With hair gelled to spikes and skin still pink from blade and Lynx, the Sidcup boys in their crisp white Saturday shirts all look vaguely like friends of Frank Lampard.
by Julian Ridgway
It was a motorway. Or was once meant to be. One that would have stretched from the river to the M1, and then round a whole city-manacling circuit of similar pre-cast gaugings. The London Motorway Box. A high-flying lap of the city, with slip roads. This particular piece would have flown or carved through much of West London, even leaping over the Earl’s Court exhibition halls. I emitted a tender gasp of Brutalist desire. [read more...]
… René Magritte’s time with LT’s maintenance department didn’t last long, as his playful signage at Stratford station provoked not only much philosophical debate in the canteen, but also a major hygiene problem on the westbound Central Line platform. [see more...]
… despite ample free parking, the Lambeth Walk Sculpture Park is so far proving less than popular with tourists… [see more...]
No. 5 Russell Square
Was it not Lucian of Samosata who, in 170AD, wrote of being lifted up by a giant waterspout and deposited on the moon where a battle was raging between armies of acorn dogs and cloud centaurs? Sometimes, it’s not hard to guess what’s going through their little pigeon brains… [see more...]
Photos which originally appeared in issue 12 of Smoke: a London Peculiar