Category Archives: Issue 3

Diary

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It’s the languid network of buses and trains that cross stitch it and the sheer undulating expanse of it that make South London what it is, a place freer of...
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DEATH IN SWANSEA

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‘It’s in the paper’, said my mother, reading the obituary column on the other end of the phone, ‘it says for everyone to wear Hawaiian shirts’. Hawaiian shirts! Whose funeral is this, Steve McGarrett’s? ‘That guy’s wearing a suit, book him Danno.’

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