By now, you should know that my friend Mark and I love rude name road trips. Like this one. And this one. We have a 700-entry Excel spreadsheet with the place names, locations, postcodes, Google Maps Street View links (to where the sign in question is) and whether we’ve been there or not. No sirree, we do not take this place names lark seriously at all.
London is a tricky one. There are ones in the very centre that we haven’t already visited, easily accessible by Tube, but there were many on the outskirts of London that were a pain in the cooch to get to. So we drove around the outskirts to get them out of the way. And when I say ‘we’, I mean ‘Mark’. I just played Taylor ‘Queen TayTay’ Swift songs, inadvertently flashed my gusset while taking pictures on a road in Brentford called ‘The Butts’ and swore a lot. That is my remit in the friendship, after all.
I had been eagerly anticipating Nork Gardens for years, but Nork Clinic was an unexpected gem. The day nearly peaked too early.
The hallowed Nork Gardens. My friend Al once made me spit out my drink all over a Pizza Express plate/table/waitress by hissing “NORRRRRRKS” in a low and alarming voice. #NeverForget
Mark cups his nuts well at Nutwell Street.
Gayville Road. Lol.
Sexy belfie for the camera.
Turned out that previous one was a bit too sexy for Mark’s liking.
Upper Butts, we decided, was not worth getting out the car for.
Admiring my own fine bush.
Ass House Lane has no sign, but there was a planning permission sheet stuck to a pole nearby! Proof! It exists!
Faggs Road was no so much not worth getting out the car for, but located on a busy road near Heathrow. We gave it a miss, like.
Me showing off my little bushey lane.
The wind caught Mark at a bad moment.
I’d left the car by this point, but Mark valiantly carried on, alone.