The fruits of Marxism

Pay no attention to the man in the ginger beard...Someone occasionally leaves bananas at the bottom of the stairs to our flats, presumably as some sort of offering. But to whom? By strange coincidence, following a spot of trouble at mill, I decided to make a pilgrimage to Karl Marx's tomb in Highgate. There I found that someone (else, presumably) had left some oranges for the father of Communism. Could there be a connection? I shall keep my eyes peeled (I thank you) for more fruity offerings. I'm not too sure what significance the tissues had but for some reason Marx's statue kept putting me in mind of the Sean Connery film Zardoz, which wasn't helpful in keeping me in the requisite frame of mind for paying my respects to the great man (KM that is, not SC).

A bit of jiggery-pokey on the interweb reveals that the superbly named Caleb Pink, also interred at Highgate, was a pioneer American socialist and a friend of Walt Wjitman to boot. When not visiting graves of revolutionaries and pondering on fruit and massive stone heads, I found time to catch deXter Bentley play a very intimate show, featuring some great tambourine work from Mr Ravenscroft, at the Perseverance near Lisson Grove - a pub most aptly named as I went there two nights running, having got the date of the gig wrong first time round.