For two years I wrote a weekly VICE column called 'Gavin Haynes' Sleepless Nights', where I took the news and sorta mused on it. That led to a wildly popular piece on the murder-storm engulfing John McAfee, and essays on the death of The Queen, ghostwriting, Russia's self-deracination turn, and drugs etiquette.  

In terms of spitting on the efforts of those greater than I, I've mapped the London novel as form, and spent a lot of time impersonating Morrissey, which is really more of a hobby than a profession. I used to do a very popular annual  trend-snark rundown I called the VICE Albums Of The Year, which ran from 2008-2015, by which point no one even cared about album lists anymore, let alone albums. 

In terms of outward-bound silliness, I've been on an awkward triple-date with Arno King Of The Goths and ultimate schmelebrity Mr Christmas as my wingmen, I once blew the gaff on the distinctions between black comedy and white comedy, sucked some t-shirts at a pheromone dating party, and I escorted Blair-era Kim Philby David Shayler round Ripley's Believe It Or Not.  Hilarity ensued. 

Finally, if you prefer the comedy-silver of the Gordon Brown era, there's always Babes Of The BNP to fall back on.