For some it inspires fear and loathing, but many of us love Peckham. We love its vibrancy. Its energy… craziness… diversity… humour. But, I confess that a stroll down Rye Lane is not always a walk in the park. It can be confrontational. So, if I’m feeling less than resilient, I go to one of the other nearby haunts: East Dulwich, Nunhead or Forest Hill where the pace is more sedate. And it’s rare to see a murder poster in a window with nets.
It’s Thanksgiving tomorrow. Although an American celebration, it has infiltrated the English calendar of reasons to get together with friends to eat, drink and make merry. And what better way to mark it than with a delicious pumpkin pie. Yummy. These gorgeous pumpkins were arrayed on a stall in Borough Market. Happy Thanksgiving!
I was walking down Rye Lane in Peckham when a bird winged past me and into a Caribbean bakery. I followed the bird in and photographed it as it helped itself to delicious ginger cake crumbs. The staff of the bakery were utterly unperturbed and just looked on. Once the bird had eaten its fill, it flew back to the street. Later I identified it as a Pied Wagtail (with one sore foot).
It was dusk when I met this lady at the bus-stop on Rye Lane in Peckham. ‘Goodnight,’ she called to a young guy hurrying by. Then, she turned to me and said, ‘I’m his mummy. I’m mummy to them all.’ ‘All?’ I said. ‘One hundred and eight four of them.’ ‘One hundred and eight four?’ ‘Yes,’ she said 184 Afghan boys.’ She showed me her hand. ‘And they look after me!’ She flashed a gold ring. These ‘boys’ run stalls and shops in Peckham… a long way from home and mummy.
opposing seats
she looked
he peeked
she gazed
he glanced
she dreamed of
a life
he dreamed of
a wife
the train pulled in
and
she got off
