Saturday, August 20

Hell for Pauly – a scary but amusing character in The Sopranos – was losing an endless game of dice in an Irish bar where it was always St Patrick’s Day.

Hell for me is working in an island of chrome, glass and ruthless geometry, with nothing but suits, brands, more suits, and yet more brands, set apart from the rest of the human race with a flipping long commute home.

My hell became reality this week when my employer moved to Canary Wharf.

A few sneery labels for this giant gated community came to me thick and fast: Frankfurt-am-Thames, Singapore-by-Bow, Banksilia, Milton Quays, Bluewater Financial Centre.

Don’t get me wrong; I often wear a suit and have worked in and around the global financial industry for more than 15 years.

I have also never been to Frankfurt, Singapore, Brasilia or for that matter Milton Keynes or the Bluewater shopping centre.

But then I HAVE been to Berlin, Bangkok, Bombay and Rio and prefer to shop on the internet or in Covent Garden, even Wood Green.
I also don’t have a problem with the Midlands (OK, maybe I do).

True, there are some mitigating factors.

My wife won’t mind me saying this (I don’t think), but the female eye candy is certainly of above-average quality.

The skyline is also spectacular from a distance.

And just being by water, I recognise, is good for chilling out.

But just going for a quick half after work on Friday underlined for a few colleagues and me that it’ll be a long time before we acquire a liking for this place – if ever.

All Bar One, Slug & Lettuce, Smollensky's -- and all of them packed.

Still, as Pauly, Tony, Chris and the rest of the Jersey mob would say with a resigned shrug: “What’cha gonna do?”

So I’m going to make the best of it by exploiting the bigger commute with my jogging.

Last Wednesday I ran in --- all the way from Manor House/Finsbury Park to Canary Wharf. It was a biggie but less than I expected.

By running down through Newington Green, Dalston and Haggerston and along the Regents Canal, all the way past Victoria Park, Mile End, and Poplar , the distance was around 6.5 miles.

It’s not the most inviting part of London, admittedly. Victoria Park and Stoke Newington High Road apart, its somewhat derelict.

But it's not as scary as one might imagine, not least because quite a few bike riders use the same route.

The route also has a certain rough panache. This is London after all, not Virginia Water.

The area could also get a makeover due to the 2012 Olympics.

I’ll try the route again next week, but I can’t see myself doing it once the days get shorter and the cold sets in.