diamond geezer

 Wednesday, May 31, 2006

168 current* blogs with diamond geezer on their blogroll**
*(at least one post since May 1st)   **(blogroll must appear on blog's main page)

adrianb.net, affable-lurking, Affili What II, All I Can Do Is Try, Alone in the Spotlight, An American In London, Americanuck, anglosaxy, Anji Patchwork, Anorak Saddo, Aprosexic, arcite's day, Arseblog, The Bardic Lamp, a beautiful revolution, Been There... Blogged That..., Bells and Whistles, beneath the calm, Big n juicy, bitful, Black and White photography, Black Dove, the blogging blog, Blue Witch, bog grogan, Brian Micklethwait, Casino Avenue, Chelley's Teapot, Confederacy Of A Dunce, contains mild peril, Cool Blue Shed, Cosmos, Counting Sheep, crinklybee, Cultural Snow, Dagbók Lilju, Depthmarker, The Devil's Tools, Disgruntled Commuter, Dogwood Tales, dsng.net, D4D, enduring ramblings, Europhobia, evilmoose, expecting to fly, Famous for 15 megapixels, A Fistful of Euros, the Fly, foolfillment, Free Thoughts of an Aging Man, FunJunkie!, gemmak's Blogs, Geofftech - iBlog, Getting On, Germany Doesn't Suck, girl with a one-track mind, The Girl with The Golden Mind, Gordon McLean, The Gospel According To Rhys, Greavsie, GrocerJack's World, Hackney Lookout, Hecho En Mexico, Henri's World, How To Disappear Completely, Illyrian Gazette, Infomaniac, In the Aquarium, Jakartass, JerryChicken, john davies, Justin Ruffles, Kalahari Lighthouse, KML's Monoblog, Knotted Paths, krn.me.uk, Lady Muck, Legal Alien, letting loose with the leptard, L'homme qui marche, LinkMachineGo, Living in Bury St Edmunds, London Calling, London Daily Photo, London Underground Life, LukePDQ, Mad Dogs and Englishmen ,mad musings of me, Mad Teacher, the maturest student in the world, the Meatareda, Mick Hartley, Middle of Nowhere, Momentary lapses of insanity, moosifer jones' grouch, The Musings of a Bear, My Boyfriend Is A Twat, My Thoughts Exactly, Never Mind The Bloggocks, Nexus, Nik Rawlinson, No, Luton Airport, Notes From A Strange Blue Ghost, Now What Happens?, Oh, Onan Online, onionbagblog, O, Poor Robinson Crusoe!, Order of the Bath, Patience.org, Pete Ashton, Pewari's Prattle, Pigeon blog, Planarchy, Plep, poons, Purple Pen, put 'em all on an island, Raised by Chaffinches, ramsey, Random Burblings, the Random Think, rashbre central, theRatandMouse, rebeccawright.com, Res Publica, Rest Area 300m, Ritual Landscape, rogue semiotics, Rosamundi's ramblings, Route 79, Safari Candle, Samizdata.net, Scaryduck, screaming yellow fizz bang, Secret Songs of Silence, sex in the smoke, Silent Words Speak Loudest, Slaminsky, Smacked Face, smeg's window, stressqueen, the String Bag, A Student's Life, Temperama, terreus, That's Pish, 1000 Shades of Grey, 'tis an odd blog b'God, Transfer, Travels around London, troubled diva, T3G:2, Twenty Major, the Ulterior, Under The Welkin, Very Very Bored, A View from Middle England, The Voice of Reason, Volume 22, What was the score?, Wheeliebinland, Who Knows Where Thoughts Come From?, Wide Screen Boy Story, The Willesden Herald, A Woman's Voice, World of Chig

Thanks, all of you. Go on, click on a few and have a read. Because some of these blogs are great. I know, I've had to read every single one of them over the last couple of days while putting this post together.

And aren't there a lot of different types of blogroll out there? There's the refined list of five sites or less - only the best will do. There's the out-of-date list that hasn't changed in years, despite the fact that several of the linked blogs no longer exist. There's the categorised list with all the links shuffled into different subgroups according to location, theme or political orientation. There's the "blogs I read" list which the owner clicks down each day to read updates to their favourite sites. There's the "I'm only linking to you if you link to me" list which smacks somewhat of self-promotion. There's the hidden blogroll which exists on its own separate page, or so far down the sidebar that the casual reader never spots it. And there's blogroll overload where the site owner links to every single blog they've ever read in an enormous long list which nobody else ever (ever) reads.

I've always tried to keep my blogroll manageable - 20 sites max - although I'm aware that this means I don't link to as many other blogs as I could/should. So today's post is by means of making up for that omission. I hope it's a fairly complete list, courtesy of Technorati and various other useful web services, but I bet it isn't. Let me know if I've missed you/anyone off the list.

posted 00:10 :

 Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Bank holiday blues

Not only are our bank holidays badly spaced, but the weather's always crap too. Well it is, isn't it? This last bank holiday weekend, for example, has been grey, wet and a bit rubbish. Low scudding clouds, sudden squally showers, deceptive sunny intervals and then a stonking great big thunderstorm to round the whole thing off. Because it always rains on bank holidays, doesn't it?

I thought I'd do some research to find out. I've looked back over the last fifteen bank holiday weekends (excluding Christmas and New Year) to find out whether it chucked it down or not. The precise data's surprisingly hard to find, but thankfully Britain contains several amateur meteorologists who dutifully record daily wind speed, sunshine, rainfall and lots of other readings on the internet. I've trawled through pages of precipitation data for Wokingham (thank you Bernard), and below are the results. The wet symbol means "more than ½mm of rain", whereas the sun symbol means "not wet", which isn't necessarily sunny. And if there's a border round the raincloud then it was particularly damp (more than 5mm of rain).

	Good Friday	Easter Monday	May   Day	Late Spring	Late Summer
2003
2004
2005
2006					?

So it's not been all bad. Easter Monday hasn't put a foot wrong recently, and 2003 and 2005 were pretty damned gorgeous. On the other hand 2004 and 2006 (so far) have been washouts, just like you might have expected. Altogether 7 out of the last 19 spring/summer bank holidays have been wet, which is only slightly worse than SE England's long-term average of about 30%. Maybe our bank holidays aren't jinxed after all.

But, come next Monday, no doubt the sun will start beating down and we'll all be sat in the office staring longingly out of the window thinking "damn, if only the bank holiday had been a week later". So I decided to test this too. What if all the spring/summer bank holidays for the last four years had been a week later. Would the weather have been all dry and lovely instead, or did we have a lucky escape? Here are the results:

If the five bank holidays had been one week later...
2003: GF much wetter; EM wetter; MD wetter; LSp equally dry; LSu equally dry
2004: GF drier; EM a bit wetter; MD a lot drier; LSp a lot drier; LSu drier
2005: GF equally dry; EM a bit wetter; MD a bit wetter; LSp equally dry; LSu equally dry
2006: GF drier; EM equally dry; MD a lot drier

All of which adds up to six bank holidays which would have been wetter a week later, and six which would have been drier. Swings and roundabouts. Overall it doesn't make a blind bit of difference. The weather doesn't know that HM Government has prescribed a national day off work when it decides to chuck it down, or not. Yesterday's thunderstorm was just a statistical freak, obviously. And if the sun comes out in a blazing heatwave next Monday, that'll just be bloody typical.

Fantastically in-depth data on Britain's bank holiday weather
• Easter (really good: 1949, 1984) (really bad: 1964, 1994)
• May Day (really good: 1999) (really bad: 1982, 1983)
• Late Spring (really good: 1978, 1992) (really bad: 2000, 2006)
• Late Summer (really good: 1955, 2001) (really bad: 1956, 1976, 1986)

posted 00:05 :

 Monday, May 29, 2006

A Farewell

Something small but significant vanishes from the streets of London this week. The letter A. Or, to be more specific, letters at the end of bus numbers. There are tons of London bus services with a letter at the beginning (nightbuses for example, and most of the buses in Hillingdon and Walthamstow) but only one bus still has a letter at the end. There used to be scores of them. Not for much longer.

60 years ago there weren't just As after bus numbers, there were Bs and Cs too. Between Stratford and Forest Gate, for example, you could have ridden aboard the 25, 25A, 25B or 25C. But travel any further east and you had to know precisely which variant to catch (the 25 to Goodmayes, the 25A to Chigwell, the 25B to Becontree Heath or the 25C to the Woolwich Ferry). No wonder they've simplified things since. Thirty years ago there was only a single C remaining (the 77C, for what it's worth), while Bs faded away in 1994 with the disappearance of the 36B.

Which just leaves the 77A. The perfect, nay the only, bus to catch if you ever need to escape Wandsworth for the centre of town. Between Clapham and Vauxhall it shares the road with its twin the 77, then heads across the Thames past Tate Britain and the Houses of Parliament on its way to Aldwych. Just another ordinary bus, but with what is now an out-of-date route number. That A has to go.

Reshuffling bus numbers isn't easy. Almost all of the possible route designations from 1 to 300 are already taken, so planners have had to be cunning in swapping round some other routes to make space. In this case they've scrapped the old 87 (which has run for years between Barking and Romford) and simply extended the 5 to Romford to make up for the loss. A two-digit number ending in 7 is now conveniently vacant, and so from Saturday morning the 77A will be rebranded as the 87. No need to worry about which 77 goes where, because there's only going to be one of them. Much easier to remember, honest.

And letters aren't all that's disappearing. Lists of destinations on the front of buses are being cleaned up too. The future is big, bold and basic. The front of this number 13 bus is fairly typical of the new order. Gone is the list of intermediate destinations...

Finchley Road  Oxford Circus
  Piccadilly Circus  Strand

replaced by just the terminus and a giant number in a font size large enough for even the most myopic passenger. Apparently there's no point in listing key intermediate stops any more because (if you don't know London at all) there's no way of knowing whether or not the bus has already passed them. To work out where the bus will be stopping you'll need to check the timetable at the bus stop instead, assuming it's not been vandalised. It's getting more like taking the tube, really. The front of a Piccadilly line tube will only read Cockfosters, for example, and then you're supposed to work out from a map that the train's heading east and will be stopping at those nice museums, Harrods, Covent Garden and that big square with all the cinemas.

