londonerama the capital fanzine online edition 3 - November 2008
Welcome to London's essential online newsletter! londonerama is the number 1 internet mag for Europe's number 1 city. We have all the news, all the goss and all the up-front info. Well, some of it anyway. Read on...
muTATE BRITAIN Metal monsters, deviant art, scrapyard sculptures and a 3 ton dog - not the sort of thing you'd normally see at the straight-laced Tate. But this exhibition's a completely different affair, running every Fri/Sat/Sun up to Christmas on the eastern fringes of the City. The venue is Cordy House, a 6-storey warehouse turned events venue (in Shoreditch, where else?) with a perfect industrial vibe for alternative art installations. The event's curated by Mutoid Waste and brings together "inspiration, evolution, energy ART and LOVE". Tracey Emin was round on Thursday defacing a Phil Collins album cover, and you can see various celebrities'scribbled results upstairs. I'm not convinced that David Cameron quite got the hang of what was expected of him. I also enjoyed Giles Walker's mechanical robot dancefloor, but didn't stay to endure the wheelchair delights of the You Me Bum Bum Train. Definitely leftfield, convincingly heartfelt, well worth a prowl. Event blog here, Flickr set here.
DISAPPEARING LONDON It's the same all across the capital. New housing developments are infilling gaps and green spaces everywhere, building unwanted flats for non-existent tenants. Andrew's alerted me to one such proposed development in Forest Hill where 76 apartments are destined to be shoehorned onto a patch of secluded woodland behind Honor Oak Road. Local residents are aghast that these supposed "eco-friendly" homes will be anything but, and are campaigning hard using a classic biodiversity defence. I know that Andrew, and the local stag beetles, would be most grateful for your support. Read & see more here. Newspaper story here. Sign the petition here.
INTERNATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC America's big yellow travel magazine, National Geographic, has opened its first ever major retail outpost in Regent Street. It's a flagship store (for which read "big"), and takes up several degrees of the curved end near Piccadilly Circus.
From outside you'd be mistaken for thinking that the glazed frontage concealed a leafy restaurant or maybe an art gallery, and you'd be sort of right. But venture inside and you'll spot a fair amount of ethnic merchandise liberally scattered amongst the three-storey marketplace. Candles and baskets and trinketty boxes abound, along with more useful travel stuff for the discerning middle class nomad. There are Gore-tex jackets galore in the basement, along with other posh clothing overseen by sales assistants in neat khaki uniforms. Upstairs you can grab a map of Everest Base Camp, or buy a dead expensive pair of shady eyewear, or book yourself a landrover safari to somewhere distant and dusty. It's definitely not Milletts, and it's not quite a Brit-angled store either. Oh, and look carefully by the door and you might even find some back copies of the magazine that started it all. Just don't expect to see any of the other shoppers flicking through them. Unimpressive website here.
SEVERNDROOG SAVED Hidden amidst the trees on Shooters Hill is a three-corneredbrick tower, erected in 1784 in honour of a reformed pirate. It used to be open to the public, with a tearoom inside, but closed in the late 80s and has been crumbling ever since. Now the Heritage Lottery Fund has come to Severndroog's rescue with a quarter of a million pound grant, and volunteers will finally be able to complete their preservation work. Eventually it's hoped that this folly will be open four days a week, not just one weekend a year, and then everyone can enjoy the greatviews from the roof again. Severndroog website here.
Nerdy London bus map mashup: onabus Plots any London bus route on a Google map (via Time Out's Big Smoke blog)
109 journeys between Central London Tube stations that are quicker by foot than Tube (according to this map, from Legible London's Yellow Book - page 30)
Aldgate to: Aldgate East, Bank Aldgate East to: Aldgate Angel to: Chancery Lane Bank to: Aldgate, Blackfriars, Cannon Street, Liverpool Street, Mansion House, Monument, Moorgate, St Paul's Barbican to: Blackfriars, Chancery Lane, Mansion House, St Paul's Blackfriars to: Bank, Barbican, Borough, Chancery Lane, Covent Garden, Farringdon, Holborn, St Paul's, Southwark, Waterloo Bond Street to: Goodge Street, Green Park, Marble Arch, Oxford Circus Borough to: Blackfriars, Mansion House, Southwark, Cannon Street to: Bank, London Bridge, Mansion House, Monument, Moorgate, Southwark Chancery Lane to: Angel, Barbican, Blackfriars, Farringdon, Holborn, Temple Covent Garden to: Blackfriars, Charing Cross, Embankment, Holborn, Leicester Square, Piccadilly Circus, Temple, Tottenham Court Road Elephant & Castle to: Southwark Embankment to: Charing Cross, Covent Garden, Temple, Waterloo Euston to: Euston Square, Great Portland Street, Regent's Park, Russell Square, Warren Street Euston Square to: Euston, Goodge Street, Warren Street Farringdon to: Blackfriars, Chancery Lane, Holborn, St Paul's, Temple Great Portland Street to: Euston, Goodge Street, Regent's Park, Warren Street Green Park to: Bond Street, Piccadilly Circus Goodge Street to: Bond Street, Euston Square, Great Portland Street, Oxford Circus, Regent's Park, Russell Square, Tottenham Court Road, Warren Street Holborn to: Blackfriars, Chancery Lane, Covent Garden, Farringdon Hyde Park Corner to: Victoria King's Cross St Pancras: it's quicker by tube Leicester Square to: Charing Cross, Covent Garden, Piccadilly Circus, Tottenham Court Road Lambeth North to: Southwark, Waterloo, Westminster Liverpool Street to: Bank, Monument, Moorgate London Bridge to: Cannon Street, Mansion House, Monument Mansion House to: Bank, Barbican, Blackfriars, Borough, Cannon Street, London Bridge, Moorgate, St Paul's, Southwark Marble Arch to: Bond Street Monument to: Bank, Cannon Street, Liverpool Street, London Bridge, Moorgate Moorgate to: Bank, Cannon Street, Liverpool Street, Mansion House, Monument, St Paul's Old Street: it's quicker by tube Oxford Circus to: Bond Street, Goodge Street Piccadilly Circus to: Covent Garden, Green Park, Leicester Square, Tottenham Court Road Pimlico: it's quicker by tube Regent's Park to: Euston, Goodge Street, Great Portland Street, Warren Street Russell Square to: Euston, Goodge Street, Warren Street St James's Park: it's quicker by tube St Paul's to: Bank, Barbican, Blackfriars, Farringdon, Mansion House, Moorgate Southwark to: Blackfriars, Borough, Cannon Street, Elephant & Castle, Lambeth North, Mansion House, Temple, Waterloo Temple to: Chancery Lane, Covent Garden, Embankment, Farringdon, Southwark, Waterloo Tottenham Court Road to: Covent Garden, Goodge Street, Leicester Square, Piccadilly Circus Tower Hill: it's quicker by tube Victoria to: Hyde Park Corner Warren Street to: Euston, Euston Square, Goodge Street, Great Portland Street, Regent's Park, Russell Square Waterloo to: Blackfriars, Charing Cross, Covent Garden, Embankment, Lambeth North, Southwark, Temple Westminster to: Charing Cross, Lambeth North
• Roughly speaking, only stations located within the Congestion Charge zone have been included (so no Vauxhall to Oval, and no Bayswater to Queensway) • I'm not sure precisely how the map was put together, but I'm assuming it's based on surface-to-surface timings (down to the platform, wait for train, catch train, back up to street level) • I suspect the map has some omissions (and I'm certain they've missed out Chancery Lane to Farringdon, so I've included that) • The longest journey where it's quicker to walk is Angel to Chancery Lane(1.1 miles) • The six stations where it's most probably best to walk are Bank, Blackfriars, Covent Garden, Goodge Street, Mansion House and Southwark • Yes, I know there are more than 109 journeys listed here, because I've counted each journey in both directions. • And yes, I know there probably aren't exactly 218, but I can't be bothered to count them properly.
In amongst all of London's recent travel news (Western Congestion Zone, who needs it?), some good green tidings have slipped out relatively unnoticed. Boris is busy spending money, on pedestrians. More specifically, on signage for pedestrians. Many Londoners, it seems, choose to hop into their cars or ride on public transport when in fact they could have walked. It's a particular problem in the centre of town. Often important locations are quite close together but, because people haven't internalised a mental map of the capital, they don't realise how close. Stick up some better maps and and signs and fingerposts, and more people will choose to take the two-footed option. That's the theory anyway.
The project's called Legible London, and it "proposes to change the existing fragmented approach to walking information into a single reliable, consistent and authoritative system." Or, in other words, it's designed to make walking easier. A trial version kicked off in the Bond Street area exactly a year ago. 19 "miniliths" were set into West End pavements, each standing tall like an Arthur C Clarke 2001 black slab. They feature directional info, detailed maps and a street name index, plus a mobile number you can ring for further information. One key addition is an indication of how long it takes to walk somewhere, because people understand time better than miles, yards or kilometres. If you're trying to make your way on foot around unfamiliar streets at the top of Mayfair, these signs really help.
They don't get in the way, either. You might expect a big black block to be a bit of an obstruction, but separate decluttering has ensured otherwise. Gone are lots of unnecessary bits of street furniture and a surfeit of unnecessary obsolete signs. Both minimal and comprehensive, that's the plan.
The new signs are really rather lovely. Maybe it's the clear clean design, or maybe it's the inspired choice of black and yellow, but the enamel surface looks positively lickable. No surprise, then that the Legible London prototypes have met with a very positive reaction from the public. 85% of interviewees said the new system was easy-to-use, two-thirds of respondents said it would encourage them to walk more, and nine out of 10 felt the system should be rolled out across London. So it's going to be. The original Bond Street focus is to be extended along Oxford and Regent Streets over the next few months. Three further lucky areas will see the system rolled out during autumn 2009, and if the cash holds out a lot more of the capital could follow.
South Bank and Bankside: That makes sense. The Thames riverside is already teeming with strolling pedestrians, especially at weekends, many of whom only ever stick to the water's edge for fear of getting lost. It's stepping inshore which requires better signage, not least because there are absolutely no underground stations along the South Bank. And the quickest walking route from the London Eye to the Tate Modern isn't along the Thames, but who'd know that without decent maps?
Bloomsbury, Covent Garden and Holborn: That makes sense. There's a warren of non-griddy streets around the eastern West End, and it can be quite hard to tell where you're heading. I suspect TfL have pushed for this area to be included as part of their continuing campaign to get tourists to walk (not tube) to Covent Garden. Short of renaming this crowded deep level station "SmellyPlace Keepaway", it's only decent ground level signage that'll encourage passengers to walk to Covent Garden from somewhere else.
Richmond and Twickenham: That makes sense. Boris likes the suburbs, so why should the centre of town reap all the benefits? Clustering a load of miniliths around Richmond Bridge will be a good test of the system's suitability across more typical swathes of Outer London. Might even encourage a few more drivers to leave their gas guzzlers at home.
Those attending the VIP shopping day in Oxford Street next weekend will be able to find out more by stopping off at TfL's "walking trailer". Further details can be also found on the Legible London website - dormant for the last ten months but which has suddenly reawoken in a flurry of mild activity. One particular statistic in the latest press release caught my eye - the claim that "109 journeys between Central London Tube stations are quicker by foot than Tube." With the aid of Legible London's "Yellow Book", I wonder if I can name all of those tomorrow...
These are grim economic times. Every day seems to bring further news of market turmoil, retail slowdown, property panic, share price collapse, financial hardship, redundancies, belt-tightening, depression and debt. I reckon there's a certain inevitability to where all this is going...
UK Political scenario 1 2008: This looks bad, maybe Gordon can get us through [ouch!] 2009: This is awful, and it's all that bloody Gordon's fault [eek!] 2010: Time for a change, surely David can get us out of this [election!] 2011: With no economic room to manoeuvre, David is no better [cut!]
UK Political scenario 2 Something unexpected happens
Hurrah! The money Boris saved by scrapping "The Londoner" is being spent on upgrading several of the capital's much-loved parks. Repaint some railings, lay a new multipurpose games pitch, introduce community vegetable plots... that sort of thing. Which sounds great and green and worthy and fantastic. Except for this "vote" nonsense. Here's the catch.
So 47 parks deserve money, but only 10 will get any. What Londoners are really being asked to choose are the 37 parks that will get nothing. In common with most reality TV shows these days, harnessing the power of the public vote ensures that there will be far more losers than winners. Never mind sharing out the money 47 ways, it's all going to go on two showcase improvements in each of five London sub-regions. If you live in Hillingdon and the money goes to Hammersmith, never mind, maybe it'll be your turn in 2013.
Which means that voting is really important. The ten communities that rally the most online support will get themselves a 21st century landmark park on their doorstep. And everyone else will have to make do with a few swings and a patch of dog-squat grass. Quick, head over to the online voting form and make your choice! Voting ends at 5pm on 30th January 2009, so there's plenty of time to make your voice heard, and that of your friends too. Vote wisely, vote early, and vote often.
That's a relief. Boris has ensured that online voting procedures will be rigorously regulated and strictly scrutinised. There is no possible way that any park-related voting irregularities will be permitted. The online voting form is absolutely totally 100% fraud-proof. Various cunning security devices have been employed to ensure that vote-rigging is absolutely impossible.
See, that's brilliant. By asking voters to give their name, GLA scrutineers will be able to see at a glance whether anyone has voted before. How fortunate that London's voters are trustworthy souls, and wouldn't dream of typing a false name into either box. Or indeed a different false name every day until the end of January. Or pretending to be ten imaginary members of the same family. These evil devious ploys will definitely not work at all.
See, that's brilliant. By asking voters to give their location, GLA scrutineers will gain additional information to help them weed out multiple voters at the same IP address. How fortunate that London's voters are trustworthy souls, and wouldn't dream of pretending to be at a workplace, or at a school, or indeed "at a park", and then giving hundreds of different false names as if the entire community is voting. These evil devious ploys will definitely not work at all.
See, that's brilliant. By asking voters to give their postcode, GLA scrutineers will have all the information they need to prevent mischievous ballot manipulation. How fortunate that London's voters are trustworthy souls, and wouldn't dream of entering a different postcode each time (or, more cunningly, pretending to be at a workplace and then typing in the same postcode every time). These evil devious ploys will definitely not work at all.
So come on London, let's all vote to give our nearest small park a much needed financial boost. I'm starting my 9-week campaign for the Greenway today. And it's refreshing to know that, when the results are announced in February, it'll only be the most deserving parks that win. And definitely not the big well-known parks with well-mobilised community support and an army of deceitful rule-twisting voters.
"Why are you lying to the public about Bank/Monument?"
