Removing his coat, he breaks through the buses and levers himself over the railing that divides Upper Street. Dismounting, he smiles at me drunkenly, then jigs into Angel’s welcoming mouth.
Jun 132013
JKL
Jun 062013
by Joan Byrne
It’s Friday afternoon and I’m in the sanctuary that is Tate Modern Members’ Room. I’m enjoying an elevated feeling of oneness with life and art, and loving the view of the City with St Paul’s at its centre. Sipping a coffee, I watch people come and go. Many of them are works of art themselves, but not this man. He’s dead ordinary, mid-sixties, impassive face, bland dresser. With him is a girl, aged about fourteen. [read more...]
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...]
Apr 262013
by Jude Rogers
I try to shake away the caffeine buzz, and look again. No, that’s a train, alright. It’s slowly advancing westwards in the morning’s heavy mist. And then I look at the sign on the platform to find out if the 8.14 to Gospel Oak is due to arrive on time. Something else is there instead. The 8.08 to Hampstead Heath. [read more...]
Apr 092013
by Jess Sully
A known introvert from a town with wide skies and a vast, shimmering expanse of sea, I didn’t think I’d be happy among the hemmed-in crowds. What I didn’t realise then is that within the anonymity of the ever-flowing throng, those shoals of fast-moving fish who swoop and turn as one entity, I could move silently, unobtrusive and unremarkable. And now I know, too, that sometimes at low tide the Thames smells of brine and seaweed. [read 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...]
Feb 082013
Observations made while travelling on the last DLR train from Westferry to Lewisham via Canary Wharf on Saturday 2nd February, 2013
by Lucy Munro
Heading home through lands where heels are high and skirts brief.
And a drunk man is shouting “Anyone for Mudchute?”
[read more...]
Feb 042013
Who’s Going To Drive You Home Tonight? by Jude Rogers
I feel snug in the back, so I ask him his name. “Reg. Pleased to meet you. And you?” I tell him and we talk about that song by the Beatles. We share details for a while, give each other pocket-sized versions of our life stories: his family in Wales, how long I’ve been in the city. Then I ask him how long he’s been out here. How long he’s had the badge. How long it’s been since he had his blue book. [read more...]
Jan 232013
by Joan Byrne
In a basement flat off the Finchley Road, a Siamese cat, an Alsatian dog and a rat called Horatio lived with their owners, Jason and Arabella, known as Bella. Jason was a small-time dealer and Bella used to be an aristocrat, at least that’s what I heard. About the only thing they appeared to have in common was that both were short. To compensate, he wore special hand-made boots with Cuban heels, which gave him an extra two and a half inches. [read more...]
Jan 152013
by Jack Lawrence
“… there was just, like, a word in my head. You know sometimes when you’re dreaming there’s a word that keeps coming up over and over? But it wasn’t a word, it was… it’s hard to describe. Words squashed together, I suppose. ‘Ustawaooystawa…’ I don’t know – something like that. I couldn’t make it out, it was gibberish. [read more...]