Go to town! The surprise feelgood effects of walking in the city
Streets believes it is in cities that our collective ingenuity is most obvious. I haven't exactly been basking in astonishment lately, unless you count feeling astonishingly grumpy.
The trouble is, I have lived and worked in central London for decades and so I struggle to come up with anywhere new. Streets suggests we start at St Mary Aldermary, a City of London church I am unfamiliar with, near Mansion House tube station. The Christopher Wren edifice, rebuilt in 1682 following the Great Fire of London in 1666, looks unremarkable as I approach along a narrow street, fighting through hordes of City workers on their lunch breaks.
When I step across the threshold, I am astonished. Not only is it an architectural gem, it is also a cafe and community hang-out. People sit in the pews, typing away on laptops or contemplating the glorious stained glass.
'Isn't it amazing?' says Streets. She looks pleased when I say I used to work a 10-minute walk away and never noticed the church. In fact, she has chosen it for a reason. Researchers have identified a wellbeing boost known as 'the cathedral effect' which occurs when we have a lot of space above our heads. 'That could be an expanse of sky, when you're in a remote location or at the top of a hill,' says Streets. 'But it could also be a cathedral or high-ceilinged church like this one. Researchers found that people had more empathy and compassion, and think more creatively, in such environments.' As we chat, I feel my shoulders drop and my mood lift.
Streets' last book was called 52 Ways to Walk. It came about almost by accident when she was working on another project, Windswept, in which she explored the effect of landscape on creative women including Georgia O'Keeffe and Gwen John. In the process, she unearthed a trove of scientific research devoted to the benefits of walking.
What is it about walking that is so good for us? 'Human beings were designed to walk and not just a stroll on a sunny day in a beautiful landscape,' she says. 'When we walk, we produce biochemicals which are so powerfully life-affirming that scientists have described them as 'hope molecules''. You can gain the same effects from any other kind of brisk movement, but the great benefit of walking is you can do it pretty much anywhere and it doesn't usually end in injury (I write as someone who has only recently completed running-related ankle rehab).
When Streets was growing up in rural Wales, neither of her parents drove, so walking miles was a necessity. Small wonder then that she now encourages people to consider walking in less than ideal conditions: in the cold, the rain, mud and – unthinkably – while hungry.
As a teenager, she rebelled and bought a Fiat which she drove everywhere, even to the gym. Walking was abandoned until her first year at university in Norwich. 'I nursed my grandfather through cancer. I had barely settled into university and everyone else was out partying. After he died, it was really hard. And suddenly I found myself yearning for mountains. I had hardly been up a hill in my life. I took a year out and went walking in the Himalayas, the biggest mountains I could think of.'
After three months she came home, ready to return to her old life. 'But why was I so desperate for mountains and why did they do me so much good? Some people say you yearn for the landscape you grew up in during times of trouble, but I grew up beside the sea. Then, when I was researching the book, I discovered that when we are at high altitudes, we produce a hormone called erythropoietin . That hormone is now being investigated as an antidepressant. So I look back at that period and wonder: did my body know what it needed?'
Does Streets have any theories about why walking outdoors should have a particular impact on our mental state? 'Evolutionary biologists think it was once a survival mechanism – when we ran from danger, our brain had to be as efficient as our body. We needed to recognise our location, recall places of refuge, rapidly determine whether to climb a tree, change direction, pick up a rock, slow down or speed up. Escape has always required as much brain as brawn, as much intellect as speed.'
As part of social prescribing, some NHS Trusts now prescribe walking in nature as a way to help people improve their mental and physical health. But Streets is keen to raise awareness about the virtues of built-up environments.