The deceit started eight months ago when a major programme of renewal work started on the escalators between Bank and Monument stations. There are two sets of escalators here, one up from the end of the Northern line platforms and the other up from the DLR. Block both of these and you sever the connection between the two stations. At the end of March, that's what TfL claimed to have done. They launched a flurry of publicity to announce that interchange at Bank/Monument was suddenly restricted. Hundreds of thousands of leaflets were distributed announcing
This was a lie. Only one of the two escalators between the two stations was shut for repair, so interchange between the DLR, Northern and District lines was still perfectly possible. TfL chose not to tell the public this.
The Bank/Monument upgrade is important renewal work, but with serious risk attached. The DLR and Northern lines have no direct exit to the surface, so closing off an escalator could have caused serious overcrowding underground. To prevent this, TfL closed off lots of additional passageways leading down from the Central line. A huge over-reaction, as it turned out, and some of these through routes were soon reopened. Indeed during off-peak hours and at weekends, getting around the Bank/Monument complex was often no trouble at all. But the "it's all blocked, all the time" message continued to hold sway. Replan your journey, interchange somewhere else, please don't come here, ever.
Stickers like this appeared on tube maps all over the Underground. Here, there, everywhere, a bright yellow warning to avoid the Bank/Monument area at all costs. I spotted this particular sticker on the Waterloo and City line. A line with just two stations, and a sticker advising people not to travel to one of them. How ridiculous is that?
A subtly different message was being given on TfL's website. "Until summer 2009, there is very limited interchange at Bank and Monument stations. This is due to major escalator replacement works. You are strongly advised to use alternative interchange stations." No out and out denial here, no claims that certain routes were definitely blocked. But all contributing to a tangled web of mixed messages and deliberate misinformation.
And then the weekend before last, things changed. A new phase of work kicked off, unannounced, and one more escalator was sealed off. It's now no longer possible to ride down from Monument to Bank, not at all. But it is still possible to ride up in the opposite direction. Got that?
Here's the latest poster announcing the new situation, appearing in ticket halls across the network. The title's misleading for a start. Going to Monument isn't a problem, no matter how you get there. Going via Monument, however, that's a different matter.
The first sentence on the poster is false. Interchange between Monument and Bank stations is possible below ground, but only in one direction. TfL should have said "from/to" instead of "between/and", because that would have been true. This distinction is made correctly in sentence two.
And the confusion doesn't end there. There now seems to be no coherent message being applied across the Underground system. What you're being told about Bank and Monument depends on where you are... • Map on a District line train: "No interchange at Bank and Monument stations until August 2009" [false] • Automated announcement on a District line train approaching Monument: "Change here for the Central, Northern and Waterloo & City lines and the Docklands Light Railway" [false] (but sometimes contradicted by driver announcement) • Map on a Central line train: "Major escalator works. Avoid changing at Bank" [true] • Automated announcement on a Central line train approaching Bank: "Change here for the Circle, District, Northern and Waterloo & City lines and the Docklands Light Railway" [still true] (except during busy bits of the rush hour) • TfL website (tube): "Please avoid using Monument Station to interchange with services from Bank." [true] "Until spring 2009 interchange between District and Circle line services at Monument and all services from Bank station is only available at street level due to escalator refurbishment works." [false] • TfL website (DLR): "Until summer 2009, there is very limited interchange at Bank and Monument stations." [limited, maybe, but not "very limited"] "This is due to major escalator replacement works." [true] "You are strongly advised to use alternative interchange stations." [madness] • Leaflet linked from brand new live travel news page on TfL website: "The complexity of this project means there will be no interchange at Bank and Monument stations except between the DLR and Northern lines." [false, and out-of-date] • October 2008 tube map (key to map): "Major escalator work is taking place at Bank and Monument stations." [true] "Avoid interchange between lines wherever possible" [false, some interchanges are fine] • October 2008 tube map (map): No graphical indication of any problems whatsoever (apart from one of those dagger things that everybody ignores) [surely, TfL, the latest map ought to look something like this]
Is this deliberate misinformation, or just disjoint incompetence? TfL appear so keen to keep crowds away from Bank/Monument that they're willing to spread false rumours and incomplete advice. Their relentless oversimplified information keeps sheep-like customers at bay, leaving canny travellers to work out the truth for themselves. And the truth is somewhat simpler...
"You can't change trains from Monument to Bank at the moment. Other interchanges around the two stations are probably OK, but you might want to avoid Bank station during the rush hour."
Oh TfL, you may be doing important work transforming the tube. But why are lying to us while you do it?
When Frank Woolworth opened his first store in 1879, everything was priced at five cents. In today's nightmare economic climate a Woolworths share now sells for less than that. So I thought I'd better pay a visit while stocks last. Turns out I live in a Woolworths hotspot, with as many as three Woolies stores within a mile and a quarter of my house. I took a shopping list to all three.
My nearest store:572-574 Roman Road, Bow E3 Ah, now that looks like a proper shop. Bold brick frontage, windows splashed with 3 for 2 offers, and a big blue lottery sign dumped outside on the pavement. Who could resist? Well, most of E3, by the looks of it. Business wasn't brisk yesterday, maybe thanks to the downpour that preceded my arrival, or more likely because most of the other shops along Roman Road were closed. Inside, for a select few, the usual Aladdin's Cave of retail titbits held limited appeal. Cutlery, extension leads, Dylon... all left untouched in favour of a few Woolies staples. One lady's basket brimmed over with value toys and cheap glitzy decorations - nothing gets in the way of a traditional East End Christmas round these parts. But entertainment's where it's at, and the DVD/CD/Wii section was the only area keeping profits afloat. The staff were matched roughly 1-1 by customers, which enabled them to offer helpful personal service as appropriate. Whilst skulking around the rear of the store I spotted a bald man sitting in the corner in a tiny walled-off wooden office, keeping careful watch over the personnel and the takings. It was like stepping back in time to the department stores of my childhood, which I guess this place still is. I came away with a lemon squeezer for £2, because I needed one. And I came away with the feeling of a friendly local store where the staff still look out for one another and go the extra mile to get things right.
My 2nd nearest store:43-44 The Mall, Stratford Centre E15 How very different. The Stratford store is considerably bigger and busier than Bow, part of a more modern mall development, with a full range of Woolworths paraphernalia stacked up within. You want music? There's a restricted range of top albums and cheap back catalogue (the best selection in town until upstart HMV appeared a few years ago). You want books? There's a very limited handful of bestsellers (completely overshadowed by WH Smith nextdoor). You want stuff for children? There's everything from themed pyjamas to neon plastic pencil sharpeners (and where else on the High Street are you going to find those). You want rotten teeth? Never fear, because the pick'n'mix is still going strong (now scooping at 69p per 100 grams). Something for the car, something for the kitchen, even replacement plastic insoles, it's all packed in here just in case you might ever want it. And often you only realise you want something when you spot it on the shelves, which is why I walked out with 50 binliners and a four quid oven glove. Nothing classy, but tasteful enough. Until the Stratford City development comes along, Woolworths is still top of the shops.
My 3rd nearest store:10 Vesey Path, Poplar E14 Another store, another differently-branded frontage. This one's proper old school, as if central office have forgotten to upgrade the lettering since the 1980s, but inside it felt the most modern store of the three. Neat parallel aisles, a separate checkout area, and a uniformed security guard by the front entrance. Hmm, for how long have Woolworths stores had a uniformed security guard at the entrance? Do bosses think shoppers are going to run off with a pocketful of cola jelly snakes, or maybe whisk away a surreptitious Terry's Chocolate Orange? Late Sunday afternoon it was no trouble keeping an eye on half a dozen customers. Children's clothes were the big draw here, deserving of their own separate department and chosen with cash-strapped local mums in mind. I noted that Woolies' cheapest compilation CD costs a mere £1, and that the store still sells singles but only if they're X Factor related. My thoughts, however, were focused on the Secret Santa gift I needed to buy for work. With a price limit of only £5, where better than Woolworths to hunt down something appropriate and extra cheap? And yes, of course Woolies came up trumps, but I'm now wondering whether I dare wrap and send my special present even under a cloak of anonymity.
You may sneer but, in each of the High Streets I visited, the local Woolworths is the toppermost retailer in town. That's especially true in Bow and Poplar, impoverished neighbourhood centres overlooked by almost every other major national chain store. If these downmarket marketplaces ever shut up shop, they'll be greatly missed.
Let's take a closer look at the train fare rip-off. Yesterday I looked at off-peak prices, and today it's rush hour travel. What if you have to travel at breakfast time, how exploited are you? Very, in some cases...
Cost of a return rail ticket from London
50 MILES
Rush hour weekday
Off-peak weekend
Difference
1)
Basingstoke
£17.50
£16.60
90p
2)
Brighton
£18
£16
£2
3)
Arundel
£21.70
£20.60
£1.10
4)
Ashford
£22.60
£19.60
£3
5)
Colchester
£23.30
£18.80
£4.50
6)
Cambridge
£25
£14
£11
7)
Hastings
£25.40
£22.80
£2.60
8)
Milton Keynes
£32.40
£14.50
£17.90
9)
Bedford
£33
£16
£17
10)
Oxford
£43.10
£19
£24.10
Stay close-ish to London and fares don't tend to rise hugely at peak times. A few pounds extra, nothing more... unless you intend to travel northwest, that is. Head to Milton Keynes, Bedford or Oxford and your rail fare more than doubles, which is appalling geographical bias. And what of longer distances?
Cost of a return rail ticket from London
100 MILES
Rush hour weekday
Off-peak weekend
Difference
1)
Bournemouth
£41.40
£36.80
£4.60
2)
Worcester
£57.20
£41
£16.20
3)
Birmingham
£75
£30
£45
4)
Norwich
£78
£41
£37
5)
Grantham
£95
£28.30
£66.70
6)
Loughborough
£108
£47.10
£60.90
7)
Gloucester
£125
£45
£80
8)
Lichfield
£126
£39.70
£86.30
9)
Bath
£133
£48
£85
10)
Calais
£270
£130
£140
Ouch. Only two of these peak time fare rises could be described as minor - one to Bournemouth and one to Worcester. Both towns lie within the old Network Southeast area, which may explain why ticket prices are restricted. Travel anywhere else, however, and your wallet's in danger. You'll need to find an extra forty, sixty, even eighty quid for the privilege of sitting in exactly the same seat to go to exactly the same place, just slightly earlier. Again it's rail passengers heading west or northwest who have to stump up the most.
But what if you're able to plan your journey in advance? For my final analysis I've searched for the cheapest Advance fare available next Monday morning, 1st December, departing around 8am and returning around 6pm. And then I've compared these with the turn up and go fares. In some cases the difference is extreme.
Cost of a return rail ticket from London
100 MILES
Advance (pre-book)
Anytime (turn up & go)
Saving
1)
Norwich
£24
£78
£54
2)
Grantham
£25
£95
£70
3)
Bournemouth
£26
£41.40
£15.40
4)
Loughborough
£35
£108
£73
5)
Worcester
£41
£57.20
£16.20
6)
Gloucester
£51.50
£125
£73.50
7)
Lichfield
£56.50
£126
£69.50
8)
Birmingham
£57.50
£123
£65.50
9)
Bath
£69.50
£133
£63.50
10)
Calais
£140
£270
£130
OK, I take it back about Norwich. It is possible to get there relatively cheaply, saving two-thirds off the usual rush hour fare, if you don't mind catching a specific train. Advance booking to Grantham saves nearly three-quarters, which is phenomenal. Even taking the fast Virgin train to Birmingham, extortionate as it is, can be done at half price.
So yes, forward planning can save you a packet, although it can also be damned inconvenient. Timed tickets force you to arrive at the station really early, both on the way out and on the way back, because you absolutely definitely daren't miss your bargain train. Advance fares are perfect for those who don't want to waste money and don't mind wasting time. I have to say, that's not usually me.
My commenters recommend booking your rail travel in advance via the National Express East Coast website, which they assure me (unlike the trainline) incurs no nasty booking fee. There are further useful (if farcical) hints here. Oh, and as for impromptu day trips to France... just don't. Not unless work's paying.
Time for the annual announcement regarding rail fare rises. Not in Boris's London fiefdom, but increases expected across the national rail network. Trying to get from Exeter to Edinburgh, or commute daily from Liverpool to Manchester? These price hikes will affect you.
Six or seven per cent, on average, that's the level of fare increase to be expected in the New Year. That's deliberately above inflation, because the Government allows rail companies to raise prices by more than inflation to pay for infrastructure improvements. It makes sense, they say, to fund track repairs and extra carriages through ticket prices and not the tax payer. As more people travel by train, overcrowding increases and even greater investment is required, which can be paid for out of increased ticket sales. Or something. The whole argument sounds slightly dodgy to me, not least because it has one unavoidable consequence. Travelling long distances by train in Britain is bloody expensive.
Wouldn't it be nice to pop up to Liverpool from London this weekend to enjoy a bit of Culture? That'll be £62.60, please. I think not. And for this princely fee you'd also get to sit on a rail replacement bus between Northampton and Birmingham, making the total length of the journey about five and a half hours. It'd be quicker, and cheaper, to drive. Our rail tickets help to pay for necessary extra engineering works, but these extra engineering works make rail journeys pretty much unbearable. Sorry Liverpool, I don't have either the time or the money to waste, so I won't be visiting.
And yes, I know booking in advance saves money. If I knew I was planning to visit Liverpool in four weeks time, and if I knew precisely which trains I intended to travel on, I could get there for £42 (in just over two hours). But my life's not planned that carefully that far ahead, neither would I want it to be. I want to turn up at the station, buy a ticket and go. And so I'm screwed.
What about rail journeys around London and the South East, how crippling are fares here? Depends where you go, it seems. I travel up to Norwich quite often, a return journey which now costs as much as £41, and which'll be more like £43.50 next year. That's quite a hike from even five years ago, when a similar ticket would have cost me just £30. But if I wanted to go to Worcester it'd only cost £32.40 (or, in fact, £21.60 thanks to my annual travelcard which allows me one-third off all rail fares in the "Network Card"area). Some rail journeys are better value than others, because some evil rail companies have been raising prices faster than others.
So I thought I'd do a value for money destination check. I've selected several towns that are approximately 50 miles from London, and several that are approximately 100 miles from London. Then I've found the cost of an off-peak return ticket, travelling today, turn up and go. And then I've ranked the towns in order of cheap-to-visit-ness. Where's good to go from London, and where (in these credit crunch times) is best avoided?
I'm disturbed to see how different these prices are for travelling the same distance. Why go to Hastings when you could go to Brighton for one-third less? How can it be £12 dearer to travel to Gloucester then Worcester? And Grantham and Loughborough may only be a few miles apart, but they're served by different rail companies so one's £20 more expensive to visit than the other. Ah, for the golden days of regular British Rail pricing. And it can only get more expensive, more irrationally, more fool us.
