I followed my one true love from recession-soaked Ireland to Wood Green, North London. We never quite took to the humdrum of the Green though. A place that seemed to repeat itself day after day: the same shops, the same people and the same sameness. You see, I came to London looking for a new adventure…a place to spread my creative wings.
Thankfully, Shoreditch was the missing piece of the puzzle. As soon as my boyfriend and I experienced the eclectic mix of restaurants, bars, shops and galleries we were hooked. A few months later we found a decent, reasonably priced-flat and settled in with ease.
Like Wood Green, some towns stay familiar for what seems like eons but Shoreditch isn’t just some town. It’s constantly shape-shifting. Each time I take a step outside of my front door, I feel as though I’m being transported somewhere new. The graffiti murals change every few days in order to give each artist the space to create and showcase their work to passers by.
I take pictures to have physical memories of Shoreditch but also to show my Irish friends back home. It would be lovely to lure them here! At weekends I explore the backstreets for fear that I’ll miss out on new graffiti. There are tonnes of galleries around but street paintings feed my appetite. I may not be decked out in vintage clothes from the very ‘trendy’ Blitz clothing store but I still feel as though I belong.
Whilst walking down the perfectly preserved Fournier Street I often pretend to be in the Hugenot Brick Lane of the 18th century. I imagine the ‘master’ silk weavers creating beautiful garments inside the kitsch Georgian town houses.
As you can tell, Brick Lane is steeped in history with The Beigel bakery retaining the same cockney charm that older residents would be accustomed to. You can measure its popularity by the length of the queues outside! Shoreditch has been home to numerous ethnic groups over the centuries, including a large Jewish immigrant community. I enjoyed living amongst the wonderful Bengali community near Hanbury Street and watching the artists complete their work with a final rattle of their can.
Most evenings there are a number of Jack the Ripper tours taking place outside my flat on Toynbee Street. The tour leaders stand tall in amusing Victorian outfits, regaling their group with stories of Annie Chapman’s brutal murder at the hands of the infamous unidentified villain. Occasionally I’ll hear a Spanish version of the tour from my kitchen window. It’d be lovely to take the tour but I don’t want to pay to stand outside my flat!
Like our own personalities, Shoreditch never stops evolving. It represents artistic freedom to many. I’m aware that I can be anyone in this town. It welcomed me with open arms and cared not of my identity. How could it? It has no fixed identity itself. That’s what makes Shoreditch so damn special.
