diamond geezer

 Monday, July 31, 2006

Long-term readers of diamond geezer will be aware that August is always local history month on this blog. And this August is no exception.

In 2003 I explored fascinating places within 5, 10 and 15 minutes walk of my house, two years ago I took a long walk along historic Piccadilly and last August I uncovered the path of the long lost River Fleet.

I think you'll enjoy the historical treat I have planned for you this year, but I'm offering no clues yet as to precisely where I'm heading. Come back in August and (hopefully) enjoy...

posted 07:00 :

Please wait while this post loads

I recently received a letter from my broadband provider telling me that they plan to upgrade my connection speed in the near future, for free. I'm set for speeds of up to 8MBps, apparently, which is about quadruple what I'm getting now. Excellent. And about time too, because don't things take ages to download these days? That blog with all the photos in it, that takes ages. That website with the Flash adverts, that takes ages too. And that pdf file, that takes even longer. <taps fingers> <waits>

Which is strange, because five years ago even my current 2MBps broadband speed would have seemed utterly fantastical. Like you I was on dial-up back then, and thought nothing of waiting several seconds for even the simplest webpage to load. Opening a pdf file meant I had time to go make a cup of tea, while attempting to receive a large photo by email often brought my online session to a grinding halt. Some of the worst offenders were those show-off sites with Flash-designed homepages - the designers thought they were being clever, but would-be users usually couldn't be arsed waiting and moved on. And yet we survived, not least because most webpages recognised the limitations of slow download speeds and weren't over-fancy as a result.

But as connection speeds have rocketed, so webpage features have increased to take full advantage. Blogs now regularly contain several plugins and an albumful of images. MySpace thrives in 2006 because tunes and streaming media now download faster than they play. We expect more from our online browsing experience, and we get it. But on the downside we're forced to download more just because we can. New embedded Flash adverts are flourishing only because most of us can now receive them in seconds, not minutes. And aren't those extra seconds annoying? Downloading may be faster, but the end result remains as slow to appear as ever.

I fear that, before long, even 8MBps isn't going to be enough. I'd be happy enough with superfast text and images, but what I'm going to be forcefed is an increasing diet of streaming video with interactive java-enabled adverts. So long as most of us have the speed and functionality, content providers will rise up to exploit and fill it. We're always promised better, but all we get is more. And for those of you attached to the internet via slower connections (or even, heaven forbid, dial-up) sorry, you're completely buggered. Maybe you could come back and read tomorrow's post in three years time - it might load quicker then.

• check your broadband speed here

posted 06:30 :

 Sunday, July 30, 2006

The Top 10 reasons why Top of the Pops dies tonight (aged 42½)

[10] The pop chart used to be released on a Tuesday lunchtime. If you missed it on the radio there was no internet or Ceefax to help you to catch up, there was just the chart rundown on Top of the Pops two days later. So everybody watched, just to see who was Number One, what they looked like and whether they could mime or not. Today's records (and videos and pop charts) are over-exposed.
[9] The whole family used to be able to watch TotP. Your dad could enjoy Pan's People, your mum could ask you what that terrible racket was, your gran could wait for Barry Manilow to appear and you could thrill to the live performance of some top secret new band that only you and a million other teenagers knew about. Nowadays your dad watches for Fearne Cotton, your mum only watches when Ronan Keating's on, your gran is watching ITV and you're out having a life.
[8] Andi Peters should have been watching the show, not producing it.
[7] TotP went downhill as soon as they stopped letting Radio 1 DJs present the show. These DJs may generally have been idiots but at least they had screen presence. Compare Jimmy Saville, DLT and JohnPeel&KidJensen to whoever the anonymous grinners are who've compered the show more recently. No contest.
[6] TotP's true home is on Thursday night. When Top of the Pops was on a Thursday night, the following morning every school playground in the country would be buzzing with chatter about who'd been on, what they'd sung and what they were wearing. Once TotP shifted to a Friday night ten years ago there was nobody left to share your opinions with the following morning, and the 'must see' televisual event of the week died.
[5] The traditional home of the charts has always been Sunday evening. Radio's highest audience of the week used to tune in at teatime to hear the full Top 40 rundown delivered by Alan Freeman, Tony Blackburn, Bruno Brooks or some other broadcasting demi-god. Moving Top of the Pops to Sunday evening would have been a masterstroke a decade or two ago. But nowadays the Top 40 radio countdown is an embarrassment, more a chatshow with records for two egos to talk over, and the Sunday audience is watching Emmerdale and the Antiques Roadshow instead. God help us.
[4] TotP is a show about singles. Alas, the single is dead (or at least fatally wounded) and nobody has ever successfully produced a show called Top of the Albums (imagine the Melua/Cullum/Anastacia hell of it all).
[3] TotP used to only play records that were climbing the chart (or at least not falling). If you fell, you weren't on. If you hadn't released your record yet, you weren't on. It was a simple but brutal format, and if that meant watching the Smurfs followed by the Boomtown Rats followed by James Galway then so be it. This worked because the British public picked the playlist, not the producer. Nowadays the producer picks the playlist weeks in advance, and quite frankly we don't care who he picks any more.
[2] Top of the Pops used to be the route through which mainstream UK consumers discovered the music they liked. You'd hear this week's new entries, choose your favourites, then pop down to Woolworths on Saturday and add them to your collection. But downloads, ringtones and the internet allow modern consumers to find their music wherever they choose, bypassing traditional media altogether. We don't discover our favourite records from TV or radio any more, they're recommended to us by friends.
[1] Pop music is no longer the shared consciousness of the nation. 25 years ago everybody knew who Shakin Stevens was and could sing along to his Number One hit Green Door. No so today's bland chart-toppers. Our record industry has fractured to the point where audiences prefer to interact with one of 50 separate digital video channels rather than watch one all-encompassing half hour show. We all have different favourites now, more personal but wholly lacking in zeitgeist. Pops used to be short for Popular, and nothing is any more.

Popslinks
• The official history, presenters and opening titles
• How TotP used to be
• 40-year critical review
• TotP trivia
• the passing away of an icon
• Pan's People

posted 00:01 :

 Saturday, July 29, 2006

somewhere in an alternate universe...

Court Circular - 29th July 2006

Today is the Silver Wedding Anniversary of the Prince and Princess of Wales.

Her Majesty the Queen invites you, her royal subjects, to join together to celebrate 25 years of wedded bliss between her eldest son and her most favourite daughter-in-law. A right royal hurrah is planned.

This is a most auspicious occasion worthy of widespread commemoration. Throughout the week souvenir portraits, mugs and teatowels have been on sale at royal palaces across the nation. Street parties have been held in almost six villages, and Commonwealth leaders have posted messages of congratulation on their MySpace profiles.

Today, as a fitting climax to the festivities, two non-overlapping ceremonial parades will pass through the streets of London. The Prince of Wales will depart from St James's Palace at 10am in the State Coach, proceeding with due care and reverence towards St Paul's Cathedral. The People's Princess will depart from Kensington Palace at 10.30am in a red Alfa Romeo Spider, speeding recklessly (but not calamitously) towards Westminster Abbey.

At 11am two services of national commemoration will be held. In St Paul's Cathedral the Prince of Wales will give thanks for a quarter of a century of marriage in a service led by the Archisbishop of Canterbury. In attendance will be the Queen, Prince Philip and all of Charles's polo-playing mates, huzzah. Proceedings will be screened live on BBC4, and a two-page photographic spread will appear in next week's Horse and Hound. At Westminster Abbey the Princess of Wales will give thanks for a quarter of a century of media attention in a chatshow hosted by Ant and Dec. In attendance will be Peace Ambassador William, Playboy Harry and the lovely Princess Kayleigh. Video footage will be downloaded direct to all Vodafone mobile subscribers, and an exclusive 36-page photo essay will appear in next week's Heat magazine.

Charles will then return to Buckingham Palace for a royal banquet featuring organic food sourced from his Highgrove estate. During the meal he will sneak out for a quick snog with the horse-faced woman nobody realises he's having an affair with. He will then return in time to deliver a speech on the importance of the Prince's Trust and architecture, just to prove he's still relevant in the 21st century. Meanwhile Diana will head to a club in Mayfair for a reception featuring organic powder sourced from a Venezuelan plantation. Once the paparazzi have been satisfied she will sneak out to throw up into a convenient sink. She will then return in time to attend a Botox booster session with a Harley Street consultant, just to prove she still looks ten years younger than 45.

The day ends with a firework display above the Serpentine which both parties will watch from opposite sides of Hyde Park. Charles and Diana will then depart and retire to bed (exact location to be confirmed). Long live their Royal Highnesses, and here's to another 25 years of happy marriage.

posted 00:25 :

 Friday, July 28, 2006

One of the unexpected side effects of this current heatwave is that my journey to work is taking longer every morning. And it's not London Underground's fault either. The additional delay is occurring outside Bow Road station, at the newsagent's kiosk, as local commuters stop and queue to buy a cold drink before travelling.

"Hmm, bottled water please. Er, no, actually, do you have any Sprite? Or maybe some Coke Zero? No, not reached here yet? OK. What else have you go then? Uh-uh... right... yeah... oh go on then, just a bottle of water. Still please, not sparkling. Yeah, still. Thanks. Now then, I've got a £20 note here somewhere, hang on while I find it..."

These seasonal shoppers really aren't used to buying things in the morning, and it shows. Some of us only want to buy a newspaper, like we do every day, and we know exactly which one we want and we've even got the right money. But these people just stand there dithering, as if the rest of us have all the time in the world, attempting to buy something they could easily have brought from home instead. Have they never considered the practicalities of filling an old bottle with tapwater and leaving it in the fridge or freezer overnight? It's free, you know, and much better for the environment. Useless planet-murdering tossers.

Then when they finally pay up and move out of the way I swoop in like a falcon, hand over my ready cash and depart with my newspaper in seconds... only to find the same idiots blocking my entrance into the station as they slow down to pick up a copy of Metro from the rack behind the door. Honestly, can't they buy a newspaper like anyone else...?

posted 07:00 :

fivelinks
• Nothing to see here - "a collaborative guide to some of the world's lesser-signposted places to go - attractions that may not be all that attractive; coastal towns they forgot to close down; high streets that haven't been homogenised; oddities and one-offs". Brought to you by Anne in Glasgow, whose "I Like" blog recently went on a proper seaside holiday. Fab.
• An Ascii generator to create big lettering, 70s computer printout style. [via Geoff]
• Remember the nightmarishly addictive Falling Sand Game? Now there are more versions, including one for pyromaniacs and one with pinman zombies. [via in4mador]
• A geographically accurate map of properties on London's Monopoly board (and, on the same site, an ingenious geographically non-accurate map of all UK postcode areas)
• Watch thunderstorms flash across SE England on this live lightning radar (at Upminster Weather) (may take a while to load, and there may not be any lightning to see)

posted 00:05 :

 Thursday, July 27, 2006

6 years and counting

London's Olympic opening ceremony will be held six years from today, but as yet I can see no sign of the stadium in which it will be held. This is partly because the view north from my window is currently blocked by trees, but mostly because nobody's started building anything yet. Thankfully this week the Olympic Delivery Authority have finally published 'Infrastructure Project Milestones' detailing how and when the stadium's construction will be staged [pdf]. If 'procurement deadlines' run to time then a Compulsory Purchase Order will be slapped on the remaining land by the end of the year, allowing 'remediation', 'vacant posession' and 'demolition' to follow soon after. Which makes this the Lower Lea Valley's last ordinary summer. Last chance to see.

