For those of us who grew up in the early 1970s, one man in a bowler hat became a firm childhood friend. He never seemed to have a job, he often hung around small children in the street and he had a penchant for dressing up. His name was MrBenn, and we loved him.
Mr Benn first appeared on our TV screens at 1:30pm on Thursday 25th February 1971. I didn't see the very first episode because I was at school, but the BBC gave me every opportunity to catch up during umpteen repeat showings over the coming years. In that first show Mr Benn had been invited to a fancy dress party, which is how he found himself lured into a mysterious back lane establishment owned by an "as if by magic" shopkeeper. Off came his hat, on went a suit of bright red armour, and a legend was born. Only 13 BBC episodes were ever made, and at the end of each Mr Benn took a souvenir back to reality to remind him of his adventures. Here's the full list:
The Red Knight(box of matches) The Big Game Hunter (photograph) The Clown(red nose) The Balloonist (medal) The Wizard (a jar) The Spaceman(lump of rock) The Caveman (stone hammer)
The Cook (wooden spoon) The Zoo-Keeper (parrot's feather) The Diver(a shell) The Cowboy (Sheriff's badge) The Magic Carpet(bottle stopper) The Pirate (Jolly Roger flag)
One of the stars of the show was the street in which Mr Benn lived - Festive Road. Every episode kicked off with some everyday activity taking place on the pavement, be it the selling of a carpet or some kids playing with bows and arrows. This was a blatant hint to the escapades Mr Benn would be having later, but as mere six year olds we often failed to notice this connection until later. Our hero's scribbled house at 52 Festive Road was a very ordinary two-up two-down Victorian terrace, and a world away from Mary, Mungo and Midge's anonymous highrise. But it turns out that his house actually exists, not just as a wiggly line drawing but in real life. In Putney.
This is the front door to number 52 Festing Road, a residential street half a mile to the west of Putney Bridge. And nextdoor is number 54, formerly the home of DavidMcKee who was Mr Benn's creator. He liked the idea of living beside his cartoon creation, never imagining that the bowler-hatted bloke might eventually take on a life of his own. And so Festing Road became Festive Road, and Putney became the gateway to our imagination.
David McKee now lives in France, but he flew back over the weekend to unveil a special 'Mr Benn' plaque paid for by local residents. It's not outside the correct house, it's up at the far end of the street, and it's not terribly impressive either. There's no cartoon character smiling up from the pavement, just a short phrase with rather too many capital letters for my liking. Maybe it's been placed here to try to distract attention away from number 52 and to allow the current resident to continue to live there in peace. Didn't work, I'm afraid.
If Mr Benn lived in Festing Road today he'd notice a considerable number of differences. The houses didn't need burglar alarms in the 1970s, neither were there loft extensions tucked away in the roofspace. More particularly there are absolutely no parked cars in the cartoon series, whereas they're thickly packed along both sides of the street today. Mr Benn and the Traffic Warden wouldn't have been a classic episode, I fear. Also fresh is the local Neighbourhood Watch scheme. A single gentleman with an eye for the childish wouldn't escape their scrutiny today, and I was certainly eyed up and down by more than one householder as I attempted to take photographs of numbers 52 and 54.
Good news. Everybody in Festing Road can now walk properly, and doesn't flap their legs in a medically impossible manner as they shuffle to and fro.
At the plaque end of the street is the Lower Richmond Road, a thoroughfare lined by very familiar looking little shops. I looked in vain for a fancy dress shop, but alas no shopkeeper appeared. There's an outfitters with clothes hanging in the window, but this is a ladies boutique entitled Glamour and Mr Benn wouldn't have been seen dead trying anything on in there. There's a Tandoori restaurant, and an estate agents, and even a sparkling white shop that appears to specialise in fluffy icing and cupcakes. Not really the stuff of which cartoon dreams are made.
