by Mark Sadler
I had been blasted into a low orbit by a potent combination of top-notch E and copious brandy shots which had seemed like a good idea when I began ordering them. Staggering back to the dining room, I took a wrong turn and found myself standing in one of several doorways to the huge kitchen. Lying on the aluminium counter, a few inches from a pair of gently simmering saucepans, was a Kalashnikov assault rifle. [read more…]
On the trunks of the plane trees lining the western side of Kennington Road between Kennington Cross and the traffic lights at Lambeth Road are fastened small metal nameplates each bearing the name of an Apollo astronaut. They’ve been there at least twenty years, but no one seems to know who put them there, or why. [read more…]
… because maybe the sight of Mo Farah breaking free to win the 10,000 metres as if he’d just looked up and seen the last through train to Lewisham pulling into Pudding Mill Lane (and had temporarily forgotten that Pudding Mill Lane was closed for the duration of the Games in case people tried to use it) struck a chord and, if it did, we’d love to know. [read more…]
LOCOG has denied openly mocking motorists in south-east London with its new Olympic road closures. [read more…]
As the train brings her closer to him, she re-reads his texted description but finds herself distracted by just how many houses in Purley have trampolines in their back gardens.
by Matt Haynes
Yes, his toga may be worn rather too casually off the shoulder, and reveal an unnecessary amount of nipple for daytime discourse in the forum, but – that’s Romans for you! Ah, but he’s NOT a Roman. He’s William Huskisson MP; who, having already cheated death once – when a horse fell on him during his honeymoon – later found fame as the world’s first railway fatality, after being hit by Stephenson’s Rocket just outside Newton-le-Willows. [read more…]
She was far too old for him; and he was far too gay for her; but, that night on the 188, he thought what the hell, and took her dancing.
by Alex Farebrother-Naylor
Things You Can Buy At The Famers’ Market
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Through Farringdon’s roof he comes, and hops on. Grey-feathered, stern-faced, a downturn in the beak. He stands peacefully until Great Portland Street. The doors cheep. He alights.
by Cassandra Solon-Parry
He had a bushy, greying moustache and was dressed in black, with a short jacket that resembled a cape, and a bowler hat. But the thing that had made Rachel, and everyone else, stop what they were doing was the extraordinary musical instrument he carried. It appeared to have been tacked together from pieces of violin and at least two trumpets, the horns of which were ranged one on top of the other above the bridge and strings of the violin. [read more…]