So, that was the street on which I work. That was Piccadilly. It's taken a month to travel from one end to the other, whereas you could probably walk the real thing in 20 minutes flat. It's a fascinating street I hope you'll agree, and a street which previously didn't seem to have its own decent webpage anywhere. And now it does. You can read the whole of Piccadilly local history month here, on one page, uninterrupted. I'm rather pleased with it. And you should see where I've got lined up for you next August...
Famous places down the street where I work Hyde Park Corner
And finally, at the foot of Piccadilly, it's central London's biggest roundabout. Traffic swirls round this nightmarish gyratory system where five major streets meet, the road up to seven lanes wide. This spot could equally have been called Green Park Corner, or Mayfair Corner, or Belgravia Corner, or Buckingham Palace Corner, but Hyde Park won the day. In the centre of the roadway lies a large grass triangle liberally scattered with monuments and sculpture, and there's also the only pelican crossing I've ever seen with the pushbutton located eight feet up the pole so that it can be used by mounted horseriders. The outside and inside are joined by well-maintained pedestrian subways, each illustrated by scenes from local history.
Here's a look at the roads around the perimeter, clockwise from the North: N(Park Lane): Once just a small track running down the side of Hyde Park, the idyllic views soon made this one of the most desirable addresses in the capital. It's the second most valuable property on the Monopoly board, which is kind of appropriate because during the 20th century roughly every four houses here were exchanged for a hotel. Now a six-lane superhighway and luxury car showroom.
NE(Piccadilly): Come on, you must know all there is to know about this street by now.
SE(Constitution Hill): This road (closed Sundays) leads down to the gates of the Buckingham Palace. At the top of the hill stand new memorial gates commemorating the wartime sacrifice of soldiers from across the Commonwealth.
S(Grosvenor Place): This is the main road down to Victoria, along which the very last no 73Routemaster will set off just before 1am this Saturday morning. You can see into the Queen's back garden from the top deck.
W(Knightsbridge): This isn't the posh end of Knightsbridge, that's further west, but this is still the only London street name written with six consecutive consonants. Hyde Park Corner tube station is here, the original ticket hall now occupied by a pizza restaurant.
Meanwhile, in the centre: The Constitution Arch: Before the Duke of Wellington was even dead, the people of Britain were busy erecting monuments to him outside his house. As well as a nude statue of Achilles in the park, they also placed a giant statue of the Duke across the road on top of the recently-constructed Constitution Arch. Alas the statue looked wildly out of proportion for its location and was eventually relegated to Aldershot, being replaced 30 years later by the magnificent winged statue of Victory pictured here. A suite of rooms at the top of the arch housed London's smallest police station, with a staff of 10 constables, two sergeants and a cat, although this closed in 1968 and the inside of the arch is now open to the public.
Another statue of Wellington: This one faces across the traffic towards Apsley House and shows the Duke sitting on his favourite horse, Copenhagen.
Australian War Memorial: Finally here's London's newest war memorial, opened last Remembrance Day by the Queen and Prime Minister Howard (that's the Australian PM, whatever were you thinking?). It's a striking curved wall of granite, etched with the names of the 24000 home towns of the Australians who served during the two world wars, across which can be picked out the names of 47 important battle sites. This reflective spot is a world away from the self-importance of Piccadilly Circus, right up at the other end of the street in which I work.
After 17 memorable days in Athens that's the final race run and the final Olympic medals awarded. And didn't we do well? No really. Tenth place is so much better than we should have expected given that the UK is only the 21st largest country in the world in terms of population. We thrashed countries twice as big as ourselves (Nigeria, no gold medals), three times as big (Brazil, 4 gold medals), four times as big (Indonesia, one gold medal) and even 17 times as big (India, no gold medals). Just think population before you think medals and we've had a remarkably successful Games. To illustrate what I mean, here's the final medal table with the added statistic of world population ranking:
Country
popn
G
S
B
1
USA
3rd
35
38
29
2
China
1st
32
17
14
3
Russia
7th
27
27
38
4
Australia
52nd
17
16
16
5
Japan
10th
16
9
12
6
Germany
14th
14
16
18
7
France
20th
11
9
13
8
South Korea
25th
9
12
9
9
Italy
23rd
9
11
11
10
Great Britain
21st
9
12
12
China may be by far the most populous nation on the planet but they didn't manage to top the medal table. In contrast every other country in the top 10 has done better than their population might have suggested, Australia especially so. Our antipodean cousins, with a population of just 20 million, have performed superbly to appear as high as fourth place. The Olympic medal table is therefore fatally flawed. All countries compete in the current table on equal terms, despite the fact that they have vastly different human populations of potential athletes to draw upon. This should be rectified by taking into account the size each country when drawing up the list. I'd like to propose the introduction of 'millions per gold medal' as a much better indication of sporting excellence. China has a population exceeding 1¼ billion, which rates as a massive 40 million citizens required per gold medal. Australia in contrast earned one gold medal for roughly every million inhabitants, a much more impressive ratio. Here's how the revised Olympic medal table would stand if the millions/goldmedal factor were included:
Country
G
popn
m/gm
1
Bahamas
1
0.3m
0.30
2
Norway
4
4.5m
1.14
3
Australia
17
20m
1.17
4
Hungary
8
10m
1.25
5
Cuba
9
11m
1.26
6
New Zealand
3
4m
1.33
7
Jamaica
2
2.7m
1.36
8
Greece
6
10.6m
1.77
9
Sweden
4
9m
2.25
10
Georgia
2
4.7m
2.35
Congratulations to the Bahamas, the tiny islands whose gold in the women's 400m puts them deservedly at the top of diamond geezer's new medal table, up from a lowly 52nd in the real ranking. Norway leap up to second, and hosts Greece have also done particularly well, their six golds meriting 8th place in the revised list. China, in contrast, plummet from real 2nd to only 53rd in the new table, and the United States tumble from 1st to 34th. That's more like it I think, a much fairer representation of national strength. Maybe we should introduce this new ranking method in time for the 2008 Olympic Games in Beijing. And the UK? Our impressive haul of nine golds rates at just 6.7 million inhabitants per gold medal, which puts us... ah, only 29th. Forget I ever suggested it...
Famous places down the street where I work Apsley House (149 Piccadilly)
Right at the bottom of Piccadilly, just past the junction with Park Lane, the very last house before Hyde Park is Apsley House, the former home of the Duke of Wellington. Approaching from the opposite direction this grand house was the first to be encountered after the tollbooth at Knightsbridge, and so earned the alternative address "No. 1 London". Wellington snapped up the house when he returned victorious from his military campaigns in France, seeking a London base from which to launch a glittering political career. He extended the house, including the spectacular 90ft long Waterloo Gallery, and within a decade had risen to the post of Prime Minister. A census entry for 1851 shows 81 year-old 'Arthur, Duke of W.' still resident at Apsley House along with 14 household staff, although he was to die at his home in Kent the following year. The seventh Duke of Wellington gave the house to the nation following the death of his father in World War Two, and the family still live in their ancestral home in private rooms at the rear. Apsley House was taken over by English Heritage earlier this year, admission £4.50, closed Mondays (except bank holidays, should you fancy popping down later).
After 2½ faithful years my good old T68 mobile phone finally started showing signs of distress last week. Screens froze, buttons took three presses to function and, most distressingly, half my address book made itself invisible. It was time to get a new phone. Pity, because my T68 used to do everything I required of a mobile and no more, and was still in very good physical condition too. I upgraded at the Orange shop on High Holborn (good choice - I appeared to be the only customer of the day), emerging half an hour later clutching a cutting-edge K700i. Plug in, charge up, wait.
Blimey hasn't mobile phone technology moved ahead in the last 2½ years? It's all very impressive, though I have yet to be convinced that any of the new stuff is actually useful. I can now play some very flashy new Java games, except I don't want to play the three arcade nightmares they've given me and I'm already pining for the nice simple Patience on my old phone. I have a narrow selection of ringtones that sound as if they were written by some 80s club singer on his Bontempi organ, and nothing at all that sounds even vaguely like a proper phone ringing. I can download more of all these of course, but at extortionate cost. It seems that what I used to take for granted for free is now an optional extra courtesy of my profiteering phone network. Still, I do now appear to have an FM radio which could be useful, and I've downloaded the old BBC test card for free as my wallpaper so I think I may survive. Now, if only somebody would actually ring me up or send me a text message I could find out how some of the more important features actually work...
Famous places down the street where I work The InterContinental hotel (1 Hamilton Place)
Most of the lower end of Piccadilly is given over to the hotel trade, which is not surprising given that Park Lane is just around the corner. Right where the two roads meet stands the InterContinental Hotel, a particularly ugly 70s block which would look more at home in some eastern European capital. Tim Moore in Do Not Pass Go describes the hotel as "constructed in apparent homage to an irregular stack of fruit boxes behind a supermarket checkout" and it's hard to disagree. The hotel's not famous for anything at all, but the buildings it replaced most certainly are.
145 Piccadilly was bought by Albert and Liz Windsor in 1927. You probably know them better as King George VI and the QueenMother, but at the time they were merely second in line to the throne and completely ignorant of their later destiny. Baby Elizabeth had been born the previous year just up the road in Mayfair, at 17Bruton Street off Berkeley Square, but 145 Piccadilly was to be her childhood home. The whole top floor was turned into a nursery which she shared with her sister Margaret Rose, and both were educated privately here by governesses. Their grandfather King George V died in January 1936, succeeded by their uncle Edward VIII who lasted only 11 months on the throne before abdicating in disgrace. Mother Elizabeth was at home in bed with the flu at 145 Piccadilly when the announcement was made, saying "We must take what is coming to us and make the best of it." The new Royal Family moved out to Buckingham Palace two months later.
144Piccadilly nextdoor was the site of a famous squat in the troubled summer of 1969. The London Street Commune moved into the huge empty building under cover of darkness, barricading themselves inside against the police and arming themselves with roof slates, stones, iron bars and a surprisingly large number of water-filled plastic balls. Over 500 squatters took part, protesting against the inequality of homelessness, but drug dealers and bikers gradually took over and the police faced little opposition when they stormed the premises six days later. Maybe demolition workers should storm the current hotel sometime soon - it could only be an improvement.
Soup - er, natural? You know what Heinz Cream of Tomato Soup tastes like? Well no, you probably don't any more because they've just changed the recipe to make it 'healthier'. Heinz blitzed supermarkets this week to clear out supplies of the old stock and replace it with hundreds of thousands of cans of the new. Here's how a typical 400ml can of Britain's favourite comfort food measured up before and after the great switchover:
Ingredients
Old soup
New soup
Tomatoes
74%
84%
Sugar
21g
20g
Fat
14g
12g
Salt
6g
3g
Price
49p-ish
59p-ish
See how much healthier they've made it? Lots more tomatoes, a scrap less sugar and fat, but half the salt. Just as well, because the original soup contained an adult's entire daily recommended salt intake in one can. And the cost to the consumer of this health-repositioning - a whopping 20% price increase. Having tried a mug of the new stuff this lunchtime I can't say I noticed much of a difference, except to my pocket. It still tastes as good as it always used to, maybe a bit more tomatoey, and it still stains your shirt orange if you spill some. I'm just slightly unnerved how bad for me the original soup used to be, and that Heinz appear to be charging me a premium for taking the unhealthy stuff out.
Famous places down the street where I work The Hard Rock Cafe (150 Old Park Lane)
You can find Hard Rock Cafes all over the world, from Acapulco to Yokohama, but the very first Hard Rock Cafe opened right here in Piccadilly in 1971. Americans Isaac Tigrett and Peter Morton opened up a glorified burger restaurant in an old car showroom close to Hyde Park Corner, slowly covering the walls with rock 'n' roll ephemera. Londoners and tourists came flocking (burgers were kind of new back then) and by 1982 the restaurant was successful enough to be opening up in new locations back in the States. Now there are 100 HRCs worldwide, and the global theme-dining phenomenon has been copied by Planet Hollywood amongst others, but the original restaurant here still pulls in tourists in their droves. If you come down, prepare to queue.
Nextdoor to the cafe is the Hard Rock store, selling sweatshirts, t-shirts and stacks of other branded clothing to devotional visitors. There's a rock museum in the basement called The Vault which is essentially a shrine to the guitar. Come kneel before Jimi Hendrix's Flying V, see strings once plucked by a Sex Pistol and try to make out John Lennon's original scrawled lyrics to Imagine. There's nothing here that would challenge the musical sensibilities of a middle-aged Mid-west American (more Morrison than Morrissey). But the restaurant has good reviews, so if you fancy eating Hickory Bar-B-Que Chicken sitting beneath Tommy Lee from Motley Crue's drum kit then rock on down. As the restaurant website says it's "more fun than watching the hands move round Big Ben", and who am I to argue?
