Monday, September 29, 2008
Red routePicture of Enforcement episode taken at 09:34 on September 26th.
I like to think that these guys had stopped off to pop into Food Hall and pick up a quick spicy chicken roll and a coconut macaroon. Good job they can park where the hell they like, otherwise in my imagined scenario they'd have had to walk a number of metres.
Outside Shoreditch Town Hall, Old Street, Shoreditch, London
Outside Shoreditch Town Hall, Old Street, Shoreditch, London
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Another accident off Kingsland RoadPicture of Enforcement episode taken at 20:46 on September 2nd.
All going on
Picture of Enforcement episode taken at 23:10 on August 2nd.
Picture of Enforcement episode taken at 23:10 on August 2nd.
Several vans showed up outside the boozer; couple of police came in to the pub but I couldn't really make out what they were doing. Seemed to be a lot of activity outside and the bar staff were gesturing towards a couple of people but nothing serious seemed to occur.
Outside the Griffin pub, Leonard Street, Shoreditch, London
Outside the Griffin pub, Leonard Street, Shoreditch, London
Monday, July 21, 2008
A madeleine of my ownThought formulated in Igor’s thoughts at 22:12.
I’ve been meaning to write this down for a while now. I think it was in early October 1989 that I was sent on an errand which involved picking up a box of now–forgotten materials from a printer’s premises somewhere around this area; Tabernacle Street rings a distant bell. Memories fade, memory confounds, and close on twenty years have passed since that atom of happenstance flickered in and out, but I know I have an image of this place, forged by the place it then was, on that sunny autumn day.
I remember the old Tube station — I feel like it was Moorgate — as having an agèd wooden bridge over the tracks, and I remember looking, as I wandered through this maze of biblically–inspired street names, down into still–forsaken gaps in the buildings, gouged presumably by the intrusion of V2s decades earlier.
I remember that pinch in the air, that welcome snip of coolness slicing through the tail of an Indian summer’s breath. I remember the shimmering, thinning quality of the light, borne of our angle to the sun at that autumnal point; and as I remember, the years gone by conspire to spin webs of tangled connections in my mind between that glistening, concrete day in which I lived, and others, similar, but merely conjured from the minds of writers I read as a child. I remember popping in to The Castle Sandwich Bar on my way back to the station to buy a toasted sandwich: ham, cheese and pepperoni, a recent concoction, and by far my favourite at the time.
I remember so clearly how good it was; not just the butter and grease oozing out of the edges of the burnished floury white bread to soak into the bitty texture of the coarse white paper bag as I walked excitedly yet somehow deflatedly back down Paul Street to find my way home and back to the grind of the familiar, but the whole sphere of presence and determination, of an expanding vista of thus far elusive but soon–to–be graspable possibilities opening themselves to me — the thrill of the new, the budding comprehension of the enormity of it all. It felt good; it was good.
I remember the friendly faces in the Castle and the easy, matter–of–fact bonhomie of the people who worked in this oasis, alongside its even–then ageing décor; and I remember, fondly, one of my first solitary tastes of a hitherto completely unknown city.
I remember the old Tube station — I feel like it was Moorgate — as having an agèd wooden bridge over the tracks, and I remember looking, as I wandered through this maze of biblically–inspired street names, down into still–forsaken gaps in the buildings, gouged presumably by the intrusion of V2s decades earlier.
I remember that pinch in the air, that welcome snip of coolness slicing through the tail of an Indian summer’s breath. I remember the shimmering, thinning quality of the light, borne of our angle to the sun at that autumnal point; and as I remember, the years gone by conspire to spin webs of tangled connections in my mind between that glistening, concrete day in which I lived, and others, similar, but merely conjured from the minds of writers I read as a child. I remember popping in to The Castle Sandwich Bar on my way back to the station to buy a toasted sandwich: ham, cheese and pepperoni, a recent concoction, and by far my favourite at the time.
I remember so clearly how good it was; not just the butter and grease oozing out of the edges of the burnished floury white bread to soak into the bitty texture of the coarse white paper bag as I walked excitedly yet somehow deflatedly back down Paul Street to find my way home and back to the grind of the familiar, but the whole sphere of presence and determination, of an expanding vista of thus far elusive but soon–to–be graspable possibilities opening themselves to me — the thrill of the new, the budding comprehension of the enormity of it all. It felt good; it was good.
I remember the friendly faces in the Castle and the easy, matter–of–fact bonhomie of the people who worked in this oasis, alongside its even–then ageing décor; and I remember, fondly, one of my first solitary tastes of a hitherto completely unknown city.
Civic duty
Picture of Enforcement episode taken at 13:42 on July 21st.
Picture of Enforcement episode taken at 13:42 on July 21st.
This van was at one end and three or four bikes were at the other, holding back the traffic so as to allow this ludicrous pantechnicon to turn into a plainly too-small road. Why they don't send two smaller ones I don’t know. Well, you know, obviously I do, but you know what I mean. Maybe.
Great Eastern Street, Shoreditch, London
Great Eastern Street, Shoreditch, London









