JELLY ON ME EEL
Pie and Mash. An aquired taste, like a true Londoner.
A bubble car passes.
Saturday morning, Chapel Street market.
I stand staring, sipping sarsparilla, watching the eels... grabbed, drawn and quatered, heads in the bucket, blood in the trough, bit in the bowl.
The Patois was becoming familiar.
A bubble car passes.
Saturday morning, Chapel Street market.
I stand staring, sipping sarsparilla, watching the eels... grabbed, drawn and quatered, heads in the bucket, blood in the trough, bit in the bowl.
The Patois was becoming familiar.
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JELLY ON ME EEL
Pie and Mash. An aquired taste, like a true Londoner.
A bubble car passes.
Saturday morning, Chapel Street market.
I stand staring, sipping sarsparilla, watching the eels... grabbed, drawn and quatered, heads in the bucket, blood in the trough, bit in the bowl.
The Patois was becoming familiar.
A bubble car passes.
Saturday morning, Chapel Street market.
I stand staring, sipping sarsparilla, watching the eels... grabbed, drawn and quatered, heads in the bucket, blood in the trough, bit in the bowl.
The Patois was becoming familiar.
Ref:
Date:
Location:
Photographer:
I LONDON
JELLY ON ME EEL
Pie and Mash. An aquired taste, like a true Londoner.
A bubble car passes.
Saturday morning, Chapel Street market.
I stand staring, sipping sarsparilla, watching the eels... grabbed, drawn and quatered, heads in the bucket, blood in the trough, bit in the bowl.
The Patois was becoming familiar.
A bubble car passes.
Saturday morning, Chapel Street market.
I stand staring, sipping sarsparilla, watching the eels... grabbed, drawn and quatered, heads in the bucket, blood in the trough, bit in the bowl.
The Patois was becoming familiar.
Ref:
Date:
Location:
Photographer: