Carnage on Wardour Street as southbound rickshaw driver distracted by crotchless cycling shorts in Ann Summers’ window accidentally steers into path of northbound rickshaw ferrying hen party to Slug and Lettuce.
Fans leaving Piccadilly Theatre commandeer passing Ford Fiesta for impromptu rendition of Greased Lightning and leave it not just automatic, systematic and hydromatic, but also skewed awkwardly across Brewer Street.
TV vans jam Greek Street as new investigative reality cookery show What The Hell Am I Eating? invites Heston Blumenthal and Professor Brian Cox to work out just what those tasty leatherette strips in the £3.50 Thai Chinese vegan buffet actually consist of.
PA at Oxford Street HMV turns into 6-hour farce as Cheryl Cole, later blaming a recurrence of childhood dyslexia, gamely attempts to sing her surprisingly matter-of-fact new autobiography, Cole’s From Newcastle.
Police called to Dean Street after bemused Yorkshireman is thrown out of French House for requesting a pint of best and a glass with a handle.
Mass brawl outside French Protestant Church as Kate Moss’s decision to invoke medieval right of sanctuary after leaving PUNK sparks heated theological debate amongst paparazzi over whether or not she’s correct that James I’s 1623 act abolishing asylum laws only applies to C of E churches.
Wild scenes outside Madame Jo Jo’s after five ladies from Spalding WI en route to Les Mis at the Queen’s get mistaken for Hermione Twinset’s new burlesque drag troupe and gamely improvise riotous half-hour set with sausage-dog draught excluder to avoid causing any fuss.
Q&A at Vintage Magazine Shop ends in mayhem after innocuous “who was the best Bond girl?” inquiry sees blows traded all over Brewer Street by Timothy Dalton, Pierce Brosnan and Britt Ekland.
Inaugural trip to Old Compton Street by Honiton Gay Men’s Group ends in giant traffic-stopping strop as, caught between Ryness, Clone Zone and Patisserie Valerie, members can’t decide between the éclairs, the rubber jockstraps, and the simply fabulous new range of cordless jug kettles.
Hysterical scenes outside Soho House after actress’s surprise on being told by woman with clipboard that she’s “already here” leads to discovery that odd-looking guestlist is actually Russell Brand’s to-do list.
Traffic chaos in Broadwick Street as William Blake Society celebrates poet’s life and work by stripping off outside his birthplace and reading Milton to each other in the nude.
Spotty youths with no grasp of either post-war social history or the cultural resonances of the word “modernist” annoy shoppers in Carnaby Street by holding so-called “mod rally” and trying to look like Paul Weller.
Courier jam as Sohonet’s ultra-high-speed fibre-optic network is eaten by urban foxes and desperate post-production staff resort to biking each other flicker books.
Kingly Street clogged by amply slacked coach party from Baltimore taking photos of Liberty’s under impression that it’s Henry VIII’s old palace.
Doctor John Snow and the Broad Street Pump, the Soho Historical Society’s “surprisingly grim” (Camden New Journal) new panto, is blamed for outbreak of cholera at Marshall Street Baths and for the top end of Lexington Street being placed under quarantine.
It’s bumper-to-bumper Beamers and Hummers at the north end of Berwick Street as P.Diddy drops in on Monica Gems to check out what’s big in UK bling.
Crowd trouble outside Humphrey Lyttelton tribute gig at 100 Club as Radio 4 listeners attempting to sing one song to the tune of another rouse ire of Trad Jazz aficionados who think it sounds like bloody bebop.
Angry scenes outside Green’s Court tattoo parlour spill over into neighbouring streets after Lib-Dem stalwart complains his new Nick Clegg tattoo looks more like David Cameron.
After receiving tweets that a small, furry, hobbit-like creature has been seen scampering up Dean Street, Tolkien fans congregating outside Jazz@PizzaExpress refuse to make eye contact with large Jamie Cullum poster.
