London Transport Apologises No. 3
Customers on Platform 2 should stand well away from the platform edge as the approaching train has had a really bad day. [read more…]
Mar 082013
Feb 252013
by Mark Sadler
It was a Roman scholar called Philetus who, in 197 AD, first wrote of two great herds of wild horses that he claimed were engaged in an unending circular migration of the lands surrounding the Britannian city of Londinium. The herds were of unequal size. The slightly larger one travelled in a direction that we would now refer to as clockwise; the other went counter-clockwise. [read more…]
Feb 082013
Observations made while travelling on the last DLR train from Westferry to Lewisham via Canary Wharf on Saturday 2nd February, 2013
by Lucy Munro
Heading home through lands where heels are high and skirts brief.
And a drunk man is shouting “Anyone for Mudchute?”
[read more…]
Feb 042013
Who’s Going To Drive You Home Tonight? by Jude Rogers
I feel snug in the back, so I ask him his name. “Reg. Pleased to meet you. And you?” I tell him and we talk about that song by the Beatles. We share details for a while, give each other pocket-sized versions of our life stories: his family in Wales, how long I’ve been in the city. Then I ask him how long he’s been out here. How long he’s had the badge. How long it’s been since he had his blue book. [read more…]
Jan 132013
London Transport Apologises No. 2
London Transport wishes to apologise for the fact that, due to earlier passenger action, all Bakerloo Line trains are currently hiding in a big shed in Willesden and refusing to come out. [read more…]
Dec 072012
On a brisk Sunday morning a gentleman in a long velvet morning coat and top hat rides a tiny pink-painted bicycle through the gutter on Lower Clapton Road.
Dec 042012
by Rhuar Dean
Charles leant forwards, hands clasped between us on the table, brittle gold-rimmed spectacles resting on his wide nose. “This airport,” he said, “is not like other airports. In other airports, people are going on holiday, they’re excited. There’s a buzz. The bar is always full. There are always some Irish to drink with.” He leant forwards again, his grey hair a fuzz of pale smoke. “Here, the only people drinking are fucking wankers.” [read more…]
Nov 282012
by Wolf Orff
Gary Geistler knew he was probably sane. But who in their right mind would turn out for a poetry gig in Mortlake on a bitter Thursday evening in late January? He’d been promised a third of the door money. He’d be lucky if it stretched to a large glass of Chardonnay. [read more…]
Nov 262012
At Clapham North he pulls a knob of root ginger from his bag and, with eyes cast down, rubs its surface tenderly; perhaps, I think, it’s his lucky magic ginger.
Nov 062012
Busker
by Phil Callaghan
Posted at the foot
of the escalators
he whistles
I’ll never fall in love again…
[read more…]