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Danger: Void Behind Door

Writing by Matt Haynes

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The World Comes To Deptford

Danger: Void Behind Door

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

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.

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.

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”.

And What’s With The Big Boat?

Danger: Void Behind Door

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?

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.

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.

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.

London Prepares

Danger: Void Behind Door

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

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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

“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

These Weirdoes Are Weird

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

I Was Just Trying To Be Nice

Across the road is a nail salon, then a jeweller’s, a florist’s, and – I stare at the words above the next doorway: Divine Money, Financial Services. Why is that so familiar? Obviously it’s the sort of name you remember, but – where would I be remembering it from?

A Miscellany of Despair

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

For The Greater Good

A response to UKIP in not the only language its supporters don't understand: poetry.

Tory Tourette’s

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.

A Higher Evil

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

A Riot Of Their Own

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.

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.

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

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

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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