On the trunks of the plane trees lining the western side of Kennington Road between Kennington Cross and the traffic lights at Lambeth Road are fastened small metal nameplates each bearing the name of an Apollo astronaut. They’ve been there at least twenty years, but no one seems to know who put them there, or why. [read more…]
by Matt Haynes
Yes, his toga may be worn rather too casually off the shoulder, and reveal an unnecessary amount of nipple for daytime discourse in the forum, but – that’s Romans for you! Ah, but he’s NOT a Roman. He’s William Huskisson MP; who, having already cheated death once – when a horse fell on him during his honeymoon – later found fame as the world’s first railway fatality, after being hit by Stephenson’s Rocket just outside Newton-le-Willows. [read more…]
She was far too old for him; and he was far too gay for her; but, that night on the 188, he thought what the hell, and took her dancing.
by Matt Haynes
They smile for photos;
Their shoulder-mounted rifles
Brush the toddler’s hair. [read more…]
The Song of the Olympic Binman
by Matt Haynes
I am a binman for the council
And I walk the back roads,
Searchin’ in the dark for another bag to load.
I hear we mustn’t use our bin lifts,
I hear you will not like their whine,
And the SE10 binman must be gone by nine. [read more…]
by Matt Haynes
Whenever the need to fondle something long and wrinkly grew too much to bear – which, after the death of her beloved Albert, was at least twice a week – lucky old Queen Victoria seldom found herself frustrated in the way of ordinary women, for one of the perks of being Empress Of All The Pink Bits was a plentiful supply of pachyderms, gifts from foreign potentates to whom such beasts were, frankly, little more than garden pests. [read more…]
Outside on the pavement, the man with the mobile is growing exasperated. “Seriously, babe, you can’t miss it!” He steps back, wild-eyed, surveys the façade. “It’s like this big… red café…” [see more…]
by Matt Haynes
Man: Gee, hon, what is that thing?
Woman: What?
Man: That round thing.
[read more…]
… René Magritte’s time with LT’s maintenance department didn’t last long, as his playful signage at Stratford station provoked not only much philosophical debate in the canteen, but also a major hygiene problem on the westbound Central Line platform. [see more…]
by Matt Haynes
The lorries are starting to move now, rumbling across the deck of the James Newman and onto the ramps that shake and ring beneath their tyres. He is supposed to leave too, supposed to climb the yellow metal steps from the passenger deck to the red metal gates that always remind him of Meccano. There is an announcement over the tannoy, every time a ferry docks, forbidding passengers to remain on board. [read more…]