Shirtless Passenger Smashes Window
A shirtless man kicked out a Tube window at Euston Station, climbed through the glass, swore at staff, and walked away as stunned commuters watched.
Social media reacted with outrage and disbelief. Some criticised the act; others blamed heat and cramped conditions.
British Transport Police are investigating!
Lol! I know the feeling. If you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen x
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Blog
Soho Bastards
Where creativity meets good company — and the occasional bad idea
Something special happens at the Duke of York in Fitzrovia every first Saturday afternoon of the month. Musician David Palfreyman and film director Alan G. Parker dreamed up Soho Bastards to bring together a curious mix of musicians, writers, and media folk.
It’s not some formal networking gig — far from it. It’s a chance to swap stories, share ideas, and maybe hatch wild plans over a pint. The room hums with...
Discover The Duke of York Pub, Fitzrovia’s Timeless Treasure!
Step into The Duke of York at 47 Rathbone Street, Fitzrovia, London, W1T 1NW, and immerse yourself in a vibrant slice of London’s history. This iconic Victorian pub, first established in 1767 and reborn in 1897, stands proudly on the corner of Rathbone Street and Charlotte Place, its 1791 cornerstone beckoning you inside. Now thriving under McMullen’s stewardship since June 2025, this gem delivers an unforgettable, quintessentially...
From Alcoholism to Africa – The Remarkable Journey of John Cartledge
Every so often, a book comes along that grips you from the very first page and refuses to let go. From Alcoholism to Africa by John Cartledge is one of those books. I read it in just a couple of hours, completely absorbed in his raw, unfiltered life story.
John takes us from his childhood in Warrington through three decades of alcohol addiction a road strewn with prison sentences, rehab clinics, and mental institutions. His...
Prologue
In the shadowed streets of urban sprawl, deception weaves its intricate web. A cunning scam, known as "Twining" or "Ringing the Changes," thrives in whispers across the country. Its origins are murky, its practitioners elusive—ghosts gliding through time for millennia. With nimble fingers and silver tongues, these con artists dance between truth and lies, from the ancient cities of the East to the gritty streets of wartime London.
From Rags to Riches and Back
...
I had the pleasure of working with John Cartledge, or Johnny as we called him, back in my bricklaying days in London. This was after he’d kicked his drinking habit. Johnny had a wild sense of humor and a story that stuck with me: at the peak of his alcoholism, he claimed he’d pour cider on his cornflakes before heading to work. True or not, it cracked me up at the time, and I’ve even toyed with the idea of trying it myself one day—just...
Cellmates
Trigger Warning: Racism, violence, strong language
In the sweltering belly of Wormwood Scrubs, the air reeked of sweat and despair. I was just a kid, barely 15, shoved into a cell on my first day, heart pounding like a trapped bird. The door slammed shut, the screw’s keys jangled, and his boots echoed down the landing, leaving me to face my fate.
The cell was a furnace, the stench of the pisspot in the corner choking the air. On the bottom bunk sprawled a guy, maybe 20, his cropped...
When my flat burned down, I was lost, staring at the charred remains of my old life. I didn’t know what I was doing when I started writing, but I’d always loved reading, so I threw myself into it. I poured my heart into pages, ignoring grammar, structure, or anything else. I wrote with a fire that matched the one that took my flat, scribbling in a cramped corner of my new gaff, surrounded by notebooks and empty coffee cups. I’d write through the night, skipping sleep and...
Tommie Rae Brown provides stunning backing vocals, while Gary Bundy plays double bass.
#LondonCowboys #MusicRevival #SteveDior #BarryJones #PeterWassif #TommieRaeBrown #GaryBundy #W11Studios #KevinHarris #DoubleAlbum #NewMusic #RockAndRoll #MusicProduction #StudioVibes #EpicTracks #BackingVocals #DoubleBass #RecordingSession #MexicoBound...
By Tommy Kennedy IV
I wonder why my mother named me Elusive as I trudge through London’s rain, the city choking on its own filth. The pavements, slick with piss and petrol, shimmer under flickering neon. The air reeks of cheap kebabs and bad decisions. I slip down a basement stairwell off Greek Street, where a club thumps with basslines that could rupture my skull. I stub out my spliff before stepping inside. Why are all these pricks vaping? You’d never catch James Dean or...