'I love the opportunities for surprise,' she says, leading me out of the church, down winding backstreets. We walk past a bronze statue of The Cordwainer by Alma Boyes, its panel explaining the ward's medieval roots as a centre for shoe-making. Further along, we see the dome of St Paul's Cathedral looming up ahead. 'Urban spaces are often much more stimulating and energising than more remote landscapes,' says Streets. 'Unless marred by too much noise, pollution and traffic, cities can perk us up, pique our curiosity and trigger our imagination. Yes, you can walk in a park or through mountains and feel wonderfully calm, but there are few signs of human endeavour. Cities relax us as much, if not more, because humans are fascinated by each other and the things we have created. They encourage us to get out of our own heads and distract us from our own ruminating minds.'
We duck down a side street and peer through the window of Khops in Bow Lane. Founded in 1845, it claims to be London's oldest barber. The patrons look back at us, bemused, so we beat a retreat, pausing to examine an intriguing sign outside a defunct bar. 'The Four Sisters,' reads Streets. 'I wonder who they were? That's the thing about city walks – they are full of mysteries and adventures.'
She leads me down into the 11th-century crypt of another Wren church, St Mary-le-Bow. We linger, reading ancient inscriptions about the long deceased. It's unnerving to contemplate these long-ago lives while the city thrums above our heads.
'Now open that door,' urges Streets. I push hard and stumble into a brightly lit room, narrowly avoiding a collision with a waiter bearing a tray of lunch. We are in the bustling Cafe Below and Streets looks gleeful. 'You weren't expecting that, were you?' she says, laughing. I begin to see what she means about the energising benefits of surprise. I experience a childlike thrill, like stepping into Narnia. It's a feeling I haven't had for a long time. When you have lived in the same place for ages, you can become jaded.
Streets tells me about a study which found that historical walks are as psychologically restorative and calming as green walks, if not more so. The research focused on the particular benefits of cultural heritage sites and how their aesthetics impact the brain.
She also flags up a related paper, which I find later. Sam Cooley, a psychologist at the University of Leicester, co-authored a study which echoed the finding that walks in green spaces do not appear to provide more benefits than urban walks. Rather, these walks provide different benefits at different times. 'For example, two people may be wandering through a beautiful and remote nature reserve,' writes Cooley, 'while not connecting with any of the surrounding wildlife, instead focused on the benefits of their social interaction. At the same time, another person may be walking the busy city streets and experience a connection with a single, resilient weed they spot growing in the concrete.'
This is all marvellous, of course, and I'm glad there is science to back up the fun we are having. But it is hard to imagine how I might allow myself the time and space to repeat the exercise regularly. What does Streets do herself? 'I start each week by thinking, OK, what do I need this week? Do I need space? Do I need the comfort of trees? Do I need to be in a more enclosed space? Do I need to be near water? The more you learn to listen to your body, the more you will learn where your body wants to be. Do you want to be somewhere green, do you want to be somewhere historic? Do you want to be in the cemetery? I go to cemeteries a lot because you don't always want to be in a happy place or mood.'
There is a whole chapter in Streets' book devoted to walking in cemeteries. In any new place, she says, her first visit is usually to the local graveyard because they are a window into the culture and history of a community. 'Among the headstones of history, we see ourselves as we are – a fleeting moment in the endless passage of time, a cluster of cells that, like everything else, will one day return to the earth. Whether we return from a cemetery walk with a feeling of gratitude, awash in gentle melancholy or with a fresh sense of purpose, is up to us,' she writes.
We take a quick look inside St Mary-le-Bow and marvel at how one person, Christopher Wren, could lay claim to the design of so many buildings. Then Streets leads me into the glass and chrome nightmare of the One New Change shopping centre, before we skirt round the gorgeous blossoms outside St Paul's Cathedral and stroll down Fleet Street.
After an afternoon with Streets, I have experienced for myself the upside of a relaxed urban walk. Not only is this a gentler way to hit your daily step count than running, I do feel genuinely energised.
The good news is that if, like me, you are a fair-weather walker or unable to get outside for a stroll for any other reason, indoor walking still has clear benefits. Marily Oppezzo, now a behavioural and learning scientist at the Stanford Prevention Research Center, compared how walking on a treadmill or outdoors affects our creativity. Crucially, her study also compared walking with sitting still both inside and outside. Walking on a treadmill in a small room still achieved good results. In fact, any type of walking boosted people's creativity by an average of 60% compared with not moving, no matter the location.