Famous restaurants named after but not actually in the street where I work The New Piccadilly (8 Denman Street)
With only a few days of my time in Piccadilly remaining, I thought I'd better hurry up and visit one of London's finest remaining classic cafes. The New Piccadilly is an anachronism tucked away behind Piccadilly Circus in Denman Street, closer to Shaftesbury Avenue than to Piccadilly itself. The cafe shouldn't still be here, it should have been overtaken by the transatlantic burger & coffee invasion by now, but thank goodness it still survives because it's a delight.
I went for lunch, back in time to the 1950s, taking a red leatherette pew at a yellow formica table. A waiter resplendent in dazzling white uniform walked over with the facsimile Fifties menu, with 21st century prices scribbled on in blue marker pen. No tea was served here originally, that's a late addition to the traditional coffee and hot chocolate, but it's still very cheap at 50p a cup (or 30p with a meal). I was tempted by the all-day breakfasts (or 'egg dishes', as they're described here) and also by a number of the meat-based 'garni' dishes, but finally plumped for steak, chips and spaghetti (without the spaghetti). The steak was more grey than brown, and just a little wrinkly, but none the worse for it when doused in ketchup. After a platter piled high I was only just capable of ordering dessert, but the selection of steamed puddings for £2.20 was irresistable. My spotted dick arrived looking like Silbury Hill flooded in a deep ocean of custard, and was as delectable as anticipated. £10 plus tip all in. Bargain.
The owner, 61 year-old Lorenzo Marioni, looked up from the counter and said goodbye as I left. His father started this gem of a cafe in 1951, but the area is now scheduled for redevelopment and sky-high rents are crippling the business's balance sheet. Lorenzo's next goodbye may be his last. I exited past the bright pink espresso machine, out into the street where a big neon sign still shines the word 'EATS' at a world that's passed this place by. Get down here quick won't you, or you won't know what you've lost til it's gone.
I-SPY : The Sights Of London Porter's Rest (no 19)
From Eros the I-SPY trail takes you along Piccadilly - just the street for an interesting stroll. Near the end of it is the Porter's Rest - a useful plank if you carry a heavy load on your back.
Q. Which English town is mentioned on the "Rest"? A. ................... I-SPY score (20)
So reads page 13 of the orange-covered I-SPY book I bought for just sixpence more than thirty years ago. In book number 11 (after On The Road and before Horses and Ponies) Big Chief I-SPY invited us Redskins to spot 70 London Sights, collecting points for every question we could answer along the way. Just 1250 points would have entitled me to the Tribal rank of 'Londoner - Second Class', but I only managed a measly 80 points because there was no Google at the time so you actually had to visit each site to work out the answers. The Porter's Rest question was one of those that eluded me when I was a kid so I decided to wander along yesterday lunchtime to read the brass inscription for myself. No porters were resting here, just two empty bottles of lager and a fat tourist waiting for a sightseeing bus.
AT THE SUGGESTION OF R.A. SLANEY ESQ. WHO FOR 20 YEARS REPRESENTED SHREWSBURY IN PARLIAMENT THIS PORTER'S REST WAS ERECTED IN 1861 BY THE VESTRY OF ST. GEORGE HANOVER SQUARE FOR THE BENEFIT OF PORTERS AND OTHERS CARRYING BURDENS. AS A RELIC OF A PAST PERIOD OF LONDON'S HISTORY IT IS HOPED THAT THE PEOPLE WILL AID ITS PRESERVATION.
Famous places down the street where I work Down Street station (Down Street)
Which brings us to the disused Underground station. There used to be four tube stations down Piccadilly - Piccadilly Circus and Hyde Park Corner at each end and Dover Street and Down Street inbetween. All were constructed in 1906 for the Great Northern, Piccadilly & Brompton Railway (later the Piccadilly line) although Down Street opened a year later than the rest. Dover Street later became Green Park, its entrance shifted two streets to the west when a set of new escalators replaced the lifts in 1933. Down Street, however, didn't manage to stay open that long.
Down Street was built just a little to close too its neighbouring stations, just quarter a mile from each, so passenger traffic was never heavy. This is also a poor location for a station with most of the local residents happy to drive everywhere, or more likely be driven. Within two years some trains were passing through the station without stopping and in 1918 Sunday services were withdrawn altogether. Down Street limped on before closing completely in 1932 so that a new siding could be built in the tunnels instead, leaving the station conveniently empty a few years later when war broke out.
Down Street underwent a wartime metamorphosis so that government committees could hold their meetings here in complete safety. The premises were made bomb-proof, the platform edges were bricked off, a small telephone exchange was installed and one of the passageways was converted into a small meeting room. Gas-tight doors were installed, two bathrooms were plumbed in and a typing pool was set up at the foot of the spiral staircase. Some of the UK's first air-conditioning was installed, as well as a tiny lift that could accommodate only two people. The Railway Executive Committee met at Down Street on a regular basis, and sometimes Winston Churchill would hold meetings of the War Cabinet here. Underground access was still available from the driver's cab of any passing train. Above ground nobody passing by would have had any idea that decisions crucial to the outcome of the war were being taken in the tunnels 20 yards beneath their feet.
After the war Down Street was again deserted, with lighting and staircases maintained just in case they were ever needed as an emergency exit from the tunnels below. The ticket hall was converted into a shop and the station was forgotten. All was quiet until the 1990s when the London Transport Museum started arranging tours which a select few (and their cameras) were lucky enough to attend. Everyone reported on the unexpected blast of air up through the stairwell as trains whooshed through the platforms beneath, and all agreed that there was the most appalling stench coming from the corridor just past the furthest bathroom. Much of the original signage was still visible, both train and wartime related, as well as the corridor where the committee room used to be. The tours were vastly over-subscribed, but unfortunately insurance costs were too high and the subterranean visits ceased a few years ago.
Neil Gaiman's excellent (but rather weird) TV drama Neverwhere includes a cliffhanging visit to a fictional Down Street. Neverwhere is the wildly imaginative tale of London Below, into which falls the innocent Richard Mayhew. He meets an Angel called Islington, a girl called Door and the very evil Mr Vandemar and Mr Croup. Episode 1 opens with a chase filmed on the rickety old spiral staircase at Down Street, and later there are shots of a banquet filmed on what's left of the platform with real trains rushing past in the background. The BBC only ever screened the series once but thankfully it is available on video (and on DVD in America, where it's been an unexpectedly big seller). Highly recommended.
Visit Down Street (the street) today and the characteristic ox-blood design of a Leslie Green station is immediately apparent. A small locked door in the façade leads to the station itself, while the main ticket hall entrance is now occupied by the Mayfair Mini Mart. This tiny newsagents scrapes a living off the local hotel workers, embassy staff and tourists. It sells the usual magazines and confectionery, plus a range of chilled food, a grim selection of greetings cards and about five different types of manilla envelope. I popped in for a bar of chocolate, which alas is about as close as I'm ever going to get to journeying into the historic depths of this most fascinating of tube stations.
I've reported before from the site of London's proposed Olympic Stadium, just a few minutes walk from my house (report here). In eight years time Marshgate Lane Industrial Estate hopes to be home to world record attempts and world media attention. Last week it was home to four fridge-freezers and a karaoke machine, lying discarded on the pavement smack bang inside what may one day be the Olympic Stadium. I stood alone amongst the bleak rows of warehouses and small factories and tried to imagine what it would be like if the athletes, officials and spectators were here right now. What if Olympics 2004 had been held in East London...
• The four fridge-freezers would have been plastered with the names of the Games' corporate sponsors.
• The Olympic flame could have been powered by the huge tanks of industrial cooking fat currently to be found across the site.
• Half the competitors would still be stuck in traffic on the Blackwall Tunnel Approach road.
• The marathon would have gone past my front door, and Paula would have won it.
• The whole world would have seen that the weather in London is 'always wet'.
• The swimming could have been held in a flooded Victoria Park without the need to build a new 50m pool.
• The canoeing could have been held across town in the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain (or the cycling, if dry).
• London's obsolete transport network would have ground to a halt due to 'late running of engineering works at White City'.
• Local muggers would have taken the medals in the wrestling, shooting and 100m sprint.
• We'd all have stayed at home and watched everything on the telly rather than forking out £100 for a distant seat in the grandstand.
Famous places down the street where I work The River Tyburn
You can't see it these days, but one of London's lost underground rivers still crosses deep below Piccadilly on its way to the Thames. The river Tyburn rises at Shepherds Well in Belsize Park, just south of Hampstead, flowing south beneath Swiss Cottage to form the lakes in Regents Park. It continues under Marylebone, long buried by the urbanisation of the West End, and on beneath Oxford Street (once called Tyburn Road). It wiggles under Mayfair, skirting both Grosvenor Square and Berkeley Square, before curving to head directly beneath Shepherd Market. It's not clear precisely where the river crossed Piccadilly, but a look at the local contours suggests that it once flowed across the lowest point of the road, beside the Japanese Embassy along what is now Brick Street. You can still see the river's dry valley to the south in GreenPark, heading towards the grounds of Buckingham Palace where the underground Tyburn still feeds the Queen's ornamental lake. From here the ancient Tyburn split in two, branching towards Westminster and Pimlico, so creating marshy Thorney Island on whose 30 acres Edward the Confessor chose to build Westminster Abbey.
Hmm, I sense there may be an entire local history month to be based on the lost rivers of London, so I'll stop there.
Hasn't the weather been awfully wet this summer? Well yes, actually it has, and I have the data to prove it. I've been checking the weather every day since July 15th to see if at least one raindrop fell on London, or not. It chucked it down back on St Swithin's Day, so the superstitious amongst you might have expected 40 days of rain, but that's not quite the way it turned out...
Sun
Mon
Tue
Wed
Thu
Fri
Sat
July 15th: wet
total: wet=24 dry=16
My data doesn't show a full 40 consecutive wet days, but it does show that a very disappointing 60% of the last 40 days have been damp. That's a lot higher than the average you might expect (which is just 30%) but it's not quite a complete washout. On the bright side the last week in July and the first week in August were really quite dry (if you ignore that one Tuesday of torrential flooding across the capital), and I'm particularly pleased to have chosen one of those two weeks for my week off work. Scanning the rest of the summer season, however, makes for grim reading with never more than two dry days in any other week. I guess we've been fortunate that at least most of our weekends have been dry, even if few weekdays followed suit.
St Swithin has been wrong every single year since records began. The most wrong he's ever been was back in 1976 when a thunderstorm on the evening of July 15th was followed by 38 days of scorching heatwave. 2004 actually rates as one of his better 'successes'. We've already suffered twice the average rainfall for August and there's still a full week of the month to go. Don't go blaming a dead archbishop for this, and don't blame global warming either, just blame an unusually southerly jet stream. Our weather is merely very good at being random, and next year should be completely different. Probably worth sticking the suntan lotion back in the bathroom cabinet until next summer then.
Famous places down the street where I work The Japanese Embassy (101-104 Piccadilly)
Whatever the weather the rising sun is often to be seen floating above lower Piccadilly. It shines from the flag hanging out from the front of the Japanese Embassy, an imposing six-storey four-entrance building overlooking Green Park. It's home to His Excellency Mr Masaki Orita, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary (presumably 'Mas' to his friends). You can also pop inside to view the Japanese art exhibited in the foyer gallery, or make enquiries at the Japan Information and Cultural Centre (maybe they can tell us why their women are so good at running marathons in high temperatures). It's the only embassy to lie on Piccadilly itself, but a number of others lie nearby.
All of which makes this area a perfect location for spying (note to lawyers: there is no implication that the upstanding people of Japan would ever stoop to espionage). MI5 used to be located just round the corner in Curzon Street, first at Leconfield House (1945-70), which was fortified with gun ports in case German paratroopers ever dropped into Mayfair, and later in Curzon Street House (1976-95), home to 2 million files on suspected subversives. A little further away lies tiny Audley Square where Soviet spies would communicate with one another by chalking numbers on the lamp-posts. Eon Productions, the film company responsible for the James Bond films, used to be based at number 3 and it was here that Sean Connery fought off stiff competition from Roger Moore, Cary Grant, Rex Harrison and even Noel Coward to land the lead role in the first 007 spy film, DrNo.
I'm just back from a long weekend in Norfolk, which has involved travelling through the delightful market town of Diss. Stupid name for a town, but some of the local businesses have been creative and used it in their company name. Below are all the 'witty and hilarious' business names I can find in the Diss version of the Yellow Pages - can you flex your creative muscle and think up some more? And, while we're at it, just down the road lies the tiny Suffolk town of Eye. They're a pretty unimaginative bunch in Eye at the moment - can you do better?
Your best ideas so far have been added below. Any more?