I hate parties. 12 Jumbo Tempura Prawns: 6 Lightly seasoned, 6 hot and spicy. I never know what to wear. 10 Mini Pizza Slices: 5 Cheese & tomato, 5 BBQ chicken & pineapple. When I see what everyone else is wearing, I always wish I'd worn something else. 12 Pastry Boats: 6 Oriental duck & vegetable, 6 vegetable & salsa. I always turn up too early. 12 Sticky Chicken Skewers: Chicken skewers with an oriental style sauce. I either forget to bring a bottle, or I bring something inappropriate. 12 King Prawn Spoons I never know anybody except the host, who's always too busy to talk. 15 Crispy Duck Parcels: Duck & vegetable parcels with a hoisin dip. I stand around near conversations trying to look interested. 12 Mini Chicken Kievs I usually end up talking to the really boring person nobody else wants to talk to. 12 Tortilla Wraps: 6 Fajita chicken, 6 hoisin duck. I hope he's not thinking the same thing. 12 Mini Quiche Slices: 6 Mediterranean vegetables, 6 quiche lorraine. I hate half of all buffet food, but because it's not labelled I never know which half. 12 Spicy Nachos: 8 Chilli beef, 4 spicy chicken. I sometimes risk biting into a filo parcel only to discover it contains yucky stuff. 14 Butterfly King Prawns Skewers: 7 Lightly seasoned, 7 sweet chilli. I hate dips. 10 Mini BBQ Pork & Chorizo Kebabs: BBQ flavour pork and chorizo with onions on skewers. I can't remember anybody's name, even though I was introduced to them all earlier. 18 Mini Cornish Pasties I look lost. 30 Cheese Puff Selection: 10 Cheese, 10 cheese & onion, 10 cheese & ham. I always think something more interesting must be happening in another room. 20 Chicken Goujons: 10 Garlic & herb, 10 plain. I often stand by a bowl of peanuts and eat far too many of them. 10 Mini Beef & Pepperoni Kebabs Sometimes I only stay awake by listening to the background music, even though it's rubbish. 20 Breaded Cheese Bites: 10 Cheese & chilli, 10 cheese & garlic. It seems impolite to be the first person to leave, even though I want to be. 20 Tikka Bites: With cocktail sticks. I ought to say goodbye to the host, but I don't want to interrupt them. 18 Mini Hot Dogs: Hot dog sausage rolled in pastry. There is nowhere quite so lonely as the middle of a crowd. 12 Breaded Jalapeno Peppers: Breaded jalapeno peppers with cream cheese. I hate parties. 24 Mini Eclairs Just as well I never get invited to any.
...and then sometimes I think I shouldn't be blogging, I should be doing something useful instead. Like tidying up. So I thought I'd combine the two. That small table by my front door, it needs a good tidy. Let's see how much of it I can clear away...
Stuff on the small table by my front door [ keep on table, remove] Front door keys, wallet, Oyster (they stay) Spare set of front door keys (must give to BestMate, just in case I ever lock myself out) Work security pass (that photo is so old now) P60 tax certificate (sigh, I thought I'd looked everywhere for that three months ago) (file it) Repeat prescription (must not lose this, must not lose this) Outpatients appointment card (must keep safely until Easter) Christmas card from the Royal Mail telling me how good they are ("recycle now") Handwritten note from bloke in the flat nextdoor asking me to turn my music down (sheesh, even I can hardly hear it most of the time) Route map for Beijing 2008 London torch relay (can be safely binned I think) Receipt from pub lunch celebrating Dad's 70th birthday (I should bin this, but I know I won't) Various till receipts (5) (well, you never know when you might need them) Various cashpoint receipts (3) (not sure I'll ever need these) Obsolete Tesco Clubcard (2) (fold, snap, bin) Voucher offering 25 Extra Clubcard Poiints when I spend £2.00 or more on Fresh Fish (Tesco not quite pushing the boat out there) Empty camera case (wish I hadn't bothered buying it now, never use it) Handkerchiefs (2) (into the linen basket with them) Free biros (3) (I wonder if they're allowed in the recycling) iPod shuffle (and spare headphones) (perfect for blocking out the rush hour) Stumpy remnants of a packet of Polos (I never seem to get round to eating the last two) Shiny silver watch (my "weekends and evenings" timepiece) Squeezy pink pig (ahh, I love my squeezy pink pig) £19 Rail ticket (must claim this back on work expenses) Badge saying "I ♥ Hackney" (I'll never wear it, but I bet I could give it away) Julie's business card (I bet she doesn't work there any more) Free Walkers pedometer (battery's dead, must get a new one) Milton Keynes bus timetable (unlikely to be of any future use) Secret Santa nameslip (ooh, I've drawn my former boss, the possibilities for mischief-making are endless) Poppy (I really should chuck this away and buy a new one next year) 1p coins (3) (I'll add these to the jar of 300 or so I've got elsewhere) Framed photograph of Whitstable beach (stays)
Travelling around London at the weekend is no fun. It used to be that tube services ran pretty much as normal on Saturdays and Sundays, but no more. Weekend services have become blighted by a increasing number of engineering works, and we've now reached the stage where lines without closures are in a minority. Yes, I know that these engineering works are no doubt essential, and they all help to ensure that the tube runs better in the future. But the short term effect of 'transforming the tube' is 'destroying the weekend'. Like, for example, last Saturday.
diamondgeezer: I want to slap the idiot who shut the Circle line, the middle of the District line, the middle of the Jubilee line and 90% of the DLR. Hard. 04:55 PM November 15, 2008 from txt
I was at Sloane Square trying to get back to Bow, which is normally one direct train. But not last Saturday. The District line was suspended between Embankment and Whitechapel, and the Circle line wasn't running at all. Never mind, I'd go as far as Westminster and change there for the Jubilee... ah, no, couldn't do that either. I waited ages for the first District line train east, which (when it finally arrived) was rammed full like a Monday morning rush hour. At Westminster various folk got off to change to the Jubilee line, not having heard (or understood) that it wasn't running from here. And I eventually made it to Waterloo, and thence to Canary Wharf for the DLR home... oh damn, that wasn't running either. All in all, unexpectedly hellish.
The trick is to go out prepared. TfL have got better over the years at warning us what they're shutting down each weekend so that we can adjust our plans appropriately. A page in the Metro, big weekly posters at tube stations, even a list of shutdowns they'll post you in a Wednesday email if you so desire. Oh, and the 'weekend' tab on the live travel news page on the TfL website. You know the one. A text-based line-by-line list which details what's going to be shut and between which stations. It's OK if you know the network well, but quite hard to assimilate otherwise. What's really needed here is a map to show clearly what's open and what's blocked. And what do you know, as of this week there now is.
Welcome to the new (Flash) TfL "Planned engineering works" webpage. Look, there's now a map which shows clearly what's open and what's blocked! There's no Circle line at all this weekend, that's instantly obvious. A couple of bits of District line are shut too, which are much better visualised (aha, there and there) than deduced ("suspended between Earls Court and Embankment and between High Street Kensington and Edgware Road"). If you'd like to see part of the map more distinctly, just zoom in. Want full explanatory text? Just point at the closures on the map and a text box appears (and there's a full list of lines to the left of the map with matching information). Clever innit? It's easy to see that one end of the Jubilee's stuffed, and the top end of the Metropolitan too. More importantly, it's dead simple to see which bits of the network are open and unobstructed. Planning your weekend just got easier.
Mostly easier, anyway, because there's still the odd snag. The Waterloo & City line appears on the map even though it's open as normal. It's never open before 8am on a Saturday, nor any time on Sunday, so the map shows it as "shut". The associated W&C text isn't much help either, giving no clue whatsoever that the line closes early on a Saturday evening. And then there are two lines with engineering work, neither of which show up on the map at all. One's the DLR which is half-shut this weekend. The DLR lines do appear on the new Flash map but the DLR engineering works don't, because the DLR's not a 'tube' line. Ditto the London Overground. The Barking end's closed on Sunday, but this doesn't appear as a blockage on the map. TfL's insistence on tabbing their engineering work by travel mode has led to some unhelpful uncoordinated thinking.
Still, mustn't grumble. The new map's a big step in the right direction, and conceals some even cleverer functionality. There's now a date option so that you can check future engineering work on any day in the next four weeks. The weekend after next, Metroland and Upminster and are sealed off. The weekend after that, there's virtually no disruption at all (unheard of!). And the weekend after that, try not to go to Farringdon or Dagenham. Plan ahead, plan wisely.
The new map won't put an end to weekend severance gridlock, and it won't make an army of rail replacement buses go away. But it should help to prevent Londoners from heading into a transport void by mistake, and it might even help me get home quicker.
Fine Art: Courtauld Gallery Small, and yet perfectly formed. The Courtauld Gallery displays the sparkling art haul of a few seriously rich collectors, and is crammed away on the northern side of Somerset House. Normally it's a fiver to get in, but turn up before 2pm on a Monday and entrance is free. I turned up at quarter to, with a smile, and joined the crowds of clued-up frugal visitors within.
Room one's all the old stuff. Early Renaissance Italian, much of it gold and gleaming, with a particularly heavy dose of Virgin Marys. Then on (and on) up the 18th century semi-spiral staircase to a floor of key French Impressionists and Post-Impressionists. I'm not good with my 19th century Parisian art movements, but I know a famous name when I see it and here there are plenty. One of Manet's last major works, some Monets and a lot of Cézannes, just for starters. There's the famous portrait of Van Gogh with his bandaged ear, and upstairs a lot of spotty Seurats too. In just a handful of the Courtauld's rooms there are art treasures encompassing a century of French canvas excellence. I have a hunch that the spotty schoolkids I saw at Tate Britain would have learnt rather more here, and rather quicker.
The Courtauld boasts a great period setting. The ceilings are works of art in themselves, and fine-crafted artefacts such as tables and a harpischord are scattered throughout. There's long been a teaching establishment based here, and 200 years ago the Royal Academy School of Art filled these rooms. Its most famous student is probably JMW Turner, and there's currently a temporary exhibition of his work in an upper room. It was packed, mostly with cultured visitors of Freedom Pass age, who know a top free event when they see one. If you ever have a (non Bank Holiday) Monday off work, why not slip in? Alternatively the famous Somerset House ice rink opens again tomorrow for its winter season, and (what?! £10.50 during the day and £12.50 for an evening session?!) that's free to look at too. by tube: Temple
Cubed Art: Tate Britain It can't be easy being Tate Britain. For a century you're the gallery to visit, centre of artistic attention, a cultural hub. Then your parents give birth to a younger sibling - Tate Modern - and everybody flocks there instead. Always the way with babies isn't it? Loud, cute and dripping with novelty value, and therefore magnetically attractive at the expense of the rest of the family. Which is a shame, because Tate Britain's as fascinating as it ever was, if only everyone else would notice.
The main gallery's classical Victorian, built on the site of the notorious MillbankPenitentiary. Within its 30 or so rooms is laid out the history of British Art from 1500 to the present day. The old stuff's to the left, and the 20th century's to the right. And don't worry, it's now quite safe to walk down the bit in the middle because the twice-a-minute athletic sprinty thing ended on Sunday. As you wander through you'll see how BritArt evolved, from portraits and religious iconography to landscapes and finally peculiar abstract splodges. Don't worry, there aren't too many splodges in Pimlico, most of that part of the Tate's collection is on the South Bank instead.
If you visit on a weekday, watch out for the school parties. The place was crawling with them yesterday - a complete range of ages from infants to A Level groups. The youngsters were making their own swishy capes in the middle of Gallery 2, then parading up and down to show off their arty handiwork. The exam classes were milling around everywhere else, some posh and floppy, others merely trendy and aspirational. They hovered around various paintings and sculptures, most sketching a copy into their notebooks, but a few just tittering at Tracey Emin's cruder outpourings. Beats sitting in the classroom looking at jpegs.
In a modern extension (past the shop) are many of the works of JMW Turner, all glowing skies and brooding clouds. Some are ace, with the upstart genius's brilliance shining through, while others just looked like weak luminescence. And then there are two paid-for exhibitions, one Francis Bacon retrospective and one Turner Prize shortlisting. I'm advised that the Bacon's unmissable and the Turner's prestigious, but at nearly £20 for the two I was willing to pass both by. Maybe I've been conditioned to expect my art for free, but when there's a room full of Constables down the corridor for nothing I'm perfectly happy enough. by tube: Pimlico
I have a love-hate relationship with books. I love them, as you could probably tell if you saw the shelves and shelves of them in my flat. Lovely lovely books, with pages full of fascination, delight and pleasure. And I hate them, because I own far too many that I've never properly read. Dull uninspiring books, with covers that promised much but delivered little.
I do try really hard not to throw my money away on books. When mulling over a literary purchase, I always ask myself "will I actually read this, or am I merely attracted to the concept of owning a book on this subject?" I rarely buy books the instant I see them. Usually I'll carry on round the shop, or come back to the shop later, or even defer purchase to another day and maybe buy it then. I don't buy hardbacks, not unless there's absolutely no alternative. I'll often wait a year in case a book comes out in paperback, just to save a few pounds. And if a paperback costs over a tenner then I can probably resist buying it at all, because I can't cope with the concept of paperbacks costing that much.
I don't use Amazon or any equivalent online services for book purchasing purposes. I know that they sell books rather cheaper than in the shops, but once you add postage and packing the price soon creeps up again. It's also too easy to get carried away click- click- click-ing and to end up buying a whole bundle of books you don't really need. I won't buy a book I haven't physically seen, because that's just courting disappointment. Oh, and it's impossible to fit a book-sized package through my letterbox anyway, so Amazon's stuffed.
However, my existing collection of books contains far too many volumes best described as "a waste of money". Some of these have been bought for me. Somebody saw a book, thought I'd like it and wrapped it up, hoping they'd scored a literary bullseye. And they were wrong, even though I tried very hard to conceal that at the time of unwrapping. Other failures I bought myself. "Ooh that looks interesting," I thought. Maybe I'd been drawn in by a catchy title, or an alluring cover design, or tempting subject matter. Almost certainly I'd flicked rapidly through the book in the shop and thought "yes, it looks like there's plenty worth reading in here." But it turned out I was wrong.
To illustrate this point I'd like to introduce the concept of a Book Value Index (BVI), measured in "minutes per pound". Take the cost of a book, then tot up how long has been spent actually reading it, and divide one by the other. A great book costs a little and gets read a lot, so has a high BVI. And a poor book costs a lot and is barely read at all, so has a low BVI. Let me illustrate with four typical books from my shelf.
