Cricklewood Broadway. The sky is grey and oppressive. A steady stream of traffic flows between the road’s faded markings; the tarmac is puckered from successive resurfacing.
“Watch how long that long-necked bird can hold its breath underwater,” said the Ventrilocrisp, pointing. Floating atop the murky lake, the bird plunged suddenly forwards, its grey feathers dipping below the brown water, out of sight.
Eight weeks ago, the Ventrilocrisp was playing football. It took a step to the left —nothing unusual—but suddenly, something was … More
‘The Ventrilocrisp was faced with an existential decision — one that lies at the heart of its crisp reviews. What … More
‘Back in 2019 a recycling presentation at work threw the ethics of the Ventrilocrisp’s practice into question: by and large, … More
‘The firey tang of the condiment is forceful, travelling from the tip of the tongue to the throat like a … More
‘In describing themselves as ‘king of the tapas table’, the Manomasas are angling for a place at the table. Are … More
‘The Ventrilocrisp had high hopes for the footballs, expecting a specimen, like the beautiful game itself, with mass appeal.’ When … More
‘They are neither a crisp nor strictly a cracker, thus they play by their own rules.’ Time and time again, … More
‘Here is an unpretentious crisp that understands the meaning of hard graft.’ Last week, the Ventrilocrisp went camping. Between carting … More