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Danger: Void Behind Door

Writing by Matt Haynes

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Danger: Void Behind Door

Why Franz Kafka gave up self-publishing.

The New Romantic Luge

Danger: Void Behind Door

Hackney’s lost ski-slope, and how Boy George nearly brought Duran Duran’s career to a premature end when, clutching a garish mojito, he hurtled down the dendix piste using Simon le Bon as a toboggan.

Eton Mess

Danger: Void Behind Door

How I was abducted by aliens from South Harrow station and had the true nature of Boris Johnson revealed to me after being forced to mate against my wishes.

Helena Bonham Carter and the Thirty-Foot Elephant

Danger: Void Behind Door

How Josephine’s coquettish suggestion that Napoleon surprise her with something long and wrinkly led to a giant elephant being installed in the Place de la Bastille.

TK Maxx in Karl-Marx-Stadt

Danger: Void Behind Door

Leipzig 1989 remembered, and why the Dean of St Paul’s can’t hold a candle to the pastor of the Nikolaikirche.

The Dolly Parton High-Wire Act

Danger: Void Behind Door

In much the same way that the Shin-Hotaka Ropeway in Takayama takes those with a head for heights up the third-tallest peak in Japan, London’s new cable car will take people from Newham to a car park near North Greenwich station.

48 Hours In Vigo

Danger: Void Behind Door

In which I use a small trampoline to explain how Sir Francis Drake would have dealt with Ryanair’s “no aeroplane” interpretation of “no frills”, and we find out what Galicians keep in their hold-alls.

Queue Here For Theresienstadt

Danger: Void Behind Door

A trip to Prague, and how the human soul has been replaced by a 64GB memory card.

Mr Chambers’ Coffee House

Danger: Void Behind Door

I try to get to the bottom of Blackheath but just end up having an overpriced (though very nice) muffin.

Barney’s Only Disruptive Because He’s Bored…

Danger: Void Behind Door

After a surveyor’s report says that the social cost of levelling the playing fields of Eton might be incompatible with Tory spending plans, David Cameron tells a bright kid from the Walworth Road not to throw his knife and hoodie away just yet.

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Sifted by Ilk

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“Sorry, mate,” says the man on the footbridge, turning aside to let me cycle past. “Cheers,” I reply. He nods, tight-lipped, then continues urinating onto the Blackwall Tunnel Southern Approach.

Serendipity Doo-Dahs

Barney’s Only Disruptive Because He’s Bored…

After a surveyor’s report says that the social cost of levelling the playing fields of Eton might be incompatible with Tory spending plans, David Cameron tells a bright kid from the Walworth Road not to throw his knife and hoodie away just yet.

Mr Chambers’ Coffee House

I try to get to the bottom of Blackheath but just end up having an overpriced (though very nice) muffin.

Henry’s Plinth

Henry Moore's sculpture returns to Greenwich Park just after I've made lots of fuss about nothing to impress a French girl.

The New Romantic Luge

Hackney's lost ski-slope, and how Boy George nearly brought Duran Duran’s career to a premature end when, clutching a garish mojito, he hurtled down the dendix piste using Simon le Bon as a toboggan.

The Peckham Panama

How a vision of cauliflowers being ferried from Epsom to Rotherhithe led to the construction of the (Not Particularly) Grand Surrey Canal and eventually Burgess Park.

No one likes them, they don’t care

Latest signs indicate an infestation of Tory MPs on Kennington Road; thankfully, they're all taken down again after the election.

Is This What People Do?

The lorries are starting to move now, rumbling across the deck of the James Newman and onto the ramps that shake and ring beneath their tyres. He is supposed to leave too; there is an announcement over the tannoy, every time a ferry docks, forbidding passengers to remain on board.

Kensal Rise, Early In The Morning

A driver on the last remaining Routemaster service, the 159 from Marble Arch to Streatham, reflects on the relative inflexibility of women and buses.

The Ecstasy of Michael Gove

I stare bleakly into the abyss and wonder whether the election of Boris Johnson is all my fault (it's not, it's all yours).

Threnody on the Death of a Street Lamp on Lollard Street, SE11

O noble lantern ’neath whose kindly fire
my love and I did oft together lark,
our bodies, lust-engorged, ’twined in desire –
why hast thou gone and left us in the dark?

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