About The Junket
The Junket is an online quarterly featuring essays, short fiction and poetry. Founded in 2011, it exists as an excuse for writing: to justify the graft of its making, and indulge the mischief it continues to make.
From the Archive
Matthew Sperling
Gear
The first time I injected steroids, two years ago, I decided to pin my right quad. I drew the oils from the vial into the syringe with a thick 19-gauge pin, changed that for a 25-gauge, warmed the gea… Read article
Kristen Treen
Print Culture
When I talk about what I do, the index finger of my right hand automatically enacts a scrolling motion. The finger bends into a hook; it straightens; it repeats, a mid-air gesticulation. Each time t… Read article
Nick Haslam
La source du Nil
‘On est déjà en retard, Monsieur Nicolas.’ I was hung over. I was tired. I was being told off by a retired colonel. This wasn't a good start to the day. ‘Je suis désolé, Monsieur A… Read article
Alex Niven
North Sea Travelogue
Exhausted, feeling hemmed in, I took the first northbound train. Making notes in a moleskine pad I wrote down everything good I had: girlfriend, sister, one or two friends, some skill with words, … Read article
Emily Rhodes
Six Views from a Window
I wonder how many hours I’ve spent looking out of windows. Stitched together, they would stretch into weeks, perhaps months. Into the human harmony Windows are points of connection between interio… Read article
From the Current Issue
Felicity Cloake
Turnspit Tykes
I know every dog owner thinks theirs is special – but my cairn terrier really is. So monstrously wilful is this outrageous beast, so magnificently unconcerned with pleasing anyone but his fat furry … Read article
James Draney
On the 343
In 2012, the number 343 bus caught fire outside my bedroom window in southeast London. Caught fire might be misleading. Rather, it exploded, rattling my windows, waking me up, and drawing most of the … Read article
Nick Hunt
Fung’s
I drove past Fung’s a few days ago. Of course, it isn’t Fung’s now. It’s an empty building surrounded by weeds, an ugly breezeblock shell. There’s plywood over the sliding doors, and a spind… Read article
Full Issue Here
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