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Danger: Void Behind Door

Writing by Matt Haynes

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It’s A Cafe – Underneath A Boat

Danger: Void Behind Door

Donna Summer takes issue with those complaining that the new glassed-in Cutty Sark has been “renovated too modern”.

Farewell to Fitzalan Street

Danger: Void Behind Door

Early morning nudity on the 07:03 from Slade Green, and how Hubert the Inflexible Frenchman left me unable to lift heavy weights for six months.

Jonathan, David, Carol and Me

Danger: Void Behind Door

Why David Beckham is a true gent, Jonathan Ross can do no wrong, and Carol Thatcher will be getting her rice and peas delivered by Ocado in future.

The World Comes To Deptford

Danger: Void Behind Door

The world’s largest cruise liner visits Deptford but refuses to tell anyone.

Kiss Me Again Like You Mean It

Danger: Void Behind Door

How I sacrificed my chance of being published by Canongate on the rough-hewn altar of truth, dignity and acceptable hyphenation practice, with a small digression into how dogless lesbians keep warm in Canadian snowdrifts.

Crawling Up The Mile End Road

Danger: Void Behind Door

Why buses, naked women and steamed puddings are synonymous in the minds of most middle-aged men, and why Boris’s obsession with helplessly drunk teenagers is so far proving a good thing.

Henry’s Plinth

Danger: Void Behind Door

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

Tory Tourette’s

Danger: Void Behind Door

A night with Chris Addison causes me to wonder whether the world would truly be a better place if George Osborne got a job in Dixons.

We Need To Talk About Neddy

Danger: Void Behind Door

A five-year-old labrador that was swept up in the excitement of the 2011 London riots lives to regret looting Primark.

Feminist Pelicans

Danger: Void Behind Door

Some thoughts on the sexual politics of pedestrian-controlled traffic lights and why Brussels fills me with horror.

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With hair gelled to spikes and skin still pink from blade and Lynx, the Sidcup boys in their crisp white Saturday shirts all look vaguely like friends of Frank Lampard.

Serendipity Doo-Dahs

Going Back To Old Kent Road

How Monopoly stifles the very instincts that should engender success by insisting council planning departments impose draconian building regulations that allow for the construction of nothing but small green houses or big red hotels.

And What’s With The Big Boat?

Is transpontine mating safe, or is the unholy union of a Bethnal Green girl and a Bermondsey boy likely to produce some sterile mule-like creature, useful only as a beast of burden or underworld goon?

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?

Helena Bonham Carter and the Thirty-Foot Elephant

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.

Farewell to Fitzalan Street

Early morning nudity on the 07:03 from Slade Green, and how Hubert the Inflexible Frenchman left me unable to lift heavy weights for six months.

The Unbelievable Niceness of Penge

How only Penge Homebase, out of all south-east London's DIY superstores, seems to have grasped that Christmas is an annual event.

Ales of the Riverbank

A riparian pub crawl in which Chelsea midfielder John Obi Mikel is mistaken for Jedi master Obi-Wan Kenobi outside the Waterside in Chelsea Harbour but luckily a goose arrives and causes a diversion before it all kicks off.

Unsolicited Justin Bieber

A hairdressers in Greenwich reassures passers-by that their hair will only be cut if they request it.

Paddington Chews It Off

Why brown bears don't make good housemates and Judy Brown has no use for oven gloves.

Two Olympic Haikus

He smiles to greet them;
The shoulder-mounted toddler
Says click on the link.

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