It seems that, in accommodating the Disability Discrimination Act, less is more. Accessibility is about so much more than just step-free access, it's also about having a dead simple system of route numbers and destinations. We must now remove information from the front of buses in case it baffles people. We need to write everything in really big letters so that the short-sighted aren't disadvantaged. And we can't have complicated bus numbers any more, because they confuse tourists and those with an IQ below 70. No matter that generations of Londoners have coped with such complexities before. Come Friday evening, letter-suffix extinction beckons. I wonder what they'll kill off next?

posted 08:00 :

 Sunday, May 28, 2006

  I SPY LONDON
  the definitive DG guide to London's sights-worth-seeing
  Part 9: Victoria & Albert Museum

Location: Cromwell Road, SW7 2RL [map]
Open: 10am - 5:45pm (late opening Wednesdays)
Admission: free
5-word summary: a temple to grand designs
Website: www.vam.ac.uk
Time to set aside: at least a day

Vast & Arty
Next time you're in South Kensington, if you're tired of natural history and sick of science, try art and design instead. The Victoria & Albert Museum is Britain's national repository of the decorative arts, a bit like a giant historical bazaar but without the price labels. The building dates back to 1852, built just after the Great Exhibition, and boasts an extensive network of interconnecting galleries on several levels (i.e. it's very easy to get lost). On the ground floor, for example, you can wander at length amongst artefacts from South and East Asia, or pause to ponder Renaissance religious relics, or study statues close up in the refitted long gallery. And that's just for starters.

Varied & Amazing
I was unprepared for the vast scale of the Cast Courts. Given that most of the world's great sculptural masterpieces aren't located in London, the Victorians created life-sized plaster casts of some of the best and dumped them all in two great halls so that Londoners could view them anyway. A fake Michaelangelo's David stands proud in one corner, with a keen crowd of amateur artists sat sketching on stools before him. Elsewhere are Italian monuments, a German cloister, Gaelic stone crosses and medieval tomb effigies. But most dramatic of all is the towering plaster cast of Trajan's Column, copied from the 30m-high Roman original. They've had to chop it in two so that each half fits beneath the skylights, but it's hard not to be impressed by the detailed tableaux carved in a spiral around the circumference.

Visionary & Atmospheric
One large corner of the museum is home to the British Galleries - a history of British interior design and craftsmanship from Tudor times to the end of the 19th century. The displays showcase the development of our nation's aesthetic aspiration, and it's easy to to imagine modern designers coming along for inspiration. Exhibits include original William Morris block-printed wallpaper, the notorious Great Bed of Ware (a Herts hostelry's oversize overnight accommodation) and some splendid Georgian Chippendales. I was particularly taken by the Bromley-by-Bow Room, a complete 1606 wood-panelled interior rescued from the Jacobean mansion which once stood just over the road from my house.

Valuable & Attractive
Elsewhere in the museum the emphasis shifts more towards materials and techniques. Upstairs are two long galleries devoted to silver (think 'Sothebys') and to ironwork (think 'garden centre'). There are semi-deserted rear chambers given over to tapestries (think 'Bayeux-ish') and to textiles (think 'Whitechapel market'). There are shelves packed with glassware (think 'John Lewis') and rooms full of 20th century design classics (think 'car boot sale'). There's even a room full of shiny, gaudy, over-priced, over-styled trinkets and accoutrements (think 'museum shop'), but there's so much else to see you probably won't have time to explore it.

Visit & Admire
by tube: South Kensington  by bus: 14, 74, 414, C1

posted 08:00 :

 Saturday, May 27, 2006

What was on TV ten years ago this weekend?

BBC1 Sat 25 May 1996 5.25pm Dad's Army (repeat) 5.55pm Full Swing (new golf-based game show with Jimmy Tarbuck) 6.25pm The New Adventures of Superman ("I now pronounce you..." - Lois and Clark prepare to get married) 7.10pm Confessions (with Simon Mayo) 7.50pm The National Lottery Live (hosted by Bob Monkhouse) 8.05pm Bugs (glossy hi-tech Docklands crime drama)

BBC2 Sat 25 May 1996 5.00pm Golf from Wentworth (with Steve Rider) 5.55pm The Car's The Star (with Quentin Wilson) 6.15pm Chelsea Flower Show (with Alan Titchmarsh) 7.05pm News and Sport (with Moira Stuart) 7.20pm Correspondent (reporting from Cambodia) 8.05pm Cricket (England v India with Richie Benaud) 9.15pm Have I Got News For You (with Angus Deayton)

ITV Sat 25 May 1996 5.10pm International Gladiators (presented by Ulrika Jonsson) 6.10pm The Kids From Alright On The Night (repeat) 6.25pm Man O Man (ten blokes are humiliated by Chris Tarrant and an audience of screaming women) 8.00pm News (with Carol Barnes) 8.15pm Stars In Their Eyes Live Final (hosted by Matthew Kelly - you might want to put your money on Marti Pellow)

Channel 4 Sat 25 May 1996 5.05pm Brookside omnibus (Max pulls a fast one on Susannah, Ron files to Bangkok) 6.30pm Right To Reply (presented by Roger Bolton) 7.00pm A Week In Politics (presented by Vincent Hanna and Andrew Rawnsley) 8.00pm Cutting Edge (documentary - Navy Blues) 9.00pm The Gaby Roslin Show 10.00pm Drop The Dead Donkey (repeat of 1st series)

BBC1 Mon 27 May 1996 4.30pm Disneytime (with Michaela Strachan) 5.15pm News and Weather 5.35pm Neighbours (Annalise's tutoring days are over) 6.00pm Red Nose Awards (hosted by Andi Peters) 7.00pm That's Showbusiness! (quiz show hosted by Mike Smith) 7.30pm Watchdog Healthcheck (presented by Judith Hann and Alice Beer) 8.00pm EastEnders (Bianca cuts a new deal) 8.05pm Doctor Who (After an absence of seven years the Doctor returns in a feature length adventure starring Paul McGann. On New Year's Eve 1999 a British police box materialises in San Francisco's China Town)

Channel 4 Mon 27 May 1996 7.00am The Big Breakfast (presented by Zoe Ball and Keith Chegwin, with Vanessa Feltz, Zig and Zag, and Richard Orford Down Your Doorstep) 9.00am Saved By The Bell: the College Years 9.25am The Pink Panther Show 9:50am California Dreams 10.20am Gamesmaster (with Dominik Diamond and Patrick Moore) 10.45am Mork and Mindy 11.15am Dog City 11.35am Wildside 12.00 Right To Reply (repeat) 12.30pm Sesame Street (brought to you by the letters F and P and the number 19)

It all seems so very very long ago...

posted 08:00 :

 Friday, May 26, 2006

10 things to do in London over the Bank Holiday weekend
(two of which I've made up, sorry. I'm sure you can spot which)

1) Nettle Day at the Natural History Museum: "Celebrate the common nettle, as part of the national Be Nice to Nettles Week. Join us to unearth the nettle's many uses throughout the ages, both in Britain and in other parts of the world, with talks, demonstrations and displays throughout the Museum - you can even try some nettle-based refreshments for yourself."
2) Chelsea Flower Show: At the Royal Hospital, not the football ground, a lot of horticultural gurus plug their own TV series by constructing row upon row of ostentatious gimmick-filled gardens. But the flowers are pretty.
3) International Low Tide Day: Happens every year on the Saturday in May with the lowest tide. A family event searching for minibeasts and undegraded litter on the Thames foreshore by Hammersmith Bridge (wear old clothes and wellies).
4) Metronet Mystery Tour: Come ride the rail replacement bus from Moor Park to Watford, to celebrate incompetent infraco Metronet forgetting to pre-stress the tracks before the hot weather started. Might be fun hurling rotten tomatoes at the contractors.
5) London MCM Expo: Imagine a giant exhibition hall full of collectible comics, a Robot Zone, 'top class' manga, costumed sci-fi geeks, an Anime Village, a Games Arena and celebrity appearances from the cast of '24' and 'Battlestar Galactica'. Sounds like absolute hell, doesn't it?
6) Purves & Purves: Massive relocation sale at my favourite Tottenham Court Road interior design shop (must end Monday). Did I mention I once saw Dermot O'Leary there doing his Christmas shopping?
7) The Long Weekend: Celebrate the Tate Modern's rehang with four themed days of arty events. Starts on Futurist Friday, continues with Surrealist Saturday, slips up alliteratively with Abstract Sunday, but finishes off appositely with Minimalist Monday.
8) Brentford Waterside Festival: Mmm, street entertainers, face-painting and balloon modellers down by the Grand Union Canal, plus (hold your breath) an "interpretative display of the history of Brentford". The Farmer's Market might just redeem it...
9) The Queen Mother Collection: Not many people know that Her Deceased Royal Highness used to be an accomplished artist. Buckingham Palace hosts her private collection of racey corgi portraits, saucy seaside postcards and bawdy Edwardian sketches.
10) Paradise Gardens: Recreating a Victorian Pleasure Garden in Victoria Park, E3. Carter's Steam Fair are coming, and the thumping Bassline Circus, and the intriguing Black Maze (crawl alone around the back of a truck in the dark), and more. We know how to have fun in Tower Hamlets, we do.

posted 07:00 :

• Women always get evicted first: BB1 Sada; BB2 Penny; BB3 Lynne; BB4 Anouska; BB5 Vanessa; BB6 Mary; BB7 Bonn-eh
• Some housemates don't leave by the front door: BB1 Nick; BB2 -; BB3 Sunita, Sandy; BB4 -; BB5 Kitten, Emma; BB6 Orlaith; BB7 Shahbaz, Dawn
• Some old housemates still have their own websites: BB1 Nick; BB2 Brian, Stuart, Josh, Elizabeth; BB3 Kate, Alex, Jade; BB4 Jon; BB5 Jason; BB6 Eugene; BB7 Lea, Sezer

posted 00:07 :

 Thursday, May 25, 2006

fivelinks
• a simple list of all the BBC's Listen Again radio streams (from 1xtra to Radio Cymru)
• use Seatguru to find the best seats on any plane before booking your flight
• spot the showers (and downpours) on the Met Office's UK rainfall radar
• the Uncle books (which I devoured as a child and you probably didn't)
• what's the latest Big Brother betting and gossip?

five famous bloggers
• the Secretary of State for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs
• bewigged American billionnaire entrepreneur
• no-longer-bewigged short chirpy magician
• 6Music DJ and general music knowall
• touring 80s electro keyboard whizz

five travelling bloggers
• driving buses in Torquay
• driving a taxi round Cumbria
• cycling from China to Somerset
• chugging canals on a narrowboat
• flapping and flying over London

posted 07:00 :

 Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Silver discs (May 1981)
A monthly look back at the top singles of 25 years ago