What surprises me, having visited Festing Road, is that Mr Benn always turned right on leaving his house and never left. Number 52 is only six houses down from the river Thames, and yet the riverside appears briefly in just one of the 13 original episodes. There are a heck of a lot of boathouses along Putney Embankment, probably the greatest concentration to be found anywhere within London, so if Mr Benn had turned left he could have ended up an expert rower or a prize-winning cox instead. It's our gain that he turned right to the parade and found the shopkeeper's magic door, the door that could lead to an adventure.
the DG monthly guided walk Northala Fields South Ruislip to Greenford (6 miles)
Yesterday being the fourth Saturday of the month, it was time once again for the regular DG guided walk. I arrived at the designated rendezvous point (South Ruislip station) just after midday, and waited to greet the band of blog readers who'd made the effort to attend. Once everyone had arrived, and friendly introductions had been swapped, this latest social excursion kicked off. And a very pleasant time was had by all. [Map of the route here]
It wasn't the most interesting start to the route, I have to confess. The roads of suburban Ruislip are designed for drivers first and pedestrians second, so I was relieved when none of my fellow walkers suffered a nasty accident attempting to cross Station Approach. Best not to attempt to cross again to view the PolishWarMemorial, I thought. But we had a better view of the eagle-topped pillar, even from the opposite side of the road, than drivers rushing beneath the A40 roundabout ever see. Onward along the Ruislip Road until a fingerpost indicated the "Dog Rose Ramble" footpath heading off to the left. It sounded delightful, if unlikely, but the reality proved rather less than attractive. A smelly worksite for starters, then a trackless yomp along the edge of a very muddy golf course. Every bunkers and water feature appeared to have been abandoned, but a lumpy landscape of artificial grassy hillocks reminded us all of Tellytubbyland.
Back across Western Avenue via a rarely-traversed footbridge, then a less than inspiring trudge along the avenues of Islip Manor. I was, at this point, apologising to all my fellow ramblers that the early part of the walk had looked more interesting on the map than it proved to be in real life. But from here onward our route followed a succession ofattractive greenspaces, and I'd didn't hear another word of complaint from anyone. After Islip Manor Park we reached the suburbanised heart of medieval Northolt, located in a culverted valley below centuries-old St Mary's church. One especially aspirational house on Mandeville Green boasted no fewer than three personalised numberplates out front - including the desperately expensive T33 (on a Citroen) and 33TT (on a smart car). Apparently it's de rigeur on guided walks to pause for an hour to drink beer and nibble sandwiches, but I resisted all calls to stop off for a liquid lunch at TheCrown because I wanted to reach our destination before sundown.
Beyond the underpass came the highlight of the walk - a visit to NorthalaFields. This is a brand newpark beside the A40, constructed by Ealing Council on the site of a former recreation ground. And it looks like nothing else in London. Four large piles of earth have been shaped into squat cone-shaped hillocks [photo], a bit like a chain of grass-flanked volcanoes [photo], or maybe better resembling two of Madonna's bras. One of our party was reminded of Silbury Hill, although the earth here isn't prehistoric - it's half a million cubic metres of waste dug up during the construction of Wembley Stadium and the Westfield shopping centre. A most ingenious recycling project, this, providing both viewpoint and recreational focus for the surrounding neighbourhood.
All four hills could be climbed, but only the tallest had a proper footpath to the summit [photo]. One side of this path was edged by crushed concrete encased in steel wire cages, thereby preventing unofficial shortcuts up or (more particularly) down the steep slopes [photo]. The ascent was irresistible, of course, and I was well behaved enough to take the spiral route rather than cutting up the muddy flank using various benches as mini step-ladders. Everyone agreed that the view from the top was well worth the climb. A huge swathe of west-ish London was visible, including Harrow church and Horsenden Hill, plus (appropriately enough) the Wembley Arch glinting in the afternoon sunshine. In the far distance a series of planes dropped steadily to land at Heathrow, and that was definitely the Crystal Palace transmitter, and to the east the miniature skyscrapers of central London. A steady stream of cyclists and joggers joined us in the upper circle, less interested in the view than in the exercise opportunity provided.
Each windswept peak duly conquered, I took the lead in walking east along the southern edge of the A40. Whilst this could have been grim, a lengthy strip of meadow and scrubland helped shield the rushing arterial traffic from view. Not a soul was to be seen through Smiths Farm, beyond which snaked the Grand Union Canal, unrippled by passing narrowboats. We passed close by the AladdinBuilding, its factory tower a familiar sight to Western Avenue drivers, but now lying empty and at risk of dereliction. There was one final opportunity for chat and cameradie as we negotiated Greenford Lagoons - which promised much but delivered only an impenetrable roadside marsh. And at last we reached Greenford station, where everyone took their leave, but only after considerable interest had been shown in the Underground's last remaining flight of woodenescalators.
