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?”
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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…]
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…]
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…]
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…]
by James Hunt
I can tell they are from out of town because they’re all carrying M&M’s World bags. They’re deciding whether to go to Camden Town or Harrods when they finish their burgers and bottled cider. I glance in their direction and catch my reflection in the large mirror. I look appalled. The two sons are enormous. They’ve got matching fringes, making them look like talent show hopefuls pumped up with helium. Enjoy the M&Ms, boys. [read more…]
On a brisk Sunday morning a gentleman in a long velvet morning coat and top hat rides a tiny pink-painted bicycle through the gutter on Lower Clapton Road.
by James Hunt
In one hundred and four days I will be forty years old. Tonight, I am standing in a hall in north London with my arm around someone, pretending to be happy. Meanwhile, across town in Kilburn… is the one I really want to be with, again.
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Beside the track at Richmond, a large stuffed bear slumps against the wall and stares at the gravel. “Mister Bear” says the aerosol scrawl, an arrow pointing at his head.
Walking Round You Sometimes Hear The Sunshine Beating Down In Time With The Rhythm Of Your Shoes by Lucy Munro
Wide-eyed and precocious, we come blinking out of the station, trying not to look at the A-Z. It’s noisy, grubby, and there are smells we know we’re too young to recognise. We’ve seen Camden Town in Madness videos: the boys skanking down Kentish Town Road to Holt’s in search of DMs; Chrissy-Boy standing on the traffic island wearing nothing but a tan mac and a cardboard sign. [read more…]