The three best records from the Top 10 (19th May 1981)
Adam And The Ants - Stand And Deliver: There was once a time when the first radio play of a brand new single was an event. There was no accidental leakage on the internet in the 80s, nor heavy rotation play for weeks in advance of the release date. We had to rush home from school to hear Peter Powell debut the new Adam and the Ants single on his drivetime show, just to find out what crazed glamour the band planned to serve up next. With a whinney and the wail of a hunting horn, we discovered the enchanting answer. And then, extremely new for 1981, there was the first play of the video to look forward to. Oh my god, he really is dressed up as a dandy highwayman complete with dress coat and tricorn hat, and bloody wow he's jumping out of trees and crashing through castle windows. No surprise, then, that the single went straight in at number 1 (a rare feat back then) and stayed there for five weeks. For a brief spell Adam could do no wrong. Da diddly quoi quoi, anyone?
"I'm the dandy highwayman who you're too scared to mention. I spend my cash on looking flash and grabbing your attention"
Ten Pole Tudor - Swords Of A Thousand Men: Blimey, another top ten classic with a historic bent. More a battlefield chant than a sweet Elizabethan ballad, this was an endearingly quirky punk guitar stomper. Lead singer Edward Tudor Pole may have been RADA-trained, but I never forgave him for attempting to take over from Richard O'Brian in the Crystal Maze several years later, and failing. Ed still performs (don't they all, these 80s troupers), and earlier this month he was strutting his stuff at the legendary Ace Café on London's North Circular. Hoorah, Hoorah, Hoorah, Yea!
"We had to meet the enemy a mile away, thunder in the air and the sky turned grey. Assembling the knights and their swords were sharp, there was not a hope in your English hearts"
Kim Carnes - Bette Davis Eyes: Raspy as they come, Kim conquered the airwaves like a slinky lioness gargling gravel (did I really write that? sorry). The song was a old one, first recorded by its co-composer Jackie DeShannon in 1974, but it was this ear-stopping cover that won the tune its Grammy. Spent nine weeks on top of the Billboard charts, but only scraped the top ten over here. If only she'd recorded it as Glenda Jackson's Eyes instead, maybe we'd have loved it more.
"She's precocious, and she knows just what it takes to make a pro blush. She's got Greta Garbo's standoff sighs, she's got Bette Davis eyes"

My favourite three records from May 1981 (at the time)
Kim Wilde - Chequered Love: Ah, thank goodness for that - Kids In America wasn't a one-off. Not the most inspired one-finger keyboard backing perhaps, but a long-term career was suddenly assured.
"Well I know your love is rough, and the road you take is tough, but I just can't get enough chequered love"
Human League - The Sound of the Crowd: "Hmm," I wondered, "who are this lot then? Lead singer looks a bit weird with his half-dangly hair. Song's great though. They could be really big one day..."
"Shades from a pencil peer (pass around), a fold in an eyelid brushed with fear, the lines on a compact guide, a hat with alignment worn inside"
Kraftwerk - Pocket Calculator: It's not dated well, has it? Or maybe the backing bleeps were just rather too prescient of today's grating ringtones. Always ahead of their time, this bunch.
"I'm the operator of my pocket calculator. By pressing down a special key, plays a little melody"

20 other hits from 25 years ago: Stars on 45 (Starsound), You Drive Me Crazy (Shakin Stevens), Chi Mai (Ennio Morricone), I Want To Be Free (Toyah), Keep On Loving You (REO Speedwagon), Ossie's Dream (Tottenham Hotspur with Chas & Dave), Grey Day (Madness), Treason (Teardrop Explodes), It's Going To Happen (Undertones), Careless Memories (Duran Duran), Ain't No Stopping (Enigma), Don't Slow Down / Don't Let It Pass You By (UB40), Hi-De-Hi (Paul Shane & the Yellowcoats), Is That Love (Squeeze), Chariots of Fire (Vangelis), When He Shines (Sheena Easton), Just The Two Of Us (Grover Washington Jr), Let's Jump The Broomstick (Coast To Coast), Rockabilly Guy (Polecats) ...which hit's your favourite? ...which one would you pick?

posted 07:00 :

 Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Why do you go to the gym?

1) Because it makes you feel better about yourself
But are you sure? I went to the gym once, under protest, and it didn't make me feel better at all. Standing in the changing room I felt seriously under-endowed, and that was just in the visible zone above the waist. What hope did I ever have of looking like these sneering, chiselled, toned hunks? Where their pectorals bloomed, mine drooped. Where their biceps bulged, mine barely existed. Where their necks swelled like tree trunks, my neck was just, well, normal. And that's fine. Because I don't care that my body isn't perfect, or indeed anywhere approaching what others see as perfect. I still don't see the point in getting depressed about my six-pack-lessness. I'm no Charles Atlas, but then I have no desire to be. Do you lot really have so little self confidence that you need to go to the gym in order to feel 'normal'?

2) Because it keeps you fit
But are you sure? I went to the gym once, under protest, and after a few minutes pedalling on the exercise bike I was knackered. It didn't make me feel fit at all. I know you're supposed to go more than once, but quite frankly the thought of some evil personal trainer urging me to push myself through the pain barrier on a regular basis really didn't appeal. And still doesn't. Feeling bloody awful just to become slightly more capable at lifting heavy weights doesn't sound like a very reasonable swap to me. I get a perfectly decent workout walking up the escalator at Holborn tube station every morning, thank you very much. Going to the gym isn't the only way to keep fit, you know.

3) Because it keeps you healthy
But are you sure? I went to the gym once, under protest, and it didn't make me feel healthy at all. Quite the opposite. Those droplets on the face of my fellow athletes looked suspiciously like sweat, not perspiration. The water in the swimming pool seemed to have more than just chlorine floating in it. Those towels were rank, and anybody could have slipped on the soap in the shower. The risk of serious injury or incapacity was ever present when using the exercise equipment, far more so than if I'd been sitting safely at home on my sofa. Gyms lull you into a false sense of security, whilst actually increasing the chance of you limping home with a torn ligament, or worse. It all seems a very poor use of several hours a week to me, particularly when you could be enjoying yourself somewhere else instead.

4) Because it helps you lose pounds
Yes you're right there. I went to the gym once, under protest, and all I lost was my entrance money. It may take months for the weight to drop off, but your bank balance takes a hit immediately. That enticing welcome deal may sound like a bargain, but the staff really have their eye on your direct debit, not your waistline. Gyms make their money out of well-meaning but weak-willed individuals who sign up for a long term fix but can't be arsed to turn up when their motivation wilts. Which would be most of you. Why don't you save money and keep fit elsewhere? Press-ups work just as well at home. Your local swimming pool probably has much cheaper admission, and considerably longer lengths. And going out jogging in your local streets is far more worthwhile than running nowhere on a smelly conveyor belt. But hey, what do I know, I only went once. Why the hell do the rest of you bother?

posted 00:05 :

 Monday, May 22, 2006

London's Premiership teams: Arsenal, Charlton, Chelsea, Fulham, Tottenham, West Ham, Watford

OK, so the final team in the above list is a bit of a cheat because Vicarage Road lies a couple of miles outside the Greater London boundary. But blimey, don't Watford look the odd one out there. One small tinpot Championship side comprising several insignificant non-international minnows, up alongside the League champions, the FA Cup runners-up and some Champions League finalists. It's just that yesterday's playoff victory (nay, thrashing) against Leeds entitles this minor Home Counties side to step up to the big time, at least for one season. Isn't football great?

I have to express an interest. I was born less than half a mile from Watford's Vicarage Road ground, so by rights I should be a huge Hornets fan. I should have spent yesterday afternoon bedecked in tasteful(?) yellow, black and red, whilst boozing myself into celebratory oblivion. Things didn't quite work out that way. At the age of six I was seduced instead by one of the big name clubs, inspired by their winning of the League Championship and the FA Cup in the same week. It's easily done, especially when your local side is languishing insignificantly in the lower divisions.

But half of my family did become avid fans of Watford FC. My dad and brother would walk down to Vicarage Road come rain or shine to experience the agonies and ecstasy of League football (and, if we're honest, it was mostly agony). There was a freak week back in 1982 when Watford were the top league team in the country, and they even managed to come second overall that season, but on the whole being a Watford supporter meant decades spent watching grim nil-nil draws against Port Vale in the pouring rain.

Premiership survival next season won't be easy for a club more used to lower-division mid-table obscurity. Watford have been here before, back in 1999 when they last succeeded in the playoffs. They won some early Premiership matches against Liverpool and Chelsea, then collapsed and ended up with an embarrassingly low points total. Only Sunderland have ever failed more convincingly. I'm fully expecting Watford's 2006-7 season to be equally disappointing. But hey, you never know, they might just do OK this time, particularly with the £40m windfall that promotion to the top flight brings. And I might even deign to support my old home team, just perhaps, if they start winning repeatedly in the league or manage a stunning cup run. I guess I've always been a glory hunter.

posted 07:00 :

 Sunday, May 21, 2006

Big Brother 7 the housemates your comments welcome	Bonnie aka: Bonnie Holt 19 from Loughborough care worker teenage estate trash glum pouting vacuum odds: 25/1	Dawn aka: Dawn Blake 38 from Birmingham exercise scientist teetotal vegetarian capable but humourless odds: 16/1
George aka: George Askew 19 from London blue-blooded student related to royalty mixing with the plebs odds: 9/1	Glyn aka: Glyn Wise 18 from Blaenau Ffestiniog naturist lifeguard scrawny muscleboy out of his depth? odds: 16/1	Grace aka: Grace Short 20 from London dance teacher posh Sloane party girl confident and unruffled odds: 14/1
Imogen aka: Imogen Thomas 23 from Wales bar hostess former beauty queen potentially normal odds: 8/1	Lea aka: Lea Walker 36 from Nottingham single mum & model wildly enhanced cleavage cow dressed as mutton odds: 33/1	Lisa aka: Lisa Huo 27 from Manchester upholsterer Chinese Jimmy Krankie coarse but chirpy odds: 10/1
Mikey aka: Mikey Dalton 22 from Liverpool software developer Vernon Kaye Jr featureless chauvinist odds: 10/1	Nikki aka Nikki Graham 24 from Middlesex model & dancer fragile emotional wreck desperately needy odds: 20/1	Pete aka: Pete Bennett 24 from Brighton singer with Tourette's Stop The Pigeon's Klunk endearingly animated odds: 3/1 (fav)
Richard aka: Richard Newman 33 from London gay stetsoned waiter shaven meathead hunk calm voice of reason odds: 7/1	Sezer aka: Sezer Yurtseven 26 from London stockbroker entrepreneur strutting peacock confident smiler odds: 9/1	Shahbaz aka: Shahbaz Chaudhry 37 from Glasgow unemployable flirt camp tactile nightmare hysterical egomaniac odds: 16/1

posted 00:07 :

 Saturday, May 20, 2006

Days Out - West Wycombe

Where: 40 miles west-northwest-ish from central London [map] [map] [map]
How to get there by road: along the A40, or via junction 4 on the M40
How to get there by rail: Chiltern Railways to High Wycombe (and then a long walk)

What to see (1): West Wycombe Church & Mausoleum
The first building you see as you approach West Wycombe is the 18th century church, high atop a chalky hill immediately above the village. It's a stupid semi-accessible location for a church, but local landowner Sir Francis Dashwood had it built more for the view than for any religious reason. At the top of the tower is a big golden ball which, if you're lucky and get the weather right, glints for miles across the valley. The ball is hollow, with sufficient space inside to hold up to six people, although it closed to visitors a few years ago because of vandalism. But turn up on a Sunday afternoon and you can still climb the tower to enjoy the view (is that Windsor Castle over there?) and to admire the church's unexpectedly startling Georgian interior. At the foot of the graveyard is the hexagonal Dashwood Mausoleum, another building which dominates the local skyline. Its flint-covered walls stand open to the sky, supported by twelve Tuscan columns, while inside can be seen statues, urns and a classical mini-temple. It's a shame that the public are locked out these days, but you can quite understand why Sir Francis wanted to be buried up here on this Chiltern ridge looking out over his estate.

