The sending of the first Smoke book to the printer is celebrated with a trip to Erith.
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Jun 102013
BOOK PROJECTS
Jun 032013
Please Do Not Touch The Walrus No. 4
A fantastic new series in which we attempt to catalogue some of the amazing things you can’t do in our fabulous capital city. Today: congregating in Tower Hamlets. [see more...]
May 172013
Please Do Not Touch The Walrus No. 3
A fantastic new series in which we attempt to catalogue some of the amazing things you can’t do in our fabulous capital city. Today: ringing bells in Chelsea. [see more...]
Apr 292013
Please Do Not Touch The Walrus No. 2
A fantastic new series in which we attempt to catalogue some of the amazing things you can’t do in our fabulous capital city. Today: discarding teabags in Villiers Street. [see more...]
Apr 142013
Please Do Not Touch The Walrus No. 1
A fantastic new series in which we attempt to catalogue some of the amazing things you can’t do in our fabulous capital city. Today: touching walruses in Forest Hill. [see more...]
Apr 012013
by Jack Pandemian
School nights have no meaning until September so we roam, my friend and I, within the boundaries of our Zones 4-5 school bus passes. Brixton is too far, Zone 2. Camden is unimaginable. But out here there is a club above a pub where every Saturday the walls run with snakebite sweat, and where the carpet sucks lecherously at your boots as you lift one foot and then the other to the jangling sound of L7. [read more...]
Jan 092013
by Jamie Woods
We head back up to the balcony, the girls with tinsel in their hair, our girls, Clare; they kiss boys, older boys, boys we don’t know. We watch scornfully, teasingly, jealously. We drink until our money runs out, until it’s time to go. Danny downs a pint of Guinness in one, flips open his gullet and pours. We’re sixteen: this is one of the coolest things we’ve ever seen. [read more...]
Nov 112012
Penny-Farthing, Lee Navigation Canal towpath, November 2012
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Oct 242012
by Giles Morris
It is very early on a Sunday morning in June and today promises to be every bit as scorching as yesterday. The street is deserted. Your ears ring, your eyes sting, your mouth tastes like a small bat has curled up and died in it. You’re wearing black leather, PVC, crushed velvet and heavy, oily make-up. You’re going home. [read more...]
Oct 082012
by Sean Longden
One night they took me out. Up to Camden: couple of beers, round to visit some bloke from Scritti Politti at his squat, then to Dingwalls to see The Smiths. Walking there, I was amazed to hear the words “Oh – didn’t I mention it? We’re on the guest list.” It was getting better by the minute. I could just see myself back at school telling all this to the handful of people who would actually be impressed. [read more...]