On the day:
25/02/2013
On the way:
Her black felt hat is part-cap, part-pudding bowl with a bit of braid above the peak faintly recalling Unionist uniform from the American civil war.
Kohl eyes echo jet black hair and the look rocks on with a black leather jacket spangly black leggings and a ring on the thumb that travels up and down her mobile phone keyboard like fingers on a fretboard. And then of course, that essential hard-rockin' accessory, the red and cream shopping bag on wheels with extra side pockets.
Man, where was that when Joan was declaring her love for rock 'n roll.
On the pod:
I Won't Let The Sun Go Down On Me - Nik Kershaw
On the front page:
Clegg says he knew of sex claims about peer (The Times)
Tuesday 26 February 2013
Monday 25 February 2013
Abcessive compulsive
On the day:
23/02/2013
On the way:
The conversation floats into earshot . . . "Yeh, and now she's suffering from an abcess."
"Oh that's terrible. In her mouth is it?"
"No mate," he says, the soul of discretion. "she can tell you about it."
Good call. Sensitively done. It's her business, after all, isn't it?
"It's far more invasive than that."
Woah. No mate, not necessary, don't go there, don't . . .
"It's down there . . ."
Urgh. And you started so well.
On the pod:
I Remember - Stabbing Westward
On the front page:
Britain downgraded (The Times)
Britain downgraded (The Times)
Sunday 24 February 2013
Beyond our kenobi
On the day:
22/02/2013
On the way:
It's Ewan MacGregor. It's Ewan MacGregor leaning against the door of the 10.54.
I mean, he's got that distinctive . . . um . . . that distinctive . . . um . . . well anyway, he looks like Ewan MacGregor, okay?
And he's got good hair, deep brown, pushed back like Jump Street era Depp, but that just sort of confuses the issue. And facial growths - that's more to the point.
He sneezes.
That's it. That's the way to decide it. Once and for all. Listen carefully . . .
He sneezes again.
Now is that how Alec Guinness would have sneezed? Reach out with your senses . . . 'If you strike me down I shall become more powerful than you can imagine . . . aaachooo!' Nah, that doesn't work. How about . . . 'This little one's not worth the effort . . . aaachooo!' No, it certainly isn't.
The train stops. He moves. Soon he'll be gone and we'll never know the truth.
He reaches down with his right hand, and a little black briefcase rises to meet it.
Bingo, that's him all right. Toldja.
On the pod:
Virtual Insanity - Jamiroquai
On the front page:
Fuel prices set to teach record levels by Easter (The Times)
22/02/2013
On the way:
It's Ewan MacGregor. It's Ewan MacGregor leaning against the door of the 10.54.
I mean, he's got that distinctive . . . um . . . that distinctive . . . um . . . well anyway, he looks like Ewan MacGregor, okay?
And he's got good hair, deep brown, pushed back like Jump Street era Depp, but that just sort of confuses the issue. And facial growths - that's more to the point.
He sneezes.
That's it. That's the way to decide it. Once and for all. Listen carefully . . .
He sneezes again.
Now is that how Alec Guinness would have sneezed? Reach out with your senses . . . 'If you strike me down I shall become more powerful than you can imagine . . . aaachooo!' Nah, that doesn't work. How about . . . 'This little one's not worth the effort . . . aaachooo!' No, it certainly isn't.
The train stops. He moves. Soon he'll be gone and we'll never know the truth.
He reaches down with his right hand, and a little black briefcase rises to meet it.
Bingo, that's him all right. Toldja.
On the pod:
Virtual Insanity - Jamiroquai
On the front page:
Fuel prices set to teach record levels by Easter (The Times)
Underground jig
On the day:
21/02/2013
On the way:
There, at the other end of the carriage, a man staggers, his steel grey head jerks forward and backward, forward and further back to reveal his fiddle and the end of his bow as it skips over the strings, sawing against the substantial sound of the train and the tunnel.
What a delight, live music on the evening commute, soothing the savage breast. An Underground gig.
Or some lunatic miming to a mute soundtrack, for all I can hear.
On the pod:
Under Ice - Kate Bush
On the front page:
Pistorius shambles: cop faces 7 murder bid charges (London Evening Standard)
21/02/2013
On the way:
There, at the other end of the carriage, a man staggers, his steel grey head jerks forward and backward, forward and further back to reveal his fiddle and the end of his bow as it skips over the strings, sawing against the substantial sound of the train and the tunnel.