» Book 1 cost £7.99, and I've read it once. I'm quite a fast reader, so I knocked it off in three hours flat. That's 180 minutes for £8, which equates to 22 minutes per pound. [BVI=22] » Book 2 cost £6.99, and I've read it twice. A story has to be pretty good for me to read it again. That's six hours for £7, which equates to 50 minutes per pound. [BVI=50] » Book 3 cost £10, and I've skimmed through it once, taking no more than half an hour. That's 30 minutes for £10, which equates to only 3 minutes per pound. [BVI=3] » Book 4 also cost £10, and it's one of those special Christmas gift books so often bought as a stocking filler. I've flicked through it once, a few minutes after I unwrapped it. Ha ha, yes, funny, flick, yeah and that, flick, done. And never again. That's five minutes for £10, which equates to a feeble 30 seconds per pound. [BVI=0.5]
I need to try to buy more books with BVI>20, and to avoid buying more turkeys with BVI<5. It's just so hard to predict which is which before I get them home. Yes, I know I really ought to join my local library, because that way books are free and my BVI is therefore infinite. But in the meantime, if you're thinking of buying me a book for Christmas, be warned. I'll probably smile, glance through it and then stick it on a shelf, never to be glanced through again. And I'd hate you to waste your money on another BVI=½.
Nouveau Art: Saatchi Gallery Have you been yet? The new Saatchi Gallery in the King's Road, down Chelsea way. It's been open fora month, have you not popped in? It's free to get in, which is a bit of an improvement on the gallery's previous incarnation on the South Bank. And it's full of art! You're bound to go there some time, so why not go soon? well, maybe.
Charles Saatchi's latest art emporium is based in the former Duke of York's Building, a grand Georgian barracks with strong Palladian columns and an extensive grassy square outside. Appearances can be deceptive. Once through the door, the interior is anything but ancient. A pair of brightly lit galleries lead off to each side, each a shuttered white box in which to hang the adman's latest whim. To the rear a modern extension, not huge, but enough for an extra gallery and some extra staircases. There are three roughly identical floors, each a little anonymous, plus some additional space and a shop in the basement. Plenty of room, very flexible, and ripe for revisiting.
The gallery has an unusual atmosphere, especially if you're used to more formal presentation. There are no barriers in front of the paintings or sculptures, there's just the occasional notice asking you to respect the artworks and to keep children from touching them. No problem if you want to walk into the middle of the wheelchair display, for example, and become part of the performance. Photography is also permitted, big time. The more intriguing pieces each gather a small crowd wielding their cameras or mobiles, which feels either wonderfully inclusive or disturbingly intrusive, depending on your point of view. But it's an interesting space nonetheless, which stands or falls on the choice of works placed therein. Worth a look? by tube: Sloane Square
Moderne Art: Serpentine Gallery Four rooms, regular exhibitions, middle of Kensington Gardens, free admission. Sounds like a perfect cultural detour if you're ever on a stroll in the area, like I was yesterday. So I popped inside, uncertain of what the latest exhibition might involve. Aha, the work of Gerhard Richter, "one of the world's greatest living artists". Sounded promising. But what was this? We were being treated to one of his works of abstract art entitled 4900 Colours. Imagine a grid of coloured tiles, 5 by 5, comprising bright monochrome squares randomly arranged. Then take three further tiles, similarly random, and assemble them (randomly) to create a 10 by 10 square. No point looking for deliberate pattern, there isn't any, just a (random) burst of variegated colours like a wildly haphazard bathroom wall. Then create 48 further 10×10 grids, all equally random, and display them around the gallery in a random order. And that's the entire exhibition. The curators described this as "stunning sheets of kaleidoscopic colour". I described it as "an awful lot of coloured tiles", and "something so bloody simple that I could have thought of it, but didn't". The exhibition was quite pretty for a bit, but then repetitive, and then extremely repetitive. Sorry, but I can't search for meaning in random art because by definition there isn't any. Not impressed. There may be money in it, however, in which case I reckon we should all head down to Topps Tiles for a selection of coloured offcuts and some grout. by tube: Knightsbridge
Pylons stalk the horizon in locations across the UK. They dominate the view, standing tens of metres tall, tainting the scenery. An army of steel soldiers, linked by cable, transmitting electricity from supply to demand. They cast a permanent shadow on the landscape because their removal would be unfeasibly expensive, and because energy is more important than aesthetics. Except here in the Lower Lea Valley, that is. After years of aerial blight, the arrival of the Olympics requires the unthinkable. It's suddenly a government imperative that the area looks nice by 2012, and that means emptying the sky of metal. Our pylons are coming down.
52 pylons are being dismantled altogether, stretching from Lea Bridge in the north to West Ham in the south. That's rather more than would seem strictly necessary, given that only about ten of these lie within the boundaries of the Olympic Park. But a couple stand verycloseindeed to the site of the Olympic Stadium, and it would never do to spear a javelin into the overhanging wires. Clearing this central section is the sporting and political imperative, and improving the view across Hackney Marshes and the Greenway merely a happy by-product.
There's been work going on for a couple of years to dig two 6km tunnels beneath the Olympic Park, and these are now filled with 200km of electrical cabling. It's a damned impressive civil engineering project, particularly completed in so short a time, but quite hard to crow about when there's nothing to see on the surface. Subterranean power was successfully switched on in the summer, making the pylons redundant. And this week the long-awaited dismantling finally began.
I was surprised by the pace of change, especially along the Greenway across Stratford High Street. Long thin metal cages hang from the arms of one particular pylon, allowing workers elevated access to the cable connections. On one side the wires are already detached and disappeared, on the other severance is merely imminent. Another deconstruction hotspot is at the top end of Hackney Marshes, near the Middlesex Filter Beds, where a cluster of yellow-jacketed workers have clearly had a busy week. Transmission coils hang vertically from each arm of one doomed pylon, its web of cables now drooping limply towards the ground. Another pylon is already cable-free, awaiting permanent dismantling. Being in open ground it'll probably be toppled over, whereas other pylons in more awkward spots will require the presence of an enormous crane to aid their removal.
They'll all be gone in a few months, clearing the way for further Olympic construction and brightening my local landscape. My apologies if you live in an area of outstanding natural beauty blighted by pylons, because yours are unlikely ever to vanish. But sometimes the incredibly unlikely can be proved possible, and all it takes is political will, and a fortnight of athletics, and an awful lot of cash.
» Sebastian Coe, Chairman of the London 2012 Organising Committee, said: 'This is a great example of how an Olympic and Paralympic Games can help revitalise and regenerate a city." (which translates as "We're making the Stratford area look a little nicer, which quite frankly isn't difficult") » ODA Chief Executive David Higgins said: 'The pylons in the Olympic Park will all be down by the end of the year, unlocking the area for the development of new homes, world-class sports venues and essential infrastructure.' (which translates as "We'll never be able to sell these houses if they're built under pylons") » Mayor of London Boris Johnson said: 'For as long as I can remember the first thing that strikes you as you travel further to the east of town are these ugly structures dominating the skyline and blighting the area.' (which translates as "I have a blinkered negative view of east London, and thank God I don't have to live there") » EDF Energy Chief Executive Vincent de Rivaz said: 'As the first London 2012 sustainability partner and energy utilities partner we are proud to be playing a key role in helping to deliver what will be a truly sustainable Games and ensuring that come 2012, the organisers have a resilient supply of electricity.' (which translates as "I never said that, but I have a PR team experienced in writing press releases full of on-message drivel")
God save our King-to-be, Long live the OAP, God save our Charles. Waiting for mum's demise, Won't rule until she dies, Ne'er to reign over us: God help the Prince.
Carbuncles make him vexed, Bold foe of architects, Chaz builds things small. Dabbler in politics, Champion of organics, There's nothing he can't fix, Charles saves us all.
Thanks to a drunk chauffeur, Now sleeps with Camilla; Love flows between. Di produced strappingheirs, That's all the nation cares So sing with hearts and prayers Long live the Queen!
Ah, the golden sunlit days of autumn. A yellow globe shining weakly in a sharp blue sky. Glistening leaves in brown and gold. Reflected light in puddles. Shadows on the leaf-strewn ground. A low gleam, close to the horizon, making you squint. And in the workplace, rays of natural light streaming in through the office window and brightening the working day.
"Do you mind if I put the blind down?"
Well yes I do mind, actually. I'm not going to tell you that out loud though, because it might appear rude. To be honest I can't see your problem. The sun's not annoying me at all. I quite like the glowing strand across my desk. I don't mind a little glare on my computer screen. I have no problem with a sharp point of light on the edge of my frame of vision - I can subconsciously block it out. But if you want to sit here in the dark, like some kind of semi-conscious hibernating tortoise, go ahead.
"No, go ahead."
Sigh. There you go lowering the artificial screen, cancelling out our daily dose of daylight. Going going gone. Oh dear, and lowering the one in the neighbouring window too. Come on, the sun's only a point of light, so why are you obscuring the entire wall? There's precious little sunshine at this time of year, and you're dooming this corner of the office to fluorescent tubes instead. Casting out the natural in favour of the artificial. And all because you can't cope with a direct beam of light.
Are you like this out of doors too? Do you wear sunglasses in midwinter, just in case your eyes are assaulted by photons? Do you walk around beneath a parasol, nipping from awning to awning, dodging the UV as if it were a deadly laser? I think not. And yet in the office it's OK to darken my environment because shade suits you. It's selfish twilight, that's what it is. My usually sunny demeanour is in shadow.
Now OK, I know the glare might be briefly intrusive. You might be finding it hard to write, or difficult to see your screen, or tough reading that report. But what you always seem to forget is that the sun moves on. It shifts round the sky at a rate of fifteen degrees an hour. It wasn't in your face thirty minutes ago, and it won't be in your face in thirty minutes time. But will you think to put the blind back up again? No, never, not at all. The blind, once down, stays down.
What I really want to ask, in half an hour's time, is "Do you mind if I put the blind back up?" I want back the daylight you've stolen. The sun can't still be shining directly at you, it must have shifted round. And yet I can't prove that, because there's now a blind in the way. I can't suggest raising it without appearing insensitive, inappropriate, unverified. I don't want to seem impolite, so I say nothing. If it was a bit brighter in here, you might see me frown.
Of course, I'll be straight over to that window the minute you walk away. When you go to lunch, I'll have that blind back up again the second you enter the stairwell. If you leave work before me, I'll raise the slats before I depart. And if I'm at my desk before you in the morning, I'll make sure the day begins with a clear unobscured window, you see if I don't. Because it might be a lovely sunny day tomorrow. And one day I may have the guts to stop you stealing it away.
When Boris pulled the plug on London's transport investment last week, he didn't snuff out everything. Some projects survived because they were too important, too far advanced or too well supported. The upgrade of Stratford station is all three. Too important, because the Olympics are arriving close by in four years time. Too far advanced, because the shopping centre nextdoor was planned even before the Games were won. And too well supported because the upgrade is being funded by the Olympic Delivery Authority, not TfL. A stupendously accessible megahub is on its way, estimated time of arrival 2010, and it'll make recent improvements at Shepherd's Bush look like peanuts.
Stratfordstation's complicated enough already. It's on two levels, with all the east-west trains up top and the north-south departures down below. This makes getting around quite difficult. From the station entrance to the Jubilee line platforms (1999) wouldn't be far were it not for the old North London line platforms (1847) scything inbetween, so passengers have ride up and over and down and across instead. There's an even longer subway'n'stairs trek from the new DLR terminus (2007) to the Stansted platforms (1840) - absolutely no fun when lugging luggage. It's a recipe for confusion and congestion, and it's got to be sorted before hundreds of thousands of additional visitors turn up for the Olympics.
£104m of investment should do the trick. One of the key proposals is to reopen an existing subway beneath the tracks, offering a third route through from one side of the station to the other. Damned short-sighted shutting it in the first place, if you ask me. Some old station buildings (pictured) have been demolished, presumably for not being shiny enough. An extra platform is being built alongside the westbound Central line to provide doubled-up access for early morning London-bound commuters. Two new platforms are being built on the north side of the station, to which all London Overground services will transfer next year. That'll leave the existing low level platforms free for the proposed DLR extensionfrom Canning Town, and then... Actually it still sounds damned complicated, doesn't it, but hopefully a little less crowded to get around.
The genesis of the Stratford City complex immediately to the north will mean further changes. There'll be a new northern entrance, obviously, plus a huge pedestrian overbridge crossing the tracks so that posh shoppers can easily reach the Wilkinson and Wetherspoons in the existing town centre should they so desire. And yet another ticket hall will be built to link the bridge to the station's mezzanine level. I fear that the existing four escalators won't be able to cope with the additional footfall generated, but I rejoice at the introduction of additional ticket-buying facilities. It's usually hell trying to queue at Stratford's current paltry number of ticket windows, and often the line of off-peak-return-purchasers snakes out of the main entrance.
I still can't quite take on board the enormous scope of the transformation about to be wrought here in Stratford. A vast station complex to match Clapham Junction, surrounded by a major development zone to rival anywhere in London. Direct rail services to the continent and all corners of the capital, plus (eventually) Crossrail too. An upcoming regenerated neighbourhood, even (heavens above) a Waitrose. And all because politicians and sportsmen dared to dream, and backed up their plans with cash. My local area is going up in the world because it slipped through before the transport budget chest was slammed shut. Boris, watch and learn.
Do I really have to stand here for two minutes? Just because some old people say so? I'd rather be reading the paper.
It's raining again. I hope it clears up before the weekend, I've got some important shopping to do. Oh hurry up, I need a cigarette. Come on, it's nearly lunchtime!
I could really do with a cappucino and a blueberry muffin, keep my blood sugar up. Maybe I'll get some from the café later, a chance for a good rest.
Ali's not looking well. He's got the manflu, ever since that paper cut earlier in the week. I don't think the elastoplast on his finger looks convincing. You normally only pull a sickie for something serious.
Everyone's gone quiet. There's not been talking for over a minute now, it's not natural. I suppose I ought to think about soldiers and dead people and that. I try not to bother myself with global conflict to be honest, best not to consider the consequences, if it happens it happens.
I'm not going down the pub with the girls again. If they want to find out the gossip about Bex that badly they can bloody well follow it on Facebook like the rest of us. Adam's still two-timing her, apparently.
Who farted? Hard to tell, nobody's smirking, they all look so damned bored. I could be doing something useful now, not staring into space. Bet the wrinklies are loving every second.
I wish I was somewhere else, anywhere but here. Back at home with Mandy and a few lagers, sitting on the sofa, giving her tongues. I'll send her a text later, tell her how much I fancy her.
God, this is hell. Please let it be over soon.
bong!
BANG!
Here we go again.
That shell sounded close, probably in the trench nextdoor. I think it fell short, I'm sure I didn't hear anyone scream.
It's raining again. Like we haven't got enough mud here already. That feels like a rat down by my boot, but I can't see through the smoke. I hope it's not hungry.
I could really do with a cup of Bovril and some bully beef, keep my spirits up. Maybe we'll get some at the end of the watch, that and some blessed sleep.
