The Shop next to the Tower on the Top of the Hill

rocky biggs 1280px-Croydon_Transmitter_IIA poem written in November 2020, prompted by what exactly I can’t remember; there is truth to a degree in the words, and while this matters not to the reader, a need to expand on the actual facts took hold, from which followed a jaunt across the tobacco industry, teachers always being a-holes, a picture of my favourite gate, cheap snacks, Big Foot, how I used to live in the Lord of the Rings, laughing at my mum (sorry, mum), a real size but pretend Canadian Parliament, the world’s first dinosaur statues, and London’s most popular gorilla.

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Meeting Edgar Broughton

The following is an account of true events: the names of those involved have been changed (including the dog’s).

My introduction to the Great Edgar Broughton started in a pub said to have once been frequented by highwayman Dick Turpin.

Aged fourteen, me and a couple of mates found we could get served in the Schooner, located—though no longer there—where Streatham High Road meets Hermitage Lane.

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