Beside the track at Richmond, a large stuffed bear slumps against the wall and stares at the gravel. “Mister Bear” says the aerosol scrawl, an arrow pointing at his head.
by Zoë Fairbairns
“Oh south London,” he said, as if I ought to have made that clear before, as if it was generally understood among right-thinking people that the word “London” does not encompass “south London”.
“That’s right,” I said.
“We’ve got a girl in our office,” he said, “who comes from south London. She’s got the most marvellous accent.” [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.
The re-appearance of anonymous photos on the web has prompted more strenuous denials from Battersea Dogs’ Home that cutbacks in the heating budget last January caused severe distress amongst some of the more short-haired residents. [read more…]
Visitors from other parts of the Milky Way who wish to sample some of the more “off-beat” attractions of the Orion–Cygnus Spiral Arm might like to note that the British Interplanetary Society at Vauxhall stocks a wide range of maps and guides to the local area. [read more…]
by Des Garrahan
There was a time I was scathingly scornful of suburbia. Growing up in Lewisham, I couldn’t really see the point of it. Since then, I’ve moved steadily through the zones, both north and south of the river, heading for the periphery. These days, I’m thoroughly and happily ensconced deep in zone 6. And here, in Kingston upon Thames, with apologies to the Pet Shop Boys, you’re more likely to walk with the foxes than run with the dogs at night. [read more…]
Arm-in-arm, stiletto-heeled, they totter through the Sunday morning rain: a stubbled drag queen with mascara tears and a dead-eyed girl in a silver dress, united by lust for Vauxhall tube.
An Audience With The Black Prince by Rishi Dastidar
… you join us here in Lambeth, where I’m privileged to be chatting exclusively to Edward, the Black Prince, back from his military campaigns on the Continent. And, indeed, the dead. So, first, Ed – if I may call you that? – thanks for taking the time to join us this morning. Can I start by asking you why, after 800 years, you’re back in this part of town? Is there a party on? [read more…]
by Meg Green
A swan is preening in the four foot. Another is standing on one foot on the iron railing. Although Bill has seen swans on the line before, he always finds the whiteness of their feathers startling. They are bigger than he thinks is reasonable for a bird. He draws the power brake smoothly back, bringing the train to a stand before the swans. He knows it is illegal to touch swans. They belong to the Queen. [read more…]
by Jacqueline Downs
It was the summer of 1976 when we set fire to David McIntyre. Round the back of Brockwell Lido, bushes hiding us from the expanse of the park. Every now and then it comes back to me. [read more…]