Tag Archives: bethnal green

Beneath the Grave – Ghosts of the Central Line

Good evening, fright-fans, it is I, Tom, your extravagantly-cleavaged Master of the Dark [picture inadmissable]. As Halloween approaches with the inevitability of death, I thought an appropriately-themed entry might be in order. As last year’s entry on the ghosts haunting the Northern Line was so popular, I figured I might continue the theme with the hauntings on the old Central London Railway or, as the kids call it nowadays, the Central Line. Mind the gap…


You’ve all heard of the Beast of Bodmin, but did you know there was a Beast of Northolt? In the early 1990s, there were several sightings of a big cat alongside the Central Line between Northolt and Greenford. Accounts vary as to the species of cat, although most seem to settle on “puma.” Whence it came and how it got to Northolt without being noticed remain to be explained.

Marble Arch

If you should find yourself leaving Marble Arch late at night, when the station is quiet, you may find yourself being followed up the escalator. Several people have reported a sinister man in 1940s clothing who they sense close behind them on the escalator and see out of the corner of their eye. Upon turning around completely, the man vanishes. Again, no explanation has been offered as to who this restless spirit might be.

British Museum

Perhaps the most unlikely ghost out of the many on the Underground was sighted at this now-closed station. The ghost would, so the story goes, appear at one end of the platform and walk to the other, wailing mournfully. What marked this particular spectre out, however, was the fact that he was dressed in the clobber of an Ancient Egyptian. Being the intelligent and probably very sexy reader that you are, you’ve no doubt figured out why there might be an Ancient Egyptian haunting British Museum Station. To be more specific, the Egyptian is said to have some sort of link to the so-called Unlucky Mummy (pictured right), a sarcophagus lid in the Museum that is said to be cursed. This is just one of many legends attached to it, the most interesting of which says that it was responsible for sinking the Titanic.

Even bearing in mind that I’m a sceptic, I’m inclined to take this one with a pinch of salt. The accounts are lacking in detail and only emerged shortly before the station was closed down. I’m inclined to believe it was the invention of a journalist looking for a spooky story. Nevertheless, the story persists, albeit with the ghost now haunting Holborn. Why Holborn and not the closer Russell Square or Tottenham Court Road stations? It is a mystery.

Chancery Lane

Chancery Lane has plenty of secrets of its own, but in the tunnels between here and Holborn, there’s said to be one more surprise. During the 1960s,drivers stopping at signals here would often be freaked out by the appearance of a man standing next to them in the cab. Apparently some sort of fellow crewman, he would be staring straight ahead, and would vanish as soon as the train pulled away.


I covered the manife-stations (see what I did there) at this stop in last year’s entry, but I thought I’d mention that it’s a haunted station on the Central Line for those pedants who’ll leave comments if I don’t.

Liverpool Street

This terminus is built on the site of a plague pit and one of the several incarnations of the notorious Bedlam. The building of this and neighbouring Broad Street Station involved the disturbance of many final resting places, so really it would be surprising if there were no hauntings here. Sure enough, Liverpool Street and environs are said to be haunted by the ghastly screams of a woman.

The most popular suggestion for the screamer is one Rebecca Griffiths, an inmate at Bedlam in the late 18th century whose illness included a compulsive need to hold on to a particular coin. Upon her death, one of the staff (who were not known for their selflessness) stole it from her lifeless fingers and Rebecca’s inconsolable spirit searches for it still.

More recently, in 2000, the Line Controller sighted a man in white overalls in the tunnels who should not have been there. He sent the Station Supervisor to investigate, who found nothing. What made this particularly peculiar was that the Supervisor found no man down there – even though the Controller could see the man on the CCTV screen right next to him.

Bethnal Green

I’ll finish with the Easternmost of the haunted Central Line stations that I’m aware of, and one of the most frightening hauntings. This one is traceable to a specific incident that took place on 3rd March 1943. As often happened in the East End at that time, when the air raid siren sounded, the local people made for the Tube station. Unfortunately, on this night it had been decided to carry out a test-firing of an experimental new type of rocket in nearby Victoria Park. Panicked by what sounded like a very nearby explosion, the crowds surged forward. A woman on the stairs lost her footing and fell, taking several others with her and causing further panic, which in turn worsened the stampede and the crush inside the station. 173 people were killed in the disaster, crushed or asphyxiated. For reasons of morale, the Bethnal Green incident was covered up until 1946.

