Soundtrack to Soho

As I walked down Wardour street with a friend of mine the other afternoon, we were commenting on the delights of this pleasantly grimy underbelly of London. As we did so, a tramp fell in step behind us and we were treated to the following:

Aeerrgguuuhhh…… aarrrruuuggguuhhh….
HEEELLOOOOOOH! HEEELLOOOH!
BOOOOOOOYYS!
(some stumbling)
Bouuys… bouuys….
HEELLLOOOOH!
Girrlls….. Giiieerrrrllss….

This continued with us til the end of the street, for which we obviously slowed down in order to gain the full effect. On the way back into Soho, we crossed Cambridge Circus as crowds flowed out of a Monty Python show. My friend said how disappointed was that we’d missed it. And as he did, a man pedalling an empty pedalo suddenly swung into action and cut through the melee. The reason for his speedy exit became immediately apparent when we saw another tramp standing in the empty space left behind. He propelled himself forwards, and hurled the word CUUUNT! Such was the volume, a considerable amount spit followed this fantastic piece of eloquence.

My friend and I agreed that we certainly weren’t sorry to have missed The Flying Circus.

Try this one at home

This photo doesn't do it justice, so you'll have to try it yourself.
If you happen to have a light box anywhere nearby, put your mobile phone on it and switch the camera on.
Facinating results.

Street Art II

It was the first morning for months that I noticed my breath as I left for work this morning. On the walk in, most of the parked cars's windows were covered in condensation - and someone had decided to take full advantage of the situation.
The results are below. Either they became more rushed as it went on, or they grew as an artist, becoming more of an abstractionist by the road's end.

Good to know

I'd no idea the economic downturn had got this bad.

There are dark shadows on the earth but its lights are stronger in the contrast. Some men, like bats or owls, have better eyes for the darkness than for the light. We who have no such optical powers are better pleased to take our last parting look at the visionary companions of many solitary hours, when the brief sunshine of the world is blazing full upon them.

Charles Dickens.

The day I decide to take my first trip to Bermondsey just happened to be the same day as their summer party. It was a gloriously typical English village fete, complete with cakes, bad juggling, little girls in frocks and a dog show.
At lunchtime came the fashion show, with running dialogue from a camp presenter in a Moroccan dressing gown.

These London village fetes are just a little bit different to the ones I get back home.

I have a pretty healthy attitude towards death, although working at a funeral parlour would certainly be beyond me. But saying that, I love that most of them have clocks up in their windows. Clearly they have a brilliantly healthy, sick sense of humour. I'm sure you'll agree that it's a really touching reminder that they, and time, will get us all in the end.

Big Issue Salesman

This gentleman was, unsurprisingly, failing to solicit sympathy from anyone passing by. Not that it's a must to wear threads that barely hold themselves together, but surely he could at least dress down a little for the affair.

This is about a tenth of an impressively obsessive seashells collection.

Does the stock market somehow effect the weather? If so, we could blame our shockingly poor summer on the impending credit crunch.

Make a note in your diaries

Model double decker bus: £8
Vase: £16
Coffee table: £125
Caution sign, appearing as though part of the arrangement: Priceless.

Defeating the object