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Articles
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5 days ago |
the-londoner.co.uk | Miles Ellingham
I’m standing alongside football policing officers in the West Ham London Stadiums’ CCTV panopticon, watching operators meticulously replaying a clip of a fan in an attempt to discern the difference between an outraged waving gesture and a Nazi salute. We’ve been granted access to this room, but aren’t allowed to photograph its interior, so I’ll attempt to describe it to you. Imagine a room where everything happens all at once and nothing passes by.
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1 week ago |
the-londoner.co.uk | Hannah Williams
The mansions of London are empty, the penthouses barren. There are no grand parties now, no talk of business deals ringing off the marble, no private chefs slicing Wagyu in the second kitchen, deftly separating meat from bone. The artworks have been returned to their temperature-controlled storage units, or else shipped to New York, Basel, Singapore; the supercars sleep soundly in their garages.
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1 week ago |
the-londoner.co.uk | Miles Ellingham
Holy water, incense and mea culpas. An old man in a brown flannel jacket unfurls into a standing position and begins to strike his chest before shrinking back into the pews. “Confesso a Dio Padre onnipotente e a voi, fratelli, che ho molto peccato.” Father Andrea Fulco moved to London from Lazio roughly a decade ago, he’s well known around here. “I confess to God the Father almighty and to you, brothers, that I have sinned greatly”.
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2 weeks ago |
the-londoner.co.uk | Andrew Kersley
It’s a sweltering Tuesday afternoon when we board the 36 from Queen’s Park to New Cross and settle on the top deck. It’s only a few minutes before a man gets on, sits in the front seat and initiates a loud, headphoneless video call before aimlessly scrolling Facebook videos with the sound on. Under a new proposal from the Liberal Democrats, this kind of behaviour would be an offence, punishable by a £1,000 fine.
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2 weeks ago |
the-londoner.co.uk | Andrew Kersley
Bruce Kenrick had run out of hope. It was 1963, and the upstart housing charity he ran out of his cramped, dilapidated flat in Notting Hill had no money, despite desperately trying to raise funds from friends, connections and even a stall on the Portobello Road — all to no avail. A radical priest who had spent time helping the poor in Kolkata and East Harlem before coming to London, Kenrick was charming, energetic and had an uncanny knack for pulling people into his quixotic plans.
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