From 1981 onwards, however, there were reports of an extremely unnerving nature from the station. Staff working late at night spoke of hearing screams – at first one or two, then more and more, clearly identifiable as women and children. These screams would go on for up to fifteen minutes before dying down.

There you have it, readers. I hope you enjoy your Halloween this year and whatever you do, don’t have nightmares…


Filed under 18th century, 19th century, 20th Century, Bloomsbury, Disasters, East End and Docklands, Flora and Fauna, Hackney, History, London, London Underground, Museums, Occult, Paranormal, Suburbia, The City, Transport, West End

Canal Penetration

I do not appear to understand the concept of a short walk. This fact was brought home to me on Sunday. Having attended a wedding on Wednesday, I was feeling somewhat guilty at the Elvis-level calorie intake I had managed that day, and therefore had resolved to behave myself with a little more restraint. Sunday, I thought, would be an ideal day to get a little exercise. I thought it might be nice to do some more of the Regent’s Canal.

The Regent’s Canal, if you’re not familiar with it (though you may have some passing acquaintance with it if you’re a regular reader of this blog), is a waterway running from the Thames at Limehouse to the Grand Junction Canal at Paddington. The canal was opened in two sections – from Paddington to Camden in 1816 and Camden to Limehouse in 1820. In those days, before decent roads and railways, canals were the arteries of industry. The Grand Junction Canal was the quickest means of transporting goods in quantity from the industrial Midlands to London. The Regent’s Canal therefore served an important economic purpose, as it formed the final link between the Midlands and the Port of London and therefore the rest of the world. It survived the coming of the railways and the roads, but by the 1930s was largely obsolete.

Today, although there is a small amount of cargo, it’s primarily used for pleasure craft. The warehouses and factories that once lined its route have either been demolished or repurposed (most notably, one major interchange between rail and canal is now Camden Lock Market and the Stables). The towpath is a popular route with cyclists, walkers and idiots (yo).

My original intention was to only walk a short section of the canal, say Camden to King’s Cross or Islington. But I have this tendency, once I start walking, to keep on going far longer than is perhaps wise. As a result, I ended up walking all the way to Limehouse Basin. As I had previously walked from Camden to Paddington (hence the photos you have been seeing so far), I can now say that I have walked the full length of the canal.

From a psychogeographical point of view, what’s interesting about this walk is that it let me see familiar places from a different point of view. Of course, I’d seen the canal at Paddington, Regent’s Park, Camden, King’s Cross, St Pancras, Caledonian Road, Islington, Hackney and Limehouse before. Indeed, I’ve written about it in at least two of those locations in this very blog. But it had just been a landmark then, with no sort of context. I had some vague awareness that this stretch of canal was the same as that stretch of canal, but only as a theoretical thing. To experience the whole thing from a boat’s eye view, as it were, was rather novel. I think I’ve been enlightened in some way.

Anyway, I’ve waffled on for far too long already, given that this was supposed to be a photo-ey entry. I shall keep the prattle to a minimum from here on in, and instead continue to present my (usual crappy) photographs in geographical order from Paddington to Limehouse. Camden Lock is a notable omission here,  due to the fact that on neither of the walks presented here did I actually intend to document the entire canal.

One last point I would like to make is the range of contrast as you go along the river, from affluent Regent’s Park and Little Venice to the post-industrial landscape of the Docklands. I’ll shut up now. For now.

Sorry, me again. At this point on the walk, the canal cut through the hill at Islington, and I had to leave the towpath. Some explanation may be needed for the following photos.

I snapped this because I had walked along this road once before, a couple of years ago, desperately hungover. I was leaving the Barnsbury flat of a friend we shall simply call The Monster early one Sunday morning. I attracted disapproving looks from pious souls. Anyway, to end up here again was rather surprising.

I eventually reached Angel – you may recall that my first paid acting gig was near here. Despite my familiarity with the area, I wasn’t entirely sure how to get to the canal. Fortunately, this sign guided me. It may also explain some of the stranger sights coming up.

Isn’t this just the dearest little owl?

Spitalfields already? God be damned.

And Shoreditch! How we are honoured!

This is a nice thing to do with a block of council flats. Photographic portraits of local folk. It’s like Eastenders, only without the death and unimaginable horror.