Famous places just off the street where I work Shepherd Market
I'd never discovered Shepherd Market before I worked down Piccadilly, which is a shame because it's a little backstreet gem. It's an irregular maze of Georgian passageways, now home to a fine selection of antique shops, restaurants and wine bars. Wander round here any lunchtime and you'll find smiling businessmen and their lady friends sat at tiny tables on the pavement enjoying some expensive nosh. You'll probably also stumble across a number of prostitutes because this off-road enclave has long been one of London's top red-light districts. Back in the 1760s Kitty Fisher charged the aristocracy 100 guineas a night to sample her special services, whereas when Jeffrey Archer picked up Monica Coghlan here two centuries later it cost him two grand and his career.
Prior to Shepherd Market being laid out in the 1730s, this area was just an expanse of open fields on the western edge of town. Here was the site of London's notorious MayFair, a drunken saturnalia from which the surrounding district now takes its name. These riotous annual celebrations lasted a full fortnight from May Day, attracting wild revellers from all over London and the home counties.
Within a few decades the local area became the built-up affluent suburb of 'May Fair', ill-suited to such bawdy revelry as this. The Earl of Coventry successfully petitioned Parliament to get the fair closed down, claiming that it caused an annual disturbance behind his new residence at 106 Piccadilly. The May fair was forced to uproot itself, moving eastwards to Bow where the yearly vice and violence continued unabated until the 1820s on the banks of the river Lea. But that's a local story I told you in last year's local history month...
Olympic hopes dashed Who's to blame for our Paula losing the marathon?
• Pheidippides - the Greek messenger who ran 26 miles from Marathon to Athens in 490BC to warn the Greeks of an imminent Persian attack. Had he popped down to the local beach for a spot of sunbathing rather than running over some nasty hills instead, our Paula would have been saved today's embarrassment.
• Baron de Coubertin - the French baron who founded the modern Olympic games in Athens in 1896. Had he not decided to commemorate Pheidippides' 26 mile run by inventing the marathon, our Paula would never have swapped events and would therefore still be on course to win gold in the Women's 10000m next Friday instead.
• The International Olympic Committee - the corrupt gathering of ageing geriatrics who voted seven years ago to select the city in which this Olympic Games would be held. Had they picked some temperate high-latitude city to host the 2004 Olympics rather than this Mediterranean hothouse then Paula would have swanned round the course without breaking into a sweat.
• George Souflias - the Greek public works minister who oversaw the exteremely late-running construction of the marathon course. Had he had both the time and the money to install a sprinkler system over the roadway and to build a tunnel underneath the really steep bits of the course, our Paula would now undoubtedly be clutching a gold medal.
• American TV companies - the corporate behemoths who hold sway over the timings of various Olympic events. Had they not demanded that the marathon start at 6pm Greek local time in order to suit the viewing habits of the all-powerful American TV audience, then the race could have started later in the evening when the heat wouldn't have been on our Paula.
• The parents of all the other competitors - the international couples who all had sex at exactly the right moment to unite one athletic egg with one super-stamina sperm. Had they practised contraception a little more effectively then no prodigious offspring would have been born and our Paula could have walked round the course unopposed.
• Paula Radcliffe - the brilliant athlete who used to go to my school. Sadly on the day when it counted our Paula just wasn't the best, so she lost. It's not fair though...
Famous places down the street where I work The In And Out Club (94 Piccadilly)
This rather impressive building set back from the road is (or was) Cambridge House, built in 1760 for some dull Earl. In the mid 19th century it was home to patriotic ViscountPalmerston, the oldest man ever to become Prime Minister. He used to walk from here to Westminster to work despite taking up office at 70 years of age. He was much admired by the nation but strongly disliked by Queen Victoria, who was relieved when that nice Mr Gladstone took over ten years later in 1865. Palmerston died within months, and his house was bought up by the recently-formed Naval and Military Club.
It costs £1500 to join these days, plus an annual subscription of £810, and blackballing still occurs. The Naval & Military was nicknamed the 'In and Out Club' because of the large black letters painted on the gate posts at its entrance and exit to help direct incoming traffic. The letters are still there, although the club moved out to St James's Square five years ago. The building was subsequently snapped up by an Arab buyer, and there are now plans to transform it into a 100-room hotel. Not quite so classy now, alas.
• We've been very slow to start winning medals, haven't we? This is not entirely surprising, given that there are only three medals in each event and we are one of over 200 competing countries, but for some reason it always amazes the media who seem to think we have a God-given right to win everything. Prepare for even more 'Olympic hopes dashed' headlines in week 2. We may not be as far up the medals table as we' like but, when you have less than 1% of the world's population, lying just outside the top 10 isn't at all bad.
• We only seem to be able to win medals in watersports and the really obscure. Had you ever heard of synchronised diving or yngling before this week? I think not. And this is probably the last time badminton and kayaking will appear on prime time BBC1, for the next four years at least. No sign at all of TV's usual sporting fare - football - but then Great Britain hasn't got a team in that.
• Winning a medal at the Olympics seems to be less about being excellent and more about not buggering up by transgressing one of the obscure laws by which each competition is run. Don't kick illegally on the turn, don't take more than 45 seconds to start, don't stray a millimetre into the wrong lane and don't whatever you do drop the baton. One tiny mistake at the wrong moment and years of preparation are wasted. The best athlete doesn't always win, but then whoever said sport was fair?
• Have you seen the white-haired bloke and the mystical brunette by his side playing at being the gods of Olympus in those epic BBCi promotional adverts? Is it just me, or do they look like the couple pictured on a 1970s Mastermind game box?
• Never mind, Paula's along tomorrow.
Famous things down the street where I work More tourists
At the weekend, Piccadilly becomes even more of a tourist street than during the week. All the office workers are miles away back in suburbia, all the upper class are off shooting on their far-flung estates, and so the tourists have the street to themselves. And the touts (sorry, local craftsmen) take advantage of this by setting up stalls along the length of the park fence and flouting their wares to gullible passers-by. Just look at the range of oil paintings in flashy gold frames for sale on this particular stall. Perhaps you fancy a view of the Thames as a souvenir of your visit to ye olde London? Or maybe you'd prefer a cottage garden, or a veteran car, or a bowl of fruit, or any number of ghastly pieces of derivative artwork each available at a knock-down price from the shifty looking blokes parked up by the roadside? Or perhaps not. The street is trying so hard to be an English version of Montmartre, and so failing. Best avoided I think. Come here on a weekday instead, and then perhaps spend your weekends in Paris buying proper art.
I have new neighbours, both in the flat beside me and in the flat above me. I rarely meet any of my neighbours, which is the way I like it, but I did meet both of my old beside- and above-neighbours and they were jolly decent blokes. And well-behaved and quiet, with no obvious bad habits. The last three years have therefore been really rather pleasant, living in an oasis of calm despite my proximity to one railway line and two major trunk roads. The worst intrusion either of my old neighbours ever directed through my walls was a puddle of water, and that had initially come from the flat above them and they were deeply apologetic about it. And now they've moved out. The great Neighbour Lottery machine has been switched on, the balls have dropped and my random replacements have been selected. There are no jackpot winners this week.
The flat beside me is now home to two women, both of whom smoke. Being fairly sensible women they don't like nasty cigarette smoke in their house so they sit out on the balcony and smoke their rollups there. Alas their smoke then wafts into my flat even if the door to my bit of the balcony is closed, which at this time of year it usually isn't. Their balcony, though small, used to be neat and tidy with well-kept hanging baskets. Now it's home to a wide selection of garish ladies' clothing hanging out to air, plus a cheap green plastic table on which sits a 50p lighter and an empty IKEA tealight full of cigarette ends. It's not the kind of view one might wish for.
The flat above me is now home to a couple of hippopotami. At least I assume this to be the case given the noise that now originates from just above my ceiling. The previous occupant, a keen rugby player, used to walk about his flat without making a sound. Not so the hippos who appear to be unable to move around upstairs without making the floor vibrate like a localised earthquake. Goodness knows what they're doing up there, but it probably involves jumping off the furniture and running up and down the hallway in Dr Marten boots. They held a party upstairs last weekend, flatwarming no doubt, standing out on their balcony yelling directions into a mobile phone so that other visiting hippos could find their way here. I went out for the evening - it seemed the safest thing to do. And now I have a horrible suspicion they've unpacked the hi-fi because I've heard music through the ceiling for the first time in three years. I have no idea what the music was because all I got was a thumping bassline (maybe a Flanders and Swann remix?), but hopefully they'll discover the volume switch soon. In the meantime I'm off to my parents' detached house in Norfolk for the weekend - there are no hippos there.
Famous things down the street where I work Tourists
Piccadilly is one of those places that every tourist to London visits. That's along with Big Ben, Buck House, LondonEye, Mr Sherlock Holmes, Nelson Square, Heath Row and The Harrods. But most of these tourists seem to be here in Piccadilly. They're everywhere, and they walk at tortoise pace if they bother to walk at all. You can't walk out of Green Park tube station without bumping into some lost soul lumbering towards a nearby hotel towing a huge wheelie suitcase behind them, or a gaggle of foreign students blocking the pavement with their enormous backpacks. Tourists with strong exchange rates frequent the nearby boutiques and arcades snapping up non-essentials by the bagful, while Americans just window shop and wish the dollar was a little stronger.
And you can't walk out of Green Park station after ten o'clock in the morning without being accosted by a leaflet from the doubledecker sightseeing bus touts. This is touristbus central, with gangs of drivers and guides lined up by the ugly concrete wall alongside the park waiting ten minutes for their next scheduled service to depart. Just £16-£18 gets you a seat on an open-topped omnibus for a hop-on hop-off tour of the capital, plus a free plastic poncho if it rains. It rained the one time I took the tour, but I still refused to be seen riding through Mayfair in corporately-sponsored clothing. Of course, if you really want to see London and Piccadilly you can do it for just a quid from the top deck of a number 9Routemaster. But ride quickly, because the route gets taken over by nasty modern boxy buses in a fortnight's time.
Your life = 100% What percentage of your life is spent experiencing the following?
Summer Olympics = 2 weeks every 4 years = 2/208 = 1% The Olympics = 2 fortnights every 4 years = 4/208 = 2%
Football World Cup = 1 month every 4 years = 1/48 = 2% Football season = 41 weeks a year = 41/52 = 79% Cricket season = 22 weeks a year = 22/52 = 42%
US Presidential Election = 10 months every 4 years = 10/48 = 21% UK General Election = 1 month every 4 years = 1/48 = 2%
August = 31 days a year = 31/365 = 8½% Monday mornings = 12 hours a week = 12/168 = 7% Friday afternoons = 6 hours a week = 6/168 = 3½% Weekends = 2 days a week = 2/7 = 29% Bank holidays = 8 days a year = 8/365 = 2%
Christmas = 12 days a year = 12/365 = 3% Retail Christmas = 2 months a year = 17%
Wet days (London average) = 113 days a year = 113/365 = 31% Days with sunset after 8pm = 30 Mar - 8 Sep = 162/365 = 44% Days with sunset before 6pm = 30 Oct - 23 Feb = 116/365 = 32%
Sleeping (heavy) = 8 hours a night = 8/24 = 33% Sleeping (average) = 7 hours a night = 7/24 = 29% Sleeping (light) = 6 hours a night = 6/24 = 25% Dreaming = 25% of sleep = 7% Eating = 1 hour a day = 1/24 = 4% Breathing = 100%
Famous places down the street where I work Langan's Brasserie (Stratton House)
Sorry, more food. We're a couple of buildings north of Piccadilly here, in newly-resurfaced Stratton Street next to Green Park tube station. Langan's Brasserie is, perhaps not surprisingly, a brasserie founded by Peter Langan. Words such as 'flamboyant', 'charismatic', 'eccentric' and 'inebriated' have been used by some to describe the original proprietor (now deceased) and the interior decor reflects his personality. Michael Caine used to be co-owner here but sold up his share a few years ago. The restaurant's had its ups and downs over the last 27 years but is now on the up again, and is famous for being frequented by the famous. The English/French cuisine is affordable and of a high standard, so I'm told, should you ever fancy a night out stargazing. Yesterday's handwritten lunch menu featured calves' livers and bacon (£15.50) downstairs in the main restaurant, while the dish of the day upstairs in the Venetian Room was roast leg of lamb (£16.50). Me, I went to Benjys over the road instead and did lunch for £1.80.
Famous places down the street where I work Green Park
You couldn't fault this open space under the Trades Descriptions Act - it's green, and it is indeed a park. Green Park is one of London's eight Royal Parks, with 40 acres of trees and grass gently sloping down from Piccadilly to Buckingham Palace. It's a peaceful place where sport is banned, more suited to strolling, slouching and sunbathing, and at this time of year it's usually full of office workers taking an extended lunchbreak. There are fine avenues of lime and plane trees, plus a couple offountains and a lot of deckchairs, but otherwise the park is pretty featureless.