What to see (2): Hellfire Caves
Ah, now this is what West Wycombe is most famous for, a quarter-mile-long cave with a devilish reputation. Sir Francis had this system of passages and chambers dug into the chalk hillside beneath the church so that he and his upper crust mates had somewhere private in which to misbehave. Dashwood's Hellfire Club met here to indulge in "sex, drink, food, dressing up, politics, blasphemy and the occult". There's no evidence that any actual Satanic worship took place, although it's a fair guess that several buxom maidens were invited down here during some of the more drunken celebrations. Today the caves are open to the public, which explains the non-period umbrellas lined up inelegantly in the café area outside the church-like entrance. Four quid gets you inside into the caves proper, a strange subterranean tourist attraction whose 1970s rebirth is still painfully evident. A few not-quite convincing waxworks are scattered throughout the caves (that's Benjamin Franklin, isn't it, and that's, erm, some old greasy lord-type bloke). Dated loudspeakers pump music and stilted commentary into the caves. Detailed information boards seem to repeat the same few stories, facts and anecdotes throughout the caverns whilst never quite admitting that anything wicked ever happened. But, if you can ignore the rampaging children wielding cheap green glowsticks, the weird artificial passages are well worth a visit [see photos]. The Banqueting Hall must have been a mighty impressive spot for a meal, and probably the odd orgy too. And once you finally cross the gloomy 'River Styx' to reach the Inner Temple at the very foot of the tunnels, you can easily imagine just how much fun a bunch of drunken old toffs and their mistresses could have had down here in the dark.

What to see (3): West Wycombe Park
The Dashwoods still live in the village, in the large yellow-painted stately home on the opposite side of the valley. The National Trust own this Palladian property and much of the surrounding land, and the gardens (and sometimes even the house) are open to the public during the summer. The main gate is guarded by a gaggle of earnest Trust matrons, but a few pounds or a quick flash of the membership card should see them off. The well-tended grounds are littered with fake classical follies, stone bridges and a polo pitch. There's also a central landscaped lake - or at least there should be except that it's almost completely dried up at the moment with a few bemused swans swimming in ever decreasing circles in the remaining puddle.

What to see (4): West Wycombe village
And then there's the village to enjoy. It must be special because the National Trust owns most of it. There are characterful cottages and crooked pubs (of the real ale persuasion). There are more shops than a settlement of 2000 people probably deserves, although cane furniture, handmade greetings cards and jars of ye olde sweets aren't your usual village staples. And there's only one main street, which ought to be utterly charming except that it's the main A40 and so there's usually a queue of traffic crawling through here most days. Never mind, you can always go hide up at the top of the hill again or, even better, underneath it.

posted 08:30 :

 Friday, May 19, 2006

Which freakshow did you watch last night?

Oh my god did you see the launch of Big Brother 7 last night? Where did they find those housemates, they're insane? I mean, they get more extreme every year. It's not about character any more, it's about excess. You can't just be normal these days, you have to be offensive, self-obsessed and hugely flawed, or preferably all three. You've got to make your brief spell in the media spotlight count. If you've been physically enhanced, stick it out. If not, just dress to impress, leer at everyone in sight and pray you get noticed. Did you see the council estate trash? They're probably rutting already. Did you see the stilted posh totty, complete with over-chipped shoulders? Their parents are probably disinheriting them as we speak. Did you see the Chinese Jimmy Krankie, the Welsh nudist lifeguard and the hysterical gay Pakistani? It's Little Britain brought to life, that's what it is. And did you see the Pete Docherty <w*nker> lookalike with Tourette's? You couldn't make it up. Roll on the next three months.

Oh my god did you see the Eurovision semi final last night? Where did they find those performers, they're insane? I mean, they get more extreme every year. It's not about music any more, it's about spectacle. You can't just turn up and sing these days, you have to wave flags, backflip and breathe fire, preferably simultaneously. You have to make your three minutes count. If you're cute, grin. If not, just stick on a wig and a silver jumpsuit, get yourself some meaty backing dancers and pray you get noticed. Did you see the Icelandic über-Björk? Shame she didn't make it to the final. Did you see the Finnish death metal band, complete with pterodactyl wings? They were taking the piss, weren't they? Did you see all the Balkan states practising voting for one another? It's geographically incestuous. And did you see the Russian ballerina emerging from the grand piano? You couldn't make it up. Roll on Saturday. • more from Chig in Athens • more from mike in Athens

For goodness sake, pull yourself together and get a life. When's the football on again?

posted 00:07 :

 Thursday, May 18, 2006

Big Brother 7: In The House

According to unconfirmed hearsay, the 14 housemates entering Britain's most famous House tonight will be as follows:

Tony: Has survived being up for eviction in the last three consecutive public votes, but now much more unpopular after failing to inspire confidence during recent War task.
Gordo: In charge of totting up the weekly shopping list. Friends with Tony in public, but in private has been caught encouraging the other housemates to nominate "the useless slimy bastard".
Prezza: The biggest Brother of all, now to be found lounging around with nothing to do in the expensive luxury annexe.
Clarke: In an interesting and highly entertaining twist, has already been evicted before the series begins.
Cameron: Worthy young toff from the shires, on a secret mission to occupy the jacuzzi for the rest of the series.
Howard: Runner-up from the previous series, still to be found sleeping in his coffin in the bedroom after lights out.
Ming: Father of the House. Often attempts to chip in to general gossip but has yet to make much of an impression.
Reid: Often to be found in the diary room urging programme bosses to install even more CCTV cameras to keep an eye on the assembled population.
Black Rod: Token multiracial character.
Chief Whip: Token transexual Red Indian stripper.
Tessa: Responsible for recent success in winning the Big Brother Olympic task, but often in tears because other housemates doubt she can deliver.
Beckett: The tabloids have not been kind. Has been whisked off to Big Brother USA to move in with Bushy, Clint and Condo.
Jade: She may be thicker than three short planks, but I bet you'd trust her to run the country far more than all of the above put together.
Galloway: Nah, come on, what's the likelihood of a politician appearing on a blatantly self-publicising show like this?

posted 07:00 :

 Wednesday, May 17, 2006

 Hurrah!!
 We're the second best football team in the whole of Europe!!
 Ah, I forgot, that's a crushing dismal failure isn't it?
 Damn, sorry.

posted 21:45 :

Snap happy

It used to be possible to visit a minor tourist attraction or attend a public event without spotting a single camera. People attended purely for the experience, to say they'd been, no visual proof required. It's not like that any more. Everybody's a photographer these days, pointing their lens at anything that moves (and plenty of things that don't). Stand in a crowd and you'll probably have your view blocked by a flailing arm waving a camera. Try to take your own photograph of somewhere historic and you'll probably have to wait for several other amateur snappers to move out of shot first. Look it's a swan [snap] look it's a brick wall [snap] look it's a cloud [snap] look it's a Banksy! [snap snap snap].

We're taking more photographs than ever before because it's easy. And too convenient. And nigh instant. And free. And because we think other people want to see the photos we've taken. Which, unbelievably, it seems they do. Where our photos might previously have languished in a musty album, seen only by ourselves, family and friends, now we can share our latest snaps with everyone via the internet. Sites like the newly-revamped flickr have thrived because we've suddenly discovered that we like having our photos scrutinised, rated and reviewed. If we upload an arty shot of a Parliament Square at night, how many views will it get? Will anyone decide that this streetscape photo is a favourite? How about this reflection in a puddle, will it attract any comments? All of a sudden there's a tangible reason for taking photographs just for the sake of it, so more people do.

Comedian Dave Gorman is a case in point. He's discovered a whole new audience by posting regular photographs to his flickr account, many of these taken in and around east London. Dave's been building up a mighty impressive collection of diverse images, and has generated acres of reverential feedback in the process. But I do wonder whether this might merely be a way of generating material for his new book or stage show, because some of the comments he's getting exceed mere admiration and tip over into semi-religious fervour...

Lovely colours - really ZING.
Oh - NIce man, great perspective. I love that station.
Fantastic colours. Fantastic motion... This gets a *wow* from me.
Wonderful photograph, superb colours and fantastic detail ;-) well done.
Wow. that sky is just crazy. Brilliant angle & lighting - a superb night shot.

I suspect that this effusive outpouring is because people feel able to review photographs in a very different way to other forms of creative material. When we view good photographs we're usually able to express precisely what it is that we appreciate about them, often using quite technical or emotional language. It's not the same with paintings. Only proper art critics can describe a gallery of painted canvases with any genuine conviction. And it's not the case with writing either. Nobody ever pops up in my comments box and says "Oh my god WOW, fantastic paragraph structure!" or "I love your verb usage, so strong and so very reflective". No, the true power of the photographic art form is that, at some level or other, we all feel capable of commenting on the images that others capture. We know what we like and what we don't, and we know why. And often we think "I could have taken that", and next time we're out we try to attempt something equally impressive ourselves. But please, if you see me out and about with my camera, do keep out of my way - I don't want you messing up that perfect shot.

posted 07:00 :

 Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Life through a lens

Thirty years ago I took a cheap black plastic camera on a week's holiday to one of the Channel Islands. The camera was point and click, no batteries or focus required, with a twisty button for winding the film on to the next shot. There was a round socket on top where I could have inserted a disposable flashcube, except I didn't have one so I had to take all my photographs outdoors. I'd taken a few shots back at home before the holiday began so the 12 exposure film was already nearly half finished. The camera sat at the bottom of my Dad's rucksack as we wandered round the island, and once or twice I remembered I had it and stopped to take some photographs. Nothing special, nothing arty, just a few sights that caught my ten-year-old eye. And once we returned to the mainland my Mum took the film in to our local chemist and, eventually, the negatives came back as curvy-cornered prints.