What a delight, live music on the evening commute, soothing the savage breast. An Underground gig.
Or some lunatic miming to a mute soundtrack, for all I can hear.
On the pod:
Under Ice - Kate Bush
On the front page:
Pistorius shambles: cop faces 7 murder bid charges (London Evening Standard)
Angles in the architecture
On the day:
21/02/2013
On the way:
If a bus shelter were to be leaning at an angle of, say, 75 degrees (the paving stones at one end are wrenched from their bed; an intact plastic pane lies in the road; the stop pole is bent sympathetically in a divergent direction; and the ground around is strewn with detritus; and what on earth is that red disc bearing the letters DJ in white, where did that come from?) would that angle be correctly described as rakish? Or as jaunty?
Rakish?
Or jaunty?
On the pod:
Winner - Pet Shop Boys
On the front page:
Judge puts Pryce jury in the dock (Metro)
21/02/2013
On the way:
If a bus shelter were to be leaning at an angle of, say, 75 degrees (the paving stones at one end are wrenched from their bed; an intact plastic pane lies in the road; the stop pole is bent sympathetically in a divergent direction; and the ground around is strewn with detritus; and what on earth is that red disc bearing the letters DJ in white, where did that come from?) would that angle be correctly described as rakish? Or as jaunty?
Rakish?
Or jaunty?
On the pod:
Winner - Pet Shop Boys
On the front page:
Judge puts Pryce jury in the dock (Metro)
Down the back
On the day:
19/02/2013
On the way:
His white hair is retreating from his high, domed forehead, slightly slicked back and slithering down his neck, like feral youths escaping out the back window of a stationary bus's upper deck to the safety of the street below before the driver comes up to deliver a futile remonstration for their verbal abuse of the slight Asian woman to tried to stop them from mindlessly smashing all the glass in a phone booth.
But he's not concerned. He's taking the Docklands Light Railway.
On the pod:
Shoot The Runner - Kasabian
On the front page:
NHS failings cause 1,600 child deaths every year (The Times)
19/02/2013
On the way:
His white hair is retreating from his high, domed forehead, slightly slicked back and slithering down his neck, like feral youths escaping out the back window of a stationary bus's upper deck to the safety of the street below before the driver comes up to deliver a futile remonstration for their verbal abuse of the slight Asian woman to tried to stop them from mindlessly smashing all the glass in a phone booth.
But he's not concerned. He's taking the Docklands Light Railway.
On the pod:
Shoot The Runner - Kasabian
On the front page:
NHS failings cause 1,600 child deaths every year (The Times)
Staring at the sun
On the day:
19/02/2013
On the way:
In his creamy white cords, shiny brown shoes with leather uppers only slightly scuffed, grey-brown houndstooth coat and black flat cap, he manages a military bearing. But that's as much to do with his noble nose, straight as a Roman's road, and his keen, Mediterranean Sea blue eyes, squinting into the late winter morning sun, scanning for signs of an enemy incursion.
Or for a bus.
Still, there's a certain authority to him. Small wonder the wide-hipped, white-haired, curve-nosed lady with the little canvas suitcase on wheels turns to him to ask advice on which bus to take.
I would.
On the pod:
Heartbreaker - Led Zeppelin
On the front page:
Send her to the Tower! (Metro)
19/02/2013
On the way:
In his creamy white cords, shiny brown shoes with leather uppers only slightly scuffed, grey-brown houndstooth coat and black flat cap, he manages a military bearing. But that's as much to do with his noble nose, straight as a Roman's road, and his keen, Mediterranean Sea blue eyes, squinting into the late winter morning sun, scanning for signs of an enemy incursion.
Or for a bus.
Still, there's a certain authority to him. Small wonder the wide-hipped, white-haired, curve-nosed lady with the little canvas suitcase on wheels turns to him to ask advice on which bus to take.
I would.
On the pod:
Heartbreaker - Led Zeppelin
On the front page:
Send her to the Tower! (Metro)
Friday 15 February 2013
Can't hack it
On the day:
15/02/2013
On the way:
He leans in, lit only by the golden go of the late night cornershop. He murmurs some sweet something and his eyes begin to close.
"No-oh," she responds.
She draws herself up, the back of her neck flattens against the well and her head turns sway towards the light.
Password incorrect. Access denied.