In 1749 King George II erected a Temple of Peace here, part of the celebrations for the end of the War of Austrian Succession. The composer Handel was commanded to compose a little something and responded with the magnificent Music for the Royal Fireworks (you'll know the tune if you've ever been to a wedding). 24 oboes and 12 bassoons were assembled in the park for the first performance, along with 9 trumpets, 9 horns, 6 timpani and a lot of cannons. Unfortunately the fireworks caught light prematurely, setting fire to the temple which promptly exploded killing three onlookers and injuring hundreds of the distinguished audience. The same piece of music was played here without adverse effects a couple of years ago to accompany the Queen's GoldenJubileefireworks, and I still hoard a bit of charred rocket I found in the park the following morning.
I hate... the new Blogger Navbar. That's the thin strip complete with Google search that Blogger has suddenly imposed overnight across the top of everyone's template. Why do they keep introducing new innovations without announcement, then telling us afterwards that they "may cause display problems... unfortunately we do not provide support for these issues"? I've had to alter my template to shift this evil invader upwards so that it doesn't obscure the top 40 pixels of my page. I'm particularly annoyed because two years ago, back when it was still possible, I paid good money to have all the adverts removed from the top of my blog. Now Blogger are revoking that agreement and forcing me to sacrifice screen height just like every other freeloader. Thank goodness one of the four Navbar options is silver, but it's still an ugly imposition. I hate you I hate you I hate you, and I hate to think what evil marketing tool you have planned next. (But no, I'm still not risking Moveable Type)
Famous places down the street where I work The Ritz (150 Piccadilly)
Every tourist to London knows about The Ritz, but only a select few get to stay here. It's the capital's most exclusive hotel, so the management would have you believe, although that doesn't necessarily make it the best. The Ritz is huge, six stories high and then another two in the roof, towering over Piccadilly like a giant ocean liner. Top-hatted footmen guard the entrances, sneering politely at the clientele and keeping the passing rabble at bay. Take your pick from the Ritz Hotel, the Ritz Restaurant or the Ritz Club, and please don't forget to wear a tie (ladies, this probably doesn't apply to you).
The Ritz owes its existence to its main competitor - the Savoy. Richard D'Oyly Carte opened the Savoy Hotel in 1889, importing chef Auguste Escoffier and hotelier César Ritz from France to ensure its glittering success. And glittering it was. Ritz soon reckoned he could strike out on his own and so opened two eponymous hotels, the first in Paris in 1898 and the second in London in 1906. Piccadilly was the perfect location, within parading distance of all the places that high society might want to be seen, and soon famous faces from politics, stage and screen came flocking. Included on that list were Charlie Chaplin, Aristotle Onassis and Noel Coward. Every suite was decorated differently in elegant Louis XVI style and the kowtowing service was second to none.
More recently The Ritz descended into a mockery of its former self, snobbish for snobbery's sake, until rescued by the reclusive Barclay Brothers in 1995. The hotel has a ratio of two staff to every guest room, which sounds a bit excessive to me but I guess it's useful if you ever need someone to help you slip on the complimentary bathrobe while someone else fetches breakfast. You'll also find a jewellers, a gentleman's barber, a ladies hairdressers with a 7th floor view, a bar with Lalique panels and a casino with red drapes, just to save you ever having to go outside. And then there's that English institution, tea at the Ritz, a snip at £32 so long as you don't mind nibbling on cucumber sandwiches and booking weeks in advance. Crackers.
What's wrong with breakfastcereals these days? They've polarised into two types - cereals for adults and cereals for children. And virtually nothing inbetween.
Cereals for adults are dull and boring, as I discovered last Friday morning when I turned up for a corporate residential breakfast in deepest Hertfordshire. There were six desperately bland 'adult' cereals to choose from - Corn Flakes, All Bran, Bran Flakes, Alpen, Weetabix and Shredded Wheat. We were able to liven these up with a few dried apricots and other assorted fruits, but someone in catering had clearly decreed that only tedious inoffensive cereals were appropriate for serious adults over the age of 20. If it didn't protect you from heart attacks or keep you regular, they didn't serve it. Thank goodness there was a traditional cooked fry-up to follow or I'd have starved.
And then there are cereals for children - a completely different kettle of fish altogether. Cereals for children have to be sugary with bits of marshmallow attached, complete with glitzy packaging and free gift promoting the latest Disney character. Anything to inspire the 'nag factor' as mum drags her unwilling kids through the local supermarket. These cereals have virtually no nutritional value whatsoever but are still heavily advertised as providing 'energy' (for which read 'increased waist size' instead). Cereals for children have always been bad for you, particularly my special childhood favourites of Coco Pops and Golden Nuggets, but they've got a lot lot worse of late. Cookie Crisps, Hunny Bs, Coco Shreddies, Minibix With Chocolate, Frosties Turbo - all these seem to be sponsored by private dentists with a long-term career to secure. Sure children these days get better free gifts in their cereals than we ever dreamed of when we were young, but it might be more appropriate to give them dental floss and exercise videos instead.
So, all I ask is for a cereal that's interesting without being really really bad for my teeth and waistline. As it is I have no cereal brand loyalty at all, flitting from box to box, crossing the adult/child divide until my tastebuds tire and I move on to someting completely different. I'm eating some squirrel-promoted chocolate square thing at the moment (mainly because it was on a 2-for-1 offer) but I don't think I'll be buying it again. Maybe you have some ideas for decent alternatives. Please don't suggest healthy mueslis because I'm not a hamster. Please don't suggest any form of cornflake because I can never finish the last mushy spoonfuls. Please don't suggest mini variety packs because they cost a fortune for eight tiny portions. And please don't suggest half a grapefruit because I need feeding of a morning.
In the meantime, why not test your nutritional knowledge of cereals below. Here's a list of some of Kellogg's most well-known products. Can you guess which of them has the most/least sugar, fibre, fat and salt? Bet you can't get them all right. Highlight the blank text after each question to read the answers.
The Kellogg's 7: All Bran, Coco Pops, Corn Flakes, Frosties, Fruit 'n Fibre, Rice Krispies, Special K.
Most sugar? Frosties Least sugar? Corn Flakes
Most fibre? All Bran Least fibre? Rice Krispies
Most fat? All Bran Least fat? Frosties
Most salt? Corn Flakes Least salt? Coco Pops
There are surprisingly few works of public art down Piccadilly. In fact, between Eros at the top end and the Wellington Monument at the bottom, this statue is about all there is. It's called Horse and Rider, and it's stood on the corner of Dover Street and Piccadilly since 1975. The sculptor is Elisabeth Frink (1930-1993), one of the greatest 20th century British artists you've never heard of. She's particularly respected for her expressionistic figures of men and horses, of which this bronze is a particularly fine example, inspired by the wild horses of the Camargue. Lis also created work for the J F Kennedy Memorial in Dallas in 1964, was made a member of the Royal Academy in 1977 and became a Dame of the British Empire in 1982. It's sad now to see one of her best works hemmed in on the pavement by the littered tables and plastic chairs of a high street coffee chain, but at least Horse and Rider is still on public display. Better latté than never.
BowRoadupdate: It's been six months since the first portakabin and blue wall appeared at Bow Road Station in readiness for proposed extensive renovation work. Six months in which, as it turns out, virtually nothing of any consequence has happened. Now Metronet, the infrastructure consortium, are crowing that the transformation of Bow Road Station is finally underway with the erection of a giant "Green for GO" sign on one of the walls outside the station. Presumably we've been on AMBER for the last six months, with fat cat contractors raking in huge sums of public money in return for knocking up a few blue walls and erecting copious safety signage. I am deeply unimpressed. Anyway, here's what the new poster tells us Metronet are promising to achieve by next Autumn Spring, along with a report on how much they've achieved so far:
• "A new ticket hall" (progress - zero) • "New passageways" (progress - none visible) • "Improved station lighting (new overhead cabling has appeared along half of each platform) • "New signage" (tons of it, alas all temporary) • "New platform edge tactile strips)" (progress - zero) • "New platform seating" (progress - none visible) • "New CCTV" (new cameras have been installed in stairwells)
... and that's it. That's all we local residents will be getting in return for more than a year of disruption by the time this fiasco is complete. I suspect Metronet's shareholders will be beaming rather more broadly.
Famous streets off the street where I work St James's Street
South of Piccadilly lies the district of St James's, a gentleman's enclave on the fringes of Royal London. The area owes its exclusive status to St James's Palace, built in the 1530s by that quintessential English gentleman King Henry VIII. Monarchs lived here for the next 300 years, and the royal court also moved in after the Palace of Whitehall burnt to the ground in 1698. It's not a particularly magnificent building on the outside, and rather cramped on the inside, so George IV chose to move out in favour of nearby Buckingham Palace. Only the Princess Royal and Princess Alexandra still choose to live here today, but St James's Palace remains the official residence of the UK sovereign.
St James's Street runs uphill from Pall Mall and the Palace to Piccadilly. It's an old street and two 18th century shops still survive, both beautifully maintained. One is Berry Brothers and Rudd the wine merchants, whose enormous cellars can hold eighteen thousand bottles of wine, and the other is Lock's the hatmakers, inventors of the original bowler hat. Almost as old are the shops of Lobb's the bootmakers and Truefitt & Hill, hairdressers by Royal Appointment to the Duke of Edinburgh (so they can't be kept particularly busy).
18th century St James' Street was also home to a number of celebrated chocolate and coffee houses, such as White's and the Cocoa Tree, which have since evolved into exclusive gentlemen's clubs. There's Boodle's once notorious for its gambling, there's White's with its famous bow window, there's Brook's whose founder was buried under the club floor to escape creditors and there's the Conservative Carlton Club, whose members had to declare Margaret Thatcher an 'honorary man' to maintain their tradition that every Tory leader is made a life member of the club. Two years ago, when the CountrysideAlliance came to the capital, hordes of rural protestors massed down St James's Street marching for Liberty, Livelihood and the right to shoot cuddly animals. The road was a sea of green Barbours and musty tweeds, and I saw many a young fogey pop into their favourite London club for lunch or a swift beverage before proceeding on their way to Whitehall. Must say, I haven't seen any of them since.
Top of the Premiership(first weekend 2004/5) Sat 12 noonArsenal(0 points) (ahead of 19 other teams on alphabetical order)
Sat 1:22pmLiverpool [1-0] (3 points) (first goal of the new season)
Sat 2:20pmLiverpool [1-1] (1 point) (ahead of Tottenham on alphabetical order)
Sat 3:11pmBirmingham [1-0] (3 points) (ahead of Liverpool by 2 points)
Sat 3:13pmAston Villa [1-0] (3 points) (ahead of Birmingham on alphabetical order)
Sat 3:30pmBolton [2-0] (3 points) (ahead of Aston Villa on goal difference)
Sat 3:36pmAston Villa [2-0] (3 points) (ahead of Bolton on alphabetical order)
Sat 4:16pmBolton [3-0] (3 points) (ahead of Aston Villa on goal difference)
Sun 2:37pmArsenal [4-1] (3 points) (ahead of Bolton on alphabetical order)
Famous streets off the street where I work Old Bond Street
I know I've described other shopping areas along Piccadilly as posh, but OldBondStreet really is. Victoria Beckham shops here - what more evidence do you need? Top fashion houses, art galleries and other luxury retailers line this relatively short road, which becomes the equally upmarket NewBond Street a few hundred yards to the north. The two Bond Streets weren't always posh (the area was originally a swamp) but by the early 18th century this had become the place for fashionable dandies to hang out. Little has changed since. Stern-looking doormen can now be seen guarding the entrance to certain exclusive establishments, just to keep the riff-raff out. Bling bling anyone?
Full list of retailers below (not surprisingly all the websites are Flash):
Famous places down the street where I work French Railways House (178 Piccadilly)
Voulez-vous acheter un billet pour le voyage de train en France? Visite ici. C'est le French Travel Centre, à côté de Fortnum et Maçon et vis-à-vis de l'Académie Royale. Le centre combine Rail Europe et Maison de la France, ce qui est une association entre le gouvernement français, les régions de la France et les membres de l'industrie du tourisme française. Voici que vous pouvez réserver vos vacances et voyager en France. J'aime le signe dehors. Il a six carrés noirs et chacun a une grande lettre blanche. Le bâtiment a été conçu par Erno Goldfinger, l'architecte célèbre avec un bureau dans Piccadilly.
Beaucoup de lignes aériennes ont des bureaux dans Piccadilly aussi. On peut réserver un vol avec Korean Air si on veut voyager une longue distance. On peut réserver un vol avec Aeroflot si on veut prendre un risque. On peut réserver un vol avec Iran Air si on est très courageux. Tristement on ne peut pas réserver un vol avec le EgyptAir parce que le bureau s'est fermé. Je pense que un billet de retour vers Paris par Eurostar est toujours la meilleure option.
