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
Peter Scott
Graven Names
Glasgow It’s the height of it, I think, that’s so remarkable. A city on a hill, Glasgow Necropolis, where the dead overlook the living. I cross the bridge from the cathedral, covered up while wo… Read article
Lulah Ellender
The Museum of Broken Relationships
However,when, during routine evictions, I discover alien pants, cinema stubs, the throwawaycomment – on a post–it – or a tiny stowawaypressed flower amid bottom drawers,I know these are my souv… Read article
Thomas Marks
Albion Street, Lewes
Packs of men, women, and children are rounding the corner of Albion Street with their hands full of fire. The blazing torches they clutch look like matchsticks made for a giant and their flames burn i… Read article
Sofia Walker
Paree, Paree
She professed to love this country more than any other. But I sensed that for her, as for M. and Mme Verdurin, the great thing was not to contemplate the country as tourists, but to eat well there, to… Read article
Laura Kilbride
Boy With a Coney
for Ian Patterson Hearing of molten rock which fell to mountains, meeting with three-faced statues on the beaches, returning suddenly to the fact of marble on sand dunes where the wind whips round my… Read article
From the Current Issue
Katharine Markwick
The Road Ahead
Katrin! You so slow! Look – everyone behind you is piss off! I look in the mirror. A queue of traffic is building up behind me as I head south on the A202. I’m being cautious. No Katrin, … 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
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