The results were pretty disappointing by modern standards, although at the time I was rather pleased with my efforts. A blurry close-up of a gorse bush and some daisies [reproduced here in all its dismal glory]. A distant lighthouse in a photo which was 85% grey sky. An impressive rock formation snapped from too far away to make any impact. A low dry stone wall across a featureless grass field. A semi-decent shot of a sandy bay with the rooftop of our guest house disappearing out of the bottom of the frame. And my Mum in a bright red coat kneeling to pick a flower, looking down just enough to keep the whole of her face out of shot. My entire photographic memories of that holiday consist of a handful of poorly taken snaps which only hint at the week we spent away. For some reason one particular clifftop featured in the majority of the photos, while most of the places we visited I never captured. It's almost as if the majority of that holiday never happened.

But thankfully my Dad had his own camera with him, a proper and more robust model, and he snapped away throughout the holiday. Sometimes he managed to take a candid picture of us interacting naturally with the environment. Other times we noticed him lurking with shutter poised and tried hard to keep out of shot. We knew he only had a certain number of shots and couldn't afford to waste too many of them. And then there were the more formal posed pictures of the assembled family grinning in front of some scenic backdrop - teeth bared, no escape. And when we got home - and the nice people at Kodak had worked their magic on the negatives - it was time for the post-holiday slide show. Curtains drawn, projector loaded, and the satisfying click as the next photograph slid in position. And there we all were large as life on the wall of the living room, a window into the past, just like magic. But each slide show was usually a one-off. It took so long to set up the equipment and to load all the slides correctly into the projector that each set of photographs probably got viewed just the once, and then it was back into the box with them all.

Photography has moved on almost unimaginably fast since then [as you can see from my latest snapshot]. Camera quality is hugely improved, permitting sharp photos even at the cheap end of the market. Auto focus and instant zoom allow us to concentrate on precisely what we want to capture. Digital cameras mean that we can take as many photographs as we like and discard the 99% of less-than-perfect shots. We can crop images to remove distractions, rotate the pixels to get our horizons horizontal and manipulate the colours to create the shot we'd like to have taken but didn't. And there's no more waiting around for days or even weeks for our prints to be processed. Even Boots the chemist's 1-hour premium service is seriously old-hat these days. Now we can upload and publish our photographs in seconds, and share those special family shots with relatives on the other side of the world without having to pay extra for a double set of prints. And there's no need for a wallpaper-backed slide show either, not when we can premiere seven hours of camcorder footage on our hi-res plasma screen instead. See, it's not all good news.

I took several hundred photographs on my last holiday. Even when I deleted the blurs, the bodges and the duplicates there were still tons of megapixels remaining. My latest holiday portfolio is of much better quality than the miserable set of eight I took on that far distant childhood holiday, and a far better memory jogger too. I can retrace every sight, event and sunlit panorama of my recent trip to San Francisco, which is sadly not the case for my family's Channel Island jaunt. But what really impresses me is that those eight 1970s photographs still exist. They may be stacked up in a box in the spare room, but they've survived three decades and will probably survive three more. And that's more than can be said for my more recent digital photographs. Electronic files may be versatile but they're also far far more fragile than paper rectangles, long term. That indistinct gorse bush won't disappear forever the next time my computer hard drive fails. That distant lighthouse won't be lost when I accidentally delete my backup folders. And that photograph of my kneeling mother will still be visible even after jpg files become obsolete. At least I can guarantee I'll have some photographic memories left when I'm 70, even if they are pre-digital, few in number and a bit blurred.

posted 00:00 :

 Monday, May 15, 2006

A brief history of London

150000 BC: Three passing woolly mammoths become London's first foreign tourists.
43 AD: The Romans invade Britain, build a fort on the Thames and call it Londinium, little realising that one day this new settlement will be at the centre of a great world empire (much like their own).
61: Boadicea pops down from East Anglia on a weekend break and burns the city to the ground.
407: The curtain goes down on 'Romans in Britain' after a record-breaking West End run.
457: The Saxons invade, only to be kicked out by the Viking invasion of 851, only to be kicked out by the Britons under King Alfred in 886, only to be kicked out by the Danish invasion of 1013, only to be kicked out by William the Conqueror invading in 1066. I told you this was a brief history.
1078: With classic medieval simplicity, William builds a white tower called the White Tower.
1209: The first stone London Bridge is completed, and is promptly decorated with the severed heads of those who've failed to pay their Congestion Charge.
1397: Dick Whittington is elected Mayor, narrowly beating Ken Livingstone in the second ballot.
1599: Verily doth William Shakespeare establish ye Globe Theatre in fair Southwark.
1665: The Plague kills 70000 people but leaves buildings standing.
1666: The Great Fire of London lays waste 13000 buildings but leaves only six people not standing.
1814: Global warming kicks in as the last ever Frost Fair is held on the frozen Thames.
1829: The Metropolitan Police Force start to fight their losing battle.
1863: The world's first underground railway is built, with much of the signalling still in use today.
1907: The last public flogging of a Londoner convicted for failing to wear a hat in a built-up area.
1940: During the Blitz the Queen Mother single-handedly protects the East End from destruction by batting bombs away using her handbag.
1952: Lethal smog descends on the capital, leading to the discovery of asthma.
1986: The completion of the M25 - merely the latest city wall to protect the capital from invaders.
2053: Rising sea levels cause the permanent innundation of the capital, which reopens shortly afterwards as a watersports centre and underwater theme park.

posted 07:00 :

 Sunday, May 14, 2006

Hammered!

The FA Cup's not come to East London for years, not since West Ham won it back in 1980. Yesterday afternoon, just for a couple of hours, it looked like it might be coming back.

For those West Ham supporters who weren't able to make the trip to Cardiff (which would be most of them), the next best option was to head down to Upton Park and drink themselves silly in front of a big screen. And so they came, by the trainful, thronging down Green Street and the Barking Road to enjoy their moment in the limelight. The claret and blue army were here well before kick-off, gorging on pie and chips, downing several pre-match pints or just wandering down the street with big grins on their faces. The strains of "I'm forever blowing bubbles" could be heard blaring out from at least three pubs in the local area, usually with drunken accompaniment. Kerbside stalls were busy selling possibly-genuine purply-blue clothing to passers by, while hawkers flogged long fluffy coloured things on sticks to younger supporters for 50p. Some children had the team's logo painted on their face - good preparation for a few years' time when they get those hammers tattooed into their forearm just like Dad.

We'd not have won the World Cup in 1966 without West Ham, and a bronze statue at the foot of Green Street remembers key players from that legendary team. That's England captain Bobby Moore up there holding the Jules Rimet trophy, himself being held aloft by Ray Wilson, Martin Peters and hat-trick scorer Geoff Hurst. The statue's become a favourite meeting point for fans, or just somewhere to sit down with a fag and a can or three of lager. It's a charming addition to the area, and a reminder of the football club's importance to the local neighbourhood over the last 100 years.

Upton Park's seen many changes since 1966. Green Street has become the heart of Newham's thriving Asian community, its shops and cafes offering much more than just a taste of the East. On non-match days elegant saris are more popular than football scarves, and spicy samosas outsell jellied eels several times over. The street's also famous for its jewellery, more handmade class than bling, and the Boleyn Cinema screens all the latest Bollywood hits. For many (but not all) of today's local residents, football exists only in some alien non-intersecting universe. I suspect a large proportion of yesterday's claret and blue crowds had travelled in from boroughs further east, and from southern Essex, summoned back to their footballing roots like spawning salmon.

I left the fans to their drinking and boundless optimism before the Cup Final kicked off. How they must have cheered when West Ham took what looked like an unassailable lead. How they must have shuddered when Liverpool came back to equalise, twice. How they must have despaired as both teams limped feebly into extra time deadlock. And how utterly utterly dejected they must have felt to lose out in a desperate penalty shootout. West Ham should have won, obviously, as every fan will have been telling the bottom of a glass ever since Liverpool's final lucky save. Football's like that, it's a bloody unfair game unless you win. And there's always next time.

FA Cup Winners: 1964, 1975, 1980
Runners-up: 1923, 2006

posted 00:03 :

 Saturday, May 13, 2006

  I SPY LONDON
  the definitive DG guide to London's sights-worth-seeing
  Part 8: Thames Barrier Visitor Centre

Location: Unity Way, Woolwich, SE18 5NJ [map]
Open: 10:30am - 4pm (11am - 3:30pm in Winter)
Admission: £1.50
5-word summary: mini exhibition beside engineering marvel
Website: here
Time to set aside: ½hr indoors, ½hr outdoors



The Thames Barrier is a marvellous sight. Its gleaming aerofoil piers span the river at Woolwich Reach, protecting large swathes of the capital against the threat of innundation. Admittedly Beckton and Belvedere are still in for a soaking, but the residents of Chelsea and Camberwell have good reason to thank the GLC for their foresight. Designed as long ago as the early 1970s, the Thames Barrier was engineered to withstand even a once-in-a-millennium storm surge. When the call comes, and it comes more frequently with each passing decade, six hidden gates rise up out of the water to block the incoming tide. The mechanism's based on gas-tap technology, you know. I know, I saw it at the exhibition.

Visitors aren't allowed inside the main Thames Barrier buildings. Instead there's a small 'official' café built atop the flood defences on the south bank where you can rest awhile after taking in the awe and majesty of the barrier gates. Maybe you fancy a nice cup of tea and a jam-topped scone, or perhaps you have a sudden urge for a cheap souvenir pencil or tacky fridge magnet. But offer the lady at the till a handful of coins and she'll buzz you through a side door down into the basement where an exhibition reveals the barrier's secrets. It's not a very large basement, indeed on entering you'll wonder if there aren't several other rooms and galleries tucked away out of sight, but what you see is what you get. Display boards recount past floods, most notably the disastrous storm of 1953. Learn too about the ecology of the Thames and the estuary's other flood defences. Flick through some of the designs which lost out to Charles Draper's rotating underwater gates. Look, there's a murky fishtank complete with murky fish. And over here is a big model of the barrier in a glass case which whirrs into action so you can see how everything works. Maybe you'd like to watch it go through its paces a couple of times, just to stretch your visit out to fifteen minutes.