The FIFA 100 (6 Burlington Gardens, Royal Academy) (until August 31st) Behind the Royal Academy, at the opposite end of the Burlington Arcade from Piccadilly, the football season has been open since June. FIFA are celebrating a century of international football by hosting a special photographic exhibition of soccer star mugshots in what used to be the Museum of Mankind. They asked Pélé to pick the 100 greatest living footballers from around the world (he ended up picking 125), then asked some of the world's top photographers to take their portraits. Giant portraits they are too, so while you wander the exhibition all these famous players are staring right back at you far larger than life. Quite disconcerting. Isn't Gordon Banks old? Hasn't Eric Cantona evolved? And who was that Patrick Vieira guy anyway? There are action shots, profiles, close-ups, sepia tones and black and white so it's just as much an exhibition of photographic technique as a soccer hall of fame. Beautifully done, but for just four rooms and a promotional filmstrip it's not really worth the £8 entrance fee. Still, with my Royal Academy entrance ticket I got in for free, so my visit was worth every penny.
Need some cashmere? Got an urgent desire for silverware? A craving for leather goods? Bursting for an antique? You need to rush down to the Burlington Arcade, the oldest and longest shopping arcade in Britain. But don't you dare run when you get there because running down the Burlington Arcade isn't allowed. There's no singing, no whistling, no humming, no begging, no riding of bicycles and no opening of umbrellas either. Try any of those and you'll probably be stopped by a man in a frock coat wearing a gold-braided top hat. He'd be a Beadle, a member of Britain's very first private police force dating back to the opening of the arcade in 1818. We could'nt have uncouth commoners upsetting members of the gentry out purchasing their everydayessentials, could we?
Disney filmed part of 101 Dalmatians here (the 1996 remake, obviously) and yes, it is a very Cruella De Ville kind of place. But as for me, I can't ever imagine wanting to buy anything this arcade has to offer. A 1482 map of Persia, for example, a bargain at just £24500. A shell-encrusted summer handbag, only £145. A black marble shaving stand for a mere £150. Or maybe an 18 carat gold pentop for a Parker 61 ballpoint, a snip at only £480. Window shopping though, that I can recommend... but take your time because hurrying is against the law here too.
Famous places down the street where I work The Royal Academy (Burlington House)
Once the whole of Piccadilly used to be lined by palatial houses such as this, but now Burlington House is the only reminder of just how grand this street used to be. Really really grand. Burlington House was built in 1664 by Sir John Denham, Surveyor General to King Charles II, who was convinced that no-one would ever build in the fields and the woodland to the north and west. He was wrong. Next to own the property were a succession of Lord Burlingtons, esteemed patrons of the arts and sciences. The composer Handel lodged in the house for three years towards the end of his life while the scientist Henry Cavendish had a room here during his youth.
The Royal Academy became the main tenant in 1867, granted a 999-year-lease at a minimal rent. The building was extended to surround a courtyard with frontage onto Piccadilly, and a number of other societies moved in at the same time (Geological, Chemical, Astronomical and Linnean). It was at a meeting of the latter that Charles Darwin's paper on the Evolution of the Species was first read to an unsuspecting world. Following major renovation work earlier this year you can now stand in the long dark Reynolds Room at the front of the building and imagine the flame of Creationism flickering for the very first time. Or why not just come along to Burlington House to see the fountains, the art and what Piccadilly used to look like.
Every year the 80 official members of the Royal Academy open their doors to the struggling artists of the nation. They invite these artists to submit their very best paintings and arty stuff, then return most of them with a 'sorry, no thanks' note attached and fill the walls with their members' canvases instead. And boy do they fill the walls, this year with 1250 separate pieces of art filling just ten rooms. Most of the works are for sale, often at scarily exorbitant prices. Each work is labelled only by a number, not a title or artist, so you have to dip into the paperback-sized catalogue to see exactly what it is you're looking at...
"Hmm, looks like a wooden frame from a warehouse pallet, painted black then splattered with red paint. It's rubbish, literally. <checks catalogue> £105750! Scandalous!"
Fine art is just a licence to make money isn't it, art? Assuming your art is ever accepted by the establishment, that is. A couple of hours work, one gullible buyer, one vast profit. And, judging by the prices in the catalogue, it's the talentless crap that sells for the most money. Paint some brown splotches on a white background or, even better, draw a cute picture of a farmyard animal and you'll soon be rolling in it. Admittedly, however, some of the work on display at the Summer Exhibition was really very good. The best artists displayed work that was 'not for sale' and therefore managed to maintain a certain sense of respectability. On three occasions I thought "Ooh that's good", checked the artist in my little book and was pleased to discover that the piece I was looking at was an Opie, much respect. One room this year had a 'drawings' theme (including sketches by Sir Clive Woodward, Alexander McQueen and Brian Eno) which was really interesting, and there was also a room full of architectural models which I loved. Oh, and Prince Charles has a couple of watercolours on show, totally out of place alongside the more modern remainder of the collection but more than competent all the same. Nice sky, your future Majesty.
nb: There's another exhibition upstairs at the Royal Academy at the moment featuring the Art Deco world of Tamara de Lempicka. I'm sure her portraits were very good but I spent less than ten minutes looking around which definitely wasn't value for money. I counted 26 breasts though, so if watercolour mammaries are your thing then you might enjoy taking a peep before the end of the month.
The Supermarket League(thankyou for your votes yesterday, all 40 of them)
1 Waitrose(two thirds of you put this top, though one person wanted them bottom) 2 Marks and Spencer(only four of you placed this outside the top two) 3 Sainsburys(two thirds of you placed this third, so it's convincingly 3rd) 4 Tesco(over half of you placed this fourth, so it's convincingly 4th) 5 Safeway(clearly ahead of the following four which were bunched very close together) 6 Somerfield(ranked just ahead of the following three, but only just) 7 Asda(middle of the table, by George - slaps back pocket) 8 Morrisons(you were more variable in placing this than any other supermarket) 9 Co-op(their collective bargaining didn't pay dividends with most of you) 10 Kwik Save(three quarters of you placed this tenth, so it's very convincingly 10th) 11 Aldi(rated by the BWs, but right down the list for everyone else) 12 Lidl(very definitely bottom of the pile and ripe for relegation)
Observations: Most people had very similar perceptions, especially of the top four and bottom three. My own order agreed pretty much with the final list, except I swapped the Co-op (working class class) with Asda (working class hell). Where people diverged from the norm this was often because of nostalgia ("Sainsbury's used to be a sewer..."), practicality ("if you pick your brands carefully Aldi is cheap but of excellent quality...") or local experience ("my nearest Safeway is rather nice..."). A lot of you weren't familiar with some of the supermarkets on the list (I'm going to have to leave Aldi, Kwik Save and Lidl out because I've never heard of them...) so some of you must have guessed by image alone. And blimey, wasn't that fascinating. Do go and read the comments box again...
Famous places down the street where I work Fortnum & Mason (181 Piccadilly)
If the Supermarket League has Aldi and Lidl at the bottom, then it has Fortnum and Mason at the top. You'll not find value beans, cheap carrier bags and wonky trolleys here, but exclusive comestibles, immaculate shelves and fawning doormen. The whole ground floor of this grand retail outlet is full of exclusive foodstuffs, none of them in any way essential, all traditionally packaged (or at least that's what the tourists think). No expense has been spared on the decor in the food hall, ornate and golden, with the store's trademark duck-egg bluey-green prevalent throughout. Here you can still shop for 'groceries', assemble your own luxury hamper, sample a huge variety of rare teas and fork out over £150 for a tub of fish eggs caviar.
The two gentlemen you can see in the photo emerging from the clock on the building's façade are Mr Fortnum and Mr Mason. They pop out to bow to each other every hour on the hour, rather like the Trumpton clock only with a less catchy tune. Mr Fortnum was originally a footman in the service of Queen Anne and started his first business by selling the royal household's used candles. In 1707 he teamed up with his landlord, Mr Mason, to open a small grocers shop on Piccadilly. Royal connections grew stronger throughout the 18th century and soon the well-to-do of Mayfair were flocking to buy foodstuffs from around the world. There was a particular emphasis on ready-to-eat luxury dishes such as game in aspic jelly and truffled pheasant, by royal appointment. No doubt they'd have sold After Eights too had they been invented at the time.
What most tourists don't realise is that there's rather more to Fortnum and Mason these days than just food. Step off the ground floor into the deserted stairwell, ascend the narrow red carpet and there are five other floors to explore. Bring your platinum credit card, won't you. Here's a sample of what you'll find:
4th floor: the St James's Restaurant (Afternoon Tea £19.50 - sarnies, scones, clotted cream, cakes, jam, tea)
3rd floor: luggage (including Faux Crocodile), silverware (including teapots), gifts (including smoking accessories)
2nd floor: toiletries (including own brand), hair & beauty salon, bed linen, toys (including the F&M bear)
1st floor: a "relaxed haven for ladies' fashion" (yes, there are pashminas)
Ground floor: Food Hall (see above), bouquets (to order), the Patio Restaurant (strawberries and cream - £5)
Lower ground floor: china & glass, hampers, yet another restaurant (smoked salmon £24.50) ...and candles (which is, you remember, where the whole thing started)
25 things I've learned during my week off: BestMate still is; a week isn't long enough; not even a week with two weekends is long enough; sometimes Britain really can produce a Summer; karaoke is the devil's own entertainment; a Starbucks Frappucino is basically an over-expensive milk shake; the train from London to Manchester only costs £11 if you book early enough; the train gets there in less time than it takes to visit every London Underground Zone 1 station; Manchester is really friendly; the factory that makes Real Lancashire Eccles cakes smells deliciously of Eccles cakes; Wetherspoons serve steak and ale on Tuesdays for under £6; now may be the time to admit defeat and move up a waist size; the new Stepford Wives film is less well focused and rather camper than the original but still well worth seeing; hire cars (and their hidden extras) are astonishingly expensive; Creme Eggs still taste nice a week after their sell-by date; the new Virgin Megastore in Piccadilly Circus has none of the character of the old Tower Records it replaces; the Circle line train I boarded last Friday sadly wasn't the one with the party on board; Brighton is also really friendly; I tan well; fish and chips tastes better on a beach; there is a critical density of flesh on a dancefloor above which it is impossible to move without elbowing seven people next to you; lack of space doesn't stop the seven people next to you from continuing to dance and elbowing you; St Paul's Cathedral looks gorgeous at dawn; I don't go out often enough (usually); sometimes it takes a special week to remind you what normal used to be.
Famous places down the street where I work Hatchards (187 Piccadilly)
Hatchards is the oldest surviving booksellers in London, founded in 1797 and with customers including Disraeli, Oscar Wilde, Lord Byron and me. Visiting Hatchards is reminiscent of being inside a rambling old house, with six floors of little rooms all linked together curling round a central staircase. There's a good range of books on the shelves, not just your usual corporate bookshop fodder, which is great. And this is also rather a posh bookshop. Those two gentlemen in the photo standing outside in their grey slacks really aren't Hatchards target audience at all, oh no. Hatchards specialise more in the sort of hardbacks that would look good on the bookshelves of the library in the west wing of one's stately mansion. History (especially royal history), biography (especially upper class biography), cookery (especially chefs with double-barreled surnames) and gardening (especially books to buy for one's gardener).
The gardening connection is particularly appropriate because it was here, exactly 200 years ago, that seven friends met to found the Horticultural Society of London. Two of these friends were John Wedgwood (of pottery fame) and Sir Joseph Banks (scientist and naturalist who sailed with Captain Cook). Prince Albert became President in 1858, since when this Horticultural Society has been officially Royal. Nowadays the RHS is responsible for the Chelsea Flower Show, a numberofbiggardens around the country and generally doing good in the world of horticulture. I'm sure Hatchards would be able to sell you a history of the organisation, just don't wear your best gardening clothes when you visit.
Famous places down the street where I work BAFTA (195 Piccadilly)
That's the British Academy of Film and Television Arts to you, the bunch of media types who organise big and small screen award ceremonies in in Spring every year. You'd never guess from outside that the 19th century terrace beside St James's Church houses two preview theatres at second floor level, one of which is big enough to seat 213 people. Members and their guests only thank you, and please remember it's the done thing to stay seated right until the end of the credits.