Whatever you said, buddy, you're not hacking this system tonight.
On the pod:
Be Still - The Killers
On the front page:
Cameron vows to cut benefits for migrants (The Times)
15/02/2013
On the way:
He leans in, lit only by the golden go of the late night cornershop. He murmurs some sweet something and his eyes begin to close.
"No-oh," she responds.
She draws herself up, the back of her neck flattens against the well and her head turns sway towards the light.
Password incorrect. Access denied.
Whatever you said, buddy, you're not hacking this system tonight.
On the pod:
Be Still - The Killers
On the front page:
Cameron vows to cut benefits for migrants (The Times)
Stuck in a moment
On the day:
14/02/2013
On the way:
The caramel dogs celebrate the morning of St Valentine by gambolling with unrestrained joy across the green fields of damp grass.
The twentysomething girl with the burgundy hair: "Ohh. That sounds lovelaay..."
The weatherbeaten late middle-aged man: "...and then we left the campsite and drove into the town to look at the aquifer, which is the fourth oldest in the county..."
One of these four is not actually enjoying this moment as much as they are so politely making out.
On the pod:
The Hands That Built America (Theme From 'Gangs Of New York") - U2
On the front page:
Oscar Pistorius charged with Valentine's Day murder of lover (London Evening Standard)
14/02/2013
On the way:
The caramel dogs celebrate the morning of St Valentine by gambolling with unrestrained joy across the green fields of damp grass.
The twentysomething girl with the burgundy hair: "Ohh. That sounds lovelaay..."
The weatherbeaten late middle-aged man: "...and then we left the campsite and drove into the town to look at the aquifer, which is the fourth oldest in the county..."
One of these four is not actually enjoying this moment as much as they are so politely making out.
On the pod:
The Hands That Built America (Theme From 'Gangs Of New York") - U2
On the front page:
Oscar Pistorius charged with Valentine's Day murder of lover (London Evening Standard)
Beat the humdrum
On the day:
13/02/2013
On the way:
Half the road is cordoned off for 100 metres or so, eight or nine police officers milling around, a couple of civilian cars behind the barriers and some police vehicles on either side. It's all going down.
What is?
Couldn't say, really, but at the very least it's ripe for speculation. Could the daily commute get more exciting?
Well yes, it could. Actually.
Minutes later the bus is standing at a market-place stop, an attractive, well-dressed (smooth dark slacks, an ash-rose sweater, stylishly flicked hair-that-won't-grow, but no jacket in this icy weather) woman jumps on through the exit door, unexpectedly unfashionably large mobile in her left hand. Not your standard fare-dodger.
She glances up and down the lower deck, eyes scanning intently for something or someone, then dashes upstairs. Then a man in a black uniform, blue epaulettes, appears at the in door, and waits, watching, watching. Until the woman re-emerges from the stairwell.
They exchange a nod, maybe a shake of the head, and they're off again, into the ever-shifting late-morning shopping crowd.
That's a bit more like it, eh?
Well it's the daily commute. You take your excitement where you can.
On the pod:
The Open - Elevation
On the front page:
Royals in a rage at pregnant Kate pics (Metro)
13/02/2013
On the way:
Half the road is cordoned off for 100 metres or so, eight or nine police officers milling around, a couple of civilian cars behind the barriers and some police vehicles on either side. It's all going down.
What is?
Couldn't say, really, but at the very least it's ripe for speculation. Could the daily commute get more exciting?
Well yes, it could. Actually.
Minutes later the bus is standing at a market-place stop, an attractive, well-dressed (smooth dark slacks, an ash-rose sweater, stylishly flicked hair-that-won't-grow, but no jacket in this icy weather) woman jumps on through the exit door, unexpectedly unfashionably large mobile in her left hand. Not your standard fare-dodger.
She glances up and down the lower deck, eyes scanning intently for something or someone, then dashes upstairs. Then a man in a black uniform, blue epaulettes, appears at the in door, and waits, watching, watching. Until the woman re-emerges from the stairwell.
They exchange a nod, maybe a shake of the head, and they're off again, into the ever-shifting late-morning shopping crowd.
That's a bit more like it, eh?
Well it's the daily commute. You take your excitement where you can.