Alf's not looking well. He's got the shakes, ever since that near miss earlier in the week. I don't think the dressing on his wound looks healthy. You normally only see that many flies around a corpse.
The Hun have gone quiet. There's not been gunfire for over a minute now, I could get used to this. Too much to think they might be retreating, probably just rearming. I try not to think about death these days, best not to consider the consequences, if it happens it happens.
I'm not crawling out into no-man's-land again. If the officers need reconnaissance that badly they can bloody well crawl out themselves. Arthur's still missing out there somewhere, or what's left of him.
Is that gas? Hard to tell, everything smells foul out here in the trenches. I probably stink, but it's been weeks since I had a bath. Bet the headlice are loving every filthy second.
I wish I was somewhere else, anywhere but here. Back at home with Mary and the dog, sitting by a warm fire, cuddling up close. I'll write her a letter later, tell her how much I love her.
MK: Campbell Park Parks planned by modern architects don't always work. They're often bland, contrived and characterless, indeed utterly devoid of any charm that might encourage you to spend some time therein. Campbell Park in Milton Keynes is different. It may be artificial but a lot of thought has been given to establishing a sense of beauty and place, especially through judicious use of public art. If the 2012 Olympic Park ends up half as good as this I shan't complain. The park's now a third of a century old, just long enough to for the trees to have matured, and the golden yellow maple woodland provides a magnificent autumn spectacle at this time of year .
The key to the park's success is a contouredlandscape - not easy to come by when the area is naturally flat, but most of the earth and spoil from construction of the town centre ended up here. The best views come from the tip of a tongue of elevated grassland, the Belvedere, from which the eastern suburbs are clearly visible with Bedfordshire beyond. It's not a busy park, though, not in November. I had the labyrinth all to myself, and the forlorn looking ornamental fountain, and most of my Redway walk too (bar the occasional bouncy dog walker). The area might throb more if strips of scrubland to north and south are developed, as planned, into high-density residential neighbourhoods . For now these sloping plots are protected only by ineffective signs stating "Private land, no public access or right of way", plus one solitary locked gate in a non-existent fence.
MK: Willen Lake There's something innately athletic about Milton Keynes. Sure you could spend your entire life driving everywhere, but there are plenty of opportunities scattered around the town to get out there and get physical. One such location is WillenLake, a two-chambered artificial reservoir which helps to regulate drainage across the city. This is a watersports hotspot, no doubt thronging during the summer months with sailors, canoers and windsurfers. Even in late autumn I noted baggy boys and beardy blokes aplenty headed down to the lakeside with boards and wetsuits in hand. Wakeboarding's the new big thing here, with a 5-cornered cable rig set up in the water to tug riders around a wired circuit at 30mph . Sooner them than me. According to the organisers "We currently have 5 sliders in the water, a 90ft flat bar, a new staked in A-frame, a pipe slider with a kick off the end, a large m rail with fun box attached and also a large aframe to flatbar." I'm assuming those are the ramps I saw which looked like a fleet of half-submerged cars and lorries, and the idea is to aim for those on the way round for a bit of an aerobaticthrill.
For the more lethargic visitor there's still plenty to see. Birds for a start, with a hide for viewing the more elusive species (although seagulls were plentiful enough from the lakeside path ). There's what looks like an ancient stone henge, but which is actually a millennialmonument based on a North American medicine wheel. Set into a sodden grass bowl is an acre of tortuouslabyrinth, which has no dead ends or junctions and must therefore be terribly tedious to walk around. And higher on the hillside is a peacepagoda, the first to be built in the western hemisphere, now associated with a Japanese temple on the hilltop. The story of Buddha is shown in pictorial format around the circumference, and at the centre a serene golden god stares down past guardianlions across the water . A full circumnavigation of the lake would no doubt reveal further unexpected delights.
MK: Bancroft And finally a pilgrimage to a northwestern neighbourhood, threaded through by the LoughtonValley and tucked close to the London to Birmingham railway line. I was in search of the city's most notorious farmyard residents, the ConcreteCows. They're not signposted, nor waymarked, but thankfully they are marked on an Ordnance Survey map so I knew where to head. From Bradwell Abbey beneath the mainline, then turn left up the first forked footpath beneath the A422 overpass. There they are beside the river, a herd of six angular friesians . They've been here (on and off) since 1978, constructed by community artist Liz Leyh with the help of local school children. Each cow has its own character , and the group's boggle-eyed demeanour is immensely endearing. Being concrete they're all perfect for sitting on, which must be why health & safety bods have been along and scattered the grass beneath with impact-absorbing woodchips . It should be the cows themselves in need of protection. Over the years they've been repainted, graffitied, vandalised, even beheaded, while one particularly ill-advised relocation to the MK Dons football ground saw them seriously assaulted by fork-lift trucks. But the cows have always been repaired and reborn, and now the council keeps a spare set in case of future trauma.
Even on a grey afternoon they're intensely photogenic , and I wandered around the group for a good quarter of an hour checking angles and close-ups. During that time several car drivers pulled up briefly at the roadside nearby, wound down their window and attempted to capture the group on their mobile. When one car hung around for ages it took me a while to deduce that they were waiting to photograph just six beasts, not seven. I took my cue and hurried out of shot, leaving the cows to their solitary grazing .
Day out:Milton Keynes Once upon a time, in toppermost Buckinghamshire, there was a small medieval village called Milton Keynes. Then one day the government came along and said "verily, let us transform twenty-two thousand acres of surrounding countryside into the biggest new city England has ever seen." And so it came to pass that a grid of vertical and horizontal roads criss-crossed the landscape, and various housing estates popped up in the gaps inbetween, and the overspill of the southeast did move in lock stock and barrel. Not somewhere you might think to go for a sightseeing day out, but then I never did pick obvious places to visit. Report follows. » MK Web(official website, both useful and very detailed) » Destination Milton Keynes(glib froth aimed at cappuccino tourists) » Discover Milton Keynes(newly established preservers of local heritage) » interactive Milton Keynes map quiz(how well do you know your neighbourhoods?)
Central Milton Keynes Non car-drivers usually arrive in MK at the station. It's not the most delightful introduction to the city. Stepping out into the windswept piazza I'm always reminded of a Communist square bounded by blank office blocks - not a place to hang around. Taxis queue expectantly outside, hoping you'll ignore public transport and ride with them to your far-flung neighbourhood destination. The bus station's no better . It's an echoing concrete monstrosity, no longer used for public service but somewhere for drivers to park up their minibuses and wolf down a fry-up in the cafe inside. Avoid... unless you're a teenageskateboarder, in which case it's a well wicked hangout for blading and tricks innit.
If it's the shops you're heading for, be brave and start walking uphill through the business district. It won't take more than 15 minutes, and there are a few interesting mini-parks and water features along the way. Parking spaces line every roadside, and planners have recently decided that some of these might make better foundations for new buildings. Various high-rises are going up in the surrounding area in an attempt to give MK a skyline, although nothing especially huge . One such recent development is The Hub, which describes itself as "the venue of choice" with "spectacular water features and pavement cafes", although I thought it looked like a dull square with fountains where empty people go to drink coffee. More spiritually fulfilling is the mouthfully-named Church of Christ the Cornerstone, Britain's first purpose-built ecumenical city church. Think of it as the sustainable future of urban religion, topped off with a striking dome half the height of St Paul's Cathedral .
I never quite got the hang of walking in Milton Keynes. There are separate walk/cycleways called Redways all across the town, threaded above and below the road system, designed to keep us undrivers safe. But I kept trying to take the most direct route between places, across verges and up embankments and over undesignated crossings, often finding myself in the path of non-stopping traffic. Not a major problem, cars and pedestrians seem to coexist in MK far better than in the majority of unplanned UK conurbations . The best view of the town's public art was on foot (or on two wheels). There are scores of sculptures all over the central district, some realistic , most uncompromisinglyabstract. They make a bold and innovative addition to the town, and if only I'd thought to print out the Art Trail before I arrived I might have enjoyed a few more of them.
The shoppingmall's the part of Milton Keynes I know best. I've spent many a December Saturday here attempting to buy gifts the rest of my family wouldn't stick in a January cupboard, and I'd still far rather shop here than Brent Cross or Westfield. Centre:MK is one of the UK's oldest American-style malls, opened in 1979, and also probably the longest. The external design is pleasantly minimalist, and the two interior streets are airy, tree-filled and daylit. Part of the secret of its success is being single-storey, there was no need to build upwards when land was freely available. When expansion was required they built the decidedly non-retroMidsummer Place to the south, blocking off the central spine road to through traffic. The famous concrete cows can be found here, in OakCourt, although as I later discovered these are just counterfeit imitations for the benefit of lazy shoppers . Just outside is The Point, MK's unique pyramidalcinema and the first multi-screen multiplex in the country . It's had a rough economic time of late, and it shows, but seemingly survives as an unwelcoming Odeon.
The Point's commercial nemesis looms on the horizon to the southeast - an enclosed skislope and entertainment complex called Xscape. It's solarge that it takes up one entire city block, a long silverridge poking up out of the earth and an alluring magnet for the town's youth. They throng in large numbers to scoff, bowl and glide, and it's not unusual to see a snowboard stuffed under the arm of a warm padded jacket. The changing area's at the back, and here less daring souls can drink and dine whilst staring at the downhill action through a long glass wall. There are proper ski-lifts in there, and icy gradients, and padded red cushions on every supporting pillar in case you come a cropper and tumble on the way down. It looks a load of fun, if you like that sort of thing, and so much more convenient than flying off to the Alps once a year.
Close by, and rather less well frequented, is the Milton Keynes Gallery. It's outer walls are decorated to reflect the exhibition inside, which can mean plastered posters or overbearing pinkness, but currently involves a sticking-out canoe. The interior's not big, just three over-staffed galleries, although I enjoyed a few minutes with Gilberto Zorio's giant stellate installations. One in particular mutated suddenly into an intense stroboscopic lightshow - goodness knows how the friendly gallery attendant puts up with that throughout the day. I escaped, intent on seeing more of the non-central bits of town, of which more tomorrow.
"You're too late," said the lonely-looking man stood at the entrance desk. "It takes a good two hours to look around the museum, and I'm locking up in half an hour." He handed me a leaflet to show me what I was missing - street of shops, telephone museum, tramcar, lawnmowers! - and suggested I arrive rather earlier next time. But there won't be a next time. His no-doubt delightful museum isn't easily accessible to the car-free and I'd had to endure a lengthy cross-estate yomp to get here. Opportunity lost. So now I'm sat on a dusky not-so-nearby station, awaiting wheeled deliverance. Fifty years ago, in the age of steam, this was a major inter-city refreshment stop where I could have rested awhile with a slice of battenberg and a cuppa. Today not one single original station building remains, let alone an institutional tea shop. So Alix, if you're still around, mine's milk no sugar, cheers.
I'm glad I wore my walking boots. There may be paved paths aplenty but I keep wandering off onto sodden verges and muddy grassland like the mischievous pedestrian I am. There are trees everywhere so I've picked the perfect time to visit - the entire town is golden yellow. From the shops I've headed east through miles of open parkland, mostly empty apart from herds of untamed hounds and their less bouncy owners. There's a lot of water about, and more than one hardy soul is out waterskiing with his shaggy baggy mates. And I swear that the local magpie count is far higher than the national average - there are joyful couples everywhere. Now to hunt down a bus stop. See how long it takes me to ride back from autumn to midsummer.
Always visit the shopping centre first. It may be a bit of a trek from the station, but that's where all the people are. I'd never have stumbled across the tourist information office otherwise, hidden away in an unlet retail unit, unless I'd heard it announced over the mall's loudspeaker system. Now I have my free maps of town, I'm ready to explore outside. I wasn't expecting to find a famous artwork in here either, "on loan" to the shopping centre where the residents might actually see it. Saves me a parkland detour later. I've wandered through the business district, utterly deserted at weekends, and now I'm sat outside the coolest place in town, the hillock where all the youth hang out. Even better, the rain's stopped and the sun's shining. So far, so good.
dg's Moblogged Mystery Tour: I'm sat on a train at a central London terminus, about to set off on a journey of discovery to an anonymous English town. My journey should take less than an hour, which is a relief because the heating's on full and I'm sweating already. I've been to this particular town many times before, but never really explored it properly on foot because it's not your usual sightseeing hotspot. I hope the tourist information office is up to speed, because my printer ran out of ink last night and all I have with me are some streaky illegible maps. With a bit of luck I'll still find the interesting bits, old-ish and newer, in the busy centre and around the periphery. On a damp grey day in November. I must be mad. I'll report back from various locations along the way, via my mobile phone, to let you know how I'm getting on. But I'm not going to tell you where I am, because it wouldn't be a mystery tour otherwise. See if you can guess...
I've started up a tumblr page. For the uninitiated a tumblelog is a sort of "online discoveries" blog, a place to showcase links and pictures and stuff with minimal commentary. Might be something I've spotted, might be something I've taken, might be something fact-packed, might be something to visit, might just be something quirky or unusual. If you're interested, there's a permanent link in my sidebar, or you could always subscribe to the RSS feed. If you're not interested, you're missing out on a Birmingham-based psychogeographical art endurance expedition, a dead useful London Events Calendar and a photograph of a sick spelling mistake at Holborn tube. Amongst other stuff. So far.
Hmm, anybody else out there got a Tumblr page too?
After Bonfire Night came Bonfire Day. TfL's latest business plan(pdf) has incinerated several slow-burning transport projects, each liberally doused with car-friendly petrol by our beloved Mayor. A few important projects that Boris inherited, such as Crossrail and (most of) the East London line, will be prioritised. And their funding will be secured by sacrificing varioussmaller projects, generally at the expense of residents in boroughs that voted for Ken. TfL's emphasis will be on upgrading existing networks, not branching out into new areas, no matter how great the local need. Boris refuses to raise taxes to pay for anything, including it seems investment in London's future. There'll be no new transport projects in the pipeline for his successor to open, but never mind, eh?
So, what's Boris shelved?
Cross River Tram A rail map of Inner London reveals one big blind spot, one great inaccessible desert through which no existing tracks run. The Zone 2 Gap is centred on Burgess Park, around the Aylesbury Estate and Camberwell, and it's through these mean streets that the Cross River Tram was due to pass. Sorry Southwark residents, you'll have to carry on taking the bus instead. Look, TfL haven't quite removed all their CRT plans from the internet yet, so it's still possible to see what you're missing. No more frivolous thoughts of running a tram service on-street between Camden and Peckham, because you can just imagine how many car drivers that might have inconvenienced. Of all the schemes to hit the buffers today, this one's probably the greatest loss. CRT, RIP.
