We let our lunches digest for a bit, bid goodbye to the adult Disneyworld of Jamie Oliver and meandered up very adorable road (through the tiny alley shortcut) to my course director’s home, where afternoon class was held. Teal’s house, which she shares with her partner Roger, is a contrast of ideas:
-very old, but also new.
-modern but inviting.
-gallery-esque but way, way livable.
The architects of Studio Octopi and the occupants faced the major design challenge of bringing a very old building up to modern standards — standards which were set by its two very design-minded residents. They were also asked to take on the task of finding a manageable way of displaying Teal and Roger’s vast array of collections.
On Thursday something very special happened. And it wasn’t the small lecture I went to on zines, although despite the too-warm room, it was quite lively and informative. No — what happened on Thursday was similar to the feeling I got when I opened my A-Z and dotted my flat on Lulworth Road. I went to the No. 67 to work on Thursday morning, and before I even said a word the dude at the counter (who I later learned is named Hamish and co-runs the café) confirmed my drink order. Anyone who partakes in café culture knows how serious this is. I took it as a sign: I am in the right place. Now, it was suggested that I’m moving a little too fast with No. 67. That perhaps I should essentially “date around” the other cafes and workspaces of South London. Admittedly, I am pretty infatuated with this place — the coffee, the soup, the space, the light, the insanely good (Steely Dan, Mazzy Star and The Shirelles), music. But what’s wrong with having all of those needs fulfilled? I actually get work done and manage a fair amount of people-watching. I don’t feel like I’m settling. If I were writing this from anywhere else, I’m pretty sure I’d be settling. For now No. 67 remains my place of worship and perpetual bliss.