It’ll sound unethical (and rightly so) to today’s sensibilities, but for many years Club Row in Shoreditch hosted a pet market every Sunday where punters could buy anything from the tiniest of birds to a fully grown monkey. In 1953 journalist Kaye Webb wrote that “A cacophony of whimpers, yaps, yelps and just plain barking will guide you to the spot…”
The market survived until 1983 when new laws banning the sale of live animals on the street were introduced.
The photograph below was taken by the American Life magazine in 1946.
An old advertisement for an art exhibition which took place in August 1978, still stuck to brickwork at Baker Street tube station, 2016
It has now been one week since the Grenfell Tower fire.
This tragedy sent a double helix of utter heartache and seething anger spiralling though me; feelings which have yet to subside. I know I’m far from alone.
As I write, the current death-toll stands at 79.
Anyone however who has seen what remains of this now charred, towering tomb will have no doubt in suspecting that this number is sadly far higher.
As someone who grew up in London and who loves the city and its people, I’ve wanted to use my platform here to express my intense views on the disaster. But in short, I’ve been unable to find words.
Instead I would encourage you to watch this interview with Cristos, a gentleman who survived the blaze.
His account speak volumes.