• I went for a small Swaining late last night, having spent early last night being subjected to literary rubbish near Bethnal Green (not my choice, I swear). The event started with a mound of pretension, which was followed by an intermission, a hasty retreat, and a journey North for a little bedtime pain/relief.

    I bloody love Swain's Lane, grinding past Karl Marx offered a solid response to the early evening's artsy dribble.

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