Virtual tour here, membership handbook here, next year's award winners below:
• The Fellowship: What Hobbit Did Next (New Zealand Film Foundation)
• Julie Walters Award for being Julie Walters: Julie Walters
• Best Film: something British that the Oscars will ignore
• Alan Clark Diary Award for rescuing a channel's ratings: BBC4
• Beatrix Potter Award for outstanding franchise opportunity: Balamory
• Least convincing actress: Emily Howard (Little Britain)
• Fastest down the plughole career: Michelle McManus (Pop Idol)
• Comedy Performance: anything by George W Bush
• Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role: Gordon Brown
• Most annoying TV genre: House renovation (oh yawn yawn yawn)
• Most annoying TV genre (runner up): Reselling antiques (oh yawn yawn yawn)
• No, honest, this really will win something big: The Long Firm
• Best continuing drama: Big Brother 5
• Single Drama: Nadia (BB5)
• Current Affairs: Michelle & Chicken Stu (BB5)
• Make-Up & Hair: Dan (BB5)
• Special Visual Effects: Shell (BB5)
• Wildlife Documentary: Jason (BB5)
Way back on Day 1, within an hour of the housemates first entering the house, I tried predicting the order they would leave. My order was Ahmed, Michelle, Jason, Kitten, Nadia, Stuart, Dan, Vanessa, Victor, Marco, Emma, Shell. It made sense at the time. Ahmed would be a bigot, Michelle would be a cow, Jason would be too vain, Kitten would get herself in trouble, Nadia would be unmasked, Stuart would be excessively smug, Dan would go unnoticed, Vanessa couldn't survive to the end, Victor would be entertaining for a while, Marco would be amusing for longer, Emma would be even more hilarious and Shell would be perfectly nice and nicely perfect. Not quite the way it turned out, was it?
The actual eviction order was Kitten, Emma, Vanessa, Marco, Ahmed, Victor, Michelle, Stuart, Shell, Dan, Jason, Nadia. Kitten couldn't follow any rules, Emma's mouth was bigger than her brain, Vanessa was rapidly ditched, Marco's seal impersonation annoyed the nation, Ahmed lasted far longer than he should have, Victor put his foot firmly in his mouth, Michelle's bunny-boiler tendencies took a few weeks to show, Stuart was totally inoffensive, Shell wasn't quite lovely enough, Dan turned out to be the perfect mediator, Jason wasn't up for nomination early and Nadia was firmly clasped to the UK's collective bosom. How wrong was I?
Very wrong as it turns out. I know because I checked. I used Spearman's rank correlation coefficient (bet you've not used that since school) to calculate just how wrong I was to three decimal places. And my predictions scored -0.175, which is a negative correlation, which is nearer to the reverse order than the correct order, which is rubbish. It may not be statistically significant but it is rubbish. I'm very pleased to be wrong though, and congratulations to the British public for getting it (mostly) right.
Famous places down the street where I work St James's Church (197 Piccadilly)
• One of the few churches outside the City to be designed by Sir Christopher Wren.
• Consecrated in 1684 as the parish church of the new district of St James.
• Poet and artist William Blake was baptised here.
• Plain on the outside, huge and splendid on the inside.
• Contains woodwork created by master carver Grinling Gibbons.
• Badly bombed during the Second World war.
• Often holds concerts, especially at lunchtime.
• A small craft market is held in the paved churchyard most days of the week.
• onionbag blogger recommends "the nice quiet graveyard / garden that is good for escaping the lunchtime rush".
• A couple of years ago I saw Dame Judy Dench buying her charity Christmas cards here. Respect.
Famous streets parallel to the street where I work Jermyn Street
Most of us wear normal clothes from places like Next, M&S, fcuk or the charity shop. But some people live in a clothing netherworld and buy bespoke clothes from Jermyn Street, and these people scare me. Jermyn Street is timewarp tailoring, with gentlemanly shops selling gentlemen's outfits and gentlemen's accessories to gentlemen. Mostly posh, old, rich gentlemen from the deepest shire counties who still think that tweed is in fashion, that brogues are de rigeur and that beige is cutting edge. Here you can still buy a deerstalker hat, be fitted for a pinstripe blazer, slip on some sensible footwear, sniff out some musky cologne or get your balding locks tended by a traditional wet-shave barber. And everything's really really expensive too. Yes, that panama hat in the photo really is half price at £69.00.
Jermyn Street is especially famous for shirts. This street is for shirts what Savile Row is for suits and jackets. None of your normal navy blue polyester shirts, oh no, these shirts scream class, breeding and colour-blindness. There are pink shirts, blue shirts, pink shirts with blue stripes, blue shirts with pink stripes, pinky-blue shirts with deckchair-style stripes, pink shirts with blue collars, blue shirts with pink collars... and that's before you start on the yellow, orange, green, check, gingham, herringbone and tattersall. And don't forget the complete set of matching ties, a wide variety of expensive cufflinks and either stiff collars or collar-stiffeners. It's pure sartorial elegance, but at a price. (And <cough> I only bought six of my work shirts from here, the rest came from Next. I'm quite smart sometimes)
A not very famous place down a street in Manchester with the same name as the street where I work The O.K. Cafe (77 Piccadilly)
I'm back from Manchester now, having been well fed, watered and entertained over the last 48 hours. And here's one of the places where I was fed. You'd never find a greasyspoon caff down London's Piccadilly, more's the pity.
The O.K. Cafe lies about halfway along Manchester's Piccadilly, a welcome culinary anachronism in a world of sandwich shops and coffee bars. It's long, it's dark and it's thin, although mirrored walls inside give some illusion of space. The booths have red leatherette seats, the tables have blue-checked plastic tablecloths and the sauce comes in squeezy bottles. Right down at the back is the staff-only table where the menopausal waitresses read the paper inbetween being caustic with the customers. Opposite lies the one-chef kitchen, serving up all-day breakfasts and fried platters. We sampled a Builder's Breakfast (£4.25) piled high with reprocessed meat and cholesterol, as well as a multi-layered plate of liver and onions (£2.75). The bacon was cooked to perfection, the black pudding (so I'm told) was firm and filling, and the mushy peas were just mushy enough. Best of all were the chips with gravy (also to be recommended from the chippie on Parker Street at midnight, eaten sat on the benches in Piccadilly Gardens while putting the world to rights). We ate in the cafe twice, and it was definitely more than OK.
If there ever was a quintessential department store, Simpsons of Piccadilly was it. Built in 1936 this six storey store sold most traditional clothing for ladies and gentlemen in a most traditional manner. They pioneered ready-to-wear suits and shirts, back in an age when made-to-measure tailoring was still very much the norm, always with reverential customer service. Alas by the 1990s Simpson had become something of an anachronism, even down Piccadilly, and the store finally closed its doors five years ago (report of the last days here). Waterstones the booksellers have moved in since, opening the largest book store in Europe. Well worth a regular lunchtime browse for those of us who work round here, but somehow not quite the same as having your inside leg checked. Bowblog went for a visit recently, checking out the grand entrance, sweeping central staircase and miniature lifts, complete with photos.
Simpson's most famous employee was comedy writer Jeremy Lloyd, a junior in the gents department in the 1940s. 25 years later he was looking for a script idea to sell to BBC comedy bosses and Are You Being Served was the result. Simpson's archaic work practices, staff pecking order and fawning customer service were fertile ground for a sitcom, and characters such as Captain Peacock ("Are you free?") and Mr Humphries ("I'm free!") were firmly grounded in Jeremy's real life experience. Scriptwriting partner David Croft suggested adding a Ladies Intimate Apparel department, bringing us the outrageous bouffant Mrs Slocombe ("Having a bath at six o'clock in the morning played havoc with my pussy!"). AYBS wasn't an instant hit, first creeping onto our screens when sports schedules cleared during the 1972 Munich Olympics hostage crisis. But the public eventually loved it, both at home and abroad, and the sitcom ran for 10 seasons with audiences peaking at 22 million. Simpson may have long closed, but its spirit lives on at Grace Brothers. (UK Gold, Wednesdays, 7pm)
Famous places down the street where I work The first Lyons teashop (213 Piccadilly)
The fast food revolution started right here with the opening of the very first Lyons Teashop in 1894. Joseph Lyons believed in fine quality and good service and his teashops were an instant hit, providing one of the very first places for women to socialise. By 1900 there were over 200 white and gold fronted Lyons Teashops in existence, mostly in London and the suburbs, each with an identical menu of high tea and cakes. Joe soon opened his Trocadero restaurant on the opposite side of Piccadilly Circus, and in 1909 the first Lyons Corner House opened just around the corner in Coventry Street. His waitresses were always impeccably turned out, originally nicknamed Gladys but rechristened Nippies in the 1920s. Each shop sold bakery items out front along with a counter service behind providing hot meals, cakes and beverages. Teatime heaven.
Menu 1914 Tea (the most perfect the world produces) freshly made for each person per Cup 2d, per Pot per Person 3½d
Sultana cake 1d, Toasted with butter 2d
Cherry cake, whole cake 2/-, per piece 2d
The whole Lyons phenomenon is documented on this brilliant and detailed website. Makes one nostalgic for the good old days on Britain's high streets when tea was tea and not coffee, when bread was bread and not chemical stodge, when cakes were cakes and not muffins, and when service was important and not forgotten in the drive for profit. Alas Lyons went bust in the 1970s, overtaken by a vast array of competing food outlets and restaurants, and 213 Piccadilly is now a dull boring British Airways travel shop, but I give thanks that at least it's not another Starbucks because that would be pure sacrilege.
Famous places with the same name as the street where I work Manchester Piccadilly: There are two famous Piccadillies in England. One Piccadilly is in London, and that's the one I'm writing about all month. And the other Piccadilly is 200 miles northwest in Manchester, a big shopping street with some gardens at one end and a major mainlinestation at the other. So for completeness' sake I'm off to visit the alternative Piccadilly this afternoon. It's all because BestMate is back in the country for a week, and two nights in Manchester is part of the carefully-arranged entertainment and travel agenda. 150 years ago it used to take 9½ hours to travel from London to Manchester Piccadilly by train. Let's see if Virgin (grumble, appalling ticket delivery service, grumble) can do it in less than three. And fingers crossed I can carry on blogging remotely for a couple of days...
Famous places down the street where I work The Criterion (224 Piccadilly)
I was surprised to discover that the row of buildings along the south side of Piccadilly Circus is actually part of the street of Piccadilly itself. That's the Virgin Megastore on the corner of Haymarket - the one with the prancing equine fountain outside. And Lillywhite's sporting department store - five floors of flannel, lycra, leather and nylon. And, sandwiched inbetween, there's the Criterion theatre and bar.
Apart from the box office the whole of the Criterion Theatre lies underground, and the stage is currently home to the Reduced Shakespeare Company. Upstairs you'll find the Criterion Brasserie, a fine example of art nouveau design (pre-Byzantine, so I'm told, although I've never been inside). The entrance is decked with palm trees, the bar is carpeted with Oriental rugs and the main room has a gold mosaic celing with high marble walls. Sounds gorgeous, if a little pricy, so I think I'll stick to Burger King over the road. One of the Criterion's most famous patrons was Dr Watson, who popped in for a drink just before being whisked off to meet Sherlock Holmes for the first time. A plaque on the north wall still commemorates this famous ficticious meeting.
Famous places down the street where I work Piccadilly Circus
They say that if you stand in Piccadilly Circus for long enough, eventually everyone in the world will pass by. Stand among the crowds of tourists beneath Eros on a busy summer's day and you could almost believe that this is true. Obviously you'd have to wait around an awful long time to see both Osama Bin Laden and my Mum, but you get the idea. Piccadilly Circus isn't a particularly special place really, just a big road junction with a statue and some adverts, but it's got space to mill around and somehow it feels important. And it's a real magnet for foreign visitors who stand around in large groups endlessly taking pictures of each other just 'being here'.
Piccadilly Circus was formed in 1819 by the intersection of John Nash's magnificent curving RegentStreet with Piccadilly. The newly-formed crossroads wasn't so much a circus as a square, and a very grand square at that. In 1886 Shaftesbury Avenue was built, demolishing the north-east corner and giving the road junction the oddly squashed shape it has today. Tenants of the new buildings realised they could sell advertising space on their façades and so the area became famous for its illuminated advertising boards. It's a far cry from the first ad for Bovril (comprising just 600 light bulbs) to the mesmerising electronic displays to be found here today.
The most well-known sight in Piccadilly Circus is the statue of Eros, designed by Alfred Gilbert and erected in 1893 to commemorate the philanthropic works of Lord Shaftesbury. Despite what most people think it's not a statue of the Greek god of love, being officially titled 'The Angel of Christian Charity'. The figure is made of aluminium, a rare metal at the time of its construction, and sits atop a bronze fountain depicting a variety of marine life. The winged nude originally pointed towards Shaftesbury Avenue, firing his arrow downwards into the pavement (burying his shaft - although that's apparently a coincidence). During the Second World War the statue was removed for safe keeping, but on its return the bow was fixed pointing to the south, and then again wrongly reorientated after the road junction was upgraded in the 1990s. No sense of history, these town planners.
On the north-eastern side of the Circus is the London Pavilion, originally a music hall and now home to the Trocadero shopping arcade. To the west at number 1 Piccadilly is the old Swan and Edgar department store, reborn in 1982 as Tower Records and very very recently reopened after major refurbishment as yet another Virgin Megastore. And directly beneath London's most famous roundabout lies Piccadilly Circus tube station, built in 1906 with its trademark circular ticket hall. I rather like the mechanical clock down there depicting 'The World Time Today', but few tourists ever seem to stop to check out the time back home. Too busy I guess. It's like Piccadilly Circus here.