For your second fifteen minutes, enter the mini-cinema with its mini-video. If you've ever watched Tomorrow's World or seen one of those terribly worthy public information films, you'll know what to expect. Lots of shots of engineers standing around holding clipboards; a succession of workmen moving things with cranes and pouring concrete into moulds; a strip of dull white text speeding across the screen outlining a list of dry facts and figures; some BBC-type bloke reading out an earnest commentary in proper Queen's English; a burbling synthesiser playing over-dramatic tinkly muzak in the background. Yes, nobody's replaced the video at the visitor's centre since the barrier was opened in 1984, and it shows. Still, the film kept the attention of a visiting toddler without him running around and screaming, which was more than the rest of the exhibition had managed.

Back outside a far more impressive attraction is the barrier itself. The nine silver piers poke out of the water like a row of submerged skyscrapers. Red crosses or green arrows glow beside each gate like giant traffic lights. The harbour police scud aimlessly down the river. Passing couples linger at the water's edge to take awestruck photographs. Toddlers play happily, and noisily, on the climbing frame. You could do worse than come visit for yourself, if you have nothing better to do. But, all things considered, you might prefer the view from Thames Barrier Park on the northern banks instead.
by bus: 161, 177, 180, 472  by train: Charlton, Woolwich Dockyard

posted 07:00 :

 Friday, May 12, 2006

I suspect May is the very best month of the year

Here's why • sunset after 8pm • leaves and blossom • balmy spring days • balmy spring evenings • the reappearance of untanned flesh • coatlessness • shirtsleeves • a nation starts to unwind • turning off the central heating • sunshine without sunburn • picnics in green meadows • flowers that aren't daffodils • early morning dew • summerhouses and deckchairs • ice cream in the park • sitting outside the pub with a beer • outdoor romance • the Cup Final • Eurovision • Big Brother launches • the chance to vote out politicians • maypoles and morris dancing • more bank holiday Mondays than any other month • 24 hours longer than June • the easiest month of the year to spell • as far away from November as possible • the promise of summer to come • no wasps yet Any more?

Here's maybe why not • exams • hayfever • the lawn needs mowing • the lawn needs mowing again • salad, salad and yet more salad • you might live in the southern hemisphere Any more?

posted 07:00 :

 Thursday, May 11, 2006

fivelinks
• Plan travel in London (or New York) by clicking on this dead clever map (although sometimes it recommends dodgy routes requiring swimming across the Thames)
• Hurrah, the 8th edition of Smoke magazine is at the printers (and will be in London bookshops soon)
• It's National Doughnut Week! (good grief, but it's all for charity)
• A church in Norfolk is selling the hole in its roof on eBay (beats the usual restoration appeal)
• Deal Or No Deal - play the game online here (damn, the game's disappeared overnight)

posted 07:00 :

<rant> The World Cup's still a month away but I'm already fed up to the back teeth of pompous stereotypical overblown tedious World-Cup-related TV adverts for companies with absolutely no connection whatsoever to sport or a healthy lifestyle except that their marketing departments are willing to pump millions of pounds into trying to appear athletic, cool and well-connected. And it can only get worse...</rant>

posted 06:30 :

The Apprentice (2)
• In order of how long they survived: Michelle, Ruth, Ansell, Paul, Syed, Tuan, Sharon, Samuel, Jo, Mani, Alexa, Karen, Nargis, Ben
• In order of how good their website is: Tuan (fun, but thin), Jo (bubbly), Ruth (professional), Samuel (bloggy), Sharon (bitter), Paul (personal), Syed (flash), Alexa (self-promoting), Michelle (dull but capable), Karen (faded), Ansell (not heavy), Nargis (nigh blank), Ben & Mani (non-existent)
• tested by Fraser

posted 00:02 :

 Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Manbag

And while we're at it, let's talk manbags. You know, the strappy bags that more and more men seem to have slung over their shoulder these days. Might be canvas, might be plastic, might be leather, but usually ever-so rectangular and laptop-sized. You must have seen them, usually around the neck of some nerd in oblong specs, or a dapper youth with gelled spiky highlights, or even several quite ordinary looking blokes. They're most definitely not handbags, oh no, because that would be girly. These are big, swarthy and masculine, honest, and in no way wimpy or effeminate. Men do bags these days, because manbags are cool.

It wasn't always like this. Men never used to do bags because they had pockets, and pockets were big enough for most of what a man carried. Wallet, keys, handkerchief, lighter, Swiss Army knife. Quite enough to get by on, in the old days at least. If you had a newspaper or umbrella you carried it under your arm. If you had a packed lunch you dropped it into a cheap plastic carrier bag. If you had nappies you gave them to your beloved to carry around in her handbag instead. For work there was the briefcase, probably leather, probably stuffed with papers and definitely more functional than attractive. For play there was the rucksack, perfect for fermenting a nylon t-shirt, shorts and towel into some sweaty gym-ripe cocktail. And that was it. None of this namby-pamby low-slung neckwear we see swarming the streets today.

I blame 12 inch vinyl. 90s DJ-types couldn't carry their rave remixes around in a rucksack or holdall, so the record bag became their satchel of choice. And that looked cool, even to blokes who had no decks, nor even any vinyl to play. Years later the music's in our ears, and the bags are less square, but the basic design is the same. And I blame 70s PE lessons. We carried our sports kit to school in cheap plastic shoulderbags with scuffed corners, decorated with Adidas stripes and Gola piping. And now they're back again too - pseudo-retro sports bags carried by geeks who probably never scored a goal in their lives. Shoulders are hip.

So what is it that new age men are suddenly feeling compelled to carry around inside their manbag? Their laptop perhaps, for those who can't bear to leave their work in the office. Could be that bottle of natural spring water the lifestyle gurus advise us never to be without. Might be a Sudoku quizbook wrapped carefully inside a copy of Mac User magazine in an attempt to appear geeky but cool. Perhaps a selection of natural skin lotions and grooming products to keep their masculine skin all pampered and fresh. More likely it's their mobile, their mobile charger, their iPod, their iPod adapter, their digital camera, their spare digital camera and several other gleaming gadgets they can't go anywhere without. Or, as I have recently started to wonder, maybe all these droopy manbags are empty. Maybe it's more important to be seen with a faddish trendy bag than it is for that bag to have a purpose. I don't know, I don't have one.

I don't carry a manbag because I don't see the need for one. I don't wear rectangular glasses because I prefer function to style. I don't have an all-brown wardrobe, I don't sculpt my hair into gelly spikes and I don't wear square-toed shoes. Maybe there's no hope for me any more, fashion-wise. Maybe I've crashed headlong into a style-free brick wall called middle age. Or maybe it's just that the rest of you are delusional sheep - it's hard to be certain.

posted 07:00 :

 Tuesday, May 09, 2006

You've Been Framed

I was the first child in my class at secondary school to get glasses. You can imagine the heartbreak. One day I was perfectly normal, the next I was heading home from the opticians with a pair of brown NHS spectacles. They looked cheap, they had nasty oblong-ish frames and, at the time, they screamed 'speccy four-eyed saddo'. My life was over, or so I thought. But thankfully I discovered that I only needed my glasses for long distance viewing, so I could restrict their use to watching television at home in glorious privacy. At school I learnt to sit right at the front of the classroom, close enough to be able to read the semi-blurry words on the blackboard, just to keep my unfashionable disability a secret. Sitting in the front row might have looked keen and geeky to my classmates, but that was infinitely better than me sticking my glasses on and proving it. Wearing plastic rectangular glasses was inherently uncool back then, and always has been.

Until recently. What the hell is going on in facial fashion? Suddenly everyone who's anyone is sporting rectangular glasses, the more widescreen the better. No curved lenses, oh no, just ultra-chic right angles - they're so very now. Maybe it's a London thing - you can't look anywhere on the tube without yet another hip young nerd sneering back knowingly through a pair of glassy oblongs. And did you see the media-type blokes at the Baftas last night? Acres of black-rimmed frames where last year there had been nothing but unshielded myopia. It's as if every 'speccy four-eyes' in the capital has upgraded their face furniture in a quest to wear the very latest style. Opticians must be rubbing their hands with glee.

It no longer matters what shape your face is, rectangles are 'in'. Maybe sir would like this frameless style, two thin glass tiles floating mid-face with no visible means of support. Or perhaps these supposedly stylish half-rimmed glasses, somewhat reminiscent of Gary Larson's Far Side matrons. Or maybe the ultimate in current rectangular style, the extra-long extra-narrow wrap-arounds with thick chunky plastic sidearms. It's as if people are trying make their spectacles more, rather than less obvious, especially if this means passers-by can distinguish the designer label more easily. Hell, we even have to call them 'eyewear' these days, just to provide the appropriate level of elite desirability.

Maybe this is a seismic irreversible shift in ocular fashion. Circular Buggles-style specs will never return. Oval lenses will forever signal 'out-of-date loser'. Viewing the world through thin glass slits is now the only sociably acceptable spectacle option. Me, I'm torn between finding these ubiquitous chunky oblongs both unfeasibly laughable and irrationally attractive. Maybe I should ditch my contact lenses and place my disability back on public display again, à la mode. But I really wish that rectangular geek chic had first come into fashion 30 years ago, because maybe then I could have sat at the back of the classroom with the 'in' crowd. The rest of you, you're only just catching up.

posted 00:05 :

 Monday, May 08, 2006

The next station is... Gillespie Road
Well that's what Arsenal station used to be called, at least until 1932. This was the high point of Arsenal's inter-war success under legendary team manager Herbert Chapman, and also the year when the West Stand opened. But, now that's Highbury's closed for business forever, maybe the tube station should go back to being called Gillespie Road again. Especially given that the original name is still clearly spelt out in the tiling on the platform walls, so it really wouldn't take much effort to change it back.

But no, don't worry, the name's staying. Drayton Park station may be rather closer to the new Ashburton Grove stadium, but TfL have decided against upgrading it, or even opening it on matchdays. Visiting fans will have to walk rather further to get home, with officials recommending long overland treks to Finsbury Park and Highbury & Islington. But the tube station closest to Ashburton Grove, just across the big new white footbridge and a short route-march up the street, is in Gillespie Road. And it'll still be called Arsenal station. Some things never change.

The last ten Underground stations to change their name
1) Surrey Docks → Surrey Quays (1989)
2) Heathrow Central → Heathrow Central Terminals 1, 2, 3 (1983) → Heathrow Terminals 1, 2, 3 (1986)
3/4) Trafalgar Square / Strand → Charing Cross (1979)
5) Charing Cross → Charing Cross Embankment (1974) → Embankment (1976)
6) Brent → Brent Cross (1976)
7) Bushey & Oxhey → Bushey (1974)
8) West Ham (Manor Road) → West Ham (1969)
9) Aldersgate → Barbican (1968)
10) Bromley → Bromley-by-Bow (1967)

posted 07:00 :

The Sultan's Elephant: I told you it was brilliant. Throughout the weekend spectators descended on Central London in greater and greater numbers to watch the continuing adventures of the the sultan, his mega-elephant and a 16-foot toddler. On Saturday Trafalgar Square was packed with people to see London's Deputy Mayor welcome the sultan to the capital. Sadly most of them couldn't hear anything because the loudspeaker system was inadequate, but the grand spectacle made up for it. Yesterday grinning crowds followed the elephant to and from lunch in Piccadilly, while lucky children queued to take a rocking ride on the giant girl's arms in St James' Park. And now they've departed, the girl into her wooden spaceship and the elephant into our imagination. London will miss them all. And next weekend's looking awfully empty already.

