When my kids were little I thought it would be a nice treat to take them to Greenwich Market, back when it sprawled across about three sites. In the entrance to the bit on Stockwell Street, there was a doughnut stall, and to compensate the kids for having had the misery of standing around at second hand vinyl stalls when they were (a) too short to see what was on sale and (b) not remotely interested in obscure ShimmyDisc recordings, I bought them a bag of doughnuts. Or things that looked vaguely like doughnuts but tasted as though they'd been cooked, slowly and several hours previously, in oil that had been used for frying cod and then cold-filtered through a tramp's armpit hair. But that was before this whole fixie craze started.
When my kids were little I thought it would be a nice treat to take them to Greenwich Market, back when it sprawled across about three sites. In the entrance to the bit on Stockwell Street, there was a doughnut stall, and to compensate the kids for having had the misery of standing around at second hand vinyl stalls when they were (a) too short to see what was on sale and (b) not remotely interested in obscure ShimmyDisc recordings, I bought them a bag of doughnuts. Or things that looked vaguely like doughnuts but tasted as though they'd been cooked, slowly and several hours previously, in oil that had been used for frying cod and then cold-filtered through a tramp's armpit hair. But that was before this whole fixie craze started.