From: Tom Chivers
Sent: 10 August 2008 14:08
To: Price, John
Subject: Duct/duckedJ,
Something reminded me of you. I was in The Viaduct (Newgate overspill) sipping small beer with three wistful maidens. You know the place – carved hardwood; large, curved frontage; beaten copper; Neolithic slab of public house, gin palace. When you were Jack (LOL) you must have passed it on your way, Fleet-footed, geddit? One could say you got a taste of your own medicine! Where is the local buzz, Jack? Bunhill? Holloway? And this bit had me in pieces: gingerbread, she flogged gingerbread, Jack! Who’s the man now? Nameless wretch. Fistfuls of blood. Double-dubbed. Snarling at the crowds with Old Geneva in your sack, axe ready. Exhibited, gibbeted. Sorry to be so graphic. It’s just, Ketch this, they said the language of decency cannot describe it.
Tom Chivers 