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Friday 24 May 2013

Why shout abuse at a body in a box?

An old woman dies

An iron woman is smelted

A mother

A grandmother

A so-called milk snatcher

A heroine

A villain

A political first

A maverick

A ball buster

Not just a talker

Why cry, some would say?

A character that stood out through successes and failures 

Show me the perfect leader and I will show you someone who looks upon them as a tyrant and vice versa.

87 years of life placed in a box

People line the streets few cry, but they do clap or hold respectful silence

People line the streets and turn their backs; some boo, whilst doing so.

The media place a price tag on the funeral adding a few drops of hatred, hot sauce to the recipe
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Elsewhere people parade a woman’s effigy through their streets before setting it on fire. Young children sit atop the shoulders of their cheering parents as black smoke forces their eyes to water. Teenagers film proceedings with their phones for digital posterity. The toothless and those with wobbling dentures yelp the best they can.

An old woman dies

How deep will the past prove to run?


London is Hungry



London is an animal with countless heads, supported by a muscular lean body, of such mass that it can be quite indistinguishable anatomically, yet through squinted eyes it can be seen. Its tail is long and flicks instinctively towards its undercarriage in strong defence of indefinable genitalia. London’s teeth from the front, are sharp, an iridescent pearl white. Towards the back of the mouth, however, London’s maulers are well worn, discoloured and loose, held in place by raw bloody gums. It answers to many different names, Tiffany, Argos, Nando’s, The Savoy, Kensington and Hackney, depending on who is calling. London has too many names, but no single owner, no hand strong enough to hold it with a leash. All this aside, the creature and I are ready for each other now. It is time to squint my eyes and place my head inside London’s mouth. The points of entry were The Strand Gallery and The Aura Mayfair. These two exhibitions gave me time to spend tickling the stomach of this unusually beautiful and paradoxically ugly beast. London, you are always hungry, so thirsty, so fat and yet so starved. Don’t take my left hand, as I need it to paint. I don’t mean to stare London, but you are such a spectacle. London, I will call you Hopeful for now!