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Danger: Void Behind Door

Writing by Matt Haynes

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London Prepares

Danger: Void Behind Door

The 2011 London riots: while Tottenham is in flames, Chipping Norton is in Oxfordshire.

A Riot Of Their Own

Danger: Void Behind Door

How I had my faith in human nature restored by the people of Sidcup and why toddlers and anarchists should neither be given Sunny Delight nor put in charge of the Northern Line.

The Scowl Beneath The Cowl

Danger: Void Behind Door

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.

Unsolicited Justin Bieber

Danger: Void Behind Door

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

These Weirdoes Are Weird

Danger: Void Behind Door

Why I won’t let you tell me what you think about what I think about David Mitchell.

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Sifted by Ilk

  • Fiction
  • Non-Fiction
  • London
  • South East London
  • London in 30 Words
  • Smoke A London Peculiar
  • Transport
  • Politics
  • Poems and Parodies

She was far too old for him; and he was far too gay for her; but, that night on the 188, he thought what the hell, and took her dancing.

Serendipity Doo-Dahs

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.

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 Twelve Days of Smoke

Partridges? In London? Sorry, guv. Do you a nice pigeon, though. Sorry it's a bit wet.

A Public Disservice

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.

Danger: Void Behind Door

A brief rumination on the fickleness of both women and space-time, and the possibility that access to some sort of infinite primordial darkness can be gained from the southbound Bakerloo Line platform at Waterloo.

A Miscellany of Despair

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

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.

You’re So Quiet You Sound Like Aldershot

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.

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.

We Need To Talk About Neddy

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

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