Here's the Olympic Stadium timeline in summary:
July 2005: London wins Olympics. Marshgate Lane's existing industry and wildlife instantly doomed. [photos]
July 2006: Procurement begins. Lawyers get rich. Stadium site still physically untouched.
July 2007: 'Land preparation' begins. Local area fenced off. Local businesses move out. Local trees bulldozed.
July 2008: Proper construction work begins. Stadium starts to take shape, very slowly.
July 2009: Evening Standard runs first of many "Stadium Deadline Crisis" headlines.
July 2010: Stadium now recognisable but incomplete. Original industrial estate now unrecognisable.
July 2011: Stadium ready. Practice events held (maybe a local school sports day, maybe not).
July 2012: Opening ceremony (assuming nobody's buggered up the entire timeline by then).
July 201?: Local residents allowed back into the new slightly-sanitised Olympic Park. Hurrah?

posted 06:00 :

 Zigazig ah!
• It's 10 years this week since the Spice Girls reached number 1 with Wannabe.
• The Spice Girls were formed in 1994 after responding to the following advert in The Stage: "R U 18-23 with the ability to sing/dance? R U streetwise, ambitious, outgoing and determined?"
• The Spice Girls were Melanie Chisholm, Geri Halliwell, Melanie Brown, Victoria Adams and Michelle Stephenson (the latter rapidly replaced by Emma Bunton).
• The Spice Girls gained their nicknames Sporty, Ginger, Scary, Posh and Baby from an article in "Top of the Pops" magazine.
• Wannabe was written in what is now my BestMate's flat in East London. Honest it was. It's a very ordinary two-bedroom flat in deepest Plaistow. Sadly there isn't a blue plaque on the wall outside, yet.
• The lyrics to Wannabe were, quite frankly, crap (Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really want; So tell me what you want, what you really really want; I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want; So tell me what you want, what you really really want; I wanna (huh), I wanna (huh), I wanna (huh), I wanna (huh), I wanna really really really wanna zigazig ah!) But that didn't seem to matter.
• The video for Wannabe [watch here] was filmed inside the derelict Midland Hotel at St Pancras station. (Although it looks like one continuous shot, there are in fact two minor edits)
• Wannabe spent seven weeks at Number 1 (only Gnarls Barkley has stayed longer since) and hung around the UK Top 40 for six months.
• Wannabe sold 1,269,841 copies and remains the UK's bestselling single by a female group.
• Slam your body down and zigazig ah. If you wanna be my lover.

posted 00:10 :

 Wednesday, July 26, 2006

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

The three best records from the Top 10 (21st July 1981)
Specials - Ghost Town: Was ever a number 1 record better matched to its time? As Terry and Lynval burned up the charts with this hymn to urban despair, so the inhabitants of Handsworth, Toxteth and other disaffected inner city flashpoints arose to set their estates ablaze. With its haunting windswept intro and wailing chorus, the song spoke volumes on behalf of an increasingly forgotten generation. The B-side (Friday Night, Saturday Morning) was damned good too, mainly for its simplistic drunken logic ("I go out on Friday night and I come home on Saturday morning"). And then, just in time for the false dawn of Charles & Di's sham wedding day, the record was knocked unceremoniously from its perch by an upbeat Shakin' Stevens cover. The Specials split acrimoniously three months later, but their place in history was assured. [video]
"This place, is coming like a ghost town, no job to be found in this country, can't go on no more, the people getting angry"
Tom Tom Club - Wordy Rappinghood: Was it insane, was it kooky, or was it just years ahead of its time. Bassist Tina and drummer Chris took time out from Talking Heads to create this avant garde literary rap. Set to the staccato beat of a typewriter they rhymed, warbled and experimented their way into the hearts of those with a modicum of musical wit. Today's sixth form keyboardists could probably knock out something similar in minutes, but back in 1981 such intelligent innovation was a revelation. (Note to today's sixth form keyboardists: a typewriter was an ancient writing instrument a bit like a computer but with no delete key, no LCD monitor and no broadband interactivity) [watch]
"Words in papers, words in books, words on TV, words for crooks, words of comfort, words of peace, words to make the fighting cease, words to tell you what to do, words are working hard for you"
Stevie Wonder - Happy Birthday: He's written better than this sugary polemic, but few other songs have had quite such an impact on modern US society. Everybody remembers the catchy 'Happy Birthday' chorus, but fewer noticed the one-track ranting verses Mr Wonder slipped inbetween. Why, insisted Stevie, did Americans not commemorate the life of civil rights leader Martin Luther King by enjoying a day off work and becoming a little more tolerant of one another? How could they be so blind? A 6 million signature petition riding on the back of this record finally persuaded Congress that the US should take another holiday every January. It's not quite the 'world partee' that Stevie wanted, but I suspect Dr King would be well chuffed anyway.
"I just never understood how a man who died for good could not have a day that would be set aside for his recognition, because it should never be just because some cannot see"

My favourite three records from July 1981 (at the time)
Barry Andrews - Rossmore Road: But I told you all about this musical gem six months ago. A quirky and desperately obscure song (which I still adore) about an insignificant North London sideroad (just north of Marylebone station). Go read my tribute blogpost here, or relive the song through the medium of photography here.
"The 159 runs along it, round the corner from Baker Street. There's a dolls house shop on the corner of Lisson Grove and Rossmore Road"
Kim Wilde - Water On Glass: Listening back now, it's not easy to tell why this was my favourite of all of Kim's singles. It has neither the innocence of Kids in America nor the energy of Chequered Love, neither does it display the polished professionalism of most of Kim's later songs. But the melody is still deeply-engrained in my subconscious even after all these years, so it must have some hidden magic. Smashing. [watch]
"Cascading down there's a sound vaporising into vision, it's a sound in my head that I feel and it shuts me in a prison"
The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra - Hooked on Classics: Take a handful of the greatest classical tunes ever made, slice them up into 30 second snippets and glue the lot together over a heavy synthesised drumbeat. Louis Clark's orchestral collage may not have been original but it was incredibly commercial (surely the Classic FM of its era). Medley records were all the rage in the summer of 1981. You can blame Dutch novelty act Starsound for kicking it all off with a Beatles melange, then an Abba tribute, at which point the deluge started. Tight Fit went Back to the 60s, Lobo brought us the Caribbean Disco Show and Gidea Park (a well-known suburb of Romford) delivered Beachboy Gold. With one of Britain's foremost orchestras jumping on the bandwagon the end of the phenomenon was clearly near, and thankfully it would be another eight years before Jive Bunny would risk anything similar. [listen, with kittens]
"...thump ... clap ...thump ... clap ...thump ... clap ...thump ...clap"

20 other hits from 25 years ago: Can Can (Bad Manners), Stars on 45 Volume II (Starsound), Body Talk (Imagination), Lay All Your Love On Me (Abba), Memory (Elaine Paige), Razzamatazz (Quincy Jones), Motorhead (Motorhead), You Might Need Somebody (Randy Crawford), Chant Number 1 (Spandau Ballet), There's A Guy Works Down The Chip Shop Swears He's Elvis (Kirsty MacColl), Throw Away The Key (Linx), Can't Happen Here (Rainbow), Me No Pop I (Kid Creole & The Coconuts), Take It On The Run (REO Speedwagon), I'm In Love (Evelyn 'Champagne' King), Visage (Visage), Never Surrender (Saxon), Computer Love (Kraftwerk), She's A Bad Mama Jama (Carl Carlton), Dancin' The Night Away (Voggue) ...which hit's your favourite? ...which one would you pick?

(If you like this sort of thing, mike's Which Decade Is Tops For Pops? project is just getting underway over at troubled diva)

posted 00:25 :

 Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Pledge banked: You may remember that three months ago our beloved Prime Minister, in a show of selfless humility, signed up to a special online Olympic-related pledge:

"I will become the patron of a London community sports club. I will work with the club over the years as the Olympics approaches in 2012 to support their development and raise their profile but only if 100 other public figures in London will join me in supporting other clubs."
(Tony Blair) Deadline: 25th July 2006 [107 people have signed up]

The deadline on Tony's Pledgebank promise expires today and, what do you know, he's reached his target. It wasn't looking promising just a few weeks ago, with the number of signees still 40 short of the necessary 100. But then, surprise surprise, numbers started picking up and the target's been exceeded by 7, just in time. I wonder how that happened. Have Tony's pals been chivvied to prevent him losing face (the list does have a particularly political bent)? Or have his online opponents signed up to embarrass the PM into action (Tim Ireland rushed in straight away, which is usually a sign of mischief)?

As a man of honour, all Tony has to do now is select a London community sports club to support. Something East-London-y would be appropriate, I think. Here are a few suggestions. I wonder which one he'll choose...

• Stratford Carjackers • Leyton ASBO Warriors • Canary Wharf Insider Dealers • Mile End Knife Display Team • Bow Synchronised Blingers

• Bethnal Green Taggers • Wapping Obese Toddler Group • Canning Town Housebreakers • Whitechapel Vodka Chasers • Hackney Wick Gun Club

Meanwhile several pledges on the Pledgebank website remain as yet unfulfilled, each worthy of your consideration and support. Here are just three:
• "I will pay £10 into a fund that aims to fill a public advertising space with something thought-provoking but only if 350 other people will too."
Deadline: 1st November 2006 [131 people have signed up, 219 more needed]
• "I will form part of a human chain around the Westminster no protest zone but only if 6,000 other people will join in."
Deadline: 15th January 2007 [1,167 people have signed up, 4833 more needed]
• "I will write to Jack Straw to tell him he's a cretin but only if 100 other people will too."
Deadline: 28th July 2006 [44 people have signed up, 56 more needed]

posted 07:00 :

Cost of renewing a UK passport   • October 2002: £30 • November 2002: £33 (↑10%) • October 2003: £42 (↑27%) • December 2005: £51 (↑21%) • October 2006: £66 (↑29%)

Cost of buying a TV licence • April 2002: £112 • April 2003: £116 (↑3½%) • April 2004: £121 (↑4%) • April 2005: £126.50 (↑4½%) • April 2006: £131.50 (↑4%)

If current rates of increase continue, a passport will cost more than a TV licence by 2010

posted 00:01 :

 Monday, July 24, 2006

This blog is... diamond geezer

What is it with the increasing number of automated audio announcements on board trains? On behalf of Blogger Southeast welcome aboard the 0700 blogpost from diamond geezer. I'm sure there didn't used to be quite so many of them. This post calls at Paragraph One, Paragraph Two and Paragraph Three, and will be arriving at Paragraph Four in approximately three minutes. Nowadays an annoying inanimate voice interrupts our travels at every available opportunity to tell us the bleeding obvious. Safety instructions are set out in the sidebar. Please familiarise yourself with these every time you travel. We used to be able to travel by train in peace without these constant interruptions. The next paragraph is Paragraph Two. Change here for alternative blogs. But no longer. Please remember to take all your belongings with you when leaving this blogpost.

