by Mark O’Loughlin
I’ve always felt proud to be a Londoner. I have friends with the same background as me, with two parents from Ireland who met, married and had kids in London, and some even consider themselves Irish. I don’t. I’ve only been there a handful of times in my life. I live here. Although I understand why people do it. People want to be proud of where they are from, to have an identity. I get that, really I do. [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…]
by Matt Haynes
The lorries are starting to move now, rumbling across the deck of the James Newman and onto the ramps that shake and ring beneath their tyres. He is supposed to leave too, supposed to climb the yellow metal steps from the passenger deck to the red metal gates that always remind him of Meccano. There is an announcement over the tannoy, every time a ferry docks, forbidding passengers to remain on board. [read more…]
In a trackside back garden grainy with dusk, somewhere between Dagenhams East and Heathway, a solitary fat boy steadies himself, uncloses his eyes, and shoots one final, match-winning basket.
… despite ample free parking, the Lambeth Walk Sculpture Park is so far proving less than popular with tourists… [see more…]
by Mike Loveday
We watch the three of them stand inside the train sobbing. They stand inside the first carriage, facing the closed door at the back of the driver’s cabin. They stand and sob constantly, even when the train eases into each station. They cry to the limits of their lungs because they want everyone on the Chiltern Line to hear, everyone across London, through the countryside, on the roads, in the towns and in the villages. [read more…]
by Howard Colyer
Adam White said that he was approached by two tramps near Victoria Station who asked him if he was carrying a dictionary. He asked them why. And they said it was to settle a dispute. [read more…]
by Matt Haynes
As the doors shut and the train accelerates away from the station, the boy’s father holds the palm of his hand six inches behind his son’s back. The same conversation, almost word-for-word, has occurred at Devons Road, Langdon Park and All Saints (for Chrisp Street Market). Soon, almost certainly, it will occur at Pudding Mill Lane. [read more…]
Number Three:
Lemna Road, Leytonstone [see more…]
The small boy in the red-white-and-blue hat looks up at the skies, looks back at his father, looks out to the river. “Is she the lady off of CBeebies?” he asks, gummily. The gold boat glides past Blackfriars. “She’s not as good as Mr Tumble, Daddy.” [see more…]