Thames Gateway Bridge This project's rather more controversial. It's been on the drawing board for aaaa-ages, and would have linked Beckton to Thamesmead across a not-terribly accessible stretch of the Thames. The river's a huge barrier to movement in East London, far more so than out west, and this major bridge would have greatly increased accessibility. Unfortunately it would also have brought more traffic (and nasty concrete feeder roads) to the area immediately around it, so the bridge was never popular with local residents. Now they can live happily in their residential cul-de-sac, and everyone else can drive upriver to the nearest tunnel (3 miles) or downriver to the nearest bridge (10 miles). Or there's always the Woolwich Ferry, still a 19th century solution for a 21st century problem. Boris is apparently looking into constructing another tunnel near Silvertown, but that needs to be planned from scratch and so is unlikely to be built in the next 20 years. In the meantime, the output of a lengthy public inquiry goes in the bin.
DLR Dagenham Dock extension Who'd live on Barking Reach? Acres of new boxy dwellings are erupting all over the Thames estuary around Creekmouth, and yet at the moment there's only a weedy bus service to link residents to the main transport network. The DLR extension to Dagenham Dock was meant as a long-term solution to this problem - a bold attempt to give Thames Gateway property some value. In a recent consultation 95% of local residents were in favour of the new branch line, planned to open in 2017. Stuff them. If you want to live here now, get a car.
Oxford Street tram scheme Let's be honest, shopping in Oxford Street could be nicer. We'll see that on December 6th when traffic is banned for a 5 hour festive retail blowout and pedestrians rule the tarmac. Boris is clearly keen on ousting the red tide of buses from the street more permanently, but that won't now mean installing a mile-long tramway to ferry weary shoppers from bargain to bargain. My bet's on him decapitating a few bus services so that they no longer run along the entire street, they terminate earlier at Marble Arch or Centre Point. It may not be convenient for all travellers, but it'd be damned cheap.
CroydonTramlinkextension This is the biggest surprise on the to-kill list. It's relatively inexpensive, it follows an existing rail corridor, it's already quite well planned, and it's in part of Outer London that's natural Boris-supporting territory. It was also due to interchange with the new East London Line spur to Crystal Palace, which is still on the to-survive list. Not enough to save the tramlink link, alas.
East London Transit and Greenwich Waterfront Transit These sound much more exciting than they really are. Priority segregated bus lanes with a frequent service, one over Barking way and the other between Thamesmead and Greenwich. Now only some preliminary tidying up is scheduled before the funding runs out, and oh look, that's Barking and Thamesmead buggered again. Do vote more carefully next time, folks.
High Street 2012 Hang on, that's my local project on the scrapheap! You'll remember that I spent most of August walking up and down the A11 telling you of great transformative plans to improve the public realm along this historic and strategically important corridor. All cancelled, apparently, along with plans to improve Parliament Square and the Victoria Embankment. We're told that these schemes "did not have a strong rationale" (which is political speak for "making places look nice is not cost effective"). And they also "had the added disbenefit of restricting traffic flow and potentially increasing congestion" (which is political speak for "it's more important to be able to drive through somewhere than to live in it"). So it's what-a-shame Whitechapel and bad luck Bow. When the London 2012 marathon comes plodding this way, global TV cameras will see an unchanged and uninspiring hotchpotch of metropolitan backwater architecture. As for the millions that English Heritage were due to plough into my neighbourhood as part of HS2012, they're presumably now lost too and we'll see nothing. Thank you Boris, thank you for nothing.
Phrases to be found in Boris Johnson's newly-launched and slightly unusual 36-page transport strategy document » "chuntering and roaring" » "packed to the gunwales with perspiring passengers" » "roads and pavements are cratered with enigmatic holes, coned, fenced, deserted, as though the city were still recovering from a series of unexpected Scud attacks" » "the colossal new Cloaca Maxima called the Thames Tideway tunnel" » "a holy war against holey streets" » "kerbs seem to have sprouted traffic-throttling excrescences" » "It does not mean that City Hall has been captured by J Bonington Jagsworth of the Motorists' Liberation Front"
Hmmm, what might this mean, eh? » "It is absolutely essential for TfL to bear down on costs" [We're going to publish a major "efficiencies" initiative tomorrow] » "Oxford Street is still bisected by a panting wall of red metal. Can we really leave it as it is?" [Expect the removal of lots of those bloody annoying bus things from Oxford Street] » "We are considering a tunnel under Park Lane, releasing land for development and green space, which could be funded from the development it produces." [Some rich friends of mine, who own hotels and sports car showrooms, would like to increase pedestrian footfall outside their premises] » "the day is surely not far off when passengers will swipe through the turnstiles with their mobiles or other hand-held device" [We used to tell you not expose your mobile in a public place in case it got stolen, but our new technological partners would rather we didn't mention that any more]
Is this really a good idea, Boris? » "We need to make sure that all London's transport infrastructure is fully wheelchair accessible." [Only 200 astonishingly expensive tube station upgrades to go! Why not rip out the entire Victorian-built underground network and start again?] » "Create dedicated routes that give nervous cyclists the confidence they need." [Great, because most Londoners won't go cycling so long as they fear they might end up under a lorry] » "A couple of extra seconds on green can cumulatively make a huge difference to traffic flow" [And never mind the two second delay to pedestrians] » "Think how magical it would be to pick up a boat from central London, and take a day trip downriver to see the Games at Stratford." [Erm, you could get as far as Greenwich, but sailing up the tidal River Lea is going to be bloody difficult at low tide unless the boat's no deeper than a kayak]
Did he really say that? » "in many parts of London a feeling of oppression is compounded by the thought that public transport is the only option." [How awful that some Londoners feel they can't own their own car] » "Free travel for kids has brought a culture where adults are too often terrified of the swearing, staring in-your-face-ness of the younger generation." [Bloody kids, they should be driven around by their parents, or start walking] » "The motor car is not intrinsically evil." [It's only polluting and dangerous when there's a human behind the wheel] » "I have asked GLA and TfL officials to produce an initial report into an island airport in the Thames estuary" [yes, he really did say that]
Good news: "London has secured a budget of £39 billion for the period 2007 to 2017, and this will be spent on major projects for the improvement of mass transit: Crossrail, the tube upgrades, the expansion of the Overground rail network." Bad news: "One thing we cannot do is spend tens of millions keeping projects alive, for political reasons, when there is simply no government funding to deliver them."
Statistics gleaned from the document » Total tube ridership is about 1.1 billion journeys per year » The average number of passengers on a London bus is 16 » It is not raining in London 94 per cent of the time
Translate the following... » "if we are going to buy these new tunnelling machines, as we are, why not see if we can use them to dig south of the river, and expand the Tube network there?" [We may have no money, but I don't want Bromley and Bexley to lose faith in me yet] » "Why is it that so many buses seem half-empty? Passengers may like it, but it is expensive in subsidy." [We intend to thin out London's bus network to save money] » "The new vehicle will have some of the advantages of the old Routemaster" [The new vehicle will not be a Routemaster in anything but name] » "I will encourage – with my policing hat on – whatever steps are possible and necessary to crack down on aggressive cycling." [Arrest the red-light-jumping bastards!]
The GunpowderPlot may have played out in cellars beneath the Palace of Westminster, but one key location in the drama was a small manor house in humble Hoxton. Four centuries ago its main thoroughfare, just north of ShakespeareanShoreditch, was home to many noblemen seeking domestic sanctuary close to the bustling City. One such rich resident was Henry Parker, better known as Lord Monteagle, and the brother-in-law of one of the Plot's Catholic conspirators. It was while dining at home in Hoxton one October evening in 1605 that history came knocking. One of Henry's footmen approached the table bearing a mysterious letter which he'd been given anonymously in the street, and Monteagle duly read the contents out loud to his assembled dining companions.
Was this a dire warning of imminent regicide, or just some prankster's sick joke? Playing safe, Lord Monteagle dashed off to Whitehall and delivered the letter in person to the Earl of Salisbury, the King's principal secretary. The threat was dismissed publicly, but taken more seriously in private. Consequently the cellars beneath Westminster were searched on the night before the state opening of Parliament and bingo, Guy Fawkes and his barrels of explosive were discovered. The Gunpowder Plot rapidly unravelled.
That's the official story, anyway. Many historians suspect that the "anonymous letter" was a sham, and that the entire "plot" was a set-up to give Catholicism a very bad name. Monteagle normally dined at his country home, and yet on this one day the messenger knew to seek him out in Hoxton. The letter was clearly a confidential warning aimed at Monteagle alone, and yet he immediately disclosed its contents in public company. The authorities needed to make an example of Fawkes and friends, and Monteagle's convenient revelation gave them the excuse they needed. Whatever the underlying reasons, Parliament and the monarchy survived greatly strengthened and Monteagle was hailed as a national hero. Hoxton Street's most renowned resident was rewarded with an annuity equivalent to £700 a year - not bad for a single evening's work.
No trace of Monteagle's manor house exists today. Indeed very little of any historic value exists in this part of Hoxton - the non-trendy northern end into which the meeja set rarely venture. Any housing stock of note has long since been razed, replaced by acre after acre of non-descript blocks of post-war council flats. If Hackney rehoused you here you'd be grateful, but you'd not be pleased. One such development lies between Myrtle Walk and Crondall Street, a bold brick edifice with lateral chimney attached like the key on a giant brown sardine can. Rear access is via a tall blue door with keypad combination, close to a fenced off patch of grass which passes for a communal garden. From the top balcony, or even up at 'penthouse' level, there's an unobstructed view of the bus shelter below where spirited youths gather to snarl at passing photographers. And on the wall at the Hoxton Street end there's a small brown plaque which confirms that, yes, it's this very building which now stands on the site of Lord Monteagle's historic property. I fear no nobleman would consider living anywhere around here these days, not unless he was filming a secret documentary for Channel 4.
There are a fair number of other brown plaques scattered across thispart of Hoxton, each attached to a very ordinary block of flats. Pollock'sToy Theatre Shop, purveyor of kiddie playhouses, that was here, now flats. The Britannia Theatre, greatly loved by Dickens, that was here, nowflats. Hoxton Hall, intimate Victorian saloon, that was here, now intimateperformance space. Ah, so it's not all vanished yet. But most of Hoxton's history exists only in memories, or photographs, or stories. Remember remember.
Are you a cheerful soul or a miseryguts? Do you bear up to the challenges the world throws at you, or do you see the bad in everything? Is life a good place really, or is it a bit rubbish? Your emotional state can be defined by a number - a score between one and ten - with ten representing "damned satisfied with life" and one representing "utterly dissatisfied". This value is called the Happiness Index, and it's been the subject of much international research. I've had a think about what my HI is, and I've come to the unavoidable conclusion that I may be unusual. Because I'm permanently eight.
I chug through life at HI8. I'm a happy bloke, all told. I smile a lot, even when other people can't work out why. I look on the bright side, at least until events confirm otherwise. I don't wake up in the morning and sigh, and I don't go to bed at night depressed. I try to see the amusing side of everything, even when it's not supposed to be funny. I enjoy my job, and I don't give a damn that I might be earning twice as much somewhere else. When things don't quite go to plan, I don't wind myself up about it. Even though the world is full of moaning idiots, I try to ignore their bigoted wittering. I don't take offence, I don't do unnecessary guilt, and I try to make the most of what I have. All in all, I think life's pretty good really. I'm permanently eight.
OK then, I admit, I'm occasionally HI7. Not very often, but my eightness sometimes dips slightly. Will this pointless meeting never end? Why have the neighbours started smoking outside my window again? What do you mean, I need two fillings? Is all the food on this menu vegetarian? Why is that TV programme I missed not on iPlayer? When will this train start moving? What am I doing in the back of an ambulance? Just sometimes, just for a short time, my Happiness Index can drop to seven. But these comedowns are merely temporary blips, quickly past, because deep down life is still generally fine. Deep down I'm still permanently eight.
I very rarely do HI9. When I have a fortnight off work, I'm still eight. When I meet up with friends for a night out on the town, I'm still eight. When I'm about to take off for a fantastic holiday abroad, I'm still eight. When someone gives me an unexpected gift, or pays me an unsolicited compliment, or even hands me a Creme Egg, I'm still eight. It takes something rare and special, like a successful job application or an amazing out-of-the-blue email or a highly evocative dancefloor choon, to give me a brief burst of nine. And even then I only experience a temporary uplift of pleasure, and then I'm straight back down to normal again. I'm a natural eight.
I never do HI10. But I know that some of you do. Some of you leap off the sofa when Arsenal win. Some of you leap off the sofa when Arsenal lose. Some of you yelp with pleasure on securing an elusive eBay bid. Some of you bounce around on dancefloors with grinning teeth. Some of you are fired up by religious certainty. Some of you raise clenched fists at every PlayStation win or Wii victory. Some of you find cricket climactic, or rugby rapturous, or motor racing messianic. Sorry, but that's not behaviour that I understand. I'm not swung by sporting victories, nor moved by nationalistic passion, nor elated by political triumph. I don't do, can't do, won't do, ecstatic. I never experience higher than nine. I'm a solid and unyielding eight.
There was a time, about nine years ago, when I did HI2. Feelings of two-ness would creep up, for no obvious reason, and cast a shadow across my very existence. I'd be listening to the radio, or mulling over recent experiences, or even just sitting around doing nothing much, and suddenly my situation would seem very two indeed. I knew my two-ey thoughts were wholly irrational, but that didn't make them any easier to ignore, or to control. At least these two-ish troughs were only temporary, in a generally four-or-five-ish existence, although it took a few months of water under the bridge to claw my way back as far as six. And thankfully I soon found myself back where I've been for most of my life, restored to my happy plateau, at my consistent eight.
I'm very happy to be HI8, no more, no less. I don't care that I never experience the excitement and euphoria of HI10, not if that's balanced out by never again feeling the misery of HI2. I value stability, and optimism, and knowing precisely where I stand. Because life may not be perfect, but at least it's damned good.
If it's quarter past seven on the morning of the third of November then I've been single for exactly nine years. (Yes, I know I post this particular post atthesametimeeveryyear, but I have updated it a bit, and I intend to keep posting it every year on this date until my situation changes. Not that I care if it doesn't, you understand.) Some might say that we single people are missing out on the joys of coupledom, and maybe we are, but I'm convinced that there are equally many positive points to being single:
Single: You get the whole duvet to yourself. Coupled: You don't need a hot water bottle.
Single: There's half as much ironing to do. Coupled: There's twice as much ironing to do but somebody else might do it.
Single: You can hoover the carpet when you think it needs doing. Coupled: Somebody else hoovers the carpet before you think it needs doing.
Single: Nobody ever tells you that the kitchen must be repainted and the bathroom must be retiled. Coupled: Two people can repaint the kitchen or retile the bathroom far more quickly than one.
