Jen S. Wight

I recently discovered that ‘to dime’ has another meaning in the Scandinavian world. The Norwegian tells me that in the eighties when the Dime Bar’s ad came out, cinemas would be filled with tittering teenagers and mystified parents. ‘But Sven, it is just a chocolate bar…’ It means – how can I put this – […]

I saw a ginger pigeon yesterday. Shining bronze and copper among all his concrete brothers. He was looking fine; healthy, smooth feathers and bright eyes, a stark contract to his bedraggled, grey, knobble-footed brothers. I wondered if he gets teased by all of the other pigeons? ‘Oi, ginger wings.’ A pigeon only a mother could […]

I found a ten pound note a few days ago. Folded in three, lying on the frosty grass in Clissold Park. How lucky! I thought. But not for the person who lost it. It had the air of a tenner previously owned by someone who gets money from the cash machine £10 at a time. […]

Hackney, my home town, is known for it’s mix of cultures – melting pot some might say. Home for many of London’s first, second, third and onwards generation of immigrants; Turkish, Somali, Jamaican, Nigerian, Sri-Lankan. And these are just the people on my estate. But even I was surprised to see a group, from sunnier […]

So I wait on the platform. By some miraculous chance, the train that pulls up is not too crowded and I even see – the holy grail of the rush hour traveller – AN EMPTY SEAT. I imagine the gods of the underground – a spiteful, immature bunch – have their attention elsewhere, the circle […]

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