The adventurous traveller arrived at Orpington with the sounds of Girl Thing's Last One Standing in his muscular ears (damn you, Big Reunion). But, despite having voyaged into the Kentish depths of Zone 6, your dear friend and author was reassured to know that the Tudors had thoughtfully built ye wattle-and-daub taxi shedde to whisk him home should he get overcome by all the oast houses and inbreeding.
Strutting attractively down the road towards the town centre, your guide came across (no sniggering at the back) a Tesco of such a size and style that he genuinely mistook it for an entire campus of De Montford University.
On the other side of town, which is about three minutes away, is a rather tasty Brutalist Sainsbury's brick pile. The views from the en bloc car park include no fewer than three concrete spiral ramps. Fighting talk, indeed, to quote Nairn talking about something else (Crawley, I think).
Nearby is what happens if you leave two Erno Goldfinger buildings together for an evening with a bottle of red wine and no adult supervision. Wonder which of Alexander Fleming House and Balfron Tower took and which received.
WHY DOES IT COME WITH BRICKED-UP WINDOWS? Stupid new-builds.
At the rather attractive villagey end of town, the recent flooding confused the geese as to whether they were in the lake still or on a path.
Nearby there is a super and super-silly confection for a kebab house (with the sky from Quake).
The Walnuts shopping centre sounds a bit dirty and is a deeply unconvincing affair, with no useful shops but a lot of security guards keeping a keen eye on your author taking photos, lest he be a warlock capturing the souls of the Kentish maidens with his evil incantations / camera.
Part of the Walnuts is a 90s all-white enclosed thing. Google says there was once an astounding a purple glazed pyramid in the middle, but that appears now to have been knocked down. Boo hiss.
The superbly-hung raconteur can find some of the earlier, original, coffered concrete. Sadly, not a bit of cantilevered wizardry, just a normal jutting out bit supported by a column.
Handsome concrete moulding. In Coventry, this was on the wall of a fried chicken shop. Here, it's a café full of old people, which is erm much better.
Foster fans, it's a little-known fact that Orpington Leisure Centre inspired the Pompidou Centre.
I shall leave you with a charming piece of local Kentish art, made from real hops and Goths' eyelashes.
Fucking hideous.