My thanks go out to all those of you who gave up your Saturday to join me, and I hope that you enjoyed the walk. Next month's "fourth Saturday" falls on Boxing Day, so the DG guided walk will be taking place in deepest Norfolk for a change. But I hope that London-based readers will pencil January 24th into their diaries (full details of time and venue in the usual place), because it would be great to see some fresh faces in attendance.
Earlier this month I reported on the installation of a new suspended ceiling at Mile End station and its unintended impact on the travelling public. The top line of the 'next train' indicator at one end of the westbound Central line platform had been obscured by freshly-decreasing roof level, making it suddenly impossible to read the time and destination of the next train. Freshly arrived on the platform and want to know where you're going? No can do. New ceiling, installed by cretins.
The diagram below shows the affected areas on Mile End's two island platforms. The six dark blue rectangles are the station's 'next train' indicators, and the red bits are parts of the station from which they've always been obscured. As for the pink bits, these are the areas most recently hidden by the ever-lowering ceiling, including the key passenger hotspot on the aforementioned Central line platform (at the foot of the stairs down from the ticket hall).
Well, good news. Some un-cretins have been along to Mile End station this week and they've moved the previously offending 'next train' indicator. It used to be between the stairs, facing west, and now it's been shifted to the front end of the platform, facing east. Net result, far (far) more people can see it. Like this.
The two green chunks are the new areas of platform from which the relocated 'next train' indicator board is now visible. One of these is the key arrival space at the bottom of the stairs. Walk down from the ticket hall, step out onto the Central line platform and the destination of the next train is now perfectly visible to all and sundry. Win 1! And the second green area is the one I'm most pleased about - the previous total blind spot inbetween the stairs. Sight of the indicator to the east is still blocked by an annoyingly-positioned "Way Out" sign. But turn to look in the opposite direction and you can now tell whether the next train's heading to West Ruislip, Ealing Broadway or White City, and how long it's going to be until it arrives. Win 2! I can't tell you how much of an improvement this is, especially for folk exiting from a District line carriage and crossing the platform to change trains. OK, so you need decent eyesight, else the far-distant blur is as useless as the previous blank. But the entire westbound platform is now next-train-enabled. Win win.
I'm not going to claim that this repositioning has anything to do with the post I wrote on this blog. TfL can't simply knock up plans to shift an entire electrical system overnight (even if that's exactly what they appear to have managed). But, at long last, the cretins who insist on siting 'next train' indicators behind unnecessary obstructions have been given the day off. Long live the un-cretins. I hope that this isn't merely a fortunate one-off, and that a London-wide campaign of decretinisation is underway. If so, I have a shortlist of other navigational abominations in need of rectification. But, little steps, little steps. Three cheers for the un-cretins, and may they ultimately prevail.
LONDON A-Z An alphabetical journey through the capital's museums Crofton Roman Villa
Location: Crofton Road, Orpington, BR6 8AF [map] Open: Wed & Fri 10-1 & 2-5, Sun 2-5 (Apr-Oct only) Admission: £1 Brief summary: mid-suburban Roman remains Website:http://cka.moon-demon.co.uk/villa.htm Time to set aside: half an hour
[In a brilliant piece of planning, I visited today's museum in October before it closed down for the winter. In a none-too-brilliant bit of timing, you won't be able to visit today's museum until Easter. So don't get too excited by what follows]
London was once a Roman stronghold, but the centre of the City has been so wholly and utterly developed over the centuries that barely any trace remains. Modern London boasts just one Roman villa open to the public, and that only because the boundaries of the capital have been stretched out to encompass chunks of Kent. Originally a remote rural farmstead, it's now conveniently located immediately adjacent to Orpington station. Ideal for commuting, if only the former residents had hung around for long enough.
The first modern Britons to uncover Crofton Roman Villa were Victorian navvies working on a railway cutting. There were no preservation orders in those days, nor was there any knowledge of what was being churned up, so a large part of the foundations were irrevocably lost. Wiser workmen laying driveways for new council offices in 1926 quickly realised that they were carving through Roman remains, but archaeological interest was lacklustre and yet more damage was done. Only in 1988, when the council planned to raze the area for a car park, did the Kent Archaeological Rescue Unit step in. They excavated what was left, then built a protective shed around the site, and the public are now invited inside to view what they managed to save.
