by Alex Farebrother-Naylor
London Rage
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Trains
The Twelve Days of Smoke
On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me…
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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.
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.
“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?”
by Jude Rogers
I try to shake away the caffeine buzz, and look again. No, that’s a train, alright. It’s slowly advancing westwards in the morning’s heavy mist. And then I look at the sign on the platform to find out if the 8.14 to Gospel Oak is due to arrive on time. Something else is there instead. The 8.08 to Hampstead Heath. [read more…]
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…]
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…]
Beside the track at Richmond, a large stuffed bear slumps against the wall and stares at the gravel. “Mister Bear” says the aerosol scrawl, an arrow pointing at his head.