On the afternoon in June, beneath a sky that could not decide between bright sunshine and light drizzle, a small but determined group of photographers convened outside Maison Bertaux on Greek Street. The meeting had no formal structure, though someone did attempt a roll call and was largely ignored. Thus began the inaugural walk of what we have, somewhat grandly, called the Soho Perambulation Society.
To describe this as a “photo walk” is accurate only in the same way that describing Soho as “just a bit of London” is accurate. The day’s mission was more than documentation; it was observational anthropology with occasional pastries. The agenda: to stroll, to notice, and—where appropriate—to shoot (only with film).
Our route was but loosely mapped. Frith Street to Old Compton, via detours into alleyways best described as formerly licentious, now simply expensive. Each member of the group, armed variously with vintage Leicas, mirrorless Fujis, and at least one phone wrapped in ironic tape, sought their different Sohos.
A brief catalogue of observations and images captured:
• Eleanor M, working in monochrome as always, stood motionless for twenty-five minutes in front of the Coach & Horses pub, waiting for “a man in a hat.” Several eventually arrived, all at once. We await the contact sheet.
• Dr. K. Jenkins, lecturer in photographic semiotics and the only one of us with a rucksack full of actual books, photographed every surveillance camera he saw. “We must observe the observers,” he muttered, before tripping on a delivery cyclist.
• Simon (surname withheld) attempted a series entitled Late Capitalism in Reflections, which involved shooting storefront glass and hoping for some commentary to emerge. Most shots, however, featured only himself.
• Juliette R, who insists on using expired slide film “for the tension,” captured a magnificent frame of a man buying strawberries whilst playing the harmonica – only in Soho. If it comes out it will be the shot of the day.
The group paused for tea at Algerian Coffee Stores, where debate broke out over whether photographing baristas constituted “visual intimacy” or simply “bourgeois stalking.” This was inconclusively resolved.
A detour down Romilly Street yielded rich material: a mouse feasting on a dropped bao bun, a suited man whispering violently into a Bluetooth headset, and the sort of brickwork that belongs in a comedy club.
Scholarly analysis of the event concludes the following:
• Soho remains a space of layered histories, where gentrification, and theatrical ambition coexist in architectural tension.
• Photographing Soho requires patience, quick fingers, and a tolerance for sudden saxophone solos from nearby basements.
• Street photography walks are not so much about photography as they are about permission: to look, to linger, to frame a fleeting arrangement of people and light and shadow and say, this, for one moment, mattered.
The walk concluded, as all great cultural excursions should, with a drink at a pub none of us can now remember the name of. Films were unloaded. Memory cards were nervously reviewed. One member confessed they hadn’t taken a single shot and “just enjoyed looking.” No one judged them, but they were unceremoniously thrown out of the club and told to return their Soho Perambulation Society tote bag.
Soho, as ever, refused to sit still long enough to be captured. But we tried. And for a few hours, we were less ourselves and more like mirrors—half-curious, half-mistaken, occasionally catching the world off guard.
(Next walk: Clerkenwell. Bring an umbrella or a raincoat. The password to join the group will be “Heartily”.)