Olympic Park, Hogwart’s Gate
by Jude Rogers
Girl: So which way do we go?
Boy: [lugging case behind him] Look! There’s signs further up.
Girl: Oh, yes, the big pink si… [steeplechases up to them] Oh.
[read more…]
Jul 182012
Jul 122012
by Jude Rogers
Out of Hackney Downs station, the day is spinning into life. The old lollipop man stands on the kerb outside Brook Community School. A flash of yellow neon, bright eyes, white teeth. His head turning left, turning right, both feet forward, across. He holds his lollipop in front of him, high like a mitre. Children hurry past, their shouts circling above him. In the middle of the tornados of decibels, he stands still, as calm as a prophet. [read more…]
Jun 052012
The small boy in the red-white-and-blue hat looks up at the skies, looks back at his father, looks out to the river. “Is she the lady off of CBeebies?” he asks, gummily. The gold boat glides past Blackfriars. “She’s not as good as Mr Tumble, Daddy.” [see more…]
May 282012
by Jude Rogers
On the way to Ferry Lane, you find a car park outside the industrial estate. Blue, red, white, silver, gun gold. Two teenagers are in the front seat of a Hyundai Sonata, kissing. They break off; the girl bites his ear just below the earring. The boy laughs, brushing steam off the windscreen. [read more…]
Mar 062012
by Jude Rogers
In Mile End Park, they queue for five minutes of love. [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 132012
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…]
Jan 282012
by Jude Rogers
Almost eight years ago, I dared to go to the end of the line. I was a new girl in Dalston’s Ridley Road, and the North London Line that lay at the end of the market, past the huge snails, the hung chicken heads and the snowywhite webs of tripe, kept daring me to go east for pleasure, rather than head west for work. So one day I turned right instead of left, and went to North Woolwich. [read more…]
Jan 252012
I’ve not seen that Allen Road door open in five years. Then, today: a hand around the red paint, a bottle on the doorstep, neon-pink fingernails disappearing through the cobwebs.
Jan 192012
by Jude Rogers
Highbury Fields, ten in the morning, the soft breaths of early summer rising from glossy blades of grass. Today, N5 is showing off in the sunshine, wiggling her shoulders, hoisting up her skirts, auditioning her exquisiteness for a Richard Curtis rom-com. [read more…]