Single: You never have to waste a Saturday doing what somebody else wants. Coupled: You never sit around on a Saturday wondering what the hell to do.
Single: You can play your music collection really loud, even the track that nobody else likes. Coupled: Your music collection is twice the size.
Single: You can watch whatever TV channel you like, without arguments. Coupled: There's someone else on the sofa to snuggle up to.
Single: Nobody complains when you burp, belch or fart. Coupled: Somebody points out when you have dandruff on your shoulder.
Single: You don't have to put up with somebody else's niggly annoying habits. Coupled: Somebody else puts up with your niggly annoying habits.
Single: The toilet seat is always where you left it. Coupled: The toilet seat isn't always freezing cold.
Single: You never come home to a blazing row. Coupled: You sometimes come home to a cooked meal.
Single: You get to eat the whole ready meal for two yourself. Coupled: It takes just as long to cook for two as it does for one.
Single: You can spend all your money on yourself. Coupled: There are two salaries coming in and only one set of bills.
Single: You can walk away from a flatshare, any time. Coupled: You can afford a mortgage, together.
Single: There are no important birthdays or anniversaries to accidentally forget. Coupled: Somebody actually remembers your birthday.
Single: You never have to buy useless presents for your partner, just for the sake of it. Coupled: Somebody buys you presents occasionally, and it's the thought that counts.
Single: You're allowed to flirt with people in the street. Coupled: You don't need to flirt with people in the street.
Single: You never have to spend entire weekends being polite to the in-laws. Coupled: Your in-laws are always ready to provide advice on your faults and shortcomings.
Single: You can still have a riotous social life in your 30s. Coupled: You can still have a riotous social life in your 60s.
Single: You have no friends to go out with because they've all partnered off and are staying in. Coupled: You don't have to go out with those annoying friends you had while you were single.
Single: You don't catch every sniffle, cold and flu bug off your partner. Coupled: When you suffer a major cardiac arrest, somebody actually notices and dials 999.
Single: You never get left all alone and desolate because your life partner's just passed away. Coupled: When you get old and infirm, you don't end up in a care home because there's nobody to look after you.
Single: If you meet the partner of your dreams, it's not too late to marry them. Coupled: Nobody ever meets the partner of their dreams, so better to get married before it's too late.
Single: Being coupled is restrictive, stifling and a sign of personal weakness. Coupled: Being single is unnatural, lonely and a sign of personal failure.
Single: You never get your heart broken. Coupled: You sometimes feel your heart leap.
Single: You can have sex with anyone you like. Coupled: You can have sex whenever you like.
Single: The bathroom is always free. Coupled: The bedroom is always full.
Single: You can lie in bed in the morning for as long as you like. Coupled: There's a very good reason for lying in bed in the morning.
Single: Nobody sees what you look like first thing in the morning. Coupled: Somebody loves you despite what they see first thing in the morning.
Single: You never discover that your partner took another bloke to the company's (very expensive) Christmas party, having insisted to you that "plus one" on the invitation was a misprint. Not that I'm in any way bitter, you understand...
Bus 16: Victoria - Cricklewood (Bus Garage) Location: London northwest Length of journey: 6 miles, 40 minutes
Our capital's first coherent system of bus route numbering was introduced on Monday 2nd November 1908. Only one London bus still plies the same route as it did 100 years ago, and that's the 16. Its route has been stretched and tweaked and contracted over the years, but the current journey from central London to the suburbs is identical (one-way-systems excepted) to the Edwardianomnibus original. I've been for a centenary ride on its modern double decker equivalent, just to see if anything else about the journey is still the same. Destination Cricklewood.
Nobody queues for buses any more. Not in the street outside Victoria anyway. The 16's not allowed in the shiny bus station, there's no room, so each service kicks off in gridlocked Wilton Road beneath a picture of a musical witch. Passengers attempt to guess precisely where the driver will stop, then charge willy nilly for the door in an attempt to grab the least worst seat for the journey ahead. I wanted upper deck front left - alas no longer an open-topped pleasure, but at least now glassed in to protect me from passing branches. And off through the one-way streets of Belgravia, peering down through autumnal leaves into the Queen's back garden (I bet Edward VII never had a tennis court). Hyde Park Corner was well named in 1908, not a four-lane gyratory, and there was still space around the Wellington Arch for memorials to wars as yet unimagined. "16 to Cricklewood Bus Garage". "Marble Arch."
I'd been fortunate to catch a bus running a few minutes behind the previous service, so we sailed past most of the early bus stops without pausing. My top deck solitude was only broken as we started up the EdgwareRoad. Most of the pensioners and pushchairs and veiled ladies stayed downstairs, but one gentleman ascended to claim the other front seat where he proceeded to read his exotic newspaper. It's a bit of Arabian bazaar up this stretch of road, full of shisha cafés and Maroush restaurants, and even 1908 travellers would have noted Middle Eastern migrants settled in the area. They'd probably not have recognised the casino or the multi-storey drum-likeprimary school, however, and they'd have been surprised at the scale of the Waitrosesupermarket preparing to open here later in the month.
More passengers. A young boy scampered up the stairs, closely followed by his Dad, and noted with visible disappointment that both of the front seats were taken. The pair of them tucked into the seat immediately behind me, and I felt warm breath on my ear as the youngster leaned forward to peer out of the front window. Fat mum squeezed in beside me shortly afterwards, chewing relentlessly beneath her pink headscarf and keeping firm hold on a plump leather clutch bag. I tried hard to cut out the chatter, knowing full well that all three of them wished I wasn't here. And at the next stop, they were gone.
There are some mighty high route numbers these days. A century ago anything above 20 would have been unheard of, and here I was sandwiched between a 332 and 414. My 16 chugged on into more residential territory, beneath a red-piped tower block and into the leafy suburb of Maida Vale. They've championed apartment living here for decades, and the wealthy eight-storey brick courts are far more desirable than any Thames Gateway newbuild. But the upmarket ambience didn't last long. Kilburn High Road was up next, a much more characterful mix of cultures and classes. Some of the buildings alongside have survived the century - the Cock Tavern declared itself 1900 vintage, while the Black Lion proudly displayed 1635 (ah no, hang on, that's the phone number). But the majority of the retail infill is newer and blockier and uglier. Even the lampposts were strange - thin and curved inwards like an intermittent ribcage. Kilburn's somewhere to sightsee, but more than attractive enough to local shoppers.
The traffic in the opposite direction was horrendous, backed up as far as the eye could see, with much of the congestion created by single cars attempting in vain to turn right. An illegally parked vehicle narrowed the road outside Stephens Menswear. As we attempted to pass, the car driver emerged from the sports shop nextdoor and strode out in the road to unlock her door. Fumble, key, fumble, poke, fail. With an apologetic stare she retreated to the pavement, no doubt reacting to an appropriately stern glare from our driver. He gave the brush off to another old woman lugging her basket on wheels slowly behind her down the middle of the bus lane. We couldn't move until her minute-long procession was over, and because she didn't reach the bus stop in time she was left behind.
On past a variety of Kilburn stations and the odd theatre, to ascend Shoot Up Hill. I was joined on the top deck by Gary Salisbury and his wife, easily identified from the name, address and telephone number written for all to see on a luggage tag hanging from his rucksack. If you ever meet Gary, please do try hard not to giggle at his fedora. The happy couple were heading for Cricklewood Broadway, a long shopping parade which would have been new when the first route 16 passed this way. It's now showing its age. Here cheap furniture shops sell piled-up sofas to cost-cutting landlords, and the Quick Clean Coin Operated Laundry still boasts of its featured Frigidaire Washers. The CrownHotel still maintains a certain Victorian grandeur, if you like giant pubs with Irish hospitality and don't mind the ultra-modern extension attached nextdoor. Not for me thanks. By the time we reached Cricklewood Lane, two stops from the end of the ride, I was the only passenger left aboard.
The 16 terminates beneath a railway bridge, virtually the only local feature which might be familiar to Edwardian travellers. The rest of the area's ugly and modern, from two vast Wickes and Matalan warehouses across the car park to the bland premises of newly-relocated Saxon College plonked beside a Lidl shed. Even the bus garage isn't what it was. The old buildings have been knocked down and replaced by a four-storey office block, which manages to be simultaneously eco-sustainable and architecturally vacuous. It's not quite finished yet, and neither is replacement parking for 200 buses, so all terminating services currently park up across the road on floodlit wasteland beside the Midland mainline.
100 years on, route 16's changed out of all recognition. The buses have a roof and talk to you. The streets are full of competing private transport. Shops sell barely-imagined goods at vastly-inflated prices. Children ride alone and shout rude words from the back seat. But there's still only one sensible way to get from central London to Cricklewood, and that's straight up Watling Street. The 16 follows in Roman footsteps, and its long history continues with every journey.
100 years ago, in 1908, London's streets were served by several bus companies. Some of these used numbers to designate their services, some used letters and some just listed the destination and hoped their passengers would cope. In July of that year the largest bus operator, the London GeneralOmnibus Company, gobbled up its two largest rivals to create a virtual monopoly. Rationalisation ensued, and on Monday 2nd November 1908 the routes of all three companies were consolidated and numbered. The basis of the new numbering system was that already in use by the Vanguard Motorbus Company, itself inspired by a system one of their managers had seen used on trams in Berlin.
Initially only route numbers up to 20 were used, with 5 and 12 omitted, creating a new bus network which criss-crossed the capital. Some of these eighteen routes were rapidly withdrawn, but others proved considerably more resilient and are still recognisable today. Here's a list of the LGOC's original bus routes, launched exactly a century ago, along with an indication of how much of each survives.
1: Cricklewood - Elephant & Castle [northwest half cut, southeast half extended] 2: Child's Hill - Ebury Bridge [has slid substantially south over the years] 3: Camden Town - Brixton [north end cut, south end extended] 4: Shepherd's Bush - Herne Hill [withdrawn 1909] 6: Kensal Rise Station - Liverpool Street [City service withdrawn 1992] 7: Wormwood Scrubs - Liverpool Street [City service withdrawn 1970] 8: Shepherd's Bush - Seven Kings [switched eastern end with route 25 in 1912] 9: Kew Green - Shoreditch Church [cut back at both ends to current route in 1993] 10: Leytonstone - Elephant & Castle [withdrawn 1988] 11: Liverpool Street - Barnes [cut back a bit, but still damned similar] 13: Shoreditch Church - Hammersmith [withdrawn 1909] 14: Stratford Broadway - Putney Station [Stratford end withdrawn 1911, Putney end remains] 15: Shepherd's Bush - East Ham [withdrawn 1909] 16: Victoria Station - Cricklewood [still going strong] 17: Ealing - Plaistow [withdrawn 1958] 18: Leyton - Oxford Circus [withdrawn 1909] 19: Highbury Barn - Clapham Junction [tweaked at each end, still pretty much identical in the middle] 20: Hammersmith - Tulse Hill [withdrawn 1917]
London's bus numbering system is now considerably more complex, including route numbers running up into the 600s and a variety of almost-logical lettered prefixes. You can read more about the system's evolution at some of the links below. And tomorrow I'm going to take you on a centenary journey along the longest surviving numbered London bus route, just to see how much has changed since 2nd November 1908.
What's on this weekend? A.V. Roe Centenary Sunday 12 July, 2pm
A replica triplane celebrates one hundred years since Britain's first ever flight on Walthamstow Marshes.
londonerama
Metal monsters, deviant art, scrapyard sculptures and a 3 ton dog - not the sort of thing you'd normally see at the straight-laced Tate. But this exhibition's a completely different affair, running every Fri/Sat/Sun up to Christmas on the eastern fringes of the City. The venue is Cordy House, a 6-storey warehouse turned events venue (in Shoreditch, where else?) with a perfect industrial vibe for alternative art installations. The event's curated by Mutoid Waste and brings together "inspiration, evolution, energy ART and LOVE". Tracey Emin was round on Thursday defacing a Phil Collins album cover, and you can see various celebrities' scribbled results upstairs. I'm not convinced that David Cameron quite got the hang of what was expected of him. I also enjoyed Giles Walker's mechanical robot dancefloor, but didn't stay to endure the wheelchair delights of the You Me Bum Bum Train. Definitely leftfield, convincingly heartfelt, well worth a prowl.
America's big yellow travel magazine, National Geographic, has opened its first ever major retail outpost in Regent Street. It's a flagship store (for which read "big"), and takes up several degrees of the curved end near Piccadilly Circus.
Hidden amidst the trees on Shooters Hill is a three-cornered brick tower, erected in 1784 in honour of a reformed pirate. It used to be open to the public, with a tearoom inside, but closed in the late 80s and has been crumbling ever since. Now the Heritage Lottery Fund has come to Severndroog's rescue with a quarter of a million pound grant, and volunteers will finally be able to complete their preservation work. Eventually it's hoped that this folly will be open four days a week, not just one weekend a year, and then everyone can enjoy the great views from the roof again.
Covent Garden to: Blackfriars, Charing Cross, Embankment, Holborn, Leicester Square, Piccadilly Circus, Temple, Tottenham Court Road
The project's called Legible London, and it "proposes to change the existing fragmented approach to walking information into a single reliable, consistent and authoritative system." Or, in other words, it's designed to make walking easier. A trial version kicked off in the Bond Street area exactly a year ago. 19 "miniliths" were set into West End pavements, each standing tall like an Arthur C Clarke 2001 black slab. They feature directional info, detailed maps and a street name index, plus a mobile number you can ring for further information. One key addition is an indication of how long it takes to walk somewhere, because people understand time better than miles, yards or kilometres. If you're trying to make your way on foot around unfamiliar streets at the top of Mayfair, these signs really help.
South Bank and Bankside: That makes sense. The Thames riverside is already teeming with strolling pedestrians, especially at weekends, many of whom only ever stick to the water's edge for fear of getting lost. It's stepping inshore which requires better signage, not least because there are absolutely no underground stations along the South Bank. And the quickest walking route from the London Eye to the Tate Modern isn't along the Thames, but who'd know that without decent maps?
The deceit started eight months ago when a major programme of renewal work started on the escalators between Bank and Monument stations. There are two sets of escalators here, one up from the end of the Northern line platforms and the other up from the DLR. Block both of these and you sever the connection between the two stations. At the end of March, that's what TfL claimed to have done. They launched a flurry of publicity to announce that interchange at Bank/Monument was suddenly restricted. Hundreds of thousands of leaflets were distributed announcing
"No interchange at Bank and Monument stations until August 2009 (except between the DLR and Northern lines)"This was a lie. Only one of the two escalators between the two stations was shut for repair, so interchange between the DLR, Northern and District lines was still perfectly possible. TfL chose not to tell the public this.Stickers like this appeared on tube maps all over the Underground. Here, there, everywhere, a bright yellow warning to avoid the Bank/Monument area at all costs. I spotted this particular sticker on the Waterloo and City line. A line with just two stations, and a sticker advising people not to travel to one of them. How ridiculous is that?