On the pod:
The Open - Elevation
On the front page:
Royals in a rage at pregnant Kate pics (Metro)
Glory days
On the day:
12/02/2013
On the way:
She sits in her mid to late-thirties, a bag between her boots squealing 'Guns 'n' Roses', the magazine in her hands suggesting half-term holidays for the family.
It's a thin line between tragic and glorious.
On the pod:
Live In A Hiding Place - Idlewild
On the front page:
Housing costs in London 'driving us out' (London Evening Standard)
12/02/2013
On the way:
She sits in her mid to late-thirties, a bag between her boots squealing 'Guns 'n' Roses', the magazine in her hands suggesting half-term holidays for the family.
It's a thin line between tragic and glorious.
On the pod:
Live In A Hiding Place - Idlewild
On the front page:
Housing costs in London 'driving us out' (London Evening Standard)
Sunday 10 February 2013
Total liquidation
On the day:
10/02/2013
On the way:
So, it seems that up to 60 per cent of the human body is made up of water - just ask the USGS Water Science School (nope, no idea what it stands for either) - and the brain is more like 70 per cent, the lungs almost 90 per cent.
The tragedy comes when a dude in the loo on the train has one too many beers on a particularly rainy Sunday night and that one last sip from his can of Carling tips him over the edge. Total liquidation.
The evidence remains: the can swaddled in sodden tissue paper just behind the bowl and to the left, two further squares adhering to the spattered black seat, and the floor of the cubicle awash.
I think I'll hold it in until I reach my stop.
On the pod: Stay With Me - No
On the front page: Scandal-hit bank chief gets bonus (The Sunday Times)
10/02/2013
On the way:
So, it seems that up to 60 per cent of the human body is made up of water - just ask the USGS Water Science School (nope, no idea what it stands for either) - and the brain is more like 70 per cent, the lungs almost 90 per cent.
The tragedy comes when a dude in the loo on the train has one too many beers on a particularly rainy Sunday night and that one last sip from his can of Carling tips him over the edge. Total liquidation.
The evidence remains: the can swaddled in sodden tissue paper just behind the bowl and to the left, two further squares adhering to the spattered black seat, and the floor of the cubicle awash.
I think I'll hold it in until I reach my stop.
On the pod: Stay With Me - No
On the front page: Scandal-hit bank chief gets bonus (The Sunday Times)
Pet sounds
On the day:
10/02/2013
On the way:
"Do you want to talk to our cat," pipes up the little voice, into the silence of the carriage, or perhaps into a mobile phone.
What? Pets on the train? Worse still, a cat. That doesn't sound like a good idea.
"Our cat, Maisie, and Charlie, our dog," the porcelain redhead explains.
A cat and a dog? Together? On a train? No. You've got to be kidding.
"Meow," she says. "Meow-meow." Then, "Woof."
Ooh. My heart.
Small wonder her father, the young-faced man sitting next to her has a full head of shoulder-length grey hair.
On the pod:
Stories Of Old - Depeche Mode
On the front page:
Playboy twin: My sex with rat Evra (The Sun Sunday)
10/02/2013
On the way:
"Do you want to talk to our cat," pipes up the little voice, into the silence of the carriage, or perhaps into a mobile phone.
What? Pets on the train? Worse still, a cat. That doesn't sound like a good idea.
"Our cat, Maisie, and Charlie, our dog," the porcelain redhead explains.
A cat and a dog? Together? On a train? No. You've got to be kidding.
"Meow," she says. "Meow-meow." Then, "Woof."
Ooh. My heart.
Small wonder her father, the young-faced man sitting next to her has a full head of shoulder-length grey hair.
On the pod:
Stories Of Old - Depeche Mode
On the front page:
Playboy twin: My sex with rat Evra (The Sun Sunday)
Benefits chop
On the day:
09/02/2012
On the way:
The tree is just standing there, round the corner from the station, just standing, performing no function, providing no service, just as it has for, ooh, years and years, since before you or I were born.
Oh, except now, its supporting a sign. Well, not so much a sign as a plastic sleeve and the piece of paper that reads: "Notice if Intention to Fell This Tree." Which seems like heaping humiliating insult upon the threat of fatal injury, a final indignity, but hey-ho.
Damn right, anyway, the shiftless waster.
Trees, huh, coming over here, living off benefits, leeching off the state. What do they expect?
On the pod:
Blue Blanket - Fetish
On the front page: Sex abuse victim killed herself after court ordeal (The Times)
09/02/2012
On the way:
The tree is just standing there, round the corner from the station, just standing, performing no function, providing no service, just as it has for, ooh, years and years, since before you or I were born.