• my photos from Friday
• better photographs from Friday
• lots more interesting photographs from lots of other people
• you don't expect a puppet to urinate in the street

posted 00:00 :

 Sunday, May 07, 2006

Highbury pilgrimage

This afternoon Arsenal play their last ever home match at Highbury. 93 years of history come to an end with a key end-of-season decider against, er, Wigan Athletic, which will either be a stonking victorious finale or a miserable withering disappointment. And then, after the doors close and the supporters head home, the business of turning this fabled stadium into exclusive housing starts in earnest. The North Bank and Clock End stands will be demolished and replaced by mews, while the more characterful East and West Stands will be transformed (sympathetically, one hopes) into yet more apartments. Meanwhile the pitch will end up as some landscaped memorial garden with gushing water features, no doubt accessible only to residents. Moan as much as you like about the price of a Highbury season ticket but it's still peanuts compared to spending half a million on a two bedroom apartment without even any football to watch.

I headed over to Highbury yesterday afternoon for one last look. I thought the area would be pretty quiet, what with the final match still being 24 hours away and the ground tucked well off the beaten track in the middle of a quiet estate of terraced houses. But no, it seems I wasn't the only fan with a desire to capture sporting history before it vanishes. All around the stadium, in Avenall Road, Gillespie Road and Highbury Hill, Gooners young and old were out with their cameras. Spotty teenagers in redcurrant strip stood in reverence before the glorious Art Deco facade of the East Stand. A patient wife trailed her over-eager husband as he insisted on having his photograph taken in front of every gate and entrance. A succession of avid supporters waited patiently for the opportunity to stand right up close to the front doors and peer through into the marble entrance hall. Two bored brothers sat in the back of their 4x4 while Dad hopped out to take some final photographs. A group of students aimed their camcorder at a local resident and asked for her matchday memories. And I was even forced to pause three times while exiting Arsenal tube station to allow a succession of Nick Hornby types to flash away at the 50m-long 'Final Salute' mural.

There were also long queues in the Arsenal Shop as keen fans waited to snap up a souvenir of the old stadium. I hope they were buying the tasteful polo shirts (£33) and t-shirts (£12), and not the rather dodgy-looking cushions (£10), red leather filofaxes (£25) and crystal decanters (£50). And all around the stadium local residents continued with their everyday lives, no doubt delighted that they face only one more afternoon of noise, congestion and drunken away fans pissing in their front garden.

Come July, following a lengthy planning battle and several years of construction, the new Arsenal stadium opens less than half a mile away on Ashburton Grove. This is no quaint pre-war antique, this is a modern bowl-shaped arena with 50% greater seating capacity. It has everything a modern football stadium needs, like a tier of executive boxes, several luxury restaurants, a merchandising megastore and heaven knows, maybe even some character. The new stadium is taller and broader than Highbury, and towers over the surrounding area in the same way that the old stadium doesn't. It's been squeezed in on reclaimed industrial land between two railway lines and, to be honest, the view out from the main entrance is pretty grim. Departing supporters will pour down a series of gleaming parallel staircases onto a bleak mini-roundabout surrounded by billboards, rundown buildings and a railway viaduct. A neighbouring row of tumbledown warehouses and small factories has been compulsorily purchased so that it can be torn down to build some snazzy apartment blocks. And, despite the bleating of the Arsenal PR department, public transport connections aren't anywhere near as good as they'd have you believe, not unless you fancy a bracing walk every time you attend a match.

It looks nearly ready, the new ground, unlike certain other national stadia I could mention. The curved glass windows gleam and the interior staircases have immaculately painted red handrails. Soon the long stack of portakabins will be carted away, the perimeter fencing will come down, and the new Emirates Stadium will be open for business. Ghastly name, and I'm not convinced that many fans will suddenly feel the urge to book a flight to Dubai as a result, but financial needs must when a football club is compelled to move on. For a new generation of Arsenal players and supporters the new state-of-the-art stadium will soon come to be called home. But my heart will still be at Highbury, no doubt buried somewhere beneath a flowerbed in a garden I shall never see again.

• Take the Highbury (photo) Tour
• Ashburton grove masterplan
• Emirates Stadium facts & FAQ
• Arseblog; Arseweb

posted 00:30 :

 Saturday, May 06, 2006

The Sultan's Elephant

The best ideas are often completely bonkers. Let's bring a 16-foot marionette and a 42-tonne time-travelling mechanical elephant to the heart of London and then tell a story by walking them round the streets for three days. That's exactly what French theatre company Royal de Luxe are doing this weekend, and their concept, technical expertise and execution are quite brilliant. The spectacle was premiered in the French cities of Nantes and Amiens last year (to commemorate the centenary of Jules Verne's death) and later in the year you can catch the giant beast in Antwerp, Calais and Le Havre. But right now the Sultan's Elephant is touring central London, and it's unmissable.

On Thursday a wooden space capsule appeared overnight in Waterloo Place, just above The Mall. Steam billowed from the (utterly convincing) cracked tarmac throughout the day, and Londoners gathered around to gawp and to take photographs. Then yesterday the metal hatch opened and a small girl emerged. OK, so she was four times the size of a normal girl, and she was made of wood, and she was being operated by red-suited puppeteers using a big crane and a series of overhead wires, but she was still unmistakeably a small girl. She (and her string-pulling entourage) went for a long walk around town, stopping the traffic along the way, before finally ending up at Horseguards Parade. Here she met and greeted the Sultan and his giant elephant, like you do, before settling down for an afternoon nap in a giant deckchair. The scene was set.

I caught up with the story as Big Ben struck five. An ever-increasing crowd had gathered around the sleeping travellers, most of them families with small children or passing civil servants, fresh from a savage reshuffle. An open-topped red London bus entered the arena, and the giant girl slowly awoke. A crane hoisted her carefully onto the top deck of the bus as the elephant rose slowly, majestically to its feet. It roared, shook its head and waved its trunk in an utterly lifelike manner. The crowd were captivated, and struggled to take as many photographs as possible of the stirring beast. And then the performers headed off on a short tour of the St James's area, first the bus and then the elephant. Operators sat precariously beneath the giant head to control the trunk movements, while on the ground one man's job was to lift the elephant's feet forward one at a time to enable it to make progress. Meanwhile the sultan and his courtiers surveyed the crowd from their platform on the elephant's back, or drank tea and made small talk on the balconies to either side.

Where the elephant went, the crowd followed. They watched from the grassy lawns of St James' Park, and massed around the beast in the wider spaces of The Mall. Stewards clutching red tape helped to seal off a moveable exclusion zone both in front and to the rear as the elephant passed through. A band of musicians playing loud magical Eastern-style jazz followed on a truck behind, adding to to the very special atmosphere. Children stood in awe and wonder, while every cameraphone in the vicinity was being pressed into use. And every few minutes the elephant showed off its party trick, waving its trunk towards the onlookers and squirting them with a fine spray of water. At least I hope it was water because I got a soaking.

And that was just yesterday. The story continues today with further London sightseeing and an official civic reception in Trafalgar Square, then tomorrow there's lunch in Piccadilly and a wander through St James Park before the over-sized entourage finally departs. Do go and see the Sultan's Elephant if you can. If the look on the faces of the crowd yesterday are anything to go by, you'll leave with a big grin on your face and memories to last a lifetime.

• video
• my photographs
• more photographs
• more information
• itinerary

posted 09:00 :

 Friday, May 05, 2006

A thick-skinned blundering beast, storming and moaning its way out of Whitehall followed by a crowd of cheering onlookers? It could be Charles Clarke but no, it's The Sultan's Elephant.
(photo gallery here)

posted 18:30 :

Colourful word search: This word search may be small but it contains the names of 37 different colours. How many can you find? Look horizontally, vertically and diagonally.
(Answers in the comments box and, please, no more than two colours each)

N W A F Y E R G O L D
B E I G E V U A M E O
L Y R E B M A E R C L
U N S R O S E U F R I
E A E H N L Z M F U L
D V P C Y A N B U B A
A Y I O P T T E B Y C
J T A L N E E R G R K
E M I L O A L E M O N
T P U C E L B A S V I
N W O R B K H A K I P

posted 06:00 :

 Thursday, May 04, 2006

Vote040506: May Poll

Along with an increasingly tiny proportion of the electorate, I'm off to cast my vote in the local elections today. I missed out four years ago because I was abroad, and because the deadline for signing up for a postal vote had passed 15 minutes before I was informed when that deadline was. Electoral irregularities in Tower Hamlets? Surely not.

Who'd want to live in one of the poorest boroughs in the country? Well, me for a start. But there are deep-seated problems here regarding poverty, community services and unemployment, so any local council has its work cut out trying to give the poorest residents a leg-up. The Liberals ran the borough back in the early 90s, while more recently Labour has had overall control. But this may not be the case by tomorrow morning. Come daybreak tomorrow the Respect Party may have wrested power via the ballot box, rather like their party's leader managed in the General Election last year. Yet again Tower Hamlets risks a major electoral upset, and I face living in a political experiment.

When George Galloway announced in his MP's acceptance speech that he planned to oust the 'corrupt' councillors of Tower Hamlets in the 2006 local elections, I was worried. It's one thing being represented by an ego in Parliament, but quite another having that ego responsible for sweeping your streets and educating your children. When George walked through the doors of the Celebrity Big Brother House I was even more worried, because surely this was perfect media publicity for a highly talented showman. But when feline George fell to his knees and lapped imaginary milk out of Rula Lenska's cupped hands I cheered, because his shame and the moral retribution of my local electorate would surely wreck his bid for power. Nothing could restart the Respect bandwagon, nothing short of John Prescott getting caught shagging his secretary and Charles Clarke screwing up on crime and immigration in a criminally negligent manner. Damn. Now I'm worried again.

