Walker Minton

The London I know best is not the London of the glittering aisles of Mayfair or the exuberant affluence of the back streets of Piccadilly. It is the smoky grey of normal suburban streets all surrounded by four-storey modern yellow brick boxes. Here, the only building older than fifty years is the church, held one step away from tumbledown by patchwork repairs. In these environments where most Britons pass their lives, the small splashes of colour mean everything. Flowers are planted in the front gardens to claim back a small corner from the lifeless tar and concrete. The ubiquitous purple sprouts of lavender provide small clouds of aromatic respite amongst the pungent mixture of oil, refuse and human output, organic and mechanical. This world-in-a-city hosts an infinite variety of people, all unique beneath the uniform warehouse accommodation. Their clothing, adornment and decoration of themselves are as diverse as their genealogy.
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Front seats on the top deck of a London bus are always in demand. Every time I climb the stairs and ...

When the going gets tough in real life and especially when I am reminded of mortality, wearing ...

Sometimes the most interesting journeys are very short ones. A wander down Jermyn Street behind Piccadilly, London is no ...

Uncomplicated, traditional, masculine and long overdue for a comeback, the infusion of bay combined ...

Having recently returned to London from the Isle of Skye in the West Highlands of Scotland, ...

I like the smell of perfume. A simple timeless pleasure of things that smell good. However, like many ...

Creed Royal Scottish Lavender is my favourite fragrance ...

My nephew has a bottle of Jules by Dior. Or perhaps he has two. He may have several stashed away, I'm not ...