Not THAT Kerb!
Last weekend I saw two teenagers wearing trousers, each with the right leg pulled up to the knee. When I pointed at them, my wife (who is worldly) said she’d observed this sort of thing before. It’s a return of what the Sunday supplements called prison chic. One calf is exposed for the electric chair electrode. Real devotees also shave their heads, beat themselves up and cover their bodies in conductive fluid. I just wear shorts. Or else I roll up a trouser leg. But I want people to understand that I’m not now running with the street gangs. It’s just to keep my trousers out of my bike chain. There’s too much good telly on to think of hitting the streets. Unless it’s for the launch of the Saturday market from Kerb this Saturday. With the weather set good to fair, a trip to London’s Granary Square is called for: take your pick of Italo-American sandwiches at Capiche?, pintxos at the Donostia Social Mobile or paella from Jamon Jamon. And, rain or shine, don’t leave without a taste of the gourmet ice lollies from Ice Kitchen. Gangsta.