market Row.  

East Dulwich proved more disappointing.  But then my visit there was in hopes of finding accoutrement for the newest member of the Gay Camberwell team, an effeminate-looking, one-eyed cat called Nelson who we adopted last week.  I had hoped that the middle-class of East Dulwich would have a high-class pet shop, with the prettiest scratching-post imaginable.  Alas, I returned home empty-handed.  Mind you, the cake in in the Blue Mountain Cafe (which was on a par with that in Brixton) and the glass of rose in Green and Blue were very pleasing consolations...

Yesterday I meandered over to Bermondsey's antique market and to have a look at Shockwaves (the new cinema in Bermondsey Square).  My timing was bad: too late to pick up the best bargains at the former and too early to feel I could justify coffee and cake in the cinema's cafe.  But the vibe was very pleasant - and it's clearly a place to return to.  

However, when my friend called to suggest lunch and wedding talk, I was in no doubt about where to propose: Chumleigh Gardens cafe comes into its own in the summer (even this year's variety of summer).  I was able to be pleasingly smug about both the venue and the food.  My smugness continued when we popped into Edwardes bike shop to pick up Layla's bike and received a warm reception and interested enquiries after my "friend" and why she wasn't picking up her bike herself.  Our talk turned to weddings, and I felt the need to mention my own.  At this moment nemesis decided it was appropriate to reprimand me for my previous smugness, and I found myself blurting out "that friend of mine, the one whose bike I'm picking up, well she and I are getting married in October".  

Even a visit to La Luna for lovely pizza and to Frank's Cafe and Campari Bar (the pop-up Peckham bar in the car park) last night haven't quite reconciled me to such an inelegant coming out.  Perhaps cake in Crystal Palace today will help. And I hear they have dinosaurs too...taking south London's multiculturalism to new levels...



 

 

It's not quite Camberwell, of course, but it's been rather gratifying to see that a local pop-up bar/restaurant/art show is one of the most talked-about additions to the London scene. Frank's is only open Thu-Sun, and closes in September, so Roz and I cycled over to see what it was like. 

We found ourselves standing nervously outside the Multiplex, eyeing the lifts to the right of the entrance that we'd never quite noticed before. Luckily Frank's already has a bit of a following, and some more confident-looking arty locals strode up and pressed the button. Soon we were all in a rather bumpy service lift ascending to the sixth floor... but the sixth floor of where? 

Well, the multistorey carpark, it seemed. We walked out to find a few stray cars, a flickering strip light, and not much else. Fortunately the arty ones marched onwards, across the car park and up the slope to the 7th storey. Where there weren't any cars, but random art installations started to appear. 

Up again to the roof, and suddenly we were met with a rather lovely open air restaurant/bar with what might be London's best view of the skyline. Nothing was missing, from the London Eye to the Gherkin to Canary Wharf (and far beyond), all lighting up and twinkling as darkness fell. And then the sunset: the colours were glorious and the skyline was silhouetted in brightest pink. 

Drawing our attention to the bar itself, people sat at tables and benches enjoying cocktails, beers, and rather tempting-looking Mediterranean food. The vibe was friendly and smug, as though we were all part of a secret club, meeting in the most unlikely of places. We just had beer, but eyed up the corn on the cob with much envy. This might be the coolest venue I've been to in London (well, on a par with the wonderful Shunt) and all I want to do is return for that corn on the cob...