On a crisp bright winter Sunday morning, all the buildings in Soho you normally scurry past, eyes down, are suddenly just buildings again, and really rather beautiful.
Smoke #10 is out and I've devoured it. Another fine collection showing how to write lovingly, honestly, imaginatively and without pretension about a city.
In the granite-flagged, shadow-hemmed churchyard, rimmed by lifted stones, soy spills unnoticed onto her smart City skirt as she sits enchanted that all she can hear this lunchtime is birdsong.
john davies
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