Streets and I end our walk on a bench in a tranquil square in the Inner Temple, one of the four Inns of Court. And yes, you guessed it, there is a study that reveals the cognitive benefits of strolling round urban squares …
The Walking Cure by Annabel Streets is published by Bloomsbury, £14.99. To order a copy for £13.49, visit guardianbookshop.com. A delivery charge may apply.
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New Statesman
16-07-2025
- New Statesman
Samuel Pepy's diaries of a somebody
The creation of a national icon in this country is a many-faceted business. Sometimes it happens rapidly, in the midst of crisis – Nelson, Churchill. Sometimes it is a matter of steady, incremental reputation, a figure whose stature has grown unstoppably and is acknowledged even outside national boundaries – Shakespeare, Milton, Dickens. And sometimes it happens almost arbitrarily, when a person is recognised as embodying something that is imagined to be quintessentially British or (more usually) English. Some historical figure captures the imagination; their actual achievement may be small or great, but they somehow encourage the feeling that only here would a character like this emerge – Dr Johnson, perhaps, or Florence Nightingale; the historical equivalent of a national treasure. It is hard to deny Samuel Pepys's role as a minor national icon of this sort. A professional civil servant, holding a highly responsible position in the Admiralty under Charles II and his successor James II, he was also an enthusiastic amateur musician and a passionate collector of books, whose wonderfully eclectic library remains a jewel in the crown of his old Cambridge college, Magdalene. He might have been surprised to be remembered less for his labours as a dedicated and highly effective naval administrator than for the diary he kept between 1660 and 1669; but it is undoubtedly the latter that has established his role as 'treasurable'. What most readers know or think they know about his diary is its charm – quaint period phrases ('Up betimes', 'And so to bed', and all the rest), sparkling vignettes of 'real life' in the 17th century, what it felt like to witness the events of the textbooks as they happened – not least the Great Fire of London. Of course, there is also the rather problematic brand of charm conveyed for a certain kind of male reader in Pepys's knowing salaciousness, the rueful chuckles of a not very successful sensualist and henpecked husband. Kate Loveman's excellent book does not set out to rob Pepys of his charm – but she gives us a range of tools for interrogating it (and our responses to it), so that we can offset the effects of a long history of selective and rather superficial reading. As she shows, some of the most familiar phrases owe their frequency in the diary to the fact that they are very easy to write in the distinctive form of shorthand he employs. But mention of this is a reminder that until 1825 virtually no one had read the diary. Pepys was remembered gratefully at Magdalene; his reputation in the Navy had survived. But what made the difference, and set Pepys on the road to being an icon, was a confluence of factors in the early-19th century: a new interest in first-hand historical testimony, a desire on the part of both the college and the Pepys family to do better justice to his memory in this new climate of antiquarian enthusiasm, and the crucial decision by the Grenville family (the then master of Magdalene was a close relative) to pay for a full transcription of the diary by an expert who identified Pepys's 'code' as based on a pattern in a manual that Pepys had thoughtfully included in his library. The history of subsequent editions in the 19th century is complicated, though Loveman lays it out with great clarity. Initially the Grenville and Neville families retained close control of the publication process, with Richard Neville, Lord Braybrooke, overseeing the first published selection of material. It found a receptive audience, and demand grew for further extracts – especially as rumours began to circulate that what had been omitted in the published version included some material that might not sit too well with the editor's portrait of Pepys as a model of dutiful virtue. Eventually, Henry Wheatley in the 1890s produced nine volumes of selections, which would serve as the received text for many decades; it was an edition that provided far more space to display Pepys as a comic character, including much of the rather Pooterish material about minor domestic troubles and assorted purchases – but not the sexually explicit passages. Loveman stresses that the text from which all 19th-century editors worked was the transcript made by John Smith for the first edition; no one revisited the encoded text until the next major round of interest in the later 20th century. Robert Latham, of Magdalene, and William Matthews, an expert in shorthand, produced