Northern line

  • Not Falling Down

    London Bridge isn’t falling down yet. It’s a prime piece of real estate that I’ve recently acquired – with full rights. There’s an old tale about an American buying the edifice believing it was that Victorian mechanical wonder Tower Bridge and then being disappointed that his shipped-out structure didn’t do any tricks. No, I’ve bought…

  • Finding Samantha

    You find the crescent shaped brooch on the adjacent chair where she was sitting. You take it to one of the baristas but he’s too busy to want to know. The back of the brooch is marked Samantha, Mornington Crescent. You decide to find Samantha and return it. Today’s good turn. In the street you…

  • Yes

    Under the thick wolf sweater, the stays of Andrea’s corset had flexed with every movement of the carriage. We went to a fancy dress party once as geologists. I had a rock hammer and a leather bag; Andrea wore the sweater and carried a field guide to the sedimentary beds of southwest England. Everything seems…

  • A Great Escape

    Once upon a time in Fibula Castle lived Princess Crystal. On Thursday morning in the east tower she asked her long-suffering maid Susanna “Is he here yet?” Susanna looked out of the narrow slit window for the eighth time that morning. “No, Your Highness.” Princess Crystal flopped onto the pile of satin cushions and re-read…

  • The Left Eye

    The operation had been a success. The Ophthalmologist had shaken her hand. “Enjoy your new life,” he’d said. Leaving Moorfields she headed for the Old Street roundabout, a vortex that sucked people under and round and out again, blue tubing holding an advert for the latest phone above. On her way, a mother and her…

  • The Exchange

    Deep in his pocket, Marcus twirled the beads of the brooch as he walked towards the Royal Exchange. His thoughts moved to the sensual feel of the beads on his fingertips and what might happen later. He hoped the brooch would do the trick. It hadn’t cost much, but it was the thought that counted….

  • Dramatic Encounters

    “Are you a terrorist?” a thin voice quizzed. “My Daddy says to watch out for black bearded men with heavy rucksacks.” The penetrating wide eyed stare had so far failed to rouse Faizal from his feigned sleep. His legs crooked even more tightly around his rucksack. No longer able to ignore the little girl fidgeting…

  • A Knot of Bright Hair

    I take out the brooch I had made for him. The snake seems ominous to me now. It slithers into my mind, bites and poisons it. For I have not seen him in months. He has not followed me, only my instructions that he should not. His wife came to me in the summer, when…