Hackney. If you feel a chill down your spine, that is because we are but a stone’s throw from the Last Tuesday Society’s sinister museum.

A dilapidated narrowboat advocating the cleaning up of canals. This would be that famous bargees’ humour I’ve heard so much about.

Some sort of junction. Further investigation is required, I feel – especially as there’s something familiar about this canal here.

Lo the Isle of Dogs!

Herons are basically the easiest birds in the world to photograph. How I managed to make this one blurry enough to shame the most avid Bigfoot enthusiast is therefore beyond me.

I feel this toy boat has a story to tell.

We are so close, me hearties, I can practically taste that lime!

Is that not the viaduct of the London and Blackwall Railway?

It is! Limehouse! We made it! Long live, long live!

I say “we” made it, but mostly you just looked at photos. I didn’t want to make a big thing of this.

The Thames as the sun begins to set.

The Docklands Light Railway at Westferry. Everyone wants to get on the seats at the front of the train, but for a novel experience I recommend the seats at the back as you enter the tunnel for Bank. It’s like disappearing down a giant oesophagus.


Further Reading:

https://londonparticulars.wordpress.com/2010/07/18/talk-about-burning-your-bridges/ – An earlier entry focusing on a particular part of the Regent’s Canal.


Filed under 18th century, 19th century, Arts, Buildings and architecture, Camden, Canals and Waterways, Current events, East End and Docklands, Flora and Fauna, Geography, Hackney, History, Islington, Kings Cross, London, Markets, Museums, Photos, Port of London, Psychogeography, Rambling on and on, Randomness, Regency, Rivers, Shoreditch, Sports and Recreation, Suburbia, Thames, Transport

Two sticks and an apple

… ring the bells at Whitechapel. That’s how the nursery rhyme Oranges and Lemons used to begin. Yes, I believe a couple of entries ago I said I would conclude telling you about the wondrous things I saw on the rest of my little stroll through the East End on Sunday. So let’s do that.

I believe I had just left the Museum of Childhood in my previous entry. Having some time to kill before a meeting with a friend in Teddington, I had a wander around the backstreets. The backstreets are where you find interesting things.

For instance, while photographing a scrapyard (my definition of “interesting” may vary from yours) I heard what appeared to be some sort of band practice. Closer investigation revealed it to be one of those gospel choir-type church services. The women outside asked if I would be interested in coming in. I had to decline, but complimented them on their enthusiasm. That’s the second time in eight days someone’s tried to save my soul. Guess I must look like a lost sheep or something.

While photographing the building you see on the left there, I was taken by surprised by a loud “CRACK!” Naturally, I assumed it was a concealed sniper – you make a lot of dangerous enemies in my line of work (admin). So I was somewhat relieved when I rounded the corner and discovered it was a young woman practising with a bullwhip on Stepney Green. I would have photographed her as well, but I didn’t want to get too close. I’ve seen the Indiana Jones films.

As you’ve now no doubt gathered (if you know the area), my walk had taken me into Whitechapel. Whitechapel is an area of notoriety. Historically, this is because it’s immediately outside the City and therefore was a good place for putting the things they didn’t want inside the City – industries unpleasant to the senses and the people who worked in them (incidentally, Southwark similarly became a notorious part of London due to its position immediately outside the City).

 What it’s most notorious for, of course, is the Jack the Ripper killings. Psychogeographers would claim that the reason brutal deeds tend to centre on certain parts of London far more than others is because of malign influences. This, I think, ignores the more prosaic but more likely explanation that the City of London and its immediate environs remained largely unchanged for centuries. Whitechapel was a poor industrial district in the 17th century and it was a poor industrial district in the 19th century. It’s only been in the late 20th century that these districts have really been allowed to go upmarket.

A psychogeographer would no doubt say that the notorious event that took place at this pub in 1966 is entirely unremarkable in an area frequented by Jack the Ripper and the Elephant Man. Regardless of whether you go along with that, the pub is a landmark for the true crime fanatic.

On 9th March 1966, George Cornell made the mistake of coming in for a drink. Cornell had recently joined the Richardsons, the notorious South London gang. The Richardsons were the great rivals of the Firm, the gang headed by the Krays, icons of the East End organised crime scene. Cornell’s change of allegiance made the Richardsons a little too powerful for the Krays’ liking (he had joined at the same time as the infamous Mad Frankie Fraser). The fact that Cornell had referred to the somewhat highly strung (or psychotic) Ronnie Kray as a “fat poof” sealed the deal – the guy was going down.