the definitive modern edition between 1970 and 1983, working from the originals, correcting earlier errors or amendments and restoring omissions. They decided, with the college's approval (supported, in a letter of rather acerbic common sense, by CS Lewis) that the censorship of Pepys's 'explicit' passages was indefensible; and so at last readers were able to make their own judgements on the author's morality. Loveman persuasively shows that the Pepys of popular imagination between 1825 and 1970 was, to a significant extent, a creation of his editors, who in turn depended not on the primary text but on a transcription that they at times felt free to tinker with in the cause of clarity or decency (as in Pepys's account of his almighty hangover the morning after Charles II's coronation). This is the Pepys of popular imagination, extracted in assorted books, summarised in schoolbooks, dramatised on stage (JB Fagan's And So to Bed of 1926 is still occasionally revived as a musical) and, later, television screens. And Loveman has a brilliant chapter on the popularity of Pepys, and of pastiche Pepysian diaries in the press, during the Second World War. The picture of the Ordinary Englishman – going about his business in times of upheaval and crisis, often absurd but essentially decent, brave and amusingly stoical – rang a good many bells. Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe The publication of the full text did not by any means overturn this picture, but it lit a slow fuse. It is harder now to see Pepys's sexual adventures as a bit of high-spirited naughtiness. He was clearly a pest and at worst a predator. Loveman reminds us that the female servants who had to put up with his groping were what we should unequivocally call children, just on the edge of puberty. Some of his accounts of escapades with adult women amount to admissions of rape, and his willingness to grant professional favours in return for the sexual compliance of other men's spouses is a nasty strand in several bits of the text. Loveman does not demonise Pepys, but she asks us to notice what icon construction can encourage us not to see, and to remember not only a bright, lively, sometimes slightly absurd social companion, but a series of young women, bewildered, frightened, resentful, for whom their employer's 'kindness' – Pepys's own term for his unwanted attentions – was not a matter for jocularity. Predictably, Pepys's involvement with enslaved persons also comes into focus here. The number of public figures and national institutions not in some way complicit in enslavement in the late-17th century is vanishingly small. And while Pepys was not a major profiteer from the trade, the evidence makes it plain that in the 1670s he had at least one enslaved young man in his service. Loveman discusses with care and insight what Pepys has to say about such persons, noting how the 'ownership' of an enslaved person had become a very clear marker of social status. The presence in a household even of a non-enslaved black person made an unmissable statement, and Pepys was obviously very happy to make use on occasion of other people's black servants, enslaved or otherwise, to reinforce his social capital. Nothing suggests that he had any qualms at all about the trade and its effects. Loveman is not inviting us to judge and cancel, but rather to follow through consistently what she sees as explaining the popularity of the diary's earliest editions. 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Time Out
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- Time Out
Mapped: the Great Fire of London on top of the modern day city
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The Guardian
13-04-2025
- The Guardian
Go to town! The surprise feelgood effects of walking in the city
When I arrange to meet Annabel Streets, the appropriately named author of a new book, The Walking Cure, I'm presented with a challenge. She wants me to choose a London location I am unfamiliar with, so I can experience her ideas about the upsides of urban landscapes. In the book, Streets contemplates the powerful impact walking can have on our mood, thoughts and emotions, and how this can differ according to where and how we walk. While most people are aware of the benefits of walking in nature, Streets makes the case for urban environments, known as 'brown spaces' by developers. Surprisingly, churches, convents and cemeteries, all of which are found in cities, often offer a superabundance of wildlife. A study in one Berlin cemetery found 604 species, 10 of which were rare or endangered. Streets believes it is in cities that our collective ingenuity is most obvious. I haven't exactly been basking in astonishment lately, unless you count feeling astonishingly grumpy. The trouble is, I have lived and worked in central London for decades and so I struggle to come up with anywhere new. Streets suggests we start at St Mary Aldermary, a City of London church I am unfamiliar with, near Mansion House tube station. The Christopher Wren edifice, rebuilt in 1682 following the Great Fire of London in 1666, looks unremarkable as I approach along a narrow street, fighting through hordes of City workers on their lunch breaks. When I step across the threshold, I am astonished. Not only is it an architectural gem, it is also a cafe and community hang-out. People sit in the pews, typing away on laptops or contemplating the glorious stained glass. 