I'm worried because, especially here in Tower Hamlets, ideology and scandal are getting in the way of rational decision-making. Our local elections probably won't be decided on local issues. The best party to run local social services has nothing to do with the Deputy Prime Minister's rampant libido. The best party to invest in local libraries has nothing to do with the number of escaped asylum seekers caught committing murder. The best party to boost household recycling capacity has nothing to do with the introduction of wasteful NHS bureaucratic management structures. And, Mr Galloway, it's all very well telling me that stopping the unjust war in Iraq will be one of your councillors' top priorities, but that's not going to get my bins emptied. There's a place for such well-justified concerns, but it's in a General Election, not these local polls. One Respect MP can't do much damage in Parliament, but one Respect council running all my local services could be very different indeed. Wish me luck down at the polling booth.

posted 07:00 :

As I post this, the time is precisely 01:02:03 04/05/06
[unless you're American, in which case this happened last month and you've missed it]
[if you have missed it, then it's not too long to wait until 12:34 05/06/07]

posted 01:02 :

 Wednesday, May 03, 2006

London-wide Public holidays

It's clear from your comments yesterday that the key to boosting England's annual quota of bank holidays is to introduce local or regional celebrations. Germany may only have nine national holidays, but live in the right state and you can get up to three more. Northern Ireland manages 25% more bank holidays than the rest of the UK by commemorating a local saint and a historic battle. Catholic regions of Austria take a 24 hour siesta more often than their Protestant counterparts. Every province in New Zealand takes an extra day off on its anniversary day. So what London needs is its own London-only public holidays. Days that we in the capital get off, and nobody else does. I've racked my brain and tried to come up with a few. Well, twelve actually. It's worth a try...

Al Fayed Monday (first Monday in January): A day off to allow you to queue 24 hours earlier for the Harrods Sale.
Multi-faith Minority Sunday (third Sunday in February): A day of festivities in Trafalgar Square for all the non-Russian, non-Chinese, non-Irish, non-English, non Sikh, non-Hindu residents of the capital not yet catered for by the Mayor's token staged events.
Vauxhall Virgin Bonfire (24th March): Age-old traditional gathering in Kennington Park during which ten innocent Lambeth damsels are burnt at the stake (subject to availability)
Buggered Tubesday (Easter Tuesday): Quick, while everyone's on holiday, let's shut down the entire tube network to allow essential engineering work to take place.
The Fertility Pole (1st May): The world's largest maypole is created by dangling coloured ribbons from the top of Nelson's Column. Prince Philip and Victoria Beckham take the lead by tying each other up in knots.
St Ken's Day (17th June): Hordes of happy Londoners flood the streets to celebrate the birthday of their glorious Mayor. There'll be face-painting, newt racing and, in Fleet Street, the ancient sport of hurling vicious insults at the press.
St Coe's Day (6th July): Merry Olympians gather at dawn on Stratford Marshes to compete in archaic contact sports such as concreting the river, demolishing the factories and evicting the locals.
Seven/Seven (7th July): Probably best to have a day off work because nobody's going to want to travel on public transport today, just in case.
Firepride Friday (first Friday in September): To commemorate the Great Fire of London in 1666, a grand parade to thank the capital's three remaining firefighters for all the sterling work they do despite recent funding cutbacks.
Reclaim The Streets Tuesday (last Tuesday in September): The first day after the summer season when all children are safely back at school and almost all of the tourists have gone home. Quick, get out there and enjoy London while you have a chance.
St Arbuck's Day (16th November): Free lattes for all, and a thrilling barista-juggling competition on the South Bank (n.b. this holiday is available to the highest bidder each year. Please apply to City Hall, Marketing Department)
Blitz Day (29th December): A service of commemoration at St Paul's Cathedral for all those lost during the wartime bombing of London. A wax effigy of the Queen Mother (employing the latest electronic 'arm-waving' technology) will ride to the cathedral in the Gold State Coach.

posted 07:00 :

 Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Today's grim fact: If you live in the UK that's half of this year's bank holidays gone already, and there's still two-thirds of the year to go.

England, Wales & Scotland suffer from a miserly ration of public holidays. There are 261(ish) non-weekend days each year but we only get eight of these as bank holidays. And hey, we're lucky to get eight, it used to be far less...

Evolution of bank holidays in England & Wales pre 19th-century: Good Friday and Christmas Day [Total: 2] 1871: + Easter Monday + Whit Monday (50 days after Easter) + first Monday in August + Boxing Day [Total: 6] 1971: Whitsun holiday moved to last Monday in May; August bank holiday moved to last Monday in August [Total: still 6] 1974: + New Year's Day [Total: 7] 1978: + first Monday in May [Total: 8]

Evolution of bank holidays in Scotland pre 19th-century: none [Total: 0] 1871: New Year's Day, Good Friday, the first Monday in May, the first Monday in August, Christmas Day [Total: 5] 1973: + day after New Year's Day [Total: 6] 1974: + Boxing Day [Total: 7] 1978: + last Monday in May [Total: 8]

But perhaps more worrying is how appallingly spaced our eight bank holidays are. In Scotland half of the eight days fall in just one fortnight over Christmas and New Year. In England and Wales things are very slightly better, but we still nudge two days at Easter right up close to two in May for no obvious reason. And then we suffer a seven month bank holiday desert with just one little August hiatus roughly in the middle. Once this month is over, it's a bloody long way to Christmas. Yes, we have it much worse than anywhere else...

Comparison of public holidays in a selection of countries, 2006

Jan

Feb

Mar

Apr

May

Jun

Jul

Aug

Sep

Oct

Nov

Dec

X/NY

Total

Eng & W

• •

• •

•

• • •

8

Scotland

•

• •

•

• • • •

8

N Ireland

•

• •

• •

•

•

• • •

10

Germany

• •

• •

•

•

• • •

9

France

•

• • •

•

•

•

• •

• •

11

Austria

•

•

• •

• •

•

•

•

•

• • •

13

Spain

•

•

• •

• • •

•

•

• •

• •

• •

15

N Zealand

•

•

• • •

•

•

• • • •

11

S Africa

•

• • •

•

•

•

•

•

• • •

12

USA

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

• •

9

X/NY covers the Christmas and New Year period Holidays for Spain are those for Madrid Holidays for New Zealand are those for Auckland/Wellington

Actually Germany only has it very slightly better than us, but the French have done well with at least one day off every month from April to August. Austria and Spain are the best countries for slackers, and they even manage to pad out the autumn months with a succession of refreshing public holidays. New Zealand and South Africa have a bit of a pile-up in April and at Christmas, but they still eke out their remaining days better than we do. And, who'd have thought, full marks to the United States for the best laid-out public holidays of all. Just nine days off, but at oh such sensible intervals. Maybe they've just been lucky in that their nationally-celebrated anniversaries spread out well throughout the year, or maybe it's that Americans don't go over the top with trifling Christian festivals such as Christmas and Easter.

So, please, can we in the UK have a few more bank holidays to redress the balance? We don't need any more at the turn of the year, and please nothing else in April or May (sorry St George, and no thanks to Europe Day). But early July would be nice, and maybe sometime in October, and... actually, would the first Monday of every month be asking too much?

posted 07:00 :

 Monday, May 01, 2006

May Fair - Rowdyism & Vice

Across the UK the first of May has long been a day for celebrations and festivities, often with a bit of ribboned pole-dancing thrown in for good measure. London itself has a long history of springtime frolics and debauchery, often spread over several days, although the focus of these mass celebrations has shifted somewhat over the years. Up until the 17th century the capital's main spring gathering was held in the Haymarket, just up the road from Charing Cross. But as the city expanded a less central location was sought, somewhere far more suitable for lewd drunken activity, and in 1686 the May Fair moved on. You can probably guess where.

in 1686 most of the area northwest of St James's Park was green pasture alongside the babbling Tyburn brook [map]. There were no local people to complain about London's annual May Fair moving in, save the residents of a few grand houses backing onto what is now Piccadilly. The sprawling fair began each year on May Day and lasted for a full fortnight. It attracted wild revellers from all over London and the home counties, as well as countless thieves, charlatans and lewd women. Over the course of two weeks much ale was quaffed, much money was wagered, much flesh was feasted upon and much seed was sown. It's a far cry from the sanitised celebrations Mayor Ken permits in Trafalgar Square these days, with the emphasis very firmly on raucous excess rather than social responsibility.

"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."

As London continued to spread westward, the new inhabitants of north Piccadilly became resentful of the fair on their doorstep. They feared for the morals of their wives, servants and children, threatened by corruption in this iniquitous "nursery of vice". Rich residents petitioned the courts for the fair's removal, initially without success. Then, as the suburbanisation of the area continued, landowners moved in to erect new houses on these riverside fields. Shepherd Market (pictured) was laid out at the heart of the old fairground site in 1735, but it was not until 1764 that the Earl of Coventry successfully used legal means to force the entire revels to move elsewhere. With the May Fair's departure the area headed rapidly upmarket to become the exclusive aristocratic neighbourhood of Mayfair we know today. And Shepherd Market still survives as a charming backstreet enclave of restaurants, antiques shops and pubs, although it's never quite shaken off its reputation as a haunt for shady backhand deals and prostitutes.

The May Fair moved on, five miles eastward, re-establishing itself in a field just outside the small village of Bow [map]. Here it amalgamated with the existing Bow Fair, a long-standing bacchanalia held a few days after Whitsun.

"At Bow, the Thursday after Pentecost,
There is a fair of green geese ready rost,
Where, as a goose is ever dog cheap there
The sauce is over somewhat sharp and deare."

The crowd's behaviour here was just as atrocious, with Londoners arriving in their droves by road and river to take out their frustrations on this tiny rural backwater. But as Bow's population grew so too did the number of complaints from local residents, as before, until in 1823 the fair was banned altogether "due to rowdyism and vice".

Here's the site of Bow's 'Fair Field' today, on the corner of (where else) Fairfield Road. The striped building is Poplar Town Hall, an example of early modernist civic architecture, officially opened in 1938 by former mayor and Labour leader George Lansbury. It's no longer a town hall, having been downgraded to mere offices in the mid 60s, but it still provides an impressive (if slightly shabby) presence on Bow Road. In 1957 Fair Field's reputation for vice and criminal activity was rekindled briefly when the Kray Brothers opened their very first club, the Double R, here nextdoor to the old town hall. Nowadays only a school playground and a car hire portakabin are left to mark this doubly notorious location.

As a resident of Bow Road I'm both saddened and relieved that London's premier spring revels no longer take place so close to home. Whilst it would be really convenient to have a major fairground just a couple of hundred yards up the street, I really wouldn't want drunken merrymakers urinating on my doorstep and singing bawdy songs throughout the night. Neither would I enjoy the smell of congealed roasting meat permeating my flat, nor countless prostitutes hanging around outside the kebab shop and launderette. Not for a fortnight. Not in my backyard. Not until the Olympic circus arrives, anyway. Mayday, mayday.

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