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…]
Jun 102012
Central
May 232012
No. 7 South Bank
I think we all know the story behind Coldplay’s Yellow but, in case you’ve forgotten, it seems that frontman Chris Martin was absent-mindedly looking out his window one afternoon when he saw something – the sun, a daffodil, Gwyneth Paltrow, nobody’s entirely sure – which made him stop and say to himself: that’s yellow, that is. [read more…]
Feb 262012
as heard by Matt Haynes
Number 100 to… Shadwell. The next stop is… Pocock Street – oh, look, I really can’t be doing with all this. If you didn’t know what route I was or where I was going, why would you have got on? I mean, I’m contractually obliged to spout all this guff, but frankly it just insults us both. [read more…]
Feb 212012
The Helmsman, Pimlico Gardens
I don’t know how many of you were part of the New York leather scene at the tail end of the ’70s but, in the bars around Christopher Street, there were really only ever two topics of conversation: were the Village People cynical frauds helping to perpetuate offensive gay stereotypes, albeit with great tunes; and should you, when suddenly called upon to pilot a small boat through uncertain waters, strip off completely or leave your cap on? [read more…]
Feb 202012
Half man, half bull, he prowls the Barbican highwalk…[see more…]
Feb 162012
by Sabrina Mahfouz
The eldest ties her sister’s scarf
back around her hair –
not too tight. [read more…]
Feb 142012
Passing The Rocket on Euston Road, I remember the hair rising from the nape of his neck, his toes under the table, the two-for-the-price-of-one meals going cold as we warmed.
Feb 122012
Urban Intervention No. 31
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?
Feb 112012
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…]
Feb 092012
“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.