Home sweet home

Cosy isn’t it? It was a very strange experience to visit the building in Battersea where I lived from 1977 to 1979, and to stand in the foyer outside the old flat and feel the memories flooding back.

I lived here on the 17th floor with my then partner and my best friend from NZ, as well as a series of visitors from home who slept on camp stretchers (before the days of inflatable mattresses). One thing that hadn’t changed was the lift still smelt of stale pee!

Even then, finding a flat in London was incredibly difficult and expensive and the thrilling part about this place, which belonged to my employer, was the rent was less than half what we had previously been paying – which made life sooo much better.

We had a million quid view of seven bridges down the length of the Thames and could walk across the Battersea Bridge and up the Kings Road in Chelsea where everything was happening. Punk was in full swing especially around the BOY store which had taken over from another boutique called SEX established by Malcolm McLaren and Vinnie Westwood.

It was a grotty little place but, standing outside that flat, I had very vivid memories of my time there; the funny old black typewriter I used to bash out short stories on and my dreams of becoming a writer. How strange to be here 40 years later to complete the circle.


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