Well, this is all very exciting isn't it? Our very own periodical! And the second in as many months! A lesser scribe may babble a cliché here about buses...
Anyway, this treasure you have in hand or on screen is 'Heart Streatham'; an entirely different affair to that last magazine that was, erm, actually, I can't remember what it was called. Can you? No. I didn't even receive a copy at the penthouse. Frankly, it was a somewhat rum undertaking that I'm surprised I leant credibility to with my involvement. Thankfully, my keen powers of discernement have returned and the good folk behind 'Heart Streatham' seem far more likely to cut the mustard.
All that being said, I was initially concerned upon being briefed that the focus of this issue was on 'the common'. This seemed misguided to me as that avenue of expertise is already well covered by Heat magazine and its waiting room polluting ilk but no, I was reassured it was our beloved Streatham Common and nothing to do with reality tv, the One Directions or people who insist a martini should be shaken.
Streatham Common has been the focus of many of my most memorable cases. One misty morning I uncovered an illegal hooch still, clearly run by a bunch of Tulse Hillbillies. I smashed the blighter up with my swordstick and empounded all the moonshine. I then spent most of the afternoon battling fiery rabbits on flying motorcycles and went blind for two days. Such are the burdens I suffer so you, dear Streathamites, don't have to. You're welcome.
The Common also has some history which doesn't even involve me. For example:there is a large white house at the top which probably used to belong to someone. Also cow gum. Yes, cow gum. After a failed silk mill closed (probably due to the fact there are no silk moths on the Common) PB Cow's India Rubber Works ran at the foot of the Common for many years, producing their famous Cow Adhesive Gum. This was in the Victorian era when adhesive gum could be famous. Now we all have televisions and the site is a Sainsburys.
Finally, a Streatham resident once spent his days wandering the common and talking gibberish out loud, just to get into practice. His name was Eddie Izzard. So next time you see a man in a dress babbling on about cats and jam, just think. You may be at the birth of something great. Or he may just be a nutter. Probably best not to get too close.
- The Streatham Shadow