REVIEW: Hackney Wicked by Clare Callan
Above image: The burning of the wicker chicken
On Sunday night, in a pleasant cider-haze, I stood in an industrial yard in the depths of East London surrounded by people dressed in inventive and outlandish attire. Everyone around me was singing raucously and banging makeshift drums in anticipation. A giant wicker chicken was about to be burned. I could not think of a more fitting end to the weekend.