Famous places down the street where I work Piccadilly
I used to work on a minor road in Ipswich, a bland strip of tarmac lined by furniture warehouses and shabby Victorian terraces. I now work on one of the most famous streets in the world, a grand thoroughfare of exclusive shops and historic Georgian terraces. It's quite an improvement I can tell you.
Piccadilly is one of London's oldest roads, leading from the West End to the west of town. The eastern half (pictured left) was originally called Portugal Street and the western half Hyde Park Road. The modern name of the road comes from a tailor named Robert Baker who had his business in nearby Haymarket. He made his fortune in the 17th century selling a fashionable frilled collar called a piccadil, and then spent his fortune on a big mansion on the outskirts of town nicknamed Pickadilly Hall. The street eventually took the name Piccadilly as a result, growing up posh and proper over the following centuries.
Piccadilly is nearly a mile long, with tall elegant buildings along most of its length and Green Park along the south side of the western half. The street is numbered from Piccadilly Circus down to Hyde Park Corner and back again, from 1 (Tower Records) to 149 (Apsley House) on the north side and back from 150 (The Ritz) to 230 (Virgin Megastore) on the south. Few streets in the world can boast landmarks and institutions as famous as those to be found along Piccadilly.
It's a very exclusive street, sandwiched between posh Mayfair and upmarket St James. It's a surprisingly wide street, more an avenue really, with room for at least four lanes of traffic. It's part of the A4, the trunk road that heads out of the capital towards Bristol. It's a street full of tourists, more crowded to the east, more upmarket to the west. It's a street full of Routemasters, with only one of the six bus routes so far 'upgraded' to one-person operation. And it's the street the Piccadilly Line is named after, the navy blue tube line running deep beneath the road surface.
I should point out to non-residents that not every street in London is like this. Pick a street at random from the London A-Z and you're much more likely find a few run-down houses and a kebab shop. But the street I work on is really mighty fine indeed. So, join me on my month-long stroll down Piccadilly, starting tomorrow beneath the staue of Eros. See, I told you it was famous.
August, as you may remember, has been designated local history month on diamond geezer. And this August is also my last month working in an office down one of London's premier streets - Piccadilly. So I thought I'd spend the whole of August taking a wander down my local street all the way from Piccadilly Circus to Hyde Park Corner, seeing all the sights there are to see and then some. I'll be reporting back on cucumber sandwiches, Nippies, posh shops, prostitutes, the Queen's childhood home, a disused tube station, Mrs Slocombe's pussy and much much more. And don't worry, I'll still be writing about other stuff inbetween as well.
What's on this weekend? Christmas Past Tue 24 Nov - Sun 3 Jan 2010
Annual exhibition at the Geffrye Museum where all the period rooms are decked in authentic festive style. Luvvit.
Famous places down the street where I work
And finally, at the foot of Piccadilly, it's central London's biggest roundabout. Traffic swirls round this nightmarish gyratory system where five major streets meet, the road up to seven lanes wide. This spot could equally have been called Green Park Corner, or Mayfair Corner, or Belgravia Corner, or Buckingham Palace Corner, but Hyde Park won the day. In the centre of the roadway lies a large grass triangle liberally scattered with monuments and sculpture, and there's also the only pelican crossing I've ever seen with the pushbutton located eight feet up the pole so that it can be used by mounted horseriders. The outside and inside are joined by well-maintained pedestrian subways, each illustrated by scenes from local history.
The Constitution Arch: Before the Duke of Wellington was even dead, the people of Britain were busy erecting monuments to him outside his house. As well as a nude statue of Achilles in the park, they also placed a giant statue of the Duke across the road on top of the recently-constructed Constitution Arch. Alas the statue looked wildly out of proportion for its location and was eventually relegated to Aldershot, being replaced 30 years later by the magnificent winged statue of Victory pictured here. A suite of rooms at the top of the arch housed London's smallest police station, with a staff of 10 constables, two sergeants and a cat, although this closed in 1968 and the inside of the arch is now open to the public.
Medal-ing
Right at the bottom of Piccadilly, just past the junction with Park Lane, the very last house before Hyde Park is Apsley House, the former home of the Duke of Wellington. Approaching from the opposite direction this grand house was the first to be encountered after the tollbooth at Knightsbridge, and so earned the alternative address "No. 1 London". Wellington snapped up the house when he returned victorious from his military campaigns in France, seeking a London base from which to launch a glittering political career. He extended the house, including the spectacular 90ft long Waterloo Gallery, and within a decade had risen to the post of Prime Minister. A census entry for 1851 shows 81 year-old 'Arthur, Duke of W.' still resident at Apsley House along with 14 household staff, although he was to die at his home in Kent the following year. The seventh Duke of Wellington gave the house to the nation following the death of his father in World War Two, and the family still live in their ancestral home in private rooms at the rear. Apsley House was taken over by English Heritage earlier this year, admission £4.50, closed Mondays (except bank holidays, should you fancy popping down later).
Most of the lower end of Piccadilly is given over to the hotel trade, which is not surprising given that Park Lane is just around the corner. Right where the two roads meet stands the InterContinental Hotel, a particularly ugly 70s block which would look more at home in some eastern European capital. Tim Moore in Do Not Pass Go describes the hotel as "constructed in apparent homage to an irregular stack of fruit boxes behind a supermarket checkout" and it's hard to disagree. The hotel's not famous for anything at all, but the buildings it replaced most certainly are.
You can find Hard Rock Cafes all over the world, from Acapulco to Yokohama, but the very first Hard Rock Cafe opened right here in Piccadilly in 1971. Americans Isaac Tigrett and Peter Morton opened up a glorified burger restaurant in an old car showroom close to Hyde Park Corner, slowly covering the walls with rock 'n' roll ephemera. Londoners and tourists came flocking (burgers were kind of new back then) and by 1982 the restaurant was successful enough to be opening up in new locations back in the States. Now there are 100 HRCs worldwide, and the global theme-dining phenomenon has been copied by Planet Hollywood amongst others, but the original restaurant here still pulls in tourists in their droves. If you come down, prepare to queue.
Famous objects down the street where I work
I-SPY : The Sights Of London
Which brings us to the disused Underground station. There used to be four tube stations down Piccadilly - Piccadilly Circus and Hyde Park Corner at each end and Dover Street and Down Street inbetween. All were constructed in 1906 for the Great Northern, Piccadilly & Brompton Railway (later the Piccadilly line) although Down Street opened a year later than the rest. Dover Street later became Green Park, its entrance shifted two streets to the west when a set of new escalators replaced the lifts in 1933. Down Street, however, didn't manage to stay open that long.
• The four fridge-freezers would have been plastered with the names of the Games' corporate sponsors.
You can't see it these days, but one of London's lost underground rivers still crosses deep below Piccadilly on its way to the Thames. The river Tyburn rises at Shepherds Well in Belsize Park, just south of Hampstead, flowing south beneath Swiss Cottage to form the lakes in Regents Park. It continues under Marylebone, long buried by the urbanisation of the West End, and on beneath Oxford Street (once called Tyburn Road). It wiggles under Mayfair, skirting both Grosvenor Square and Berkeley Square, before curving to head directly beneath Shepherd Market. It's not clear precisely where the river crossed Piccadilly, but a look at the local contours suggests that it once flowed across the lowest point of the road, beside the Japanese Embassy along what is now Brick Street. You can still see the river's dry valley to the south in Green Park, heading towards the grounds of Buckingham Palace where the underground Tyburn still feeds the Queen's ornamental lake. From here the ancient Tyburn split in two, branching towards Westminster and Pimlico, so creating marshy Thorney Island on whose 30 acres Edward the Confessor chose to build Westminster Abbey.
Whatever the weather the rising sun is often to be seen floating above lower Piccadilly. It shines from the flag hanging out from the front of the Japanese Embassy, an imposing six-storey four-entrance building overlooking Green Park. It's home to His Excellency Mr Masaki Orita, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary (presumably 'Mas' to his friends). You can also pop inside to view the Japanese art exhibited in the foyer gallery, or make enquiries at the Japan Information and Cultural Centre (maybe they can tell us why their women are so good at running marathons in high temperatures). It's the only embassy to lie on Piccadilly itself, but a number of others lie nearby.
Welcome to the Creative Lounge
I'd never discovered Shepherd Market before I worked down Piccadilly, which is a shame because it's a little backstreet gem. It's an irregular maze of Georgian passageways, now home to a fine selection of antique shops, restaurants and wine bars. Wander round here any lunchtime and you'll find smiling businessmen and their lady friends sat at tiny tables on the pavement enjoying some expensive nosh. You'll probably also stumble across a number of prostitutes because this off-road enclave has long been one of London's top red-light districts. Back in the 1760s Kitty Fisher charged the aristocracy 100 guineas a night to sample her special services, whereas when Jeffrey Archer picked up Monica Coghlan here two centuries later it cost him two grand and his career.
"In the areas encompassing the market building were booths for jugglers, prize-fighters, both at cudgels and back-sword, boxing-matches, and wild beasts. The sports not under cover were mountebanks, fire-eaters, ass-racing, sausage-tables, dice-tables, up-and- downs, merry-go-rounds, bull-baiting, grinning for a hat, running for a shift, hasty-pudding eaters, eel-divers, and an infinite variety of other - similar pastimes."
This rather impressive building set back from the road is (or was) Cambridge House, built in 1760 for some dull Earl. In the mid 19th century it was home to patriotic Viscount Palmerston, the oldest man ever to become Prime Minister. He used to walk from here to Westminster to work despite taking up office at 70 years of age. He was much admired by the nation but strongly disliked by Queen Victoria, who was relieved when that nice Mr Gladstone took over ten years later in 1865. Palmerston died within months, and his house was bought up by the recently-formed Naval and Military Club.
It costs £1500 to join these days, plus an annual subscription of £810, and blackballing still occurs. The Naval & Military was nicknamed the 'In and Out Club' because of the large black letters painted on the gate posts at its entrance and exit to help direct incoming traffic. The letters are still there, although the club moved out to St James's Square five years ago. The building was subsequently snapped up by an Arab buyer, and there are now plans to transform it into a 100-room hotel. Not quite so classy now, alas."Naval and Military Club, Piccadilly.—For officers and ex-officers of the Army and Navy. Entrance fee, £36 15s. ; annual subscription, £8 8s. Qualification: Commissioned officers in the Army, Navy, and Royal Marines on full pay, or retired on full or half-pay at the date of their names being entered in the candidates’ book... The election is by ballot of members. Thirty at least must vote, and one black ball in seven excludes." (1879)
At the weekend, Piccadilly becomes even more of a tourist street than during the week. All the office workers are miles away back in suburbia, all the upper class are off shooting on their far-flung estates, and so the tourists have the street to themselves. And the touts (sorry, local craftsmen) take advantage of this by setting up stalls along the length of the park fence and flouting their wares to gullible passers-by. Just look at the range of oil paintings in flashy gold frames for sale on this particular stall. Perhaps you fancy a view of the Thames as a souvenir of your visit to ye olde London? Or maybe you'd prefer a cottage garden, or a veteran car, or a bowl of fruit, or any number of ghastly pieces of derivative artwork each available at a knock-down price from the shifty looking blokes parked up by the roadside? Or perhaps not. The street is trying so hard to be an English version of Montmartre, and so failing. Best avoided I think. Come here on a weekday instead, and then perhaps spend your weekends in Paris buying proper art.
Piccadilly is one of those places that every tourist to London visits. That's along with Big Ben, Buck House, LondonEye, Mr Sherlock Holmes, Nelson Square, Heath Row and The Harrods. But most of these tourists seem to be here in Piccadilly. They're everywhere, and they walk at tortoise pace if they bother to walk at all. You can't walk out of Green Park tube station without bumping into some lost soul lumbering towards a nearby hotel towing a huge wheelie suitcase behind them, or a gaggle of foreign students blocking the pavement with their enormous backpacks. Tourists with strong exchange rates frequent the nearby boutiques and arcades snapping up non-essentials by the bagful, while Americans just window shop and wish the dollar was a little stronger.
Sorry, more food. We're a couple of buildings north of Piccadilly here, in newly-resurfaced Stratton Street next to Green Park tube station. Langan's Brasserie is, perhaps not surprisingly, a brasserie founded by Peter Langan. Words such as 'flamboyant', 'charismatic', 'eccentric' and 'inebriated' have been used by some to describe the original proprietor (now deceased) and the interior decor reflects his personality. Michael Caine used to be co-owner here but sold up his share a few years ago. The restaurant's had its ups and downs over the last 27 years but is now on the up again, and is famous for being frequented by the famous. The English/French cuisine is affordable and of a high standard, so I'm told, should you ever fancy a night out stargazing. Yesterday's handwritten lunch menu featured calves' livers and bacon (£15.50) downstairs in the main restaurant, while the dish of the day upstairs in the Venetian Room was roast leg of lamb (£16.50). Me, I went to Benjys over the road instead and did lunch for £1.80.
