I often see murmurings on social media about how London is a joyless city. An uninspiring city. A city which closes early and stifles dreams. To some extent, these qualms aren’t imagined. London could well be freer — more continental in its dynamism and less rigid in function. But that is not to say there aren’t places within it that bring all the urgency, life and soul that humans so desperately crave.
One such place is found on a rooftop in Peckham. If you’ve heard of it and are starting to tut, understand it is 15 years old and there are scores of uncertain young Londoners in need of a cheap glass of wine or two.
Bold Tendencies remains a public space open to all and a home to an ever-changing roster of visual art, poetry readings, music, dance, even the odd evening of opera. And in situ happily is Frank’s Cafe, serving the community since 2009 and described, many years ago, as a sort of Shoreditch House for south London but without the membership fees, swimming pool or the five-star frills. Fair observations. Noted, too, its socialite beginnings: founder Frank Boxer is a name; the writer Stephen Bayley’s daughter used to help out in the kitchen; Paloma Gormley designed the canopy that shelters drinkers from wind and rain.
Frank’s today is less of a scene. Far from the heralded “secret spot” in a postcode so often talked about by those for whom gentrification is a persistent subject. Oliver Bonas types have loved to comment on Peckham over the years. Must we deliberate?
These days, Frank’s is just a part of Peckham’s fabric, a place where small glasses of Estrella cost less than £4, punchy cocktails stay close to a tenner and glasses of wine — white, red and orange — start at £6 or £7 a go. These might be enjoyed in daylight, a family vibe in tow, and the views from the 10th floor of the multi-storey car park are arguably better than ever: more than 200 skyscrapers have been built in London in the last decade.
Drinks as “sundowners”, when an orange glow runs across the rooftop, bring a keener atmosphere. It is all communal — students from Goldsmiths drink next to older locals who probably bought houses early doors and have cash to burn.
It had been years since I visited Frank’s. To return felt nostalgic. It is a marker of a pattern of change, and its longevity has quietly rocked up without much fanfare. No wonder I had so many Negronis and ended up out much later than planned. I woke up with my passport on my chest, with Uber having charged me for a drive to Stansted that I didn’t take. Berlin was calling.
And so I feel it necessary not only to celebrate the recent, but also those that were at the forefront of what London has become. A tiring city, but one that can be pretty cool if you bother to find a better view.