Arrival of white Roller outside Pretty Green causes “outbreak of modern-day Beatlemania” till people realise it’s only Liam Gallagher come to see if anyone’s buying any of his velvet peacoats.
Pandemonium outside the Palladium when Stargreen’s non-refundable half-price tickets for Wizard of Oz turn out to be for Eddie Izzard at O2.
Traffic pile-up at corner of Poland Street when UPS driver doing OU Art Appreciation course hits brakes on finally appreciating sheer awfulness of giant Ode To The West Wind mural.
Disorder on Frith Street as fisticuffs break out amongst old Soho soaks who can’t agree whether this is Greek Street or Dean Street.
Sit-in by angry group of bibulous, red-faced men closes Old Compton Street as annual Food Critics’ Mystery Dinner turns out to be £6.70 three-course set menu at Stockpot.
Unicorn stampede outside Groucho Club as Tracey Emin’s latest attempt to reconcile her disgust at how much tax she pays with her opposition to cuts in the arts budget rips a hole in the logical framework of the universe.
Malfunctioning Coke Float machine in Ed’s Diner sends hundreds of vanilla scoops bobbing down Old Compton Street to create sticky and somewhat sickly traffic hazard in Charing Cross Road.
iPhone-toting crowds pack Regent Street as tweets circulate that a clearly well-lubricated Stephen Fry is currently trying to mate with new “wet-look” iPad in window of Apple Store.
Major Tuca Tuca spillage at Lush causes a powerfully sensual cloud of whimsical violet with a cheeky layer of vanilla and a seductive hint of jasmine to drift slowly up Regent Street and make everyone in the vicinity of Aquascutum lose control of their legs.
Fire engines and a guilty looking Robert Smith from The Cure rush to Wardour Street after candlelit wake by whey-faced goths mourning conversion of Intrepid Fox to burger bar gets out of hand (though it turns out Smith has just come for a bun-free classic).
Because a fast link from Maidenhead to Canary Wharf is more socially beneficial than, say, extending the Bakerloo Line to Peckham, most of north-east Soho will now be removed to make way for Crossrail.
“All the way down to Peter Street it was like the ball pit at IKEA”, says white-faced stallholder in Berwick Street Market after pyramid of any-bowl-for-a-pahnd onions collapses into neighbouring pyramids of potatoes, turnips and swedes.
Crowd drawn to Golden Square by tweets saying that cocktail-fuelled row in Graphic between rival post-production crews over who’s better, Pixar or Dreamworks, had now escalated into light-sabre fight, slowly disperses on realising light sabres will be chroma keyed in later.
Pile-up of rollerblading couriers outside Savannah Jerk blocks end of Noel Street and briefly creates unprecedented shortage of spicy chicken bits and idiots on skates.
Indie band with no discernible talent but highly visible marketing budget decides to use Henry Heath’s Hat Factory on Hollen Street for moody “industrial chic” photoshoot with bloke who says he once met Anton Corbijn in Super Mags.
Rumpus at bottom of Great Windmill Street as octogenarian on first visit to Windmill Theatre for sixty years protests that he can’t see a thing as “the damn girls keep moving about”.
Chanting Hare Krishnas block Carnaby Street and impress idling mods with their Daltrey-esque tambourine work and coordinated orange suits.
Booklovers run screaming down Charing Cross Road after ghost of Christina Foyle is seen hovering angrily over Manette Street demanding to know why customers aren’t wandering aimlessly round the shop with handwritten chits looking for a cash desk.
Pathetic sight of ageing punks milling around 90 Wardour Street muttering about the time they saw Generation X at the old Marquee prompts Sole Vita cafe to wheel out large urns dispensing consoling mugs of hot sweet tea.
Uproar outside former 2I’s coffee bar after music fans following sound of ghostly washboard down Old Compton Street stumble on ghostly Cliff Richard making pact with Devil at crossroads with Tisbury Court and accuse Soho Rock Walk leader of falsifying history.