It says something about the hold the Krays had over the East End that Ronnie could openly walk into a pub on a main road in broad daylight and shoot a man in front of a bar full of witnesses without fear. Indeed, when questioned, everyone in that bar found themselves unable to clearly recall events, and it looked like the Krays were going to get away with it once again. Indeed, it wasn’t until 1968, when several members of the Firm were arrested in a big push by Nipper Read of Scotland Yard’s Murder Squad, that the witnesses remembered what had happened.

Despite my best efforts, a hipster wandered into the above photo. My apologies.

Confounding the psychogeographers, though, would be the other event for which the Blind Beggar is famous. It was on the pavement here, 101 years earlier, that William Booth, seen on your right, gave his first Whitechapel public sermon. Booth was your standard fire-and-brimstone Methodist preacher, and chose the poverty-stricken, overcrowded and crime-ridden slums of Whitechapel as the ideal place to start his Christian Mission. Here he and his family ran soup kitchens as well as offering religious services to the poor and needy. This Mission would later become the Salvation Army. Booth is commemorated for his work by two statues within a few yards of each other. I kind of wish I’d used the one that doesn’t have such an unfortunate poster next to it.

Of course, if the psychogeographical folks wanted to confound me, they could point out that an attempt was made to bring me into Christianity just a few minutes’ walk from Booth’s early attempts to do the same. But I’d rather they didn’t.


Filed under 19th century, 20th Century, Booze, Buildings and architecture, Churches, Crime, Current events, East End and Docklands, Film and TV, Geography, History, Literature, London, Notable Londoners, Occult, Photos, Politics, Psychogeography, Randomness, The City

Hackneyed ideas

So anyway, you may recall a few entries back that I mentioned that I’d like to do a bit more exploring in the Bethnal Green/Hackney area. On Sunday I did just that. As neither of my entries yesterday were all that good, I’m writing this up early.

Yet another of the Mog’s friends had expressed an interest in coming to the Last Tuesday Society’s May masked ball – I honestly believe that myself, my friends and friends-of-friends have purchased approximately half the tickets sold so far, looking at the ticket numbers. When I arrived, the Last Tuesday Society’s shop was closed, so I had an entertaining wander around a dilapidated area of the canal. I like dilapidated industry, possibly because I’m unimaginably sick and twisted, and took numerous photos of eyesores.

When the Society shop reopened, I went in, picked up the ticket and paid admission to the Museum. Actually, it’s not so much a museum as a showroom for the items on sale from the shop. The collection might best be described as “bizarro.” Victorian sex aids, pickled foetuses, shrunken heads, mummified animals, unfortunately-titled books, disturbing toys and puerile stocking-fillers were among the many items on display. I had reason to doubt the authenticity of some of the exhibits (the unicorn skull, for instance). Overall, the place had that sort of “grandmother’s attic” feel, with the proviso that your grandmother is high priestess of a Satanic death cult.

A pass for photography was £5. Much as I like you folks, I don’t like you enough to spend £5 on a few snapshots. There are photos enough in the Last Tuesday Society’s own gallery:


You’re also supposed to leave your bags at the desk, although the lady at the front said I looked trustworthy. Honestly, I could make a fortune as a conman. Too damn nice, that’s my problem.

Next stop, after a short stroll, was the Bethnal Green Museum of Childhood. This is a museum I’ve been meaning to go to for a while. Twenty years, in fact. It was closed when the Ma took me last time, so we went to the zoo instead. It was awesome. I saw an elephant and everything.

This time I was not to be so disappointed. Although I have to say, as the only person there not accompanied by a small child, I couldn’t help feeling a bit creepy.

Speaking of creepy, the dudes you see just there were in a display of puppetry and also my nightmares.

Equally scary was the number of toys on display that I actually used to have. I wanted to grab one of the curators and say, “Excuse me, there appears to have been some mistake, as there is no possible way that this is old enough to be a museum piece.” The plan then was to fall to my knees and start obsessively plucking out grey hairs. That being said, does anyone remember Stickle Bricks? Those were so awesome.

On the left you may see Action Man, who is clearly ready for action.