Demented Desires
By Tommy Kennedy IV
I dragged myself out of the off-licence, shoulders tight, nerves buzzing. The doorbell clanged as some other wrecked alkie shoved past. My carrier bag clinked with cheap booze. I had one thing in mind: get Mickey round, get him wired, and take what I needed.
I didn’t fall for men’s games. I played them. Love? That was for my kids. Men gave me other things.
Earlier that afternoon, I necked two bottles of cheap wine. I felt older than I looked—older than I ever...
In 2006, Steve Dior formed a band called the Delinquents, which consisted of him and a girl from Los Angeles called Kelly Pizzo, with Sid Mayall on drums, Edd Whyte on guitar, and Sam on bass. They recorded a song called Pretty Dope Fiend in the film Who Killed Nancy, directed by Alan G Parker. But after 6 months, Kelly returned to Los Angeles!
We took on a six-month residency at the Cock Tavern in Kilburn, a rough old dive. The first night they played there, a headless body was...
I’m still studying creative writing at Birkbeck University, a journey I began in 2022 after years of organising charity gigs all over london and, for a time, working with Musicians Against Homelessness (MAH). My life has been a wild ride—born in Warrington, I bounced between convents, caravans, and care homes, landing seven custodial sentences by age 22. Homelessness gripped me for over four years, and addiction nearly broke me, but music became my lifeline, pulling me from petty crime to a...
I’m not sure what compelled me to write this, but here we go. Yesterday, I nipped to the shop for a few bits, my head foggy from a sleepless night. I trudged back, ready for the afternoon, when someone shouted my name. My eyes aren’t what they used to be, so I squinted and wandered toward the pub across the square. I spotted two old mates sitting outside, necking beers. I was still clutching my shopping bags. We shared a laugh, and my mate bought a few beers. Then one...
Holly smooths her nurse’s uniform, exhaustion tugging at her bones as her hospital shift ends. The death of an elderly patient lingers in her heart, casting a shadow of sorrow. The patient’s daughter, eyes red with grief, clasps Holly’s hand. “Thank you, Nurse. You’ve done so much for my father. We’re grateful.”
Holly, swallowing tears, offers a gentle hug. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Take care.” Her compassionate nature, a lifelong trait, makes detachment impossible despite the professional...
John Flaherty was born in 1945 in Castleblayney, County Monaghan, where rain-soaked streets met the dark waters of Lake Muckno. Raised in a town surrounded by stone-walled fields, he grew up with calloused hands and a heart tied to the land. At twenty-five, in 1970, ambition pulled him across the Irish Sea to London, leaving behind the familiar damp earth for a city pulsing with noise and possibility.
Portobello Road and Norland Road Markets overwhelmed him—market...
FLASH FICTION FRIDAY
LADY KILL-A
Trigger Warning: Contains raw depictions of addiction, violence, and recovery
Gutter Birthday
I came to on my sixtieth, face-down in a gutter behind Piccadilly Circus. January snow was spitting on my back, my skin was numb, and my clothes were soaked.
Someone was rifling my pockets.
My eyes snapped open.
“Get lost, you thieving little shite,” I growled.
It was that Colombian street rat—thin, twitchy, always lurking. He flinched, then lashed out, booting me hard in the...
Michael’s Story: Surviving Eastwood Park
Content Warning: This story contains vivid accounts of physical and emotional abuse, racism, and institutional cruelty that may distress readers. For support, contact Samaritans at 116 123 or visit www.samaritans.org.
Summer 1981: A Reckless Dare
It’s 7 July 1981, and the Birmingham sun bakes the cracked pavement outside a police van where you, Michael, sit handcuffed. You’re 15, a wiry kid who loves The Clash’s rebellious chords, your pulse hammering...
Meeting Mentona K: A Bangkok Hustle Gone Silent
The Lost Soul of Lamai Beach, 1999
Some Stories Fucking Haunt You
Some people leave an impression, then fuck off into the ether.
Some stories get under your skin and never let go.
This is one of them.
Back in January 1999, I was tearing through Thailand—chasing noise, chasing trouble, chasing something I couldn’t name. I didn’t know I was about to meet a singer with a voice that could’ve blown the doors off the world.
His name was Mentona K.
A Liberian...
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