Innocence and Experience in SE22 – a French girl troubled by East Dulwich’s fecundity says there’s clearly too much of the latter. Hackney slips through a rip in space-time – police report dramatic rise in musket-related crime on Lower Clapton Road. Minding your pees in Kew – a model of sobriety fails to urinate several times between Barnes and Richmond. Are ponds the new Hoxton? – why London’s artists are up to their black polo necks in algal bloom. Thick as two short planks – a commuter befriends some wood in King’s Cross. Escalating passions – how making eye-contact on moving stairways can lead to something deep and thrilling that really feels like it’s going somewhere; though only for one of you, and only if you’re easily impressed by the Central Line. London’s new breed of ruthless and amoral teenage gunmen – how Forties youngsters filled the void before jive with armed robbery. An old filing cabinet acquires a whole new spiritual dimension in Brockley – “width, height and depth I could cope with,” says befuddled owner, “this new one just does my head in. And now it won’t fit on the landing.” If going via Bank instead of Charing Cross in order to spend five more minutes with the woman I adore is the route to madness, then why does it still say Morden on the indicator, huh? – the lovelorn logic of the rush-hour crush strikes again. Fingering the doughnut – how small rubber rings provided Victorian gentlemen with hours of extended pleasure once the ladies had withdrawn. Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement’s – enigmatic new fruit-based confession prompts police to reopen The Case of the Candlelit Chopper.