'Isn't it amazing?' says Streets. She looks pleased when I say I used to work a 10-minute walk away and never noticed the church. In fact, she has chosen it for a reason. Researchers have identified a wellbeing boost known as 'the cathedral effect' which occurs when we have a lot of space above our heads. 'That could be an expanse of sky, when you're in a remote location or at the top of a hill,' says Streets. 'But it could also be a cathedral or high-ceilinged church like this one. Researchers found that people had more empathy and compassion, and think more creatively, in such environments.' As we chat, I feel my shoulders drop and my mood lift. Streets' last book was called 52 Ways to Walk. It came about almost by accident when she was working on another project, Windswept, in which she explored the effect of landscape on creative women including Georgia O'Keeffe and Gwen John. In the process, she unearthed a trove of scientific research devoted to the benefits of walking. What is it about walking that is so good for us? 'Human beings were designed to walk and not just a stroll on a sunny day in a beautiful landscape,' she says. 'When we walk, we produce biochemicals which are so powerfully life-affirming that scientists have described them as 'hope molecules''. You can gain the same effects from any other kind of brisk movement, but the great benefit of walking is you can do it pretty much anywhere and it doesn't usually end in injury (I write as someone who has only recently completed running-related ankle rehab). When Streets was growing up in rural Wales, neither of her parents drove, so walking miles was a necessity. Small wonder then that she now encourages people to consider walking in less than ideal conditions: in the cold, the rain, mud and – unthinkably – while hungry. As a teenager, she rebelled and bought a Fiat which she drove everywhere, even to the gym. Walking was abandoned until her first year at university in Norwich. 'I nursed my grandfather through cancer. I had barely settled into university and everyone else was out partying. After he died, it was really hard. And suddenly I found myself yearning for mountains. I had hardly been up a hill in my life. I took a year out and went walking in the Himalayas, the biggest mountains I could think of.' After three months she came home, ready to return to her old life. 'But why was I so desperate for mountains and why did they do me so much good? Some people say you yearn for the landscape you grew up in during times of trouble, but I grew up beside the sea. Then, when I was researching the book, I discovered that when we are at high altitudes, we produce a hormone called erythropoietin . That hormone is now being investigated as an antidepressant. So I look back at that period and wonder: did my body know what it needed?' Does Streets have any theories about why walking outdoors should have a particular impact on our mental state? 'Evolutionary biologists think it was once a survival mechanism – when we ran from danger, our brain had to be as efficient as our body. We needed to recognise our location, recall places of refuge, rapidly determine whether to climb a tree, change direction, pick up a rock, slow down or speed up. Escape has always required as much brain as brawn, as much intellect as speed.' As part of social prescribing, some NHS Trusts now prescribe walking in nature as a way to help people improve their mental and physical health. But Streets is keen to raise awareness about the virtues of built-up environments. 'I love the opportunities for surprise,' she says, leading me out of the church, down winding backstreets. We walk past a bronze statue of The Cordwainer by Alma Boyes, its panel explaining the ward's medieval roots as a centre for shoe-making. Further along, we see the dome of St Paul's Cathedral looming up ahead. 'Urban spaces are often much more stimulating and energising than more remote landscapes,' says Streets. 'Unless marred by too much noise, pollution and traffic, cities can perk us up, pique our curiosity and trigger our imagination. Yes, you can walk in a park or through mountains and feel wonderfully calm, but there are few signs of human endeavour. Cities relax us as much, if not more, because humans are fascinated by each other and the things we have created. They encourage us to get out of our own heads and distract us from our own ruminating minds.' We duck down a side street and peer through the window of Khops in Bow Lane. Founded in 1845, it claims to be London's oldest barber. The patrons look back at us, bemused, so we beat a retreat, pausing to examine an intriguing sign outside a defunct bar. 