A problem with the Museum of Childhood that I should really have anticipated was the sheer number of children. I do not understand the logic of small children – they move by a sort of Brownian motion, irrespective of obstacles or other people. Worse, they have this tendency to lie flat on the floor. The number of times I have come close to nearly stepping on an errant toddler is frankly worrying for all of us.

Awful dolls' house picture marred further by the ghostly presence of Yr. Humble Chronicler.

It’s not a huge museum, and so I found I was able to get around the whole thing in less than two hours. I get the impression I’m not really the target market.

Therefore, I decided to have an aimless wander in the vague direction of the City. And such wonders I found! Such wonders, in fact, that to describe them would end up taking the word count on this entry way over the readability limit. Next time, my children, next time.


Filed under 19th century, 20th Century, Arts, Buildings and architecture, Current events, East End and Docklands, Geography, History, London, Occult, Psychogeography, Rambling on and on, Shopping, Theatre, Weird shops

Wonderful world, beautiful people

Something I often find happens, don’t ask me why, is that people have this need to strike up conversations with me in which they go on about how awful London is and how terrible Londoners are. I have no idea why they specifically feel the need to tell me this. It’s always in a “they” kind of way, as if I’m not a London person and therefore will not be offended by the suggestion that I’m rude, arrogant, immoral and unapproachable.

And indeed, these allegations about how Londoners are so terrible will never include the person making the accusation. Oh sure, they live in London, they work in London, but they’re not a Londoner. My reply to such people tends to be “And what are you doing about it?” My personal experience is that you get out of people what you put in. If you’re friendly and good-humoured, then people will generally be friendly and good-humoured to you. Of course, you’ll always get some jerks who repay your good humour with rudeness or speeches about how Londoners are rubbish, but I find that generally the rule holds.

Today was a rather interesting day if you’re me, and I am. I took a trip into Hackney to pick up some tickets for a Last Tuesday Society event. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Hackney. You know what? I quite like the place. Not everyone’s cup of tea, I’m sure. But I reckon I could live there quite happily. The Last Tuesday Society’s HQ is roughly equidistant between London Fields and Cambridge Heath stations on the line out of Liverpool Street (although my estimates of distance tend to be skewed by my tendency to wander off the main road whenever I see something interesting). The road runs parallel to the railway and crosses the Regent’s Canal.

I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect of the Last Tuesday Society’s HQ. From the outside, it looks like one of those weird junk shops you get, the ones that are really gloomy and messy and grimy and there’s nothing you’d ever want in there and the whole place stinks of cheap tobacco and you decide to leave, but when you turn around there is no door. Inside it’s not so bad. The woman behind the counter was, contrary to my expectations, not a witch. Well, not that I could see, anyway. And I was able to get the tickets cheaper than expected – not so much because of my immense personal charm as because they’re cheaper when the Society don’t have to post them. There is a museum attached to the shop, and when I have more time (possibly next weekend), I’ll take a look in. It advertises itself as being for the over-21s only, so it should be awesome.

I crossed the canal and headed to Cambridge Heath station. I also photographed the structure you see on your right, which, contrary to popular belief, is a gas holder, not a gasometer. There’s quite a lot of former industry around here, and I plan to photograph as much of it as I can before it gets turned into exclusive luxury flats or some bee-ess like that.

The train service from Cambridge Heath seemed pretty infrequent, perhaps due to the proximity of the Central Line. In any case, I simply couldn’t be arsed to wait the better part of 20 minutes and so walked a bit further into Bethnal Green.

Last time I was in Bethnal Green was a few months back, and that time I had made an ill-advised late-night walk to Aldwych. This time I simply hopped on the Central Line to Holborn. I really do need to explore the area, though. Maybe next weekend.

The other part of my plan for today was to visit the London Transport Museum (thank God they’ve done away with the ridiculous “London’s Transport Museum” title) and take a look at their Suburbia exhibition, which closes next weekend.

I have to say, I think the Museum has improved greatly as a result of expanding its remit. Back in “the day,” as the kids say, it was purely the collection owned by London Transport. It now deals with all forms of transport from the late 18th century onwards, and as a result gives a much broader view of the city. It even has an exhibit on the future of transport in London, which seems rather dystopian (one of the possibilities they give for the future, for example, is 30% of people in London suddenly dying). The only complaint I would have is that the labelling for many of the exhibits is unclear.

