Tales of Walthamstow

Tales, rants and raves from the home front.


The Last Button on Wood Street

Bianka danced all night with Igor, left him in a spree. A baby in a rucksack, his wallet in her teeth. She sold her son in Northampton, because Igor’s credit cards went south.


The guy is Zoot suited and Chelsea booted. He is drinking a South African red of a bad year that had traveled via Oslo on waves as tall as the barman's tales.