'The Four Sisters,' reads Streets. 'I wonder who they were? That's the thing about city walks – they are full of mysteries and adventures.' She leads me down into the 11th-century crypt of another Wren church, St Mary-le-Bow. We linger, reading ancient inscriptions about the long deceased. It's unnerving to contemplate these long-ago lives while the city thrums above our heads. 'Now open that door,' urges Streets. I push hard and stumble into a brightly lit room, narrowly avoiding a collision with a waiter bearing a tray of lunch. We are in the bustling Cafe Below and Streets looks gleeful. 'You weren't expecting that, were you?' she says, laughing. I begin to see what she means about the energising benefits of surprise. I experience a childlike thrill, like stepping into Narnia. It's a feeling I haven't had for a long time. When you have lived in the same place for ages, you can become jaded. Streets tells me about a study which found that historical walks are as psychologically restorative and calming as green walks, if not more so. The research focused on the particular benefits of cultural heritage sites and how their aesthetics impact the brain. She also flags up a related paper, which I find later. Sam Cooley, a psychologist at the University of Leicester, co-authored a study which echoed the finding that walks in green spaces do not appear to provide more benefits than urban walks. Rather, these walks provide different benefits at different times. 'For example, two people may be wandering through a beautiful and remote nature reserve,' writes Cooley, 'while not connecting with any of the surrounding wildlife, instead focused on the benefits of their social interaction. At the same time, another person may be walking the busy city streets and experience a connection with a single, resilient weed they spot growing in the concrete.' This is all marvellous, of course, and I'm glad there is science to back up the fun we are having. But it is hard to imagine how I might allow myself the time and space to repeat the exercise regularly. What does Streets do herself? 'I start each week by thinking, OK, what do I need this week? Do I need space? Do I need the comfort of trees? Do I need to be in a more enclosed space? Do I need to be near water? The more you learn to listen to your body, the more you will learn where your body wants to be. Do you want to be somewhere green, do you want to be somewhere historic? Do you want to be in the cemetery? I go to cemeteries a lot because you don't always want to be in a happy place or mood.' There is a whole chapter in Streets' book devoted to walking in cemeteries. In any new place, she says, her first visit is usually to the local graveyard because they are a window into the culture and history of a community. 'Among the headstones of history, we see ourselves as we are – a fleeting moment in the endless passage of time, a cluster of cells that, like everything else, will one day return to the earth. Whether we return from a cemetery walk with a feeling of gratitude, awash in gentle melancholy or with a fresh sense of purpose, is up to us,' she writes. We take a quick look inside St Mary-le-Bow and marvel at how one person, Christopher Wren, could lay claim to the design of so many buildings. Then Streets leads me into the glass and chrome nightmare of the One New Change shopping centre, before we skirt round the gorgeous blossoms outside St Paul's Cathedral and stroll down Fleet Street. After an afternoon with Streets, I have experienced for myself the upside of a relaxed urban walk. Not only is this a gentler way to hit your daily step count than running, I do feel genuinely energised. The good news is that if, like me, you are a fair-weather walker or unable to get outside for a stroll for any other reason, indoor walking still has clear benefits. Marily Oppezzo, now a behavioural and learning scientist at the Stanford Prevention Research Center, compared how walking on a treadmill or outdoors affects our creativity. Crucially, her study also compared walking with sitting still both inside and outside. Walking on a treadmill in a small room still achieved good results. In fact, any type of walking boosted people's creativity by an average of 60% compared with not moving, no matter the location. Streets and I end our walk on a bench in a tranquil square in the Inner Temple, one of the four Inns of Court. And yes, you guessed it, there is a study that reveals the cognitive benefits of strolling round urban squares … The Walking Cure by Annabel Streets is published by Bloomsbury, £14.99. To order a copy for £13.49, visit A delivery charge may apply.