Welcome to readers joining this blogpost at Paragraph Two. And is this never-ending succession of announcements really necessary? This is Monday's blogpost from... diamond geezer... Most of this information is already scrolling across a display panel attached to the roof of the carriage. ...calling at Paragraph Three and Paragraph Four. But accessibility legislation means that visually impaired passengers must also be offered an aural alternative. Please give up your seat if required by an elderly, disabled or pregnant person. The other 99% of us can only sit patiently and endure the noise, or take drastic action to block it out. Please open your eyes, unplug your headphones and listen to this very important information, damn you. And what's the point of introducing 'quiet' mobile-free carriages on trains if our ears are still going to be assaulted by these constant interruptions anyway? The next paragraph is Paragraph Three. Whatever happened to silence? If you are leaving this blogpost at the next paragraph, please remember to take all your belongings with you.

Welcome to readers joining this blogpost at Paragraph Three. And then they run through all the announcements again for the benefit of the handful of additional passengers who've just got on at the last station. Safety instructions are set out in the sidebar. Imagine the legal consequences if the train had an accident and these few passengers had not previously been given due warning of basic safety advice. Please familiarise yourself with these every time you travel. Better to annoy all your passengers than to risk a single one of them suing you. Please remember to keep your baggage with you at all times. But endless repetition of patronising advice breeds complacency. Please remember to keep your baggage with you at all times. The impact of these supposedly important security announcements is being diminished as they become so utterly commonplace. The next paragraph is Paragraph Four. The more they tell us, the less we hear. If you are leaving this blogpost here, please remember to take all your belongings with you.

Welcome to readers joining this blogpost at Paragraph Four. Sigh, here we go yet again, over and over and over. This is still Monday's blogpost at diamond geezer, as you'd already know if you'd boarded earlier. I suppose these announcements can be useful for people who've never travelled the line before, and for those unable to see out of the window. We're approaching the next station, the one you want to get off at, so you'd better start getting your things together. But surely just a brief rundown of destination, next stop and intermediate stops should be sufficient, with the driver chipping in if any additional updates are required. We apologise for the late running of this train, which is completely Network Rail's fault and nothing to do with us. In the meantime, regular commuters and those with an IQ above 80 are being patronised, over and over, by an increasing stream of unneccessary announcements. You're on a train dear, yes, you're on a train. Still, at least they haven't started bombarding us with adverts inbetween the travel information, yet. Why not buy an over-priced coffee from the nice lady wheeling her trolley down the aisle? It can only be a matter of time. This blogpost terminates here. Please remember to leave a comment when leaving this blogpost. Sigh. All change, all change please.

posted 07:00 :

 Sunday, July 23, 2006

Cloudburst over Merton

The morning sunshine has brought a crowd of eager shoppers to Merton Abbey Mills. That and the alluring combination of craft stalls, arty shops and mildly ethnic foodstuffs laid out across the historic setting of Liberty's former silk-printing works. But the sun is long gone, the clouds have opened and the courtyard is suddenly empty. Quick, move those second-hand books undercover and drape the homemade birthday cards in plastic. A tropical downpour beats down on drooping awnings, beneath which damp shoppers anxiously wait. They stare hesitantly at the wares spread across whichever stall they've taken refuge at, aware that the storm may continue for some time. There's only so long you can stare at embroidered boots, or ribbon-tied satin cushions, before stepping back out into the rainstorm starts to look appealing.

On the far side of the courtyard a solitary lady in a pink blouse sits patiently behind a trestle table laden with jams, pickles and curry sauces. Water bounces off the green canvas above her head as she stares resignedly forward, chin in hand. Each raindrop might as well be a laser beam given the impenetrable exclusion zone now established in front of her stall. Her weekend business plan is in tatters, at least temporarily. Somewhere up the road a bride's big day is being ruined.

Beneath the central clocktower a motley crew of local musicians attempts to entertain the crowd with a succession of tame guitar songs. The first distant rumble of thunder suddenly halts this free concert, leaving stranded shoppers alone with their thoughts. Time passes. After fifteen long minutes one guitarist risks electrocution by plugging himself back into the amplifier and treats his trapped audience to a cheery rendition of U2's One. Patrons of the Commonwealth Café, safely tucked away beneath orange striped awnings, look up from their Cottage Pie and Chips and show their appreciation with warm applause. Not so the fearsome manageress who strides out into the deluge in her bulging blue apron and demands that the volume be turned down. "That'll be our last song then, thanks for listening." Somehow the atmosphere is dampened further.

A grinning child runs out to stand in the torrent of water now pouring from the corner of the clocktower roof, drenching his already-soaked hair in this impromptu waterfall. A well-protected biker and his girlfriend pass the time by flicking through a rail of slightly-too-lively clothes. A bottle-blond mother dashes out across the courtyard towards the safety of the Wheelhouse pottery, just for a change of scene. Maybe the monsoon is easing just a little, enough to brave stepping out into the open again. Pink blouse lady at last has an audience, however tiny, to sell her chutney to. No heavy shower is going to stop these South Londoners from shopping, not for long anyway.

• Merton Abbey Mills
• location (Wimbledon-ish, beside the Wandle, nr Colliers Wood tube)
• William Morris & Liberty woz ere

posted 08:30 :

 Saturday, July 22, 2006

Weekend tube closures

It used to be easy taking the tube at the weekend. You turned up at your local station, caught a train, changed where necessary and duly arrived at the other end. Not any more. London Underground insist on shutting down large chunks of the tube network every weekend 'due to planned engineering works', and every weekend it's a different selection of track. What may look like a simple journey across town can become a nightmare diversionary trek via rail replacement bus services once various line segments have been erased from service.

It's particularly bad this weekend, with track replacement work affecting eight different lines and sufficient alternative travel arrangements to fill a 16-page TfL leaflet. The Circle, Metropolitan and Hammersmith and City lines are closing down yet again between Edgware Road and Liverpool Street, and the good people of Finchley, Barnet and Wanstead have been severed from the network. Tomorrow it gets even worse with additional closures on the Bakerloo and Jubilee lines, as well as Arsenal station going offline for a fortnight. I know that these engineering works have to take place sometime, and that the tube network should be slightly better once they're completed, but do we really need to endure quite so many simultaneous shutdowns?

To assist forward-looking Londoners, the tube website now kindly lists all the planned network closures for the next six months (all 104 of them). It's a rather scary list, so I've thoughtfully summarised it for you in this easy-to-swallow table of weekend tube shutdowns. Every coloured blob indicates a planned weekend closure along part (or all) of a particular line. Now you can arrange to be elsewhere as required (or maybe stick to travelling on the East London line, just to be on the safe side).

	July		August				September					October				November
	22	29	5	12	19	26	2	9	16	23	30	7	14	21	28	4	11	18	25
Bakerloo
Central
Circle
District
East London
Ham & City
Jubilee
Metropolitan
Northern
Piccadilly
Victoria
W & City

(© dg 2006)

posted 07:30 :

 Friday, July 21, 2006

Arrangements for the last day of term

First of all let me congratulate everybody on another successful year here at Blogger Primary. We've all worked really hard together as a community, and I think we can be justly proud of everything we've achieved. Well done everybody. And now the last day of term has rolled round again. In a few short hours the summer holidays will begin (I'm sure I don't have to remind you not to go picnicking on railway tracks or throwing grannies into the canal or setting fire to your neighbour's cat with a magnifying glass). But there's still lots to be done here before we break up this afternoon.

First of all there's our Leavers' Assembly. This is where we say goodbye to the senior members of our community by pretending we've liked working with them over the years. Lots of Mummies and Daddies are coming in, and they'll be having a good blub at the thought of their offspring finally growing up. The recorder group will be playing Morning Has Broken, and they've been practising this all term so don't forget to clap afterwards. We'll also be awarding the Sports Day trophies. Special thanks to Ms Jenkinson for organising our very first non-competitive Sports Day, so there'll be egg-and-spoon certificates for absolutely everybody, even those of you who are too obese to run.

Then we're sending you back to your rooms for the rest of the morning. I hope you've all brought games with you, because it's the last day of term and we can't be arsed to teach you anything. Somebody's probably brought Twister - please collect a health and safety waiver form from the secretary before you start playing. Somebody's probably brought Mastermind - but nobody likes a geek so don't forget to hide all their pegs down the back of the radiator. And lots of you have probably brought something electronic that beeps - which is a shame because we'll end up confiscating it and you'll have to play Mastermind after all.

We hope you've bought a present for your teacher to show your appreciation for all the spelling tests they've given you over the year. This term we've introduced recycling bins in every classroom so that your gift baskets of soap, novelty ties and cuddly animals can be disposed of in safety before your teacher has to suffer the embarrassment of opening them in public. Please do not throw away anything chocolate-based. Your mother also probably forced you to waste valuable pocket money on a disturbingly cheesy "Thank you" card, but please chuck that in the bin too before we realise that, despite our best intentions, you still can't spell.

At the end of the afternoon we'll be giving you back all the project work you've done over the year so that it can clog up your bedroom over the summer and not our store cupboards. We'll also be giving you a very important newsletter which you must, repeat must, give to a parent or guardian as soon as you get home (even though we know you'll forget, or fold it into a paper aeroplane instead). And then at half past three you'll head off for a summer of over-eating, asbo-collecting and annoying the hell out of your parents, and we'll just sit here and play with all the games we confiscated earlier. Remind me again what game you brought in, will you...?

posted 07:00 :

 Thursday, July 20, 2006

TV's most annoying advert (July)
Expedia - clouds   [view here]

"Travel" (it's that Hugh Laurie bloke, sounding relentlessly glib after just one word)
"Now clouds know how to travel, in perfect ease" (no they don't, you idiot, clouds aren't sentient are they?)
"Just like us" (don't be so stupid, holidaying humans don't float blissfully along hundreds of feet up in the air, they fly squashed aboard DVT-inducing charter flights)
"Sometimes, if they know exactly where they want to be, they're off" (oh for heaven's sake, clouds are just inanimate wisps of water vapour, they know nothing)
"Or they can narrow down their choices from a whole world of options" (what sort of choices do you think clouds have, you twat? "Shall I become an altostratus or a cumulonimbus?" "Shall I go and rain on Bolton or Biarritz?" Not very likely, is it?)
"Or if they're looking for some inspiration, it's easy" (so, clouds are physically able to interact with the Expedia website to book package holidays, are they? Which overpaid copywriter wrote this nonsensical drivel?)
"Why not make your travelling easier?" (sorry, I'm still not quite seeing where clouds come into this. Especially not the unconvincing computer-generated blob of cotton wool you've cut-and-pasted into the sky above New York and Venice in this miserable advert)
"expedia dot co dot uk" (still, I suppose it's better than that Frosties nightmare)

posted 07:00 :

Central London, Wednesday 2:30pm

It is, quite literally, the height of summer.

