People never talk about the weight of newspapers. An inch wide, pinched between your thumb and finger. A couple of inches when folded in two. An inky wad that will jam nicely into the letterbox, hovering above the doorstop that’s saturated from last night’s downpour. The metal bar of your …
That finger point is authoritative. That finger point understands direction. That finger point could read a map and silence Dad’s “but I know I’ve driven this route before, cor’ was it ten? Yeah, it’s ten. Ten years ago, for my old job”…
This is a city where you may not always live. It is in your bones to move: that is how London raised you…
Think of teenage culprits: the only ones brazen enough for how-on-earth heights…
Within the space of a contemporary art gallery we fill and we shade and we impose. Though, we do so nervously. We are not used to this way of seeing…
This was London, you tell them. You grow up in pubs, taking pennies to scratch cards and staying stuck-fast sure that you’ll beat your uncle in a game one day…