Oh, except now, its supporting a sign. Well, not so much a sign as a plastic sleeve and the piece of paper that reads: "Notice if Intention to Fell This Tree." Which seems like heaping humiliating insult upon the threat of fatal injury, a final indignity, but hey-ho.
Damn right, anyway, the shiftless waster.
Trees, huh, coming over here, living off benefits, leeching off the state. What do they expect?
On the pod:
Blue Blanket - Fetish
On the front page: Sex abuse victim killed herself after court ordeal (The Times)
Thursday 7 February 2013
Black mass
On the day:
06/02/2013
On the way:
I feel his dark presence, the massive hulk standing sufficiently close in behind me at the bus stop for the hairs on the back of my neck to shuffle nervously, like rats that are getting a sense that their vessel is doomed to go down.
His smoky breath creeps across my right shoulder as the bus pulls in and his gravitational pull tugs at already unnerved fluff, bringing it to attention.
Perhaps if I step aside.
He rolls past, silent as a Death Star. 'Makaveli' proclaim the letters on his black tracksuit, an M emblazoned on the coat of arms that adorns the back and on the right buttock of his matching bottoms. He raises his cigarette in his huge hand and it disappears into the black hole in his hood where his face could be, swallowing even the light from its burning tip, and he takes one last drag before casting it to the pavement and boarding the bus, but his power has been broken.
Makaveli? Puh-lease. What power have the dark forces when they invoke the name of Machiavelli.
Then spell it wrong.
On the pod:
Take Me Away - Avril Lavigne
On the front page:
Boris: My plan to build million homes (London Evening Standard)
06/02/2013
On the way:
I feel his dark presence, the massive hulk standing sufficiently close in behind me at the bus stop for the hairs on the back of my neck to shuffle nervously, like rats that are getting a sense that their vessel is doomed to go down.
His smoky breath creeps across my right shoulder as the bus pulls in and his gravitational pull tugs at already unnerved fluff, bringing it to attention.
Perhaps if I step aside.
He rolls past, silent as a Death Star. 'Makaveli' proclaim the letters on his black tracksuit, an M emblazoned on the coat of arms that adorns the back and on the right buttock of his matching bottoms. He raises his cigarette in his huge hand and it disappears into the black hole in his hood where his face could be, swallowing even the light from its burning tip, and he takes one last drag before casting it to the pavement and boarding the bus, but his power has been broken.
Makaveli? Puh-lease. What power have the dark forces when they invoke the name of Machiavelli.
Then spell it wrong.
On the pod:
Take Me Away - Avril Lavigne
On the front page:
Boris: My plan to build million homes (London Evening Standard)
Wednesday 6 February 2013
Heart soar
On the day:
05/02/2012
On the way: My breath departs my body. It's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Her hair is red - rich, natural, all the colours of autumn spun into silky strands. Her skin is milky smooth and pale, her eyes shine with ambers and greens and her nose is gracefully sloped and contoured.
She's in an aisle seat near the back of the aeroplane - she could have been a stewardess in the golden age of air travel when only the loveliest of the lovely were permitted to stride the skyways - in white top, a navy blue cardigan and a blue silk scarf with white polka dots, soaring at a cruising altitude of 37,000 feet over the Atlantic off the coast of North Africa.
And I'm creeping 80 feet beneath the sodding (Don't you mean sodden? No, actually.) streets in a grubby train. Go figure.
On the pod:
Twenty Four Hours (Live) - Athlete
On the front page:
'Revenge' of Huhne ex-wife: I want to nail him (London Evening Standard)
05/02/2012
On the way: My breath departs my body. It's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Her hair is red - rich, natural, all the colours of autumn spun into silky strands. Her skin is milky smooth and pale, her eyes shine with ambers and greens and her nose is gracefully sloped and contoured.
She's in an aisle seat near the back of the aeroplane - she could have been a stewardess in the golden age of air travel when only the loveliest of the lovely were permitted to stride the skyways - in white top, a navy blue cardigan and a blue silk scarf with white polka dots, soaring at a cruising altitude of 37,000 feet over the Atlantic off the coast of North Africa.
And I'm creeping 80 feet beneath the sodding (Don't you mean sodden? No, actually.) streets in a grubby train. Go figure.
