The Missing Postman’s Park Memorials
by Mark Sadler
“Mary Popplewell perished while attempting to save her older sister who had become helplessly entangled in the strings of a harp. March 27 1899.”
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Aug 112014
WORDS & IMAGES
Jul 302014
by MW Bewick
Hattie also remembered that when my father was a child he had described the river as a yawning snake, which to me seems precocious. To him, snakes meant danger, and the space below the bridges was filled with slithering horror. They found things in rivers too. It said so on the news. Whatever people secreted in the unfathomable water eventually washed up. [read more…]
Jul 212014
Iain And Will Have A Cup Of Tea
by Matt Haynes
Iain stared glumly at the stained formica. “It’s like I said, when I told you how Hackney’s pre-Games decontamination and realignment into a fugitive cartography of designer lock-ups and guerrilla sofa bars had created a hallucinatory Ballardian nexus of dystopian interzones – some of the ley lines they dug up to build the Basketball Arena had been there since the days of King Lud.” [read more…]
Jul 152014
Threnody on the Death of a Street Lamp on Lollard Street, SE11
by Matt Haynes
O noble lantern ’neath whose kindly fire
my love and I did oft together lark,
our bodies, lust-engorged, ’twined in desire –
why hast thou gone and left us in the dark?
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Jul 032014
by Juno Baker
Steve dreams of King Canute, sailing through Brixton on a Viking longboat, gliding past the Ritzy yelling in a smug nasal twang, “Oy, Steve! Thought you were getting a Waitrose round here?” He watches Canute’s ship disappear up Effra Road towards his flat. There’s Shelly, all dressed up on the back. She smirks at Steve as if to say she’s too good for him now. King Canute puts his arm round her and shouts something else, but he can’t hear it. [read more…]
Jun 302014
by Alex Farebrother-Naylor
London Rage
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Jun 232014
“He’s asked me to sing in a proto-punk band,” said the man in the suit on the phone in the sun on Piccadilly. “I don’t even know what that means.”
Jun 192014
Please Do Not Touch The Walrus No. 9
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: pointing at the sun in Greenwich. [see more…]
Jun 162014
by Steve Lake
But maybe my memory is playing tricks, for working at Foyles in the 80s wasn’t unlike a trip on some fairly serious hallucinogenic drugs. There was, for example, the story of the disgruntled employee sowing seeds into the specially moistened carpets of the rarely-visited Philosophy Department on a Friday evening and returning on Monday to find a small field of cress, ready to be added to his sandwiches. [read more…]
Jun 132014
The whiteboard at Southgate station says services are normal on all lines except the Central; on the Central, it says, they are good.