For the second time in a week, I walked from Camden to Dalston. The public transport situation didn't force me to do so, it was more an urge to just get a bit of bloody exercise. I skirted round the back of Euston and Kings Cross, past Camley St Natural Park – which I couldn't believe was still there with all the building work surrounding it – then up Copenhagen St towards Barnsbury. Past the scummy pub which used to be called The Red Eye and hosted very poorly attended gigs in the mid 90s, then across Liverpool Road, Islington High Street, Essex Road, Southgate Road… N1 is gigantic. If you ever volunteer to deliver leaflets in a London postcode, don't pick that one.

Anyway, I got a blister on my toe, and rewarded myself with some grub in the magnificent 19 Numara Bos Cirrik, a Turkish restaurant on Kingsland High St that is NOT frequented by Gilbert and George, it's one of the others. If you ask me, Gilbert and George are missing a trick – they do things with onions in that place that you would not believe.

Then I went to see some Steely Dan-esque jazz fusion at the Vortex, a jazz club which used to be a pleasant little building in Stoke Newington, but is now a glass-fronted monstrosity which looks like a municipal building on the outskirts of Swindon. The band were called The Profiles. Their girlfriends danced, the rest of us stroked our imaginary beards.

I was forced to take a weird route home, which actually ended being quicker than the one I would normally have used. Maybe this current crisis will make us use a lot more logistical cunning. And our legs. Especially legs. We need all our legs about us, right now.