Oliver Rowe's attempt to open a restaurant feeding its clients with London produce only made for a vaguely amusing BBC series. My favourite bit is when Rowe teams up with Fergus the Forager and finds himself unable to keep up with the foragers antics of moving silently through the underbrush. As said before: foraging = psychogeography.
...after a long wait, the forager finally arrives: in a battered old Volvo!
One of North London's many woods...
"Fergus!?"
"I think I lost Fergus..."
"Fergus... Fergus!"
"Oh, is that a squirrel or is that Fergus? No that's a dog"
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