Not as good as Mr Tumble

Jun 052012

The small boy in the red-white-and-blue hat looks up at the skies, looks back at his father, looks out to the river. “Is she the lady off CBeebies?” he asks, gummily. The gold boat glides past Blackfriars.
“She’s not as good as Mr Tumble, Daddy.”

Filed Under: Bermondsey, Jude Rogers, Thames

Looking back through the clouds…

The Hungry Cabbie

by Matt Haynes
Despite, by law, occupying no more space than a horse and cart, each shelter could seat thirteen cabbies without recourse to contortionism or immodesty. An attendant sold simple hot fare, or cooked up grub supplied, and the cabbies, in return, promised not to gamble, drink, swear or reveal how thirteen grown men could fit into such a small space and yet still go home to their wives without blushing. Not for nothing were windows frosted and moustaches kept trim. [read more...]

The small boy in the red-white-and-blue hat looks up at the skies, looks back at his father, looks out to the river. “Is she the lady off CBeebies?” he asks, gummily. The gold boat glides past Blackfriars. “She’s not as good as Mr Tumble, Daddy.”

The small boy in the red-white-and-blue hat looks up at the skies, looks back at his father, looks out to the river. “Is she the lady off CBeebies?” he asks, gummily. The gold boat glides past Blackfriars.
“She’s not as good as Mr Tumble, Daddy.”