Here's the latest poster announcing the new situation, appearing in ticket halls across the network. The title's misleading for a start. Going to Monument isn't a problem, no matter how you get there. Going via Monument, however, that's a different matter.
Ah, now that looks like a proper shop. Bold brick frontage, windows splashed with 3 for 2 offers, and a big blue lottery sign dumped outside on the pavement. Who could resist? Well, most of E3, by the looks of it. Business wasn't brisk yesterday, maybe thanks to the downpour that preceded my arrival, or more likely because most of the other shops along Roman Road were closed. Inside, for a select few, the usual Aladdin's Cave of retail titbits held limited appeal. Cutlery, extension leads, Dylon... all left untouched in favour of a few Woolies staples. One lady's basket brimmed over with value toys and cheap glitzy decorations - nothing gets in the way of a traditional East End Christmas round these parts. But entertainment's where it's at, and the DVD/CD/Wii section was the only area keeping profits afloat. The staff were matched roughly 1-1 by customers, which enabled them to offer helpful personal service as appropriate. Whilst skulking around the rear of the store I spotted a bald man sitting in the corner in a tiny walled-off wooden office, keeping careful watch over the personnel and the takings. It was like stepping back in time to the department stores of my childhood, which I guess this place still is. I came away with a lemon squeezer for £2, because I needed one. And I came away with the feeling of a friendly local store where the staff still look out for one another and go the extra mile to get things right.
How very different. The Stratford store is considerably bigger and busier than Bow, part of a more modern mall development, with a full range of Woolworths paraphernalia stacked up within. You want music? There's a restricted range of top albums and cheap back catalogue (the best selection in town until upstart HMV appeared a few years ago). You want books? There's a very limited handful of bestsellers (completely overshadowed by WH Smith nextdoor). You want stuff for children? There's everything from themed pyjamas to neon plastic pencil sharpeners (and where else on the High Street are you going to find those). You want rotten teeth? Never fear, because the pick'n'mix is still going strong (now scooping at 69p per 100 grams). Something for the car, something for the kitchen, even replacement plastic insoles, it's all packed in here just in case you might ever want it. And often you only realise you want something when you spot it on the shelves, which is why I walked out with 50 binliners and a four quid oven glove. Nothing classy, but tasteful enough. Until the Stratford City development comes along, Woolworths is still top of the shops.
Another store, another differently-branded frontage. This one's proper old school, as if central office have forgotten to upgrade the lettering since the 1980s, but inside it felt the most modern store of the three. Neat parallel aisles, a separate checkout area, and a uniformed security guard by the front entrance. Hmm, for how long have Woolworths stores had a uniformed security guard at the entrance? Do bosses think shoppers are going to run off with a pocketful of cola jelly snakes, or maybe whisk away a surreptitious Terry's Chocolate Orange? Late Sunday afternoon it was no trouble keeping an eye on half a dozen customers. Children's clothes were the big draw here, deserving of their own separate department and chosen with cash-strapped local mums in mind. I noted that Woolies' cheapest compilation CD costs a mere £1, and that the store still sells singles but only if they're X Factor related. My thoughts, however, were focused on the Secret Santa gift I needed to buy for work. With a price limit of only £5, where better than Woolworths to hunt down something appropriate and extra cheap? And yes, of course Woolies came up trumps, but I'm now wondering whether I dare wrap and send my special present even under a cloak of anonymity.
Fine Art: Courtauld Gallery
Cubed Art: Tate Britain
Nouveau Art: Saatchi Gallery
The first major exhibition here is of New Chinese Art. Nobody you'll have heard of, Charles specialises in the unknown, but this is familiar western-style art with a very definite Oriental flavour. Yes that is Chairman Mao sitting in the royal coach with the Queen Mother, you get the idea. Bold canvases dominate some rooms, surreal sculptures dominate others. It's the latter that you'll remember later. A landscape of architectural icons created from dog chews. The top half of an inscrutable head. A ponytailed mannequin licking the floor. A donkey climbing a metal skyscraper, and a giant turd (not connected). One major work, in the two-floor rear gallery, involves resin human bodies hanging hairless from the ceiling like plucked meat. Down in the basement are 13 old men (who look suspiciously like world leaders) slouched in motorised wheelchairs which move aimlessly back and forth. Not so much geriatric dodgems as an attempt at pointed political satire, and a big hit with visiting punters.
Moderne Art: Serpentine Gallery
Olympic update
Pylons stalk the horizon in locations across the UK. They dominate the view, standing tens of metres tall, tainting the scenery. An army of steel soldiers, linked by cable, transmitting electricity from supply to demand. They cast a permanent shadow on the landscape because their removal would be unfeasibly expensive, and because energy is more important than aesthetics. Except here in the Lower Lea Valley, that is. After years of aerial blight, the arrival of the Olympics requires the unthinkable. It's suddenly a government imperative that the area looks nice by 2012, and that means emptying the sky of metal. Our pylons are coming down.
I was surprised by the pace of change, especially along the Greenway across Stratford High Street. Long thin metal cages hang from the arms of one particular pylon, allowing workers elevated access to the cable connections. On one side the wires are already detached and disappeared, on the other severance is merely imminent. Another deconstruction hotspot is at the top end of Hackney Marshes, near the Middlesex Filter Beds, where a cluster of yellow-jacketed workers have clearly had a busy week. Transmission coils hang vertically from each arm of one doomed pylon, its web of cables now drooping limply towards the ground. Another pylon is already cable-free, awaiting permanent dismantling. Being in open ground it'll probably be toppled over, whereas other pylons in more awkward spots will require the presence of an enormous crane to aid their removal.
A 60th birthday tribute
When Boris pulled the plug on London's transport investment last week, he didn't snuff out everything. Some projects survived because they were too important, too far advanced or too well supported. The upgrade of Stratford station is all three. Too important, because the Olympics are arriving close by in four years time. Too far advanced, because the shopping centre nextdoor was planned even before the Games were won. And too well supported because the upgrade is being funded by the Olympic Delivery Authority, not TfL. A stupendously accessible megahub is on its way, estimated time of arrival 2010, and it'll make recent improvements at Shepherd's Bush look like peanuts.
£104m of investment should do the trick. One of the key proposals is to reopen an existing subway beneath the tracks, offering a third route through from one side of the station to the other. Damned short-sighted shutting it in the first place, if you ask me. Some old station buildings (pictured) have been demolished, presumably for not being shiny enough. An extra platform is being built alongside the westbound Central line to provide doubled-up access for early morning London-bound commuters. Two new platforms are being built on the north side of the station, to which all London Overground services will transfer next year. That'll leave the existing low level platforms free for the proposed DLR extension from Canning Town, and then... Actually it still sounds damned complicated, doesn't it, but hopefully a little less crowded to get around.
And then there's the brand new Stratford International station half a mile to the north. It's already erected and ready, as I discovered when I took a tour last year, but no trains of any kind yet stop here. It was built with grand designs amidst open wasteland, but the first international departures remain some years off. Few travellers from Paris want to pause in Stratford when they could speed to St Pancras, so only a handful of future services will ever stop here. Eurostar also assert, quite understandably, that "services will only begin when good quality road and public transport connections are in place". There's only one main road, and that leads into the Olympic Park which is shut. And the connecting DLR extension won't open before 2010, by which time there'll be nothing more international here than Southeastern trains to Dover and Margate.
Two Minute Silence
. If the 2012 Olympic Park ends up half as good as this I shan't complain. The park's now a third of a century old, just long enough to for the trees to have matured, and the golden yellow maple woodland provides a magnificent autumn spectacle at this time of year
There's something innately athletic about Milton Keynes. Sure you could spend your entire life driving everywhere, but there are plenty of opportunities scattered around the town to get out there and get physical. One such location is Willen Lake, a two-chambered artificial reservoir which helps to regulate drainage across the city. This is a watersports hotspot, no doubt thronging during the summer months with sailors, canoers and windsurfers. Even in late autumn I noted baggy boys and beardy blokes aplenty headed down to the lakeside with boards and wetsuits in hand. Wakeboarding's the new big thing here, with a 5-cornered cable rig set up in the water to tug riders around a wired circuit at 30mph
And finally a pilgrimage to a northwestern neighbourhood, threaded through by the Loughton Valley and tucked close to the London to Birmingham railway line. I was in search of the city's most notorious farmyard residents, the Concrete Cows. They're not signposted, nor waymarked, but thankfully they are marked on an Ordnance Survey map so I knew where to head. From Bradwell Abbey
Non car-drivers usually arrive in MK at the station
I never quite got the hang of walking in Milton Keynes. There are separate walk/cycleways called Redways all across the town, threaded above and below the road system, designed to keep us undrivers safe. But I kept trying to take the most direct route between places, across verges and up embankments and over undesignated crossings, often finding myself in the path of non-stopping traffic. Not a major problem, cars and pedestrians seem to coexist in MK far better than in the majority of unplanned UK conurbations
The Point's commercial nemesis looms on the horizon to the southeast - an enclosed skislope and entertainment complex called Xscape
High Street 2012
The Gunpowder Plot may have played out in cellars beneath the Palace of Westminster, but one key location in the drama was a small manor house in humble Hoxton. Four centuries ago its main thoroughfare, just north of Shakespearean Shoreditch, was home to many noblemen seeking domestic sanctuary close to the bustling City. One such rich resident was Henry Parker, better known as Lord Monteagle, and the brother-in-law of one of the Plot's Catholic conspirators. It was while dining at home in Hoxton one October evening in 1605 that history came knocking. One of Henry's footmen approached the table bearing a mysterious letter which he'd been given anonymously in the street, and Monteagle duly read the contents out loud to his assembled dining companions.
My lord out of the love i beare to some of youere frends i have a caer of youer preservacion therfor i would advyse yowe as yowe tender youer lyf to devys some excuse to shift of youer attendance at this parleament for god and man hath concurred to punishe the wickednes of this tyme and think not slightlye of this advertisment but retyre youre self into youre contri wheare yowe may expect the event in safti for thowghe theare be no appearance of anni stir yet i save they shall receyve a terrible blowe this parleament and yet they shall not seie who hurts them...Was this a dire warning of imminent regicide, or just some prankster's sick joke? Playing safe, Lord Monteagle dashed off to Whitehall and delivered the letter in person to the Earl of Salisbury, the King's principal secretary. The threat was dismissed publicly, but taken more seriously in private. Consequently the cellars beneath Westminster were searched on the night before the state opening of Parliament and bingo, Guy Fawkes and his barrels of explosive were discovered. The Gunpowder Plot rapidly unravelled.No trace of Monteagle's manor house exists today. Indeed very little of any historic value exists in this part of Hoxton - the non-trendy northern end into which the meeja set rarely venture. Any housing stock of note has long since been razed, replaced by acre after acre of non-descript blocks of post-war council flats. If Hackney rehoused you here you'd be grateful, but you'd not be pleased. One such development lies between Myrtle Walk and Crondall Street, a bold brick edifice with lateral chimney attached like the key on a giant brown sardine can. Rear access is via a tall blue door with keypad combination, close to a fenced off patch of grass which passes for a communal garden. From the top balcony, or even up at 'penthouse' level, there's an unobstructed view of the bus shelter below where spirited youths gather to snarl at passing photographers. And on the wall at the Hoxton Street end there's a small brown plaque which confirms that, yes, it's this very building which now stands on the site of Lord Monteagle's historic property. I fear no nobleman would consider living anywhere around here these days, not unless he was filming a secret documentary for Channel 4.
I chug through life at HI8. I'm a happy bloke, all told. I smile a lot, even when other people can't work out why. I look on the bright side, at least until events confirm otherwise. I don't wake up in the morning and sigh, and I don't go to bed at night depressed. I try to see the amusing side of everything, even when it's not supposed to be funny. I enjoy my job, and I don't give a damn that I might be earning twice as much somewhere else. When things don't quite go to plan, I don't wind myself up about it. Even though the world is full of moaning idiots, I try to ignore their bigoted wittering. I don't take offence, I don't do unnecessary guilt, and I try to make the most of what I have. All in all, I think life's pretty good really. I'm permanently eight.
Bus 16: Victoria - Cricklewood (Bus Garage)
Nobody queues for buses any more. Not in the street outside Victoria anyway. The 16's not allowed in the shiny bus station, there's no room, so each service kicks off in gridlocked Wilton Road beneath a picture of a musical witch. Passengers attempt to guess precisely where the driver will stop, then charge willy nilly for the door in an attempt to grab the least worst seat for the journey ahead. I wanted upper deck front left - alas no longer an open-topped pleasure, but at least now glassed in to protect me from passing branches. And off through the one-way streets of Belgravia, peering down through autumnal leaves into the Queen's back garden (I bet Edward VII never had a tennis court). Hyde Park Corner was well named in 1908, not a four-lane gyratory, and there was still space around the Wellington Arch for memorials to wars as yet unimagined. "16 to Cricklewood Bus Garage". "Marble Arch."
More passengers. A young boy scampered up the stairs, closely followed by his Dad, and noted with visible disappointment that both of the front seats were taken. The pair of them tucked into the seat immediately behind me, and I felt warm breath on my ear as the youngster leaned forward to peer out of the front window. Fat mum squeezed in beside me shortly afterwards, chewing relentlessly beneath her pink headscarf and keeping firm hold on a plump leather clutch bag. I tried hard to cut out the chatter, knowing full well that all three of them wished I wasn't here. And at the next stop, they were gone.
The traffic in the opposite direction was horrendous, backed up as far as the eye could see, with much of the congestion created by single cars attempting in vain to turn right. An illegally parked vehicle narrowed the road outside Stephens Menswear. As we attempted to pass, the car driver emerged from the sports shop nextdoor and strode out in the road to unlock her door. Fumble, key, fumble, poke, fail. With an apologetic stare she retreated to the pavement, no doubt reacting to an appropriately stern glare from our driver. He gave the brush off to another old woman lugging her basket on wheels slowly behind her down the middle of the bus lane. We couldn't move until her minute-long procession was over, and because she didn't reach the bus stop in time she was left behind.
The 16 terminates beneath a railway bridge, virtually the only local feature which might be familiar to Edwardian travellers. The rest of the area's ugly and modern, from two vast Wickes and Matalan warehouses across the car park to the bland premises of newly-relocated Saxon College plonked beside a Lidl shed. Even the bus garage isn't what it was. The old buildings have been knocked down and replaced by a four-storey office block, which manages to be simultaneously eco-sustainable and architecturally vacuous. It's not quite finished yet, and neither is replacement parking for 200 buses, so all terminating services currently park up across the road on floodlit wasteland beside the Midland mainline.