On the pod:
Twenty Four Hours (Live) - Athlete
On the front page:
'Revenge' of Huhne ex-wife: I want to nail him (London Evening Standard)
Fret not
On the day:
05/02/2013
On the way:
The bloke with the brown curly hair and the scraggly beard - the one with black jeans, black weather jacket and black backpack ensemble completed by the essential tiny grey raccoon dangling by a keyring chain. Yeh, him.
You can't see the guitar in his hands but it's there alright. The fingers of his left hand are flickering over the fretboard and his right hand is strumming and there's a bounce in his stance as he responds to the rest of the band no one sees.
And it's not even me this time.
On the pod:
Only The Young - Brandon Flowers
On the front page:
Messages that doomed Huhne (Metro)
05/02/2013
On the way:
The bloke with the brown curly hair and the scraggly beard - the one with black jeans, black weather jacket and black backpack ensemble completed by the essential tiny grey raccoon dangling by a keyring chain. Yeh, him.
You can't see the guitar in his hands but it's there alright. The fingers of his left hand are flickering over the fretboard and his right hand is strumming and there's a bounce in his stance as he responds to the rest of the band no one sees.
And it's not even me this time.
On the pod:
Only The Young - Brandon Flowers
On the front page:
Messages that doomed Huhne (Metro)
Hooked up
On the day:
04/02/2013
On the way:
She trots up the stairs, the bulbous bun of brassy hair on top of her head steady, like an immense doughnut settled over the neck of a butternut.
Her jacket is black and fake fluffy and her right arm cradles her handbag, while her left is behind her back, her thumb hooked into the central loop of her skinny grey jeans and lest physics triumph over fashion and her overtaxed trousers slither to the floor with a sigh of relief, but hang on to her ankles in a last-minute attack of separation anxiety and trip her up.
Now I don't wish anyone any harm, but in the interests of immaculate slapstick, I'm shouting for physics.
On the pod:
Only Friends - Francoise Hardy
On the front page:
Tory gay marriage rebels told: you're out of touch (The Times)
04/02/2013
On the way:
She trots up the stairs, the bulbous bun of brassy hair on top of her head steady, like an immense doughnut settled over the neck of a butternut.
Her jacket is black and fake fluffy and her right arm cradles her handbag, while her left is behind her back, her thumb hooked into the central loop of her skinny grey jeans and lest physics triumph over fashion and her overtaxed trousers slither to the floor with a sigh of relief, but hang on to her ankles in a last-minute attack of separation anxiety and trip her up.
Now I don't wish anyone any harm, but in the interests of immaculate slapstick, I'm shouting for physics.
On the pod:
Only Friends - Francoise Hardy
On the front page:
Tory gay marriage rebels told: you're out of touch (The Times)
Friday 1 February 2013
Into the valley
On the day:
31/01/2013
On the day:
The soles of their city shoes slap the grey slate as they march between the great glass and steel sides of the icy urban canyon towards the lit-up shard of architectural hubris that stabs at the night sky.
As they move, they fan across the canyon floor, on either side of the shallow watercourse that bisects the valley en route to an unseen reservoir, in a formless formation, the kind Western directors and rock photographers choreograph with such care.
Dressed in regulation black coats they are as anonymous - no names, you can call them Mr Pink, Mr Orange, Mr Brown... - as they are menacing.
Or would be, if they weren't hoppity hurrying off in the opposite direction in the hopes of hopping on an early train.
And not a word about Madonna.
On the pod:
Domino Dancing - West End Girls
On the front page:
Charity at heart of massive tax avoidance scam (The Times)
31/01/2013
On the day:
The soles of their city shoes slap the grey slate as they march between the great glass and steel sides of the icy urban canyon towards the lit-up shard of architectural hubris that stabs at the night sky.
As they move, they fan across the canyon floor, on either side of the shallow watercourse that bisects the valley en route to an unseen reservoir, in a formless formation, the kind Western directors and rock photographers choreograph with such care.
Dressed in regulation black coats they are as anonymous - no names, you can call them Mr Pink, Mr Orange, Mr Brown... - as they are menacing.
Or would be, if they weren't hoppity hurrying off in the opposite direction in the hopes of hopping on an early train.
And not a word about Madonna.
On the pod:
Domino Dancing - West End Girls
On the front page:
Charity at heart of massive tax avoidance scam (The Times)
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