From Crofton Road, the bland municipal exterior looks like it might hold a youth club, swimming pool or church hall. Indeed no expense has been wasted outside - this is simply a big shed containing Roman leftovers. No permanent staff are employed, just a group of kindly volunteers who give up their time in case any members of the public might open the door and step inside. I would have had the entire place to myself, but a well-intentioned local parent had hired the villa for their child's birthday party and so a crowd of well-behaved under-10s were quietly assembling mosaics on a trestle table.
My volunteer guide, having swapped one pound coin for a quaint old admission ticket, gave me a quick rundown of the history of the place. The villa was owned by well-to-do farmers in around the 2nd-4th centuries AD, and stood on a ridge above the fertile banks of the River Cray (now culverted beneath Orpington's main shopping street). Of the 20 rooms thought once to exist, remnants of at least 10 survive - all at foundation level. Don't come expecting grand walls and tessellating pavements, although there is plenty of ancient brick infrastructure and also some illustrative reconstructed tiling. Here context is key, with labels and plans aplenty to explain what everything in front of you used to be. But best to hear it all from the guide ("that bit used to be the hypocaust - you know what a hypocaust was don't you?"). Mine confessed to being a retired teacher, in common with many of the other volunteers here, and her enthusiasm and expertise were put to good use.
I managed to explore the fenced-off perimeter of the Roman remains whilst carefully avoiding getting too close to the assembled birthday crowd. They were still busy mosaicing while I perused the "touch table" of genuine ancient stuff and the sandtray in which children pretend to be archaeologists. Then we swapped places, and I went to stand on the raised platform at the rear while they went to sit in the dressing-up corner. I earned a different perspective on the old villa, including a close up of where the underfloor central heating used to be, while the kids were held distantly spellbound by a selection of animal bones.
This is a defiantly low-key attraction, with the emphasis very much on archaeology rather than entertainment. The admission charge is merely tokenistic and couldn't possibly support the building's upkeep. The bookshop contains dense volumes solely of local interest rather than popular sciency tomes. And the Roman remains themselves require not inconsiderable amounts of visualisation, far exceeding the passive spoonfeeding most tourists seem to desire. Oh that there were more London museums like this, ploughing their own specialist furrow with love, care and conviction. by train: Orpington
In three years time, when the Olympics and Paralympics are but an afterglow, work will already be underway cementing 2012's permanent legacy. We know that the Aquatic Centre will be downsized to a local swimming pool, that the Velodrome will be tweaked into a cycle park and that various temporary arenas will be either relocated elsewhere or dismantled. But we're not yet certain what's going to happen to the centrepiece of the Games - the Olympic Stadium. Neither, it seems, do we care.
London's Olympic Stadium has been designed to a special "sustainable" brief, and has particular features which ensure that an athletics legacy could continue after the world has moved on. Very few sporting organisations (other than a top-flight football club) could have sustained an 80000-seater bowl in perpetuity. The entire top tier of seating is therefore a temporary structure, and can be removed after the Games to leave a 25000-capacity arena. The stadium's in-built slimmability means that rugby, athletics or even cricket might be interested in taking over after 2012. But this initial design, coupled with a desire to maintain an athletics track at all costs, is making certain alternative legacy options very awkward indeed. So London's pretending it doesn't matter.
The 2012 Olympic Stadium is being built, indeed has already been built, assuming that all of the important facilities will be on the outside. Catering and toilets will be located in exterior pods, with absolutely no such facilities on the grandstand decks. There'll be no executive boxes, always an essential moneyspinner where corporate entertainment is concerned. And there'll be no segregating barriers between home and away fans, because Olympic stadia definitely don't need those. All of which makes the in-progress structure a desperately unattractive future proposition for any potentially profitable use.
