Urban poems. When I worked even more absurdly long hours than I do now I used to write my poems sitting on top of the 73 bus on my way to an Islington poetry workshop. All life was there on that bus; it was a community bus.
I started my journey in the Tottenham Court Road and would wait, really getting pissed off at having to breathe in all that road's exhaust, until either the little 73 bus convoy would turn up or I would give up and take the tube. And oh my goodness the way those buses used to fling themselves round those corners into the Euston Station concourse while, Bic in hand, I tried to write semi-legibly. Posted by Sally | October 4th, 2004 |Tottenham Court Road to Islington

The Urban Preacher. The bus is slowed in traffic outside the FCUK store. The sound of a man preaching from the Bible using a megaphone penetrates the bus. I follow the noise to a man outside the store. He is confronting shoppers. The crowd parts around him like water. Everyone on the upper deck is staring. We watch until the bus edges past. The man is invisible to everyone except us on the bus. Posted by Kat | July 7, 2003 |Gower Street to Victoria.