At Hampstead Heath station, Christmas bells are ringing – thin silver wind chimes, strung between the London planes. Lights appear from the west. Gusts, a chill, ghosts.
Urban Intervention No. 23
With old-fashioned zebra crossings now an endangered species, why not thank courteous drivers by offering a friendly handshake through the passenger window as you cross?
by Matt Haynes
In the grass are, unmistakably, the ghosts of abandoned roads: cracked tarmac and kerbstones, carless and homeless, fading to brown and green. And here’s the thing: if you look in an old A-Z – one from the sixties, say – Burgess Park isn’t there. But those spectral streets are; and they have names, and purpose, and they’re drawn in hard black ink. There’s also a line of turquoise, running dead straight between them. [read more…]
THE ERITH PILE OF FISH
WHAT IS IT?
WHAT’S IT FOR?
WHO PUT IT THERE?
IT LOOKS LIKE A BIG PILE OF FISH…
[find out more…]
On the 17:10 to Crayford, she suddenly remembers Stockholm, and how he’d smiled when asking her name; and how she’d said “Madeleine”, because she’d known he’d never know it wasn’t.
by Jude Rogers
Whitechapel station, for some time now, has been a peculiar place. Try to find a train northbound for Dalston Junction, or southbound to New Cross, for instance, and you’ll chance on a sign for the Overground, a name that might suggest futuristic monorails or fresh-air outdoor thrills or the glorious sunniness of above-the-earth transport. [read more…]
London Transport Apologises No. 4
Because of short platforms, passengers wishing to alight at Gipsy Hill should travel in the front seven coaches only. Passengers wishing to roll down the window and let the wind blow back their hair should speak to a member of staff. [see more…]
On the delayed 22:34 to Dartford, a boy with an earring and pair of Hoxton glasses pores over a musical score, humming intermittently. The carriage look on with benevolent confusion.
Please Do Not Touch The Walrus No. 5
A fantastic new series in which we attempt to catalogue some of the amazing things you can’t do in our fabulous capital city. Today: touching your Oyster. [see more…]
“Is this London?” she pouts, pressing a chocolatey face to the tagged and leaking window as their train waits at Worcester Park. “Daddy, when is it going to be London?”