Jenny Turner

They’re always at it, the entertainment-industry minebots, sinking down their boreholes, and sometimes, out it gushes, unbelievably thick and fast.

I haven’t seen the play of War Horse, and never got to the end of the novel either: my son had Private Peaceful, another of Michael Morpurgo’s First World War books, as a bedtime story, and it was so sad and full of injustice – and dragged out, chapter after bleeding chapter, night after night after night – I am just relieved that now he can read these terrible documents, should he wish to, without my help. In War Horse (1982), it’s 1914 and Joey’s owner sells him to the cavalry – and that’s all you need to know, really. The book is one of the five ‘classic war stories for children’ that the Imperial War Museum aims to ‘bring to life’ in its new exhibition, Once Upon a Wartime.

WHATEVER WE WEAR, WHEREVER WE GOYES MEANS YES AND NO MEANS NO! The main chant of Saturday afternoon. Also: THESE BOOTS WERE MADE FOR WALKING, especially from the impressively ambulatory stiletto-heeled contingent. HIJABSHOODIESHOTPANTSOUR BODIES OUR CHOICE THIS VIRGIN-WHORE DICHOTOMY IS GETTING PRETTY FUCKING OLD

The Peckham Peace Wall was established on the morning of Tuesday 9 August by members of the Peckham Shed theatre group on temporary hoardings protecting the broken windows of Poundland on Rye Lane, between the Card Factory – a greetings-cards shop - and the entrance to the Aylesham Centre, just across the road from a clothing store called – to the delight of tweeters - Loot. All available space was filled by Friday 12 August, when the hoardings were removed and put on display at Peckham Library. But Poundland professed itself so 'touched by the community’s work' that new boards were put over the windows and the Post-its began filling up again. Here are some of the messages that were up at 5 p.m. on Saturday 13 August.

I wasn’t sure about the Jeremy Deller show at the Hayward before I got there: Joy in People, he’s called it, ugh, and my friend had been complaining about the installation that re-creates his bedroom at his parents’ house, and the one that’s done as a market-traders’ café and gives you a free cup of tea. ‘They just can’t bloody resist it, can they,’ she said sadly. Like me, she’s a Deller fan of many years’ standing; I remember us both admiring the Folk Archive when it first appeared at Tate Britain in 2000. She was disappointed, I think, in the autobiographical aspect of these installations, which were a bit too close to Tracey Emin’s bed and hut.