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…]
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…]
by Will Wiles
Someone is fighting a lonely war against noise on the Central Line. The shrill tone that announces that the doors are closing is too loud for them, or too high-pitched, or both. They scratch their complaint into the doors: Excessive Door Noise; Noisy Doors Cause Deafness; Too Loud. [read more…]