Nobody is attempting to fry an egg on the pavement, but this would be the afternoon to try. The queue for the Oasis swimming pool stretches out of the front door, down the steps and round the corner into a sidestreet. Potential punters bathe not in refreshing chlorine but in sunlight and sweat. It's Dress Down Wednesday, although for many this means only a slightly loosened tie rather than a t-shirt and shorts. Freckles, tattoos and cellulite are willingly exposed for further charring. An unexpectedly refreshing breeze rustles the trees down Shaftesbury Avenue. In the Soho Fire Station a fiery red engine stands by with all doors thrown open wide. A tired mother saunters along beneath a yellow parasol, trailing two toddlers left exposed to the sun's direct glare.

In Piccadilly Circus a large placard points potential punters towards "½ PRICE TANNING". Business is not brisk. Tourists flop down in the shadow of Eros, occasionally dipping body parts into the cooling fountain. A double decker number 19 sauna trundles past. It's hot as hell at the foot of Regent Street, and Sinner Winner Man is here to save your flaming soul. He stands bare-chested on the traffic island, megaphone in hand, beckoning passers-by to Jesus. Nobody stops for conversation or conversion, but few have the energy to speed past. A bewildered old lady emerges up the stairs from the sweltering underworld, dressed in cottage-style floppy hat and long grey socks. She gently perspires, while London sweats.

posted 00:36 :

 Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Cool links (just to take your mind off the heat)
• Virtual tour of the South Pole; aerial view; tour of South Pole station; webcam (yes, it's dark); current weather (-75°C)
• the British Antarctic Survey; read the diaries of Brits at Halley Research station (current temperature -30°C)
• Antarctic images on flickr
• North Pole webcam (Note: storm-related wind has tipped Camera 1 over, and it now views the sky and cloud conditions)
• North Pole weather (current temperature 0°C); North Pole Marathon; North Magnetic Pole
• visit Iceland; visit Greenland
• Iceberg classification (by height): extra large (>75m), large (46-75m), medium (16-45m), small (5-15m), bergy bit (1-4m), growler (<1m)
• Map of current North Atlantic icebergs (n.b. empty squares inside the iceberg limit may contain growlers or bergy bits)
• the International Ice Patrol (set up to patrol the North Atlantic after the sinking of the Titanic by an iceberg in 1912)
• current Antarctic icebergs; Newfoundland icebergs; Iceberg alley
• Swiss glaciers; glacier retreat; glacier photos; Fox's Glacier Mints
• penguincam; Antarctic penguins; polar bears
• snow crystals

posted 07:00 :

If you think today is hot, remember what it was like on 10th August 2003 instead...
(full details and temperature contour map here)
• 38.5°C Brogdale (near Faversham, Kent) [New UK record high temperature]
• 38.1°C Gravesend (Kent)
• 38.1°C Kew Gardens
• 37.9°C Heathrow
• 37.8°C Wisley (Surrey)
• 37.7°C Northolt
• 37.6°C Met Office roof (London) [overnight minimum temperature 23.7°C]
• 37.6°C St James's Park
• 37.5°C Cambridge Guildhall
• 32.9°C Greycrook (Roxburghshire, the day before) [New Scottish record high temperature]

(and if you don't think today is hot, probably because you live somewhere far from UK shores encased in permanent air conditioning, please allow us pasty-legged Brits our overblown lethargic moaning, just this once. Thanks)

posted 06:59 :

 Tuesday, July 18, 2006

DISPATCHES FROM THE E3 URBAN FRONTLINE.

Everybody's heading for the local convenience store on Bow Road.

There's a big Tesco ten minutes down the road, but it's hot and nobody can be bothered to walk that far. It's worth paying over the odds for basic foodstuffs just to avoid hiking down the arterial road and sweating like a pig.

Somebody's tied a mangy dog to the handrail on the shallow concrete ramp outside the front door. A couple of schoolkids hang around waiting for their mate to emerge with a pocketful of sweets, maybe nicked while nobody was looking, maybe not. Bow's local beggarwoman accosts every passer-by for the small change they will never offer.

The door opens with a blaring electronic fanfare. Not far inside is the rack of lottery playslips - could this be your ticket out of here? In the first aisle you'll find several varieties of plastic bread, just beyond the mostly full-fat milk. Don't expect any of these to last long beyond their sell-by date - you'll be back soon enough to stock up again. Deeper inside the shop are the not-quite ripe bananas, the over-priced packets of cereal and the grainy photocopier. Many of the products never change, but it's not quite the old Co-Op it used to be.

Security cameras train their eye along the shelves, with random aisles flashing up on the big screen above the tills in glorious black and white. There's a Bow Quarter resident flicking through the ready meals, and there's a Bromley-by-Bow mother hunting down the cheapest rice. But many customers need never venture down into the farthest recesses of the shop. Everything they require is stocked up front, just behind the counter.

"60 Benson and Hedges"
"Bottle of Johnny Walker"
"12-pack of weak own-brand lager"
"Litre of cheap generic alcoholic throat-burner"

A beery tracksuited lout leans across the counter and harangues the shopkeeper, eyeing up his turban with poorly-concealed disgust. He repeats the same ill-judged racist insult over and over, his lager-soaked mind seemingly incapable of independent thought. Yes, prices in here are steep, but white pays no more than any other colour of skin. The Costcutter family edge closer for protection, dignified in their silence. Eventually their verbal assailant departs, confident of moral victory, but he'll be back again tomorrow for another bottle or three.

"Next please, who's next?"

posted 18:00 :

 Monday, July 17, 2006

DISPATCHES FROM THE NORFOLK VILLAGE FRONTLINE.

Everybody has come to see the refurbished village shop.

Last week the shop was full of half-dressed workmen looking half-busy ripping out all the shelves, counters and chiller cabinets. Tins of mulligatawny soup and packets of bran flakes were available only in NearbyTown - a three mile drive away. This morning NASK is sweeping rubbish on the pavement outside. A new reality is restored.

Local people poke and peek inside with no intention of actually buying anything. They walk around the interior, peering at every last bottle and jar to get their revised bearings. There are magazines in the corner where the Post Office used to be. All the packet mixes and cook-in sauces have been reshuffled into new positions on fresh shelves. The old wooden floorboards have been covered by fresh grey lino. There are cabinets full of milk and Lambrusco where the cash desk once stood. A lonely electronic balance on the shop counter is the only indication of the new 'open-plan' Post Office.

A queue has built up at the till where NASW is smiling broadly. A small child stares blankly over her mother's shoulder, unaware that anything is different. A blonde lady with over-sized sunglasses waits patiently to buy her Daily Mail. At the counter a pensioner hunts for change to pay for her half-weekly shopping. The conversation is lightly sprinkled with approving mutterings.

Barely a breeze disturbs the unmown hay standing tall across the village green. White clouds streak the sky like smudges of flowing horsehair. Another car turns off the lane and pulls up on the gravel outside the shop. Three old freezer units and a greetings card rack stand forlornly beside the postbox, awaiting new owners.

NASK looks up from his sweeping to greet the arriving shoppers. Yes, it's very different here to the business he used to run back in North London. No, you don't normally get tattooed Sri Lankans running village shops in rural Norfolk. And yes, it'll probably take a decade (or two) to earn back the tens of thousands of pounds he's just forked out on this upgrade. But at least they completed it on time.

The emerging villagers smile politely. The new shopkeeper may not be one of them, but now at least they can buy stamps and Marmite again. Maybe one day NASK and his wife might even know all of their customers by name, just like the old owners did. And NASK smiles back. The shop's clientele haven't all deserted him for the big supermarket in NearbyTown. He hopes his new village empire will survive long enough for him to recoup his investment... and perhaps, just maybe, long enough for him to be accepted.

NASK - New Asian Shop Keeper
NASW - New Asian Shopkeeper's Wife

(Jonny does this sort of thing better)

posted 18:00 :

 Sunday, July 16, 2006

  I SPY LONDON
  the definitive DG guide to London sights-worth-seeing
  Part 10: Theatre Museum

Location: Russell Street, Covent Garden, WC2E 7PR [map]
Open: 10am - 6pm (closed Sunday and Monday)
Admission: free
5-word summary: a staged history of greasepaint
Website: www.theatremuseum.org
Time to set aside: an hour or two

It's right next to Covent Garden Market so I must have walked past the Theatre Museum on scores, possibly hundreds, of occasions. But I'd never previously been inside, not until I finally spotted the key phrase "free admission" on a poster outside. And it really was free - the lady on the admission desk didn't blink as I walked straight past her into the semi-darkness. The audience walking around inside seemed pitifully small for a weekend matinee performance but hey, the show must go on.

The ground floor tells the story of Theatreland and the West End. Not much of the story, admittedly, but a hint at the local transformation from rows of slums to palaces of popular entertainment. There are historic prints, plans, posters and props, as well as a big screen at the rear showing highlights from glitzy long-running musicals. There's even an exhibit of theatre seating, in case you fancy a sit down. The rows used to be only 28 inches apart, which is even more squashed than a modern economy flight, but patrons were 4 inches shorter back then so maybe nobody got DVT and sued. One of Camelot's original National Lottery machines is on display, representing the millions of pounds gamblers have pumped into modernising West End theatres over the last decade. A bit rich, then, that the Heritage Lottery Fund recently placed the future of the museum under serious threat by turning down two bids for a development grant.

There's more to this museum than first meets the eye. A long twisty ramp leads down into the main galleries in the basement. In one room an optimistic amount of seating has been set out for watching selected excerpts from the National Video Archive of Performance (which is probably a collection of Sir John Gielgud's best bits). A maze of gloomy corridors tells the story of British performing arts and some of its more famous players (like, for example, more than everything you ever wanted to know about the Redgrave family). The presentation isn't especially dramatic, more a load of wall-to-floor display cases with tons of information to read. Younger visitors will no doubt be more interested in the costume and theatrical make-up demonstrations, so families should time their visit carefully. But next time you're passing (and one day you will be) why not pop in? After all it's a heck of a lot cheaper than paying through the nose to see the Lion King (and, dare I say it, rather more interesting).
by tube: Covent Garden  by bus: RV1

posted 00:10 :

 Saturday, July 15, 2006

Sport Relief: Where did all the sport go? We've been spoilt for weeks, even months, with an embarrassment of sporting events, and suddenly it all dries up. After five weekends packed with World Cup football matches (and embarrassingly random penalty shootouts), suddenly there are none. After a full fortnight of Wimbledon, the grass courts of SW19 have fallen silent. You'd think that in the height of summer, with perfect weather and maximum daylight, there'd be tons of sport going on. But no, nothing major. So it's the perfect weekend for the charity pantomime of Sport Relief to take place, because there's virtually no sport to interrupt.

