95 writers travel to / traverse / trudge through / take a trip 
down memory lane to London
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The man with a big neck, lots of hair and muscles / looks at my cases. Travelling alone, Ma’am? from Coming home by Rose Mary Boehm
An off-duty Met officer was holding court, reading aloud from Thomas Erickson’s ‘Surrounded By Idiots’. from London Dry Gin £16.29 by Trevor Webb
I took it and popped some pence in the tin, / like in the Poppy Factory where I put a pound. from Poppies by Mike Lewis-Beck
No, bury me down in the Underground, / and wrap me in Beck’s immortal map … from Last Lines by Michel Durack
Tongue-tied, they found safety together. The milliner and the constable! Who’d have thought? from Out of the Ashes by Ken Cohen
‘You do realise,’ he said, ‘that you and I will have to complete a thorough mapping exercise before I draw a single line?’ from Down Limehouse Way by Ronald T. Hardwick
Come September I had a very grumpy girlfriend and a shared bedroom in an area half way between Camberwell and Brixton. from Villages by Tony Warner
What to see? / Try Harrods, maybe, / where Mr. Bean parked his lime Mini. from Sights of London by Steve Evans
The big old church and its service was our introduction to the charismatic version of churching. Different. Multicultural. from My Blue Suitcase by JA Rose
But there’s more than back garden Anderson shelters, / Roman walls and Victorian basements … from The Other Waterloo by Allen Ashley
Midway, suspended in shared space / between two shores, I stand unmoored … from The Millennium Passage by Alexander Pepple
Now, years later, / I pick up a pen, / and the memory flashes back. from London Bridge by Benedicta Kyeremaai Addai
Our good luck— / The weather in London, he says, / is unseasonably warm. from Transatlantic by J Khan
Opposite, Georgian-era villas nestle in gardens. A double-decker bus flashes red between lush trees. from My London – A Memory 1958 by Karel Fontaine
The interview is at ten. For a private nurse role, some CEO who’d thrown out his back on a yacht or cracked under the weight of his own importance. from The Line by Dorit d’Scarlett
Outside, boys shout. Somewhere down the street a car horn blares. But in her imagination the noises fade. from Jenny in Whitechapel by Betty Stanton
Tonight, Jimmy sat hunched, layers of coats sagging around him like a scarecrow mated with a mothball collection. from The Night Bus Cometh by Tim Jarvis
The complimentary Wi-Fi / only lets you message people / you’re deliberately getting distance from … from Air Travel by Dave Clark
Travelers from the four corners, assemble in a facsimile / of a playhouse reconstructed from a blueprint Shakespeare’s / carpenter made when moving from Shoreditch to South Bank … from The Globe by Philip Byrne
I had half a mind to shuffle my way to Clapham Common by way of the post office to pick up a fresh pack of coloured pencils to serve as my weapons for an idle sketch. from Squirrel Away by James Ziersch-O’Connor
Kentish rioters / occupied Canterbury / and released prisoners / and burned the rolls / of taxations. from The Peasants’ Revolt by Mark Hudson
I had uncharacteristically overpacked, dragging my suitcase behind me. from Statement Skyline by Monica Sharp
He loved it / Old Tyme London / The bookseller ancient, grey, and cranky / But always willing to help … from The Bookshop by James Bates
His grubby orange beanie freezes. Grimy hands drop from the shoulder bag they’d been surreptitiously thumbing through, unnoticed by its elderly owner. from Square Heels by Pat Saunders
Personless. / Lost without the crowd, the normally ebullient station / transforms into a cathedral of self-doubt. from Terminal by Henry Bladon
What possessed me to bring so much luggage? I knew I’d be traversing London to get to Heathrow. from The London Underground by Mandy Toczek McPeake
You’re served / an Americano (yes, white please), as a rumpled, / unfresh street-sort enters, stepping aside at once. from London in Plain Sight by Darrell Petska
Gabriel takes me to an underground bar; one he’d read was popular during World War Two. from May-December in London by Ellie Cottrell
Still, over the slab rested / scads of bouquets of roses, lilacs, / and wildflowers of every color and shape … from At Highgate Cemetery by William Derge
The late-night news has finished. I switch the TV off and sit listening to the sound of the street as it ticks over four floors down. from Night-time by GP Hyde
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