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Danger: Void Behind Door

Writing by Matt Haynes

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A Public Disservice

Danger: Void Behind Door

In which I am forced to bribe an elderly man in Wolverhampton with a spongey dessert in order to demonstrate to Richard Branson that trains are not planes and that you only need choice if the system has failed.

A Miscellany of Despair

Danger: Void Behind Door

How the National Maritime Museum is providing new opportunities for French people to shrug and go “bof”.

The Ecstasy of Michael Gove

Danger: Void Behind Door

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).

Taxi for Mr Johnson

Danger: Void Behind Door

How the removal of bendy buses on route 507 inspired a new TfL competition to redesign the wheel in time for 2012.

Anti-Zizzi, Anti-Pasti

Danger: Void Behind Door

Protests regarding the plethora of new chain restaurants at Greenwich pierhead stall when fossil records show that chickens first emerged on the small Greek island of Nandos.

Excuse me, miss, I bought this Jedi here last week, and it doesn’t work

Danger: Void Behind Door

Why the lack of recent postings cannot be blamed entirely on the inverse square law of gravitation and also definitely not on dragons.

The Unbelievable Niceness of Penge

Danger: Void Behind Door

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

A Higher Evil

Danger: Void Behind Door

Are independent bookshops their own worst enemy, or just my own worst enemy?

The Spherical Love of French Teenagers

Danger: Void Behind Door

An unwelcome discovery on the meridian line makes me question whether padlocks have any role in a loving relationship.

You’re So Quiet You Sound Like Aldershot

Danger: Void Behind Door

Why it’s not just the lack of an internationally renowned art gallery, good tapas and an occasionally murderous independence movement that distinguishes Leyton from Bilbao.

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Sifted by Ilk

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As the train brings her closer to him, she re-reads his texted description but finds herself distracted by just how many houses in Purley have trampolines in their back gardens.

Serendipity Doo-Dahs

Support Your Local Independent Bookshop

Why Franz Kafka gave up self-publishing.

Kiss Me Again Like You Mean It

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.

It’s A Cafe – Underneath A Boat

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

The Beer Goes In The Pub

Castration deemed not suitable treatment for 4x4 drivers as smallness of genitalia makes operation too fiddly.

The Scowl Beneath The Cowl

How I felt less badly about being mugged once the Daily Mail had explained that all the misunderstood urban yout’ really want is to be able to park sideways-on to the kerb.

Ceci n’est pas un Wheelie Bin

René Magritte’s time with LT’s maintenance department didn't last long, as his playful signage at Stratford station provoked not only much philosophical debate in the canteen, but also a major hygiene problem on the southbound Jubilee Line.

The Hungry Cabbie

How Victorian philanthropists strove to fit thirteen grown men into a small green shed without recourse to contortionism, immodesty or facial depilation. And how an ill-advised sausage led to the discovery of south London.

48 Hours In Vigo

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.

TK Maxx in Karl-Marx-Stadt

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

Mr Chambers’ Coffee House

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

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