Somewhere pretty: Clissold Park Hackney's not a borough renowned for its beauty. But tucked in amongst the ubiquitous Victorian terraces are occasional expanses of green - none of them large, but each a welcome respite from the surrounding urban sprawl. I chose to head north to ClissoldPark, 54 acres of tree-lined communal space on the edge of Stoke Newington. I imagine that in the summer the park's grassy lawns are covered by sunbathing locals, teenagers kicking footballs and hyperactive kids. On Saturday, however, the grey skies and churning mud proved far less alluring. There are two ponds (one named Beckmere and the other Runtzmere in honour of the park's founders) where a frozen mother and her well-wrapped toddler were busy throwing scraps of bread at an ever increasing crowd of waterfowl. There's a brightly painted paddling pool (currently resolutely locked for the winter) and a 'dog-free' rose garden (very definitely also human-free when I strolled by). The central mansion houses both a stylish cafe and, round the back near the toilets, a Park Ranger's office. A short stretch of London's NewRiver curves through the grounds, once used to supply water to the well-to-do folk of Islington and the City, but now just a scenic algae-covered channel. Beyond the river is an enclosure stocked with goats, rabbits and some extremely tame fallow deer, while close by stands one of those nasty iron aviaries whose bedraggled parrots and cockatiels look like they'd rather be anywhere else rather than trapped in municipal captivity. But the most abundant midwinter wildlife in Clissold Park appears to be the humble grey squirrel. Look, there's one scampering across the path, and there's one hanging from a wire fence, and there's one peering inquisitively out of a litter bin, and there's another walking expectantly towards my camera and begging meerkat-like for attention. Quite charming, but I suspect far lovelier in the summer. by bus: 141, 341, 393
Other pretty places nearby (all visitable on this fineStoke Newington walk): • The Castle: Astonishingly out-of-place Gothic turrety building, formerly a water pumping staion, now an indoor rock climbing centre. • Clissold LeisureCentre: Hackney's flagship swimming pool complex which, due to staggering design incompetence, closed two years ago and may never reopen. (campaign) • Church Street: Stoke Newington's quaint wiggly high street, once home to Daniel Defoe but now (so anna says) the "pram-alley, organic-booming chi-chi corner of Hackney". • Abney ParkCemetery: One of London's 'Magnificent Seven' cemeteries, final resting place of Salvation Army founders William and Catherine Booth.
Somewhere sporty: HackneyMarshes On the banks of the River Lea, just north of the A12 Eastway, lies a vast expanse of reclaimed marshland. Dotted across this remote flat landscape are a record-breaking 87 pairs of white metal goalposts, a visual hint that these Hackney Marshes are the Mecca of East London's amateur footballers. For most of the week the area lies quiet and undisturbed, except by wildlife, a few exercising dogs and the occasional kite flier. But on Sunday mornings everything changes. The tea van arrives at 7am, followed by a steady torrent of lads and geezers in their revved up Kas and Corsas. And by 10:30am the car parks are rammed full, the changing rooms are emptied and the mass kickabout begins. The more important cup and league games are always played on the East Marsh, with the remainder of the matches on the more extensive South Marsh. For a couple of hours the riverside floodplain throngs with rainbow-stripped players, clustered into the middle distance. And from every pitch and touchline comes the sound of grown men taking the whole thing far far too seriously...
"Come on blues, challenge!" "Perry! Where are you?" "Watch him, watch him!" "Handball innit?" "Step up Jason!" "Ref-er-EE!!" "Keefy! Starting position thankyou!" "Stay with him!" "Solid!" "Deep breath! Deep breath!" "Yours for the taking lads!" "Get up there" "Come inside son!" "Well done Fordy!"
