Junction Road - Who is this woman?

The only smile your likely to find in Archway. I can only look at this mural and wonder. Why?

Pizza Pleeze Tufnell Park

Modern London happens to be a massively overpriced shithole with a loony, power crazed deluded mayor, an underclass composed of feral packs of uneducated wankers roaming the streets with guns and knives shitting children they can ill afford, stinking dirty streets littered with factory bred chicken bones, local authorities run by a bunch of sleazy PC crooks, hell bent on accommodating every bleeding heart who tramps their way.



Still, at least you can get a pizza after midnight in the company of a piss ridden hobo.

Boston Arms and an old school Egging

A quiet pint on a Saturday afternoon, last rays of Autumn sun. Sounds nice. But we're sat on a picnic table chained to a wall on a 5 way junction where buses, wagons and irritating charvas whiz past on their mechanical wasps with manky grey jogging pants flapping furiously. The junction's busy, really busy.

Then, I feel something fly past my ear and crack then splat against the ceramic tiles of the pub.

My Vibrating Flat in Tufnell Park

My flat has started vibrating.

My TV jigs from side to side, my wardrobe rocks, the windows rattle, and the bed shakes. I'm vibrating because of trains, big long heavy trains carrying cement hauled by imported American loco's. Apparently said vibrations from trains are very unlikely to cause structural damage to houses & buildings near the railway.

Sad Eyed People

They sit in bars according to Jake Burns. Well they used to, but they’ve been priced out of the market round here and have taken to the streets en-mass, cans of strong lager in hand weaving against the flow of shoppers. The Weatherspoons doesn’t want them any more, the Hercules has upped its prices and the spin the wheel happy hour game has long since stopped attracting the bargain booze hunters.

This place is a bowl of shit soup, spiced with wastrels selling fake cigarettes, just out of jail and no-where better to go wanderers, junkies, bent cabbies who’ll commit GBH or rape as soon as ferry you home, struggling honest workers stuck in the rent trap and the new breed of inmates who live in the gated communes – “it’s so vibrant, real and urbane”.

A big London welcome awaits you on the final mange ridden leg of the A1.