Arsenal already have a new stadium, Tottenham are planning their own, and Chelsea are too far away to ever be interested. That's football's big guys dealt with, which leaves West Ham and maybe Leyton Orient as potentially interested parties. But eight-lane running tracks around football pitches don't make for good visibility, which'll probably also scupper the likes of rugby hopefuls Saracens or Wasps. Cricket might be interested, apparently, as the Twenty20 game takes off and may require an additional London venue. But at this stage, quite frankly, nobody's genuinely interested and no plans are in motion.
Today there's another iron in the fire, as the London stadia to be considered for our 2018 World Cup bid are announced. Wembley's one, Arsenal's another, and the not-yet-rebuilt White Hart Lane is a third. And what do you know, London's number four is to be the Olympic Stadium, preserved with its upper tier at a size appropriate to hosting a top notch soccer international. Legacy bosses are no longer quite so tied to the promise of an athletics facility, it seems, even if that means breaking a pledge made when London won the games back in 2005. "Nothing is ruled in or out at this stage," they now say, as pragmatism replaces principle.
It's madness, pure and simple. Even if the 2018 World Cup bid is successful (and we'll only find out next year), our East End cupcake will be used a mere handful of times for a few qualifiers and quarter finals. And for this, just for this, we'd be keeping open an 80000-seater stadium for six whole years after the Olympics have gone away. If ever misplaced pride risked clouding an important legacy decision, this is it.
More to the point, our 2018 World Cup bid is clearly doomed. It's being assembled by a bickeringcommittee of sporting bureaucrats who seem more interested in point-scoring than assembling a coherent and convincing argument. At this rate England's World Cup bid, which ought to be one of the firm favourites to win, looks a dead cert to fall by the wayside. "If they can't organise a bid campaign", FIFA delegates will judge, "what hope have they of organising a tournament?"
I'd suggest, therefore, that the inclusion of the Olympic Stadium in our 2018 World Cup bid is merely a cunning way of postponing any decision on its future for another 13 months. Nobody has a clue how its legacy should be funded, and nobody now needs to think about this again until next Christmas at the earliest. But by December 2010 there'll only be a year and a half before the Olympics take place, which really doesn't bode well for attracting an alternative post-Games tenant. My local community risks inheriting a pointless bowl that nobody wants, rather than a carefully planned and costed sporting facility. It is the white elephant in the room. Sssh, nobody look at it, and maybe it'll go away.
With only one month to go until Christmas, the thoughts of many Londoners have already turned to the vexing question of "where can I buy a Bratwurst, some Lebkuchen and a wooden puppet theatre?" Time was when you'd have to travel abroad to a European Christmas market to acquire these seasonal treats. But now they come to us. I've been to three of the capital's faux-German festive fairs to investigate.
Cologne Christmas Market Along the South Bank, roughly from Coin Street to the Eye, a fresh wooden shanty town has sprung up. Scores of shed-type booths masquerading as chalets, most with fairy lights and plastic evergreens draped across the front, now line the river's edge. Approaching from the east the first hut advertises the sale of "fake snow", which sort of sums the whole thing up. But there was a willing crowd thronging the Cologne Christmas Market at the weekend, not just for the chemical white stuff but also for the wide variety of gifts and food on offer. There's a lot of food. Think of it as Borough Market West, but with substantially less locally-sourced food. Much of this food is meat-based, because stereotypical Germans like meat, and lot of it is sausage. Those aren't extended hot dogs, those are megawurst, and at a price which would look high in euros let alone pounds. Beer is also freely available, carefully branded as "bier" to distinguish it from any import you might be able to buy in a nearby pub. You could, quite frankly, do a lot worse for lunch. A damp November day was far too early in the season for Santa's Secret Village to be doing a roaring trade - no queues of wide-eyed kids yet hoping for a delve in the old man's toysack. And the red-robed carol singers beneath Hungerford Bridge were having to struggle hard to be heard, their fa-la-las drowned by each and every twelve carriage monster passing overhead. But you might well find a stocking filler or two here if you're desperate for gift ideas, and there's plenty of time left before Christmas for a South Bank stroll.
The O2 Christmas Fair For punters at North Greenwich's favourite upturned lid, a stroll along Entertainment Avenue usually ends with nothing. There's a huge void at the far end of the internal walkway, beyond the Michael Jackson exhibition, in the space where the supercasino was meant to go. This Christmas they've finally got round to filling it, and the inspired choice of content is an undercover funfair. With hundreds of thousands of