Piccadilly tube quiz: Can you name eighteen Piccadilly Line tube stations from these picture clues? (Answers in the comments box)
You couldn't fault this open space under the Trades Descriptions Act - it's green, and it is indeed a park. Green Park is one of London's eight Royal Parks, with 40 acres of trees and grass gently sloping down from Piccadilly to Buckingham Palace. It's a peaceful place where sport is banned, more suited to strolling, slouching and sunbathing, and at this time of year it's usually full of office workers taking an extended lunchbreak. There are fine avenues of lime and plane trees, plus a couple of fountains and a lot of deckchairs, but otherwise the park is pretty featureless.
Every tourist to London knows about The Ritz, but only a select few get to stay here. It's the capital's most exclusive hotel, so the management would have you believe, although that doesn't necessarily make it the best. The Ritz is huge, six stories high and then another two in the roof, towering over Piccadilly like a giant ocean liner. Top-hatted footmen guard the entrances, sneering politely at the clientele and keeping the passing rabble at bay. Take your pick from the Ritz Hotel, the Ritz Restaurant or the Ritz Club, and please don't forget to wear a tie (ladies, this probably doesn't apply to you).
More recently The Ritz descended into a mockery of its former self, snobbish for snobbery's sake, until rescued by the reclusive Barclay Brothers in 1995. The hotel has a ratio of two staff to every guest room, which sounds a bit excessive to me but I guess it's useful if you ever need someone to help you slip on the complimentary bathrobe while someone else fetches breakfast. You'll also find a jewellers, a gentleman's barber, a ladies hairdressers with a 7th floor view, a bar with Lalique panels and a casino with red drapes, just to save you ever having to go outside. And then there's that English institution, tea at the Ritz, a snip at £32 so long as you don't mind nibbling on cucumber sandwiches and booking weeks in advance. Crackers.
There are surprisingly few works of public art down Piccadilly. In fact, between Eros at the top end and the Wellington Monument at the bottom, this statue is about all there is. It's called Horse and Rider, and it's stood on the corner of Dover Street and Piccadilly since 1975. The sculptor is Elisabeth Frink (1930-1993), one of the greatest 20th century British artists you've never heard of. She's particularly respected for her expressionistic figures of men and horses, of which this bronze is a particularly fine example, inspired by the wild horses of the Camargue. Lis also created work for the J F Kennedy Memorial in Dallas in 1964, was made a member of the Royal Academy in 1977 and became a Dame of the British Empire in 1982. It's sad now to see one of her best works hemmed in on the pavement by the littered tables and plastic chairs of a high street coffee chain, but at least Horse and Rider is still on public display. Better latté than never.
Bow Road update: It's been six months since the first portakabin and blue wall appeared at Bow Road Station in readiness for proposed extensive renovation work. Six months in which, as it turns out, virtually nothing of any consequence has happened. Now Metronet, the infrastructure consortium, are crowing that the transformation of Bow Road Station is finally underway with the erection of a giant "Green for GO" sign on one of the walls outside the station. Presumably we've been on AMBER for the last six months, with fat cat contractors raking in huge sums of public money in return for knocking up a few blue walls and erecting copious safety signage. I am deeply unimpressed. Anyway, here's what the new poster tells us Metronet are promising to achieve by next
• "A new ticket hall" (progress - zero)
South of Piccadilly lies the district of St James's, a gentleman's enclave on the fringes of Royal London. The area owes its exclusive status to St James's Palace, built in the 1530s by that quintessential English gentleman King Henry VIII. Monarchs lived here for the next 300 years, and the royal court also moved in after the Palace of Whitehall burnt to the ground in 1698. It's not a particularly magnificent building on the outside, and rather cramped on the inside, so George IV chose to move out in favour of nearby Buckingham Palace. Only the Princess Royal and Princess Alexandra still choose to live here today, but St James's Palace remains the official residence of the UK sovereign.
Top of the Premiership (first weekend 2004/5)
I know I've described other shopping areas along Piccadilly as posh, but Old Bond Street really is. Victoria Beckham shops here - what more evidence do you need? Top fashion houses, art galleries and other luxury retailers line this relatively short road, which becomes the equally upmarket New Bond Street a few hundred yards to the north. The two Bond Streets weren't always posh (the area was originally a swamp) but by the early 18th century this had become the place for fashionable dandies to hang out. Little has changed since. Stern-looking doormen can now be seen guarding the entrance to certain exclusive establishments, just to keep the riff-raff out. Bling bling anyone?
Voulez-vous acheter un billet pour le voyage de train en France? Visite ici. C'est le French Travel Centre, à côté de Fortnum et Maçon et vis-à-vis de l'Académie Royale. Le centre combine Rail Europe et Maison de la France, ce qui est une association entre le gouvernement français, les régions de la France et les membres de l'industrie du tourisme française. Voici que vous pouvez réserver vos vacances et voyager en France. J'aime le signe dehors. Il a six carrés noirs et chacun a une grande lettre blanche. Le bâtiment a été conçu par Erno Goldfinger, l'architecte célèbre avec un bureau dans Piccadilly.
Need some cashmere? Got an urgent desire for silverware? A craving for leather goods? Bursting for an antique? You need to rush down to the Burlington Arcade, the oldest and longest shopping arcade in Britain. But don't you dare run when you get there because running down the Burlington Arcade isn't allowed. There's no singing, no whistling, no humming, no begging, no riding of bicycles and no opening of umbrellas either. Try any of those and you'll probably be stopped by a man in a frock coat wearing a gold-braided top hat. He'd be a Beadle, a member of Britain's very first private police force dating back to the opening of the arcade in 1818. We could'nt have uncouth commoners upsetting members of the gentry out purchasing their everyday essentials, could we?
Once the whole of Piccadilly used to be lined by palatial houses such as this, but now Burlington House is the only reminder of just how grand this street used to be. Really really grand. Burlington House was built in 1664 by Sir John Denham, Surveyor General to King Charles II, who was convinced that no-one would ever build in the fields and the woodland to the north and west. He was wrong. Next to own the property were a succession of Lord Burlingtons, esteemed patrons of the arts and sciences. The composer Handel lodged in the house for three years towards the end of his life while the scientist Henry Cavendish had a room here during his youth.
If the Supermarket League has Aldi and Lidl at the bottom, then it has Fortnum and Mason at the top. You'll not find value beans, cheap carrier bags and wonky trolleys here, but exclusive comestibles, immaculate shelves and fawning doormen. The whole ground floor of this grand retail outlet is full of exclusive foodstuffs, none of them in any way essential, all traditionally packaged (or at least that's what the tourists think). No expense has been spared on the decor in the food hall, ornate and golden, with the store's trademark duck-egg bluey-green prevalent throughout. Here you can still shop for 'groceries', assemble your own luxury hamper, sample a huge variety of rare teas and fork out over £150 for a tub of
Hatchards is the oldest surviving booksellers in London, founded in 1797 and with customers including Disraeli, Oscar Wilde, Lord Byron and me. Visiting Hatchards is reminiscent of being inside a rambling old house, with six floors of little rooms all linked together curling round a central staircase. There's a good range of books on the shelves, not just your usual corporate bookshop fodder, which is great. And this is also rather a posh bookshop. Those two gentlemen in the photo standing outside in their grey slacks really aren't Hatchards target audience at all, oh no. Hatchards specialise more in the sort of hardbacks that would look good on the bookshelves of the library in the west wing of one's stately mansion. History (especially royal history), biography (especially upper class biography), cookery (especially chefs with double-barreled surnames) and gardening (especially books to buy for one's gardener).
That's the British Academy of Film and Television Arts to you, the bunch of media types who organise big and small screen award ceremonies in in Spring every year. You'd never guess from outside that the 19th century terrace beside St James's Church houses two preview theatres at second floor level, one of which is big enough to seat 213 people. Members and their guests only thank you, and please remember it's the done thing to stay seated right until the end of the credits.
Big Brother 5 (it's over)
• One of the few churches outside the City to be designed by Sir Christopher Wren.
Most of us wear normal clothes from places like Next, M&S, fcuk or the charity shop. But some people live in a clothing netherworld and buy bespoke clothes from Jermyn Street, and these people scare me. Jermyn Street is timewarp tailoring, with gentlemanly shops selling gentlemen's outfits and gentlemen's accessories to gentlemen. Mostly posh, old, rich gentlemen from the deepest shire counties who still think that tweed is in fashion, that brogues are de rigeur and that beige is cutting edge. Here you can still buy a deerstalker hat, be fitted for a pinstripe blazer, slip on some sensible footwear, sniff out some musky cologne or get your balding locks tended by a traditional wet-shave barber. And everything's really really expensive too. Yes, that panama hat in the photo really is half price at £69.00.
A not very famous place down a street in Manchester with the same name as the street where I work
If there ever was a quintessential department store, Simpsons of Piccadilly was it. Built in 1936 this six storey store sold most traditional clothing for ladies and gentlemen in a most traditional manner. They pioneered ready-to-wear suits and shirts, back in an age when made-to-measure tailoring was still very much the norm, always with reverential customer service. Alas by the 1990s Simpson had become something of an anachronism, even down Piccadilly, and the store finally closed its doors five years ago (report of the last days here). Waterstones the booksellers have moved in since, opening the largest book store in Europe. Well worth a regular lunchtime browse for those of us who work round here, but somehow not quite the same as having your inside leg checked. Bowblog went for a visit recently, checking out the grand entrance, sweeping central staircase and miniature lifts, complete with photos.
The fast food revolution started right here with the opening of the very first Lyons Teashop in 1894. Joseph Lyons believed in fine quality and good service and his teashops were an instant hit, providing one of the very first places for women to socialise. By 1900 there were over 200 white and gold fronted Lyons Teashops in existence, mostly in London and the suburbs, each with an identical menu of high tea and cakes. Joe soon opened his Trocadero restaurant on the opposite side of Piccadilly Circus, and in 1909 the first Lyons Corner House opened just around the corner in Coventry Street. His waitresses were always impeccably turned out, originally nicknamed Gladys but rechristened Nippies in the 1920s. Each shop sold bakery items out front along with a counter service behind providing hot meals, cakes and beverages. Teatime heaven.
Menu 1914The whole Lyons phenomenon is documented on this brilliant and detailed website. Makes one nostalgic for the good old days on Britain's high streets when tea was tea and not coffee, when bread was bread and not chemical stodge, when cakes were cakes and not muffins, and when service was important and not forgotten in the drive for profit. Alas Lyons went bust in the 1970s, overtaken by a vast array of competing food outlets and restaurants, and 213 Piccadilly is now a dull boring British Airways travel shop, but I give thanks that at least it's not another Starbucks because that would be pure sacrilege.I was surprised to discover that the row of buildings along the south side of Piccadilly Circus is actually part of the street of Piccadilly itself. That's the Virgin Megastore on the corner of Haymarket - the one with the prancing equine fountain outside. And Lillywhite's sporting department store - five floors of flannel, lycra, leather and nylon. And, sandwiched inbetween, there's the Criterion theatre and bar.
They say that if you stand in Piccadilly Circus for long enough, eventually everyone in the world will pass by. Stand among the crowds of tourists beneath Eros on a busy summer's day and you could almost believe that this is true. Obviously you'd have to wait around an awful long time to see both Osama Bin Laden and my Mum, but you get the idea. Piccadilly Circus isn't a particularly special place really, just a big road junction with a statue and some adverts, but it's got space to mill around and somehow it feels important. And it's a real magnet for foreign visitors who stand around in large groups endlessly taking pictures of each other just 'being here'.
The most well-known sight in Piccadilly Circus is the statue of Eros, designed by Alfred Gilbert and erected in 1893 to commemorate the philanthropic works of Lord Shaftesbury. Despite what most people think it's not a statue of the Greek god of love, being officially titled 'The Angel of Christian Charity'. The figure is made of aluminium, a rare metal at the time of its construction, and sits atop a bronze fountain depicting a variety of marine life. The winged nude originally pointed towards Shaftesbury Avenue, firing his arrow downwards into the pavement (burying his shaft - although that's apparently a coincidence). During the Second World War the statue was removed for safe keeping, but on its return the bow was fixed pointing to the south, and then again wrongly reorientated after the road junction was upgraded in the 1990s. No sense of history, these town planners.
I used to work on a minor road in Ipswich, a bland strip of tarmac lined by furniture warehouses and shabby Victorian terraces. I now work on one of the most famous streets in the world, a grand thoroughfare of exclusive shops and historic Georgian terraces. It's quite an improvement I can tell you.
Local history month
