a mornflake lorry just tried to squish me on the north side of waterloo bridge. mornflake is a spooky name for what i assume is cereal brand that i assume supplies flakes to all the brands you eat in the morn, and if i’m wrong then i’ll leave it as one of life’s mysteries.
i discovered mornflake at midnight on sunday this week. their factory sits aside the easiest way to get on the train tracks in a victorian dust bowl (dust brick?) town up north. the factory is covered in blinking lights and motion detection cctv like a Cheshire kojo yakei. i probably remember mornflakes stupid name because that night lead to fuck all because as me and my friend got on the train tracks a man immediately appeared and shouted GERRRROUTAHERE. which was northern friendliness approach to security guardiness because down south they’d just stay silent and phone the old bill.
anyway there’s no real meaning to this besides 1) crap things that appear in the night can come back and try to squash you at 2pm while you’re still half awake (try to turn you into flakes that your friends may mourn). 2) that once you become aware of something crap like carrefour, leroy merlin or eddy stobart they irrevocably populate the crap wing of ur head, but if you wanted to find those crap things having written a paragraph about them, you probably never could. 3) corporate portmanteaus give me the heebygeebies: travelodge must end, mornflake must die but singhsburies can live.
Photo and story by 10FOOT, summer 2025