VAUXHALL
Vauxhall - all gone.
In my room above, I would listen at night and try to engage with those below, though my mind again would fail to fix a scene where I'd easily belong.
Outside, three streets of orthodox anarchy.
Middle-class warriors wearing donkey jackets on Sunday lunchtimes ( never trust guests who arrive with their own herbal tea ).
The cut and thrust of Cockney banter, the cadence and telepathic punchlies, reduced to a turgid mockery.
In my room above, I would listen at night and try to engage with those below, though my mind again would fail to fix a scene where I'd easily belong.
Outside, three streets of orthodox anarchy.
Middle-class warriors wearing donkey jackets on Sunday lunchtimes ( never trust guests who arrive with their own herbal tea ).
The cut and thrust of Cockney banter, the cadence and telepathic punchlies, reduced to a turgid mockery.
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VAUXHALL
Vauxhall - all gone.
In my room above, I would listen at night and try to engage with those below, though my mind again would fail to fix a scene where I'd easily belong.
Outside, three streets of orthodox anarchy.
Middle-class warriors wearing donkey jackets on Sunday lunchtimes ( never trust guests who arrive with their own herbal tea ).
The cut and thrust of Cockney banter, the cadence and telepathic punchlies, reduced to a turgid mockery.
In my room above, I would listen at night and try to engage with those below, though my mind again would fail to fix a scene where I'd easily belong.
Outside, three streets of orthodox anarchy.
Middle-class warriors wearing donkey jackets on Sunday lunchtimes ( never trust guests who arrive with their own herbal tea ).
The cut and thrust of Cockney banter, the cadence and telepathic punchlies, reduced to a turgid mockery.
Ref:
Date:
Location:
Photographer:
I LONDON
VAUXHALL
Vauxhall - all gone.
In my room above, I would listen at night and try to engage with those below, though my mind again would fail to fix a scene where I'd easily belong.
Outside, three streets of orthodox anarchy.
Middle-class warriors wearing donkey jackets on Sunday lunchtimes ( never trust guests who arrive with their own herbal tea ).
The cut and thrust of Cockney banter, the cadence and telepathic punchlies, reduced to a turgid mockery.
In my room above, I would listen at night and try to engage with those below, though my mind again would fail to fix a scene where I'd easily belong.
Outside, three streets of orthodox anarchy.
Middle-class warriors wearing donkey jackets on Sunday lunchtimes ( never trust guests who arrive with their own herbal tea ).
The cut and thrust of Cockney banter, the cadence and telepathic punchlies, reduced to a turgid mockery.
Ref:
Date:
Location:
Photographer: