Tate Modern: autumn colours and the working man
Burnt out in black and white
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Sl’O cracking up getting O’ld
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Indian summer, that was the week, last week
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Rollups at Dusk
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Sound of sirens
Someone is parked outside the house, music playing beneath the wail of a distant siren. Night time in South London and Streatham never sleeps … But I must. The sigh of a passing car. The murmur of distant trafic. And a fresh breeze that rustles the trees before trickling over the windowsill and into the room. There’s a car outside the house. Sent from my BlackBerry?? wireless device
After the fall
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Empty goals
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On the value of being laid back: feathered clouds and blue skies
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