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.

Easter Dregs on the Holloway Road

It's a beautiful day. Good Friday in Holloway. Thinking about Sunday lunch. Reflections on the resurrection.

Bollocks to that, I'm taking 'Tel for a walk.

"'Tel - get yer string on we're orf up the 'olloway."

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.

Barry and Fig on the Tube

Barry was already feeling like he wanted to get well away from Fig
"how many of you could look at your brain in the mirror for 5 years"
"bitches like geezers wishing they had cocks, hur, hur"

"mind me hair - yeah I've just had me curlers in too"
"Watch him Barry, probably some terrorist with a gasbomb up his arse"

The silence is suddenly a very different kind of uncomfortable - not something anyone had preempted or prepared for this morning - just hold out for the next stop. These two clowns, just out of Pentonville, right stop, right tattoos, right mania, right attitude, right bags. I can feel small bumps on my neck. Nothing to read but the two lines of crappy holiday insurance marketing, over and over, and over....

It's 9.20 a.m, I'm 100 ft under ground trapped in a carriage with suits and nutters I need a cigarette and I wish I was drinking a whisky instead of sweating it.