But part of this grassroots field of dreams is under threat from another sporting event. Hackney is justly proud of its status as an Olympic borough, with the 2012 volleyball, basketball and handball due to be staged on industrial land just to the south. But officials have kept rather quiet about the fact that planningpermission already exists to cover the entire East Marsh with tarmac. In a strange readjustment of environmental priorities, this grassy recreation ground is scheduled to become a giant coach park with space for 400 vehicles. Sunday football matches will be shifted elsewhere for a couple of years and the land will, they assure us, be restored as part of the post-Olympic legacy plans. But I'd much prefer to have seen the Olympic soccer finals staged right here on the Hackney Marshes, on muddy pitches between not-quite upright goalposts, like proper football should be. by train: Hackney Wick by bus: 308, W15
Hackney's not a borough renowned for its beauty. But tucked in amongst the ubiquitous Victorian terraces are occasional expanses of green - none of them large, but each a welcome respite from the surrounding urban sprawl. I chose to head north to Clissold Park, 54 acres of tree-lined communal space on the edge of Stoke Newington. I imagine that in the summer the park's grassy lawns are covered by sunbathing locals, teenagers kicking footballs and hyperactive kids. On Saturday, however, the grey skies and churning mud proved far less alluring. There are two ponds (one named Beckmere and the other Runtzmere in honour of the park's founders) where a frozen mother and her well-wrapped toddler were busy throwing scraps of bread at an ever increasing crowd of waterfowl. There's a brightly painted paddling pool (currently resolutely locked for the winter) and a 'dog-free' rose garden (very definitely also human-free when I strolled by). The central mansion houses both a stylish cafe and, round the back near the toilets, a Park Ranger's office.
A short stretch of London's New River curves through the grounds, once used to supply water to the well-to-do folk of Islington and the City, but now just a scenic algae-covered channel. Beyond the river is an enclosure stocked with goats, rabbits and some extremely tame fallow deer, while close by stands one of those nasty iron aviaries whose bedraggled parrots and cockatiels look like they'd rather be anywhere else rather than trapped in municipal captivity. But the most abundant midwinter wildlife in Clissold Park appears to be the humble grey squirrel. Look, there's one scampering across the path, and there's one hanging from a wire fence, and there's one peering inquisitively out of a litter bin, and there's another walking expectantly towards my camera and begging meerkat-like for attention. Quite charming, but I suspect far lovelier in the summer.
On the banks of the River Lea, just north of the A12 Eastway, lies a vast expanse of reclaimed marshland. Dotted across this remote flat landscape are a record-breaking 87 pairs of white metal goalposts, a visual hint that these Hackney Marshes are the Mecca of East London's amateur footballers. For most of the week the area lies quiet and undisturbed, except by wildlife, a few exercising dogs and the occasional kite flier. But on Sunday mornings everything changes. The tea van arrives at 7am, followed by a steady torrent of lads and geezers in their revved up Kas and Corsas. And by 10:30am the car parks are rammed full, the changing rooms are emptied and the mass kickabout begins. The more important cup and league games are always played on the East Marsh, with the remainder of the matches on the more extensive South Marsh. For a couple of hours the riverside floodplain throngs with rainbow-stripped players, clustered into the middle distance. And from every pitch and touchline comes the sound of grown men taking the whole thing far far too seriously...
"Come on blues, challenge!" "Perry! Where are you?" "Watch him, watch him!" "Handball innit?" "Step up Jason!" "Ref-er-EE!!" "Keefy! Starting position thankyou!" "Stay with him!" "Solid!" "Deep breath! Deep breath!" "Yours for the taking lads!" "Get up there" "Come inside son!" "Well done Fordy!"But part of this grassroots field of dreams is under threat from another sporting event. Hackney is justly proud of its status as an Olympic borough, with the 2012 volleyball, basketball and handball due to be staged on industrial land just to the south. But officials have kept rather quiet about the fact that planning permission already exists to cover the entire East Marsh with tarmac. In a strange readjustment of environmental priorities, this grassy recreation ground is scheduled to become a giant coach park with space for 400 vehicles. Sunday football matches will be shifted elsewhere for a couple of years and the land will, they assure us, be restored as part of the post-Olympic legacy plans. But I'd much prefer to have seen the Olympic soccer finals staged right here on the Hackney Marshes, on muddy pitches between not-quite upright goalposts, like proper football should be.
Hackney's not a borough renowned for its beauty. But tucked in amongst the ubiquitous Victorian terraces are occasional expanses of green - none of them large, but each a welcome respite from the surrounding urban sprawl. I chose to head north to 
A short stretch of London's 
On the banks of the River Lea, 