When Muriel Spark wrote her famous ballad
No Peckham pub had discovered salad,
No Pekham Pulse, no “pop-up bar”
(Just keep going when you’ve parked your car)
No crates of yams, no Multiplex,
Just landladies frowning on illicit sex,
And hissing gas fires and spam for tea
And pea soup fog and mock gentility.
Would she find it strange and unfamiliar
Or, underneath the surface, all very similar.
– Pam Barrett
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