by Jude Rogers
He found her on the railway line. Her hair was bright yellow, the colour that children paint sunlight, tied in thick bunches around her small, cold cheeks. She wore a blue shirt, as brilliant as a summer sky. In her left hand, she held a small bunch of daisies. [read more…]
With the aid of a small folding table, why not set up a stall on Westminster Bridge selling wire sculptures of John Prescott to Japanese tourists?
by Adam E. Smith
The day doesn’t really start till 6, so I usually get up at 5 to have a look around before anyone else is about. That hour is my time, when the world belongs to me because no one else is up. Except Geoff. Geoff works at the dock. I know he’s called Geoff because it says so on the door of his shack. During the day, Geoff paces alongside the dock like a linesman, talking to the people on their swanky yachts. [read more…]
Following the discovery of the body of a baby elephant by railway tracks near Wimbledon Common, police say they’re looking for a short, hirsute, elderly gentleman…
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“I will always love you,” he bellows as he wheels his cleaning cart down Gresham Street, trousers too short, grey hair almost gone, iPod clearly turned up to the max.
This month’s photo was sent in by Jane Parker of N7, who asks if these two chaps on Great Smith Street are up to what she thinks.
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Intrigue tourists on the South Bank by leaning a harpoon against the rail and gazing out malevolently across the river. If approached, silently produce a photo of a haddock and then roll up your trouser-leg to reveal a wooden stump (this may require some preparation).
by Sabrina Mahfouz
I think we might argue more
if you move to North London –
it’s just, y’know, so far.
[read more…]
by Jamie Mitchinson
I’m crossing the road near Liverpool Street. My senses feel oddly heightened, though I’m not sure why. And, even so, I nearly miss it. Or, to put it another way, it nearly hits me. So practised am I at spotting the shape of my habitual single decker that when the open-top number 11 comes, I blank it out. [read more…]
“He’s too old to be skateboarding down Graham Road,” I muse, looking out the window as the 55 dawdles at the lights; and then, for a moment, feel immeasurably sad.