"What is the oldest object that you can touch, on the streets of London?"

There are many ancient objects that you can see and touch in London, from the Needle of Thutmose III, mistakenly called 'Cleopatra's Needle', to the Cuneiform tablet in the St Vedast-alias-Foster Garden.

However, there is something far, far older, hidden in plain sight, that may surprise you.

If you visit the area of St Martin-in-the-Fields and head along Adelaide Street, towards Duncannon Street, you will discover a sculpture entitled 'A Conversation with Oscar Wilde'.

This sculpture was created by the artist Maggi Hambling, and was unveiled in 1998. Shaped like a coffin, it has a bust of Oscar Wilde, with a hand holding a cigarette, rising up out of the head end. At the foot end it is inscribed with the words, "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars", which is taken from his play 'Lady Windermere's Fan'.

The sculpture was deliberately designed to be an interactive bench, where people can sit and 'chat' with Oscar Wilde.

Many mistakenly think that the piece is made from granite, but they are wrong. It is actually made from metamorphic rock, which is formed in the crust of the Earth. The lines throughout the sculpture show that this compressed rock is over three billion years old.

London's City Farms

When many people think of London, they think of the historic buildings, the Roman walls, the skyscrapers of the City of London, the River Thames and the overcrowded tourist destinations. 

What many fail to appreciate is that 49% of London is green space, with that percentage set to rise as new buildings and developments are required to include green spaces within their plans.

There are other green spaces, within London, that make for the perfect escape for those with families, too. Many are set close to major population centres, or are sandwiched between railway lines, while a few are on the outskirts. I am talking about London's City Farms.

There are well over a dozen city farms, spread across London, all of varying sizes, offering the chance to get up close and personal with farm animals. 

Some have rare breeds, while others include rescue centres. Others specialise in reptiles and arachnids, or, due to a lack of space, keep smaller animals, like ferrets, guinea pigs and rabbits.

Together these working city farms, many of which are free to visit, offer educational activities, petting areas, horse riding, animal adoption and much more.

I have listed some of these city farms below, with the address, a link to the website and basic information.

Belmont Farm, The Ridgeway, London NW7 1QT: Belmont Farm

Animals: Cattle, goats, alpacas, rabbits, poultry, waterfowl, ponies, donkeys, pigs, sheep and more

Services: Farm, soft play, toilets, cafe

Opening times: Daily

Price: Varies depending on age (concessions available)

Nunhead Cemetery (All Saints' Cemetery)

All Saints' Cemetery opened 1840, in the London Borough of Southwark, and was the sixth of the eight private garden cemeteries to open.

Built on a hill, with views over London, it was designed by architect James Bunstone Bunning, who had replaced Stephen Geary.

In 1976 it was purchased after it was allowed to fall into neglect by its owners United Cemeteries Limited, who were looking to build on some of the land.

It is still in operation.

Nunhead Cemetery is perhaps the least known of the Victorian Garden Cemeteries of London. Consecrated in 1840, it is one of the magnificent eight garden cemeteries established in a ring around what was the outskirts of London.

Magnificent monuments, erected in memory of the most eminent citizens of the day, contrast starkly with the small, simple headstones marking common, or public, burials. 

Walking alone: Baker Street to Paddington... and beyond

Thursday May 28, 2026

Sunny with a high of 30°C (86°F).

Having a few days away from work it was obvious that I would end up going to London, at some point. The problem that I had was where to go.

I toyed with the idea of starting in East Ham and heading south to the Royal Docks, as there are some sites that I was interested in seeing. But, there were also the Walthamstow Wetlands and reservoirs, which would be pleasing on what was looking to be a hot day. 

In the end I decided to head to Baker Street and, from there, see where my feet took me. So, I took a taxi to Watford underground station and boarded a Baker Street-bound train. 

On exiting Baker Street station, via the Marylebone Road exit, I turned right, crossed Baker Street and followed Marylebone Road until I turned down Old Marylebone Road. From here I took Chapel Street to Praed Street, passing Paddington station and various mews, before I joined Craven Road. 

From here I headed south along Westbourne Terrace to Sussex Gardens, which took me to Spring Street and Conduit Mews. Now, London is full of mews which, historically, are a row or courtyard of stables and carriage houses, typically with living quarters above. They were built behind large city houses, especially in London, to house horses, coaches, and stable-servants. Today, these are highly desirable, modern residential homes situated in quiet, traffic-free, cobbled lanes. So, I decided to walk along its length, wondering about these architectural buildings, many of which are brightly painted. 

The River Thames: London's Silent Witness

I have been flowing since before this island had a name, a silver ribbon winding through the shifting clay, birthed from the quiet springs of the Cotswolds and pulled relentlessly toward the grey embrace of the North Sea.

Humans have called me many names, but it is Thames that they now call me. They think they mastered me. They built their stone walls to hem me in, threw their iron bridges across my back like saddles, and dug deep into my belly to hide their trains. But I remember when I was wild. I remember when the woolly mammoth stepped heavily into my shallows to drink, and when the first frightened tribesmen built wooden huts on my marshy banks, looking at my currents with a mixture of reverence and fear.

I am a river of secrets, the great liquid spine of history.

For centuries, I have been London’s silent accomplice. I watched the Romans plant their wooden pilings into my mud, bringing the noise of a distant empire to my quiet shores. I carried the grand, gilded barges of Tudor kings and queens, listening to the whispered court gossip that drifted across my waters. I felt the heat and tasted the falling ash of the Great Fire in 1666, my surface reflecting a sky turned blood-red while terrified citizens threw their treasured possessions into my depths for safekeeping.