In my silliness, while wandering around the museum, I managed to leave my jacket somewhere. It’s a lovely bottle-green jacket in corduroy that inspires many compliments, and which I like very much. More importantly, though, it had the tickets from the Last Tuesday Society in the pocket. According to the face value of the tickets, they would have been worth a total of £240 (approximately one hundred times what I paid for the jacket itself). I retraced my steps with a rising sense of panic. I found a staff member and asked if they’d seen it – they rang down to the cloakroom, and not only did they have the jacket, but another staff member offered to show me the way to said cloakroom. Excellent service all round.

In short, London Transport Museum = good.


Filed under Buildings and architecture, Current events, East End and Docklands, Geography, London, London Underground, Museums, Photos, Psychogeography, Randomness, Suburbia, Transport, Weird shops, West End

Aloha Bethnal Green

I feel that we don’t get nearly enough opportunities these days to go around in Hawaiian shirts. So I was pleased yesterday to be invited to a retro-beach-themed party in Bethnal Green for a friend of mine whom I have known since we were both about that high (you should hold your hand about three feet from the ground at this point). He’s also a journalist, so he’d probably record this thing a lot better than I could. Unfortunately, he’s off to Australia, as seems to be the fashion these days, so this was a send-off.

The venue was the Working Men’s Club in Bethnal Green. We arrived earlyish (about half nine), when things were, it has to be said, pretty dead. You know the score. No queue at the bar, tables easy to find, only one person on the dance floor who can’t be faulted for their enthusiasm. But once things got going, and it became clear that I wasn’t going to be the only person there who’d bothered to dress up, it really started to liven up.

The evening went by the title of “Teen Bop”, with a sort of 50s/60s surf theme – lots of Hawaiian shirts, straw porkpie hats and beehive hairdos. The music was appropriate for the occasion, with the Sundae Kups providing a fine selection of “rock and roll” to get the “joint jumping” as the “teen agers” say these days.

The Sundae Kups doing what they do best, unless this is a sideline and they're all like really superb architects or something and that's their main job.

The Sundae Kups doing what they do best, unless this is a sideline and they're all like really superb architects or something and that's their main job.

I have come to realise that my right knee is the partying-est part of my body. At these nights, for some reason, my right knee always wants to dance. It seems to be a subconscious thing. The rest of me usually has to have about three pints before I lost my inhibitions enough to haul myself on to the dance floor and hurl myself around in the style of a man possessed by demons.

Now, I must confess that I don’t really know Bethnal Green. I’ve managed to largely avoid the East End hipster movement, rarely getting out further than Shoreditch in the pursuit of good times. So when I left, I thought, in my bleary half-asleepness, that it would be interesting to try to get back into the City on foot. It’s a process I call “knitting”, whereby I contextualise a new place by walking from it to somewhere I’m familiar with. It’s not very clever to do it at half one in the morning, particularly with 1950s-style shoes that are great for grooving in but not designed for long-distance walking.

Anyway, turns out it’s quite a long walk from Bethnal Green to the City, particularly if you don’t know your way and are drunk. An important lesson for us all there. Still, I think I’d like to explore the area a bit more when I’m less shattered/more sober/have slept a bit. I finished my journey at Aldwych, from which the night buses for Tooting and Colliers Wood depart.

I took the N155, as it arrived first. I don’t know why. I hate the N155. It’s slow and crowded and passes through some of the scuzziest parts of South West London, and there’s always a group of jackasses on the top deck who are incapable of communicating at anything less than a bellow. Plus there’s always someone who tries to pile on via the centre door without paying for a ticket in the mistaken belief that they’re the first person to try this. The N44 is much quicker and less crowded, and the only disadvantage it has is that it doesn’t go all the way to Colliers Wood (oh no! I’ll have to walk a full ten minutes!).

Then I got home and was bitten by a spider that had somehow taken up residence in my pyjamas. I’d been reading an article about the long gestation process of the Spider-Man movie on the bus, so a part of me was hoping the spider would turn out to be radioactive. It seems not.

Further Reading

http://www.workersplaytime.net/ – The Bethnal Green Working Men’s Club. More fun than its name makes it sound.

http://www.myspace.com/thesundaekups – The Sundae Kups, for music that is far out.

http://www.myspace.com/teenagebop – This is where we were.

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Filed under Booze, East End and Docklands, London, Psychogeography, Transport