The Lepidopterist and the Prince of Pop

[David Wright]

A fine summer's evening and, for the commuters packed onto the Central Line train, the only way is Essex.  Epping to be precise, home to the first ever branch of Clinton's Cards, the very lovely Jessie Wallace and punk ideologues, Crass.

Beyond Debden we are travelling across lush green fields.  London feels like a long way behind us. Through the beautifully named Theydon Bois and we finally arrive in Epping.  The High Street is a short walk uphill from the station.

My eye is caught by a blue plaque a few yards down Buttercross Alley marking the home of naturalist and lepidopterist, Henry Doubleday, 1808-1875.  I later learn that a lepidopterist is one who studies the order of insects which encompasses moths, butterflies, skipper butterflies and moth-butterflies.  I also learn that Doubleday named several species of moth, including Pigmy Footman, Ashworth's Rustic and the Marsh Oblique-barred.

At the far end of the High Street, I arrive at the Black Lion.  I take a seat outside to enjoy a solitary ale, confident that Dave will be delayed through no fault of his own.  When he eventually arrives in a state of agitation, I learn that a faulty train at Liverpool Street is tonight's culprit.  We get the pints in and find a table in the beer garden.

After a short time, we are distracted by a curious site.  In the house next door, a pigeon is sitting in the kitchen looking out of the window.  Whether the bird is a resident or an uninvited guest, we cannot tell.

Soon my hunger gets the better of me and we agree on a bite to eat.  Smith's chippy comes highly recommended.  Rod Stewart, who owns a mansion nearby, apparently swears by the place.  It doesn't disappoint.  The cod and chips go down a treat and service comes with a smile.

Our meals are washed down with pints of Carling from the frankly uninspiring George and Dragon next door.  We swiftly finish our drinks and prepare for what promises to be the climax of the evening.

Billie Jean’s, ‘Epping’s premier 80’s theme bar’.  Top club night: 'Saturday Night Beaver'.  We spot it a mile off.  On an otherwise quaint, tasteful high street, this place stands out as a monument to bad taste.  The stonework is painted hot pink.  Jacko's silver silhouette adorns every window pane.  The signage is a typographic catastrophe.  Our expectations have already been exceeded.  As we approach the entrance, our excitement dies a sudden death.  Billie Jean's is decidedly shut.

Disappointed but not broken, we decide to end the night in The Forest Gate Inn, a mile's walk out of town on Bell Common.  The beer is good and the pub's certainly got  plenty of rural charm.  We even spot a rabbit on our walk back across the common, the most exotic EOTL wildlife sighting since a parakeet was seen flying close to Heathrow Terminal 5.

 

Thanks to David Lynch, who apparently doesn't direct films, for some top tips.

[Eleanor Dowling]

Very disappointed that you didn't go and lurk outside Jessie Wallace's house.  I expect a return visit to Epping on a weekend, so you can dance the night away at Saturday Night Beaver...