Unreal City by Jude Rogers
So we went then, you and I, waiting for the rest of our lives to wake us from the winter. “Come,” I’d whispered on that white afternoon, as your train pulled away to the north and you still stood there on Silver Street’s empty platform, your cheeks iced and bright, your eyes warm, your arms wrapped tight around my ruby red coat. “Come and watch the spring begin with me.” [read more…]
“Sorry, mate,” says the man on the footbridge, turning aside to let me cycle past. “Cheers,” I reply. He nods, tight-lipped, then continues urinating onto the Blackwall Tunnel Southern Approach.
by Howard Colyer
He looked as if he had been a waiter in Soho for many years – perhaps he had never been anything else – and there were only the two of us in the room, and I was in the corner: and he got out a CD from his bag, silenced the radio, and put on his music – ragtime. And in imitation of his younger self he danced and twitched about. [read more…]
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.