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Danger: Void Behind Door

Writing by Matt Haynes

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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.

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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

Someone told me Patrick Stewart often gets the tube at Bermondsey; I picture him softly mouthing shwoosh when the platform-edge doors open… just secretly, to himself…

Serendipity Doo-Dahs

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.

Mr Chambers’ Coffee House

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

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.

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?

Queue Here For Theresienstadt

A trip to Prague, and how the human soul has been replaced by a 64GB memory card.

Eton Mess

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.

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.

Threnody on the Suicide of a Parking Meter in Dagenham Brook, E10

O dark devourer of the driver’s coin,
what broken dreams was this leap meant to fix?
What hope-denuded skyline did enjoin
you to cast off on this East London Styx?

A Higher Evil

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

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).

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