OK, so there's England v Pakistan in the cricket, but these days test matches have been banished to Sky, out of sight, out of mind. OK, so there's athletics, but that's just a lot of Britons we've never heard of trying to qualify for some European championships we don't really care about. OK so there's a Rugby League final, but you try convincing anybody living more than 50 miles from the M62 that this game has any relevance in their life. OK, so there's cycling, but that's merely a bunch of men in lycra swapping jerseys on a month-long French holiday. OK so there's the French Grand Prix, but that's just a lot of expensive cars failing to overtake one another in a circuitous traffic jam. OK, so there's racing, but then there's always racing and it's not called the 'flat' season for nothing. And OK, so there's golf, but the Scottish Open isn't exactly the most high profile tournament... sorry, are you still awake there? Roll on August.

posted 09:00 :

I'm sensing a musical trend across the ocean (and not a good one).
Without checking, can you tell which of these one-off attention-seeking musical partnerships is not in the US Billboard Hot 100?

1) Nelly Furtado Featuring Timbaland
4) Shakira Featuring Wyclef Jean
5) The Mack Krew Featuring Debra Graham
8) Lil Jon Featuring E-40 & Sean Paul Of The YoungBloodZ
9) Chamillionaire Featuring Krayzie Bone
11) Field Mob Featuring Ciara
12) The Pussycat Dolls Featuring Snoop Dogg
16) Cherish Featuring Sean Paul Of The YoungBloodZ
17) Young Dro Featuring T.I.
19) Kelis Featuring Too $hort
20) Fort Minor Featuring Holly Brook

[phew, a quick check reveals only three such double-headers in the UK top 20]

posted 08:00 :

 Friday, July 14, 2006

Aujourd'hui geezer de diamant célèbre le jour de Bastille

Leçon française une
What gender is your country?
20 male: le Botswana, le Canada, le Cuba, le Danemark, les États-Unis, l'Iran, l'Iraq, le Japon, le Liechtenstein, le Luxembourg, le Mexique, le Monaco, le Portugal, le Royaume-Uni, le Swaziland, le Tchad, le Togo, le Vatican, le Zaïre, le Zimbabwe
20 female: l'Allemagne, l'Australie, l'Autriche, la Belgique, la Chine, la Côte d'Ivoire, l'Égypte, l'Espagne, la France, la Hongrie, l'Indonésie, l'Irlande, la Nouvelle-Zélande, la Norvège, la Papouasie-Nouvelle-Guinée, la Russie, les Seychelles, la Suède, la Suisse, la Zambie

posted 00:03 :

Leçon française deux
Name some French cheeses with 'Protected Designation of Origin'
15 genuine: Abondance, Bleu d'Auvergne, Brie de Meaux, Cancoillotte, Chevrotin, Emmental de Savoie, Laguiole, Livarot, Morbier, Neufchâtel, Pont-l'Évêque, Rocamadour, Selles-sur-Cher, Tomme de Savoie, Valençay
10 fake: Aromalot, Fouleniffe, Pongeaux, Odourais, Rançide, Reeque, Smelliér, Stenche, la Stinquoire, Whiffé

posted 00:02 :

Leçon française trois
What are the most popular names in France?
Top 10 first names (male babies): Lucas, Théo, Thomas, Hugo, Maxime, Enzo, Antoine, Clément, Alexandre, Quentin
Top 10 first names (female babies): Léa, Manon, Emma, Chloé, Camille, Océane, Clara, Marie, Sarah, Inès
Top 20 surnames: Martin, Bernard, Dubois, Thomas, Robert, Richard, Petit, Durand, Leroy, Moreau, Simon, Laurent, Lefebvre, Michel, Garcia, David, Bertrand, Roux, Vincent, Fournier

posted 00:01 :

 Thursday, July 13, 2006

Starting next month, the Government intends to make public the level of threat to UK national security by displaying the current alert status on the Home Office and MI5 websites. The proposed five-point scale might, but probably won't, appear online like this:

SECURITY ALERT LEVEL lowmoderatesubstantialcriticalsevere

Oh how useful to be able to check this key information 24 hours a day, just in case. Going to the shops? Check first with MI5 to see whether it might be advisable to buy tinned food and extra batteries. Heading into London? The Home Office homepage can advise you whether it might be safer to stay indoors and whitewash your windows instead. Feeling nervous? Better refresh that webpage just in case national security's gone belly-up during the last 30 seconds. This simple online alert will undoubtedly reassure the public and help to dampen collective community paranoia (unless we're on 'critical', in which case it may cause us all to run around with paper bags over our heads, screaming and accidentally shooting innocent Brazilians). This is not so much freedom of information as information of freedom.

Although I think the scale could perhaps be a little more honest:

SECURITY ALERT LEVEL (translation) we've gone back to the Middle Agesall known terrorist suspects are locked upour foreign policy still isn't workingplease vote to introduce ID cards nowwe're introducing ID cards anyway

And hey, if the Government can introduce useful warnings on its own websites, why can't us bloggers follow suit? By incorporating a similar caution box on our own blogs, we could alert readers to imminent themes, posts and rhetoric which might disturb them. Here are three possible 5-point scales you might like to consider for your own blog:

POLITICAL COMMENT ALERT LEVEL I never write about politics, everI express the odd opinion now and thenmy thoughts on every subject are importantyou're wrong and I'm right you ignoramusexpect the same tedious bigotry tomorrow

BLOG HIATUS ALERT LEVEL I'll be posting tomorrow, honestI'll post later this week if I have timeI'll post later this month, probablyI'm out having a life, back eventuallyon permamnent hiatus, goodbye

KITTEN ALERT LEVEL permanent kitten-free zonemild risk of general cutenessoccasional tabby overloadawww, see the ickle kittens!pussies galore

Which list of alerts would suit you best?

posted 07:00 :

 Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Taking Time Out

When I started this blog four years ago I didn't write much about London. Not as much as I do now, anyway. I didn't think people would be particularly interested in hearing all about the places I'd visited in the capital, because that wasn't what blogging was about. Blogging was about what I'd done and what I thought and what links I'd spotted. And then one day, on the throw of a dice, I ended up going to Putney to watch the Boat Race merely so that I could write about the experience when I got home. Ever since that day my blog's evolved into a bit of a London travelog, on and off, right up to my pointless random visit to the City last weekend. Because I find it interesting. Because I get to go to places I'd never otherwise have seen. And because blogging can be about whatever I want it to be. If I have nothing better to do at the weekend than to visit places and then write about them, then so be it.

Anyway, it seems that some people do like reading what I write about London. Which is nice. And this morning a few hundred thousand more people are reading my stuff than usual. Ulp. Londoners flicking through this week's edition of Time Out magazine are about to find 800 words that I wrote, in print, in black and white, on page 12. Ulp. They're in the Big Smoke section, up front before all the listings start, where you'll usually find an eclectic mix of facts, history and observations. My article's all about the grimy underworld of the Woolwich Foot Tunnel, and it's appearing under the heading of "London journeys". The magazine's even used one of my photographs to cover a large proportion of the page, a fact which would amaze anybody who's ever seen my extremely amateur low-res digital camera.

The tunnel article has been written especially for Time Out, so you won't be reading it here, sorry. If you're very lucky then they might stick it up on their revamped website, somewhere here. If not then you're going to have to buy (or scrounge) a copy of the magazine, or wait until next week and go grubbing through the capital's recycling bins instead. My particular apologies to all those of you living outside London because your local newsagent won't be stocking Time Out (unless they're particularly stupid). You could always spend £2.35 to read the entire magazine online, although I'm not sure why anyone in Stornoway would want to know what's on at the Peckham Multiplex, or why readers in America would care that there's a community festival at Spitalfields City Farm this Sunday. But it might be worth forking out because Time Out's a good read these days (and not just because I'm in it).

Don't worry, I'm not planning on writing any less on my blog. Indeed yesterday's post about the Barbican was longer than my Time Out piece, and you got that for free. And hey, even if I can't bring you the article, I can at least show you the strapline:

"London journeys: In the first of our new series of alternative routes round the capital, London blogger diamond geezer braves the tiled terror of the Woolwich Foot Tunnel"

Oh boy, did they say 'series'?
I'd better get busy researching and writing a second article, I guess...

posted 00:01 :

 Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Random 'borough' (10): City of London (part 3)

Somewhere random: the Barbican estate
Every time I visit the Barbican I try ever so hard not to get lost, and every time I fail. I'm sure the 1950s architects didn't mean for their concrete community to be quite so impenetrable, quite the opposite in fact, but somehow the walkways and stairwells create an illogical labyrinth that even Theseus might have found tricky to navigate around. Getting into the estate in the first place isn't easy - there are only a few 'gates' around the perimeter of the site, most of these cunningly disguised as uninviting stairwells. To move from place to place you have to follow long concrete walkways six metres above the ground, which pass around and beneath various identikit apartment blocks. The famous Barbican 'yellow line' is painted on the floor for you to follow [photo], but it leads you on without ever explicitly stating where you might be heading. There are signs everywhere, but your final destination tends to remain tantalisingly out of reach. I love the place.

The Barbican estate was constructed in the 1960s and 70s to reclaim one of the most heavily bombed parts of the City. Arguments had raged for years as to exactly what to do with the site, with all proposals having to combine maximum open space with maximum accommodation. The final solution was a collection of tower and terrace blocks, raised up on concrete stilts surrounding a central lake and gardens. There are precisely 2014 flats here, in a variety of shapes and sizes from studio to penthouse - most minimalist but all modernist. I looked into renting a flat here when I first moved to London, but only for a couple of minutes once I'd discovered the price. If you want to know what it's like to live here or to find out more about the history of the place, then I can heartily recommend the Barbican Living website for a fascinatingly in-depth read. Check out the multitude of side menus for maximum information. What do the kitchens look like? What's it like living at the top of Shakespeare Tower? Which blocks get the most sunshine? It's all there.

There's plenty for the casual visitor to enjoy around the Barbican, even if you never quite know where or what you might stumble upon next. The church in the middle comes as a bit of a shock on your first visit [photo]. Look, there are jagged relics of the old City Wall beside the southern lake, and even the last semi-circular remnants of a defensive tower [photo]. Rows of parallel balconies drip with colourful hanging plants [photo]. On closer inspection a large leaking pipe turns out to be a gutter-shaped waterfall [photo]. And something I'd never seen before and was amazed to discover - there's a vast glass conservatory here filled with tropical plants (alas only open for visitors on Sunday afternoons) [photo].

And then, of course, there's the famous Barbican Arts Centre [photo]. If you thought finding your way around outside was difficult, somehow this feels harder. You probably won't enter on the level you require and so may end up in the art gallery, cinema or library by mistake. Where are the stairs to get you from up here to just down there? It's not always obvious. An innocent looking corridor may turn out to be a long curving exhibition space. Trying to negotiate your way to the toilets during a concert interval requires time, and maybe a compass. And yet there's a bold simplicity to the entire design, complete with sweeping surfaces and chunky graphics [photo], and the split-level foyers sort of make sense eventually. There's always an intriguing selection of events being staged here too, which the estate's residents are fortunate enough to have on their doorstep. But you probably couldn't afford to live here, not least because of the exorbitant service charges, so you'll have to make do with the occasional visit. Good luck finding your way out.
by tube: Barbican, Moorgate  by bus: 153

Somewhere historic: London Wall
I was spoilt for choice when searching for historic sites in the City of London. The whole place is built on history, two millennia of the stuff, so it's hard to miss. I decided to head for the structure which defined the perimeter of the City from its earliest days - the London Wall. This defensive fortification has long outlived Roman London, but over the centuries most of its stone has either crumbled or been nicked for use in buildings elsewhere. Just three main fragments remain - on Tower Hill, in the grounds of the Barbican and close to the Museum of London. I made tracks to the latter.



These photographs show what's left of London's Roman Wall along Noble Street - a few chunks of stonework rising up from a shallow grassy moat. It's not much to see really, more fascinating for what it is than for how it looks. But what's that non-Roman structure in the background? It's one of EC2's newest office blocks - onelondonwall - that's what. The lettings brochure describes this as "a new City landmark that simultaneously complements and eclipses its neighbours" but it's really just another pretentious pile of steel and glass squeezed into a recently-demolished corner plot. Apparently this Foster-designed building "sits naturally on the 2,000-year-old London Wall, effortlessly blending into its historic environment". Bollocks it does. A metal staircase emerges from the basement a few inches behind the old Roman wall, instantly detracting from the unique nature of this ancient site. Blocks of white Portland Stone protrude from the main building like a set of modern Lego bricks. A nasty low ornamental wall (complete with birdbaths), of the type that Essex garden centres churn out in their hundreds, has been erected inbetween two Roman segments. And, most hideous of all, someone's dumped a metal footbridge across the moat so that corporate delegates attending functions in the ground floor suites can walk out onto the grass for a fag and a natter. This latter monstrosity belongs not to the new offices but to one of the Livery Companies whose hall has been updated and upgraded on the site. Of all the 107 Guilds, this DIY nightmare can only be the fault of the Plasterers. Bosh bosh wallop. What price history, eh?
by tube: Barbican  by bus: 100

posted 00:30 :

www.flickr.com : City of London gallery
(now contains the full 50 photographs - including lots of Barbican shots)

posted 00:01 :

 Monday, July 10, 2006

Random 'borough' (10): City of London (part 2)

Somewhere sporty: Guildhall
The City of London isn't renowned for its sport. There's a swimming pool and a bowling green, and there are several gyms catering to pumped-up financial whizzkids, but there's not really enough room for any major sporting facility. Thankfully, for my purposes at least, this wasn't always the case. 20 centuries ago Londoners flocked from across the City to the site now occupied by the Guildhall for a regular fix of sporting competition and general carnage... because here was the original Roman Amphitheatre.

The Guildhall is the City's seat of local government, and has been since the 15th century [photo]. Entrance to the magnificent medieval Great Hall is free, via the modern administrative block nextdoor (architectural verdict: not lovely). Guildhall's stone walls are (mostly) original, but alas the ornate oak-panelled roof is a post-1941 copy of a post-1666 copy. The hall hosted the trials of both Lady Jane Grey and Archbishop Cranmer, amongst others, and every year the new Mayor's inaugural banquet is held here. Banners representing the 12 great Livery Companies hang beneath the ceiling, as befits the historic headquarters of a ceremonial organisation whose wealth grew out of mercantile trade. Beneath the Guildhall there's the largest medieval crypt in London, while nextdoor there's a rather more recent Art Gallery... which holds a secret.

It's set procedure when erecting a new building in the City to invite archaeologists on site to dig down and check that nothing of ancient importance is about to be obliterated. And so in 1988, when preliminary soundings were being taken for the new Guildhall Art Gallery, Roman remains were unexpectedly discovered in four separate trenches. On joining all the clues together experts realised that they had a major find on their hands - the eastern entrance to London's long lost amphitheatre. Construction of the art gallery was put on hold for five years while plans were redrawn. The curving perimeter of the arena was marked out in black paving slabs around the Guildhall courtyard above [photo], and the new gallery finally opened in 1999 with a restored ancient monument in its basement.

A visit to the Art Gallery will set you back £2.50. For this you get to look at some fine paintings upstairs and entry to the Amphitheatre chamber downstairs. To be honest there's not much to see, just a few chunks of lumpy stone wall [photo], but they've been sympathetically presented within a long dark space. Illuminated green silhouettes provide a sense of scale, if not of history. Cross the line from the 'seating area' into the 'arena' and the sound of cheering fills the air (it was actually recorded at an England football match, but don't tell anyone). At your feet is a preserved wooden drain, used to empty the arena of rainwater and other, rather redder, liquids.

It's not easy to stand here today, beneath the ground, and imagine the amphitheatre as it used to be on the surface. An elliptical stone wall decorated with intricate marble inlays. Travelling gladiators battling one another across the arena. Frightened animals despatched with bloodthirsty brutality. The regular public execution of convicted criminals. 6000 spectators roaring down from rows of tiered wooden seating. And it all happened here, right in the civilised heart of the modern City. Come and see.
by tube: St Paul's, Bank, Moorgate  by bus: 100

Somewhere retail: Leadenhall Market
The City of London was established on trade and commerce. Everywhere you look there's somebody selling something to somebody else, be it commodities, financial services, insurance or that strange economic spread betting which burns out sharp-suited City dealers long before their planned early retirement. So it's not surprising that there are, or were, markets everywhere across the Square Mile. Smithfield for meat (still going strong), Billingsgate for fish (now relocated to Docklands) and Spitalfields for fruit and vegetables (now relocated to Leyton) are the most famous of these. One other longstanding retail centre is Leadenhall Market, tucked away atop Cornhill on the site of what used to be Roman London's forum. The original 14th century market specialised in meat, game and fish, and attracted Poulterers and Cheesemongers from across the southeast. It sounds a bit like modern Borough Market, only without the olives and chorizo sausage.

"Leadenhall Market is at present the largest, and perhaps the best supplied market in Europe. It consists of three courts; the first is called the Beef Market: on Tuesdays this court is a market for leather; on Thursdays, for baize and wool; on Fridays it is a market for hides; and on Saturdays, for beef. The second court is still called the Green Yard and is now a market for veal, mutton, lamb, etc. in the middle, and on the south and west sides, are houses and shops for fishmongers." William Pyne, The Microcosm of London (1808)

In 1881 Leadenhall Market was reorganised and the buildings replaced by the stunning iron and glass arcade we see today [photo]. Ornate painted columns support four arched roofs which meet at a central octagonal skylight [photo]. All available surfaces are decorated, mostly in maroon and gold, and Victorian lanterns hang from the ceiling. Unfortunately appearances can be deceptive. Whilst some of today's shops still sell meat, cheese and fish, many others are now just average shopping mall fodder. Look, that's a Pizza Express, and that's Cards Galore, and over there is another outbreak of expensive coffee. The remaining market pubs are better, so I'm told, but they (and every other shop here) were closed on Saturday and the arcade frequented only by inquisitive tourists wielding cameras. I hope that the character of this charming conservation area can survive the retail assault of 21st century London, and I must go back later (on a weekday) to check.
by tube: Bank/Monument  by bus: 35, 47, 48, 149, 344

posted 07:00 :

 Sunday, July 09, 2006

Random 'borough' (10): City of London (part 1)

Four problems...
• The City of London isn't a true London borough, it's a corporation. That's because it dates back to the 12th century and not the London Government Act of 1963. But I'm ignoring this rather inconvenient fact.
• The City of London is the tiniest administrative district in the entire country (it's not called the Square Mile for nothing), with a resident population even smaller than London, Ohio.
• The City of London closes at the weekend. All the suited and booted City types stay at home, most of the buildings close and all the shops shut. And I visited on a Saturday.
• I've been to the City of London before, and written about it, loads of times. I've done the "Oranges and Lemons" churches, I've made a trip to the top of the Gherkin, I've visited Little Britain and Postman's Park, I've reported back from the Museum of London and I've explored the River Fleet. I've even waved at the Lord Mayor.

So, was there anything left to report on? Thankfully yes. The City of London is probably the most concentrated slab of fascinatingness in the entire country, so I was still spoilt for choice. I even went back to a couple of places I've visited before - please try not to notice. Here's where I went...

Somewhere famous: The Bank of England
Only one bank in the entire City of London was open on Saturday - how convenient that it was the Bank of England. This is the esteemed national institution to which we all belong but from which we can never draw money. And it's only open to the public twice a year, once for the City of London Festival and once for Open House weekend, so you're going to have to wait until September for your peek. Believe me, it's a rare treat to be allowed inside.

From outside the Bank of England looks more like an administrative fortress [photo]. A high windowless curtain wall of Portland stone encloses its perimeter - all that remains of Sir John Soane's original Georgian building. Seven storeys are visible above ground, with another three levels of basements and vaults hidden away beneath. The bank's staff enter through tall black iron doors on Threadneedle Street [photo], whereas we mere mortals were admitted through the insignificant side entrance. There weren't many of us, and the few tourists who'd stumbled along seemed wholly unaware that this was a very special opportunity not usually available to the general public. We were searched by top-hatted security gents wearing pink frock coats (it wasn't easy to take them seriously) and then ushered through the lobby to begin our guided tour. A long corridor stretched off into the distance, its floor covered by painstakingly precise mosaics loaded with numismatic symbolism. Everywhere the craftsmanship was excellent, at least in the areas we were allowed to see. Nevertheless the current building is of 1930s vintage and so had a 'town hall' feel in many places, with 'lift block' lobbies, payphone kiosks and wide stone staircases. Most of the back rooms, we were assured, look instead like any other faceless modern office with computer terminals and divided-off desks.

The Governor's Room is a mix of the grand and the utilitarian. Current boss Merv has a big desk with two monitors, a civil service issue desk-tidy and three artworks depicting London scenes on his wall. To one side is an old brown table used by every governor since 1694, and up on the mantlepiece a commemorative cricket ball and a signed Aston Villa football. He also looks out into the inner Garden Court, planted with mulberry trees cut from the churchyard which used to stand on this site. Upstairs the rooms are grander still. The First Floor Ante Room boasts red silk wallpaper and an intricate 18th century globe. The Court Room, retained from Sir John Soane's original building, has an opulent ceiling dripping with gold detail (and a matching carpet). We also got to stand in the octagonal Committee Room where the Monetary Policy Committee met last Thursday to determine UK interest rates (4.5% again? OK).

After 45 fascinating minutes we rounded off our visit in the Bank's museum (which is open to the public). It's surprisingly big, which means lots of in-depth displays about banknotes, the bank's history, banking, bankers and general bankiness. It's not somewhere to bring a 5-year old, but budding accountants and bank clerks would find much of interest. And you get the opportunity to handle a genuine (and surprisingly heavy) gold bar - worth either 28 pounds or 137 thousand pounds depending on whether you're weighing it or buying it. How many other banks offer this level of service to their customers?
by tube: Bank

Somewhere pretty: St Dunstan's in the East
Most of the City of London isn't pretty, not unless you like office blocks. Some of these are dead impressive, but the great majority are merely bland and functional [photo]. Every weekend the City is abuzz with construction workers and cranes [photo], knocking down the old stuff (15 years is old round here) and erecting something dazzling in its place. But scattered inbetween all these financial temples, if you know where to look, are several tiny oases of green. Small gardens where office workers can eat their lunchtime sandwiches before slipping back indoors for another hard afternoon of profit accumulation. One of the largest is Finsbury Circus, which is big enough to contain its own perfectly manicured bowling green, but most are considerably titchier. There's usually a bench or two, and maybe a strip of grass or some flower beds, and (useful tip, this) they're also the only places in the City with litter bins.

One of the most unusual, and utterly charming, small gardens in the City is that of St Dunstan's in the East [photo]. The early medieval church here was severely damaged during the Great Fire of London in 1666 and then rebuilt (with a new Wren steeple), only to be severely damaged again during the Blitz in 1941. The steeple survived along with a few walls and arched doorways, and the site left derelict until the Corporation of London decided to turn the ruins into a garden in 1967. And what a garden. Vines and climbers have overtaken the remaining walls, and several secluded areas of shrubbery have been created between new twisting paths. There are flowerbeds and compact lawns where the pews used to stand, and a squat fountain in the middle of what was once the nave. Palm trees flap above the lower lawn where, on Saturday, smiling couples sat lazily soaking up the city sun. Who'd have thought that so much could be created out of so small a space? You could walk round the entire garden site in one minute flat, but I guarantee you'll stay longer.
by tube: Monument  by bus: 15

posted 09:00 :

 Saturday, July 08, 2006

Random borough (10): It's time once again for me to take another random trip to one of London's 33 boroughs). Can you believe this is number 10? As I write I have no idea which one of the 24 remaining names will be on the folded slip of paper I'm about to pick from my "special jamjar"_TM. I could pick any of London's other boroughs - inner or outer, urban or suburban, tiny or vast, fascinating or dull. I just know it won't be Merton, Islington, Enfield, Sutton, Lewisham, Southwark, Kensington & Chelsea, Hackney or Hillingdon because they're the nine (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already. At least now I've ticked off Hillingdon I know I haven't got quite so far to travel this time. Maybe today I'll end up somewhere rather more east, because I haven't been out east yet. Or maybe not.

Once I've researched my randomly-chosen borough online then I'll head off and visit some of its most interesting places (assuming it has any, of course). As usual I hope to visit somewhere famous, somewhere historic, somewhere pretty, somewhere retail, somewhere sporty and somewhere random. I might even take lots of photographs while I'm at it, if the borough's photogenic enough. Fingers crossed it's not somewhere beset by weekend engineering work, although knowing my luck it probably will be. Then after I've made my grand tour I'll come back tomorrow and tell you all about it. Let's see where I'm going this time...

posted 08:00 :

Other Londons are available
• London (Ontario, Canada): A city in Middlesex County, on the Thames River, near Windsor (hmm, that's familiar). It's Canada's 10th largest city, and the birthplace of both Labatt's and Carling lager (honest). London's oldest residence is Eldon House, built in 1834. This weekend Londoners can enjoy the 12th Sunfest (Celebration of the Global Arts) free in Victoria Park. [population 336,539]
• London (Ohio, USA): Madison County's seat of government, which hosts a not-quite world-famous Strawberry Festival every June and the London Wiffleball Tournament every August. [population 8771]
• London (Kentucky, USA): The site of Colonel Sanders' first ever KFC restaurant, and now (allegedly) Kentucky's "crossroads to vacation adventure". Every September more than 250,000 visitors descend upon London KY to celebrate the World Chicken Festival and to eat from the World's Largest Stainless Steel Skillet. [population 5692]
• London (California, USA): A not terribly interesting census district in Tulare County. [population 1848]
• London (Texas, USA): A farming community on Highway 377, about 18 miles NE of Junction in Kimble County. [population 180]
• ... and quite a few others which don't seem to have websites

posted 00:05 :

 Friday, July 07, 2006

It could have been any carriage, any time.




Wait by the doors and let the passengers off the train first. There's space inside if everyone moves down. Come on, move down, please let me squeeze in. If I'm quick I might get that seat... no, a bloke in a suit's just nabbed it. Find a couple of square feet of floor space, maybe down the central aisle, maybe squashed up against that glass panel. I bet I'd be arrested if I were shoved up this close to so many other people anywhere else. Hold onto something, that bar up there will do, and hang on. Scan the carriage, just for something to do, but make it look like I'm staring vacantly into space. Try not to look into anybody else's eyes, they won't appreciate it. I'm surrounded by a random selection of London commuters, every age, every race, every creed. Random people I've never seen before and will probably never see again. Look, she's fast asleep over there. He's lost in headphone world and she's trying to do her make-up without smudging it. Come on, you've been reading that newspaper story for ages, turn the page. I'd stare out of the window if only I could see the window, and if only there was a view. Ouch, there's a shoulderbag jabbing me in the back, or maybe it's a bottle of water. Swing round another corner - oi, try not to topple over on top of me. I wish you'd put deodorant on this morning. I wish I had a seat. I wish my journey was over. But it's just something I have to do every day. It's just another train. It's just another carriage.

posted 07:00 :

 Thursday, July 06, 2006

London 2012 - one year closer

It's been 12 months since I stood in Trafalgar Square alongside several thousand other Londoners expecting to hear Paris anointed as the Host City of the 2012 Olympics. When instead Jacques Rogge opened his big envelope and announced 'London', the crowd around me reacted with startled cheers and unexpected euphoria. Maybe everyone was thrilled at the honour of hosting an international sporting extravaganza in their very own backyard, maybe they were just looking forward to the beach volleyball, or maybe they'd forgotten how much it was all going to cost. Suddenly a new clock was ticking - there were just seven years to transform a sprawling wasteland in East London into a world class sporting facility. This week, with one of those years now passed, I went back for another walk around the Lower Lea Valley to see how things are progressing.

There are signs of change all around the perimeter of the Olympic site. Unfortunately most of them prominently feature the telephone number of a local estate agent. Property prices are on the up, as are various new apartment blocks. Admittedly these were all planned and approved before the 2012 decision was made, but they can only breed and multiply as the months go by. A lot of people want to live close to the economically alluring Olympic park, but not too close lest the authorities might forcibly evict them from their home and build a souvenir kiosk or burger restaurant instead.

Inside the Olympic site, by contrast, almost nothing has changed. You might expect several local businesses to have been demolished by now but no, they all still seem to be chugging along as normal. You might expect to see an emerging skyline of giant cranes and scaffolding but no, the view across the valley is still dominated by tall stalking pylons. You might even expect to stumble across a small portakabin inside which Seb Coe makes all his decisions of immense Olympic importance but no, he's safely tucked away inside a rather more luxurious office in Canary Wharf. The only development here so far has been on the drawing board (or its modern digital equivalent), intricately planning how all this normality will be swept wholly and utterly away.

This street corner, for example, is nothing special at present. A row of nondescript warehouses, an long iron shed where fence panels are galvanized and an arc of drooping bollards. If I read the plans for the location of the Olympic Stadium correctly, the finishing line for the 100m, the relays and the marathon runs somewhere across the foreground of my photograph. For now you can stand here unchallenged, unhindered and unnoticed. But just six years separate this industrial nowhere from international everywhere.

There are only six months before the bulldozers move into the north end of the site to make a start on building the Velopark and BMX track (ripping up an existing cycle track in the process, there's irony for you). There's just a year to go until Waterden Road is evacuated to make way for a couple of hockey pitches and a handball arena (forcing the relocation of not one but two large bus depots). And as for work on the Olympic Stadium itself, expect that to begin in mid 2008 (you can bet that Wembley's contractors will not be allowed to tender for the contract). But I fear it's too much to hope that this sweeping redevelopment will retain the charm and character of the current watery industrial landscape.

So there's very little time left to see the Lower Lea Valley in all its semi-derelict glory. Acres of trees and flowers have budded here for the very last time. The local ducks and moorhens can expect only one more season bringing up their young in the waterside reeds before they're forced to move on. The dragonflies skating down the City Mill River beneath the Greenway probably won't survive the transformation of their habitat into a Transport Interchange and Security Check. And the remaining bollards on the corner of Marshgate Lane don't have long to stand before they're ripped out to make way for the most important 8-lane running track on the planet.

Hurry now, one of the footpaths alongside the Waterworks River has already been sealed off to prevent public access, and I'm sure the remaining (delightful) riverside walks can't be too far behind. You might consider joining the Newham Striders later this month on one of their weekend walks around the Lower Lea Valley. Or just come by yourself, sometime soon, so that you can say you were here. Because I can guarantee that, come 2012, your chances of crossing the finishing line are absolutely nil.

• London 2012 Roadshow (kicks off this afternoon, visiting down your way later this month)
• Photographs of the Lower Lea Valley
• More photographs of the Lower Lea Valley
• Olympic Park construction schedule (pdf)
• Olympic bid backstory

posted 00:06 :

 Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Experimental post 1: For Your Eyes Only?

You can see this post perfectly normally on my main blog page.
But for those who read my blog via Bloglines, it should be hidden.
Those RSS-reading blogfeeders hopefully won't spot it at all. Ha!
(Yes, I'm just trying to prove a point)

I started writing this post a couple of weeks ago. The date was Saturday 24th June, to be precise. Back then I only wrote the first line of my post, then saved what I'd written as a draft. And now this morning I've written the rest of the post, and published it. And all of you reading on diamondgeezer.blogspot.com can read it perfectly. Nothing surprising there. Except that those of you reading my blogfeed via Bloglines shouldn't be seeing this post at all. However did I make that happen?

Note to those of you who don't know what Bloglines is. Bloglines is a web-based news aggregator for browsing weblogs and other news feeds. With a blogfeed like Bloglines you don't have to read my blog, or anybody else's blog, you just let Bloglines collect all our posts and you can read them all there instead. I know there's at least 110 people reading my blog via Bloglines. They don't get my sidebar, and they don't get your comments, but they do get all my posts. Very convenient it is too. Look, here's a public Bloglines account I set up earlier, just so you can all see how it works. Click on the feed on the left, OK?

If you were looking for my latest post on Bloglines, you'd look at the top of the page, wouldn't you? This post should appear just above yesterday's post, because that's common sense, that is. But today's post isn't there at the top of the page. How have I hidden it away, out of sight?

Well, it's like this. By default Blogger timestamps every new post with the date I start writing it, not the date it's posted. So before I posted today's post I had to change its date from "24th June" to "5th July", because that's the date I wanted to publish it. The problem is that Bloglines still treats this as a "24th June" post. It doesn't, indeed can't, change the date of the post like I can. So this post doesn't appear at the top of the blogfeed page, oh no, it appears 11 days further down. And nobody in their right mind is going to look 11 days down a big long page for a new post, are they? It might as well not be there.

Think of it as a clever disappearing trick. Or think of it as very annoying. I can't guarantee that Bloglines readers always view my blog in the way that I choose. And they can't guarantee that they're seeing everything I've posted in the order I posted it. Still, their loss.

But there's another problem with Bloglines' bungling newsfeeds, because this isn't my only post today. I posted something else on my blog which you can't see, because it's only visible to readers on Bloglines. If you want to discover how I managed to keep it a secret, and read it for yourself, then you'll have to read it on Bloglines instead. Artificial RSS-fuelled comments-free web digests can be dead useful sometimes. But the perfect diamond geezer experience is right here.

Update: OK, so experiment 1 didn't work very well. Bloglines users can see this post, probably just the first time they check for updates, even if it disappears down the page later. But experiment 2 worked perfectly, which is rather worrying. You have spotted experiment 2, haven't you?

posted 00:10 :

 Tuesday, July 04, 2006

One of the joys of blogging is that every time I make an unintentional mistake my readers can leave a comment to inform me of the error of my ways. So today I've decided to write something deliberately littered with rather more slips and inconsistencies than usual so that you can take pleasure in pointing them all out. Come on you pedants, feel free to open up that comments box and tell me how wrong I am...

Independence Day

Democracy was born on Thursday July 4th 1776. That was the day 330 years ago when, with a single document, America's founding fathers claimed their independence from England. Amongst the signatories were future presidents Thomas Jefferson, George Washington and Benjamin Franklin, as well as representatives from all 50 states. The Declaration of Independence enshrines 3 truths at the heart of the US constitution. All men and women are created equal, they have unalienable God-given rights, and bombing Iraq is allowed so long as it brings Liberty and makes Americans happy.

This egalitarian birth gave the new United States a special place in the world - more important than everybody else by virtue of their equality. As a God-fearing nation America has always preached tolerance and freedom for all - just so long as their behaviour doesn't contravene certain carefully-selected verses of the Book of Leviticus. And with only a handful of native Red Indians as breeding stock, the original US population had to be built up through a longterm program of immigration. Even today Congress strives to ensure that all would-be immigrants are warmly welcomed to the land of the free (unless they're foreign, of course).

No country on earth strives more for democracy, or makes better films, or cooks better doughnuts. Nowhere are waistlines larger, or fears of global warming smaller. No country in the World Series is more talented at football. No world language is more important, or political system more representative. Indeed John Stewart of The Daily Show is the funniest man who ever lived and and his pointed political satires have ribtickling relevance to us all. We cannot afford to ignore America, nor would they ever want us to.

I believe that the special relationship between the US and UK has it's roots in that first Declaration of Independance, born on the fourth of July. Most of this document is spent lambasting King George II as a evil tyrant, guilty of keeping the free men of the New World under permanent subjugation. Is it any coincidence therefore that our spineless Prime Minister continues to uphold tradition by conceding power and soveriegnty to the Bush administration across the Atlantic? I think not, QED.

We have less rights with every passing day, and fewer time to put things right. How long will it be before Britons start pledging allegiance to the Star Spangled Banner, or abandon cricket for base-ball, or start spelling 'colour' with a 'u'? The UK needs to get up off of the floor and end this all-pervasive American influence. We must cast off the shackles of liberty through the signing of our own UK Declaration of Independence, and at the earliest possible opportunity. It is a truth self-evident.

posted 07:00 :

 Monday, July 03, 2006

A postcard from July

Dear January,

In the depths of winter people always look forward six months to the height of summer, but believe me, this sticky heatwave weather isn't all it's cut out to be. Maybe January is better than July after all...

• In January you don't need to take two showers or baths a day, maybe three.
• You don't get that unnerving feeling that there's sweat dribbling down your back and congealing inside various lower crevices.
• There are no annoying insects flying around outdoors and buzzing in your ear, or flying around indoors bashing in vain against the window every two minutes.
• You don't feel all hot and lethargic - instead you actually get things done.
• You never find yourself sweltering on the tube at the end of the day pressed up against somebody else's rancid undeodorised armpit.
• Chicken is a delightfully warming food, not something black and charred on a barbecue harbouring germs which'll give you food poisoning.
• There's no cricket in January, hurrah!
• All sorts of unpleasant tattoos are covered up beneath vests, long sleeves and thick winter coats.
• The Earth is closer to the Sun in January (and furthest away today - it's called aphelion and it happens at 11 o'clock tonight)
• There's far less lettuce in January, and more pies.
• There are no weddings to go to, or barbecues, or fetes, or picnics, or garden parties... so your weekends are your own.
• Bed is a warm place for snuggling and sleep, not a hot place for sweltering and insomnia.
• You can leave the garden alone and it looks after itself, rather than demanding regular watering, weekly lawnmowing and endless horticultural attention.
• There's never a hosepipe ban in January.
• You don't need to slap on suntan lotion and walk round all day with slimy skin smelling like you've been embalmed.
• You have the option of going to a sauna if you want to, not being forced into similar conditions every time you walk outdoors.
• The sun doesn't wake you up by poking through the curtains at some ungodly hour of the morning.
• You never get back to your car to find it smells like burnt leather inside and the steering wheel's too hot to hold.
• There are cooling breezes which help take the edge off the temperature (although admittedly they tend to be called 'gales').

Yours sweatily,
July

posted 07:00 :

 Sunday, July 02, 2006

how it could have been...

 Monday, 09 July, 2046

The nation came together today in remembrance of that glorious day, forty years ago in 2006, when England lifted the World Cup in Berlin. Former players gathered at the nearly-completed Wembley Stadium to share memories, sign digital autographs and have a quick kickabout in front of the cameras. It's the first time that Sir David Beckham, 71, and Lord Rooney, 60, have spoken to each other since they fell out over which of them should buy Cheshire. Also present was little Theo Walcott, 57, hero of the legendary penalty shootout which brought the German nation to its knees and finally brought the golden trophy home. Only last year Theo's searing volley into the corner of the net was voted Murdoch TV's Sporting Moment of the Millennium (So Far), narrowly beating the Grimsby Tigers' unlikely 2038 Superbowl victory into second place. But it's England's 2006 World Cup triumph which is forever engraved on the hearts of every true red Englishman. [cardiac tattoos are now available at Ron's Aortal Portal, Swindon-on-Sea]

The 2006 campaign began against the mighty jungle warriors of Paraguay whose reputation for attacking flair resounded across the whole continent of South America. Even the mighty Brazilians feared the might of Ruiz's fearsome squad, but Sven-Goran Eriksson's inspired substitutions and a deft display of natural ball skills brought our boys a well deserved victory. Trinidad and Tobago were another really tough nut to crack, and it was all part of Sven's cunning tactics to leave scoring the winning goals until the very last minutes of the match. England's draw against Sweden was later revealed to be part of a match-fixing agreement between Sven and his fellow countrymen, although the death penalty wasn't in place for crimes of this magnitude at the time. And although Michael Owen never played football again, he still claims he'd never have entered politics and risen to the dizzy heights of Home Secretary without this lucky break. The football ratcheted up another notch with the epic battle against Ecuador. Never a team to underestimate, the South Americans threw everything they had at plucky England who only pulled through via a combination of raw talent, animal cunning and a fully mended metatarsal.

But it's the quarter final tussle against perky Portugal that the nation will long remember. Forever England's sporting nemesis, Scolari's boys kicked off intent on destroying our steely resolve in a psychological battle of wills. England dominated the first half with a performance which could under no circumstances be described as wishy-washy and embarrassing. In the second half Captain Becks was fortunate not to fall foul to a debilitating ankle injury which would have left him sitting impotently on the touchline, powerless to support his struggling team mates. And how fortunate that the angelic Wayne Rooney managed not to tread on the reproductive organs of the prostrate Ricardo Carvalho, instead nimbly hopping between his thighs and then comforting the unfortunate player in a show of touching emotion. Heavens, if he'd been sent off England would have been down to ten men and would probably have crumbled and miskicked everything in a hideously embarrassing penalty shootout. No, Gerrard's magnificent hat trick in the dying minutes of the game merely sealed the match ensuring that the most talented team won through without the need for any namby-pamby extra time.

We are unable to report details of the France England semi-final. The goalmouth incident between Thierry Henry and Lady Posh of Beckham remains sub judice, and all holograms of the event are still embargoed under Heat magazine's exclusive 99-year fashion embargo. However, just let it be said that we thrashed the French good and proper and that Sir David's knighthood was well justified.

All of which set up the classic Anglo-German final in Berlin. Much has been spoken of this mightiest of matches. Of how Big Roo ran rings around seven consecutive German players before kicking the ball home from sixty yards out. Of how Teutonic goalie Jens Lehmann was sent off for drinking a can of Pepsi Max in direct contradiction of sponsorship and marketing regulations. Of how the evil Argentinian referee awarded twelve unjust penalties against Our Lads, all of them valiantly seen off by Man Of The Tournament Paul Robinson. Of how Geoff Hurst, 64, was brought on in stoppage time to add a touch of old school magic to the team. And of mythical player Roy of the Rovers, fresh from another triumphant season at Melchester, who sneaked in to score the crucial goal just as the whistle blew for full time.

We may not have beaten Germany since, indeed we haven't even qualified for the World Cup since, but that's what comes of breeding a nation of obese lardbucket teenagers. Back in those golden days of 2006 we were the best team in the world, honest we were, forever dazzling the opposition with set pieces of gobsmacking brilliance and performing with skill and courage at every opportunity. And that's why the survivors of 40 years ago are gathering at Wembley today, to look back at that one rare moment of accidental sporting perfection. We're nothing special any more, just the upstart nation who invented football but can no longer get its act together to play the game convincingly. We have no God-given right to win every tournament we ever enter - that's just propaganda pumped into us by a money-grabbing media eager to sell us newspapers and mobile downloads. To be honest it's very unlikely we'll ever win anything of any importance ever again. But we can dream. And we can remember.

posted 00:30 :

 Saturday, July 01, 2006

This is my London

Distance from sign to nearest Police Station: 20 metres
Distance from sign to nearest Magistrates' Court: 3 metres

posted 08:00 :

Big Brother 7: the five new housemates nextdoor
• Jonathan Leonard (24): bouncer from the Lake District, bulky and muscled, grinny, energetic, on heat, up for a larf
• "Spiral" (22): DJ from Dublin, estate rapper, chav-on-the-decks, cheery, teetotal, over-positive, lives with his Mum who calls him Glen
• Jennie Conner (18): sales advisor and student from Crewe, multi-lingual, in yer face, weekend clubber, very Scouse
• Michael Cheshire (23): student from London, tantric Buddhist, spiritual, sparky, straight teeth, Big Brother's 100th housemate
• Jayne Kitt (36): recruitment adviser from Slough, single mum, raucous, over-loud, chunky, penchant for wearing black PVC-leathery stuff

posted 07:00 :