Secrets – divisive little buggers, aren’t they? Seedy, you might say. Not always. In some instances a shared dose of the old hush hush can bond people together and make, for them, a connection through contrivance. Purer than the white lie, the bigger the secret-to-potential-for-harm ratio, the better; the ultimate secret is oh my god huge but effects no-one nastily. And they don’t come much bigger, or more unlikely, than the wing of a Dakota aeroplane which Simon Tyszko has installed in his fifth-floor Fulham council flat. As it’s also a comment on living with your art (it’s all very well unmaking your bed and putting it in the National; how about lying in it too, Tracy?), he’s aching to let you in. Jaws will drop but, outside the window, London passes by unawares. If you know where to look, he’ll even take you under his wing and cook you a brilliant bespoke meal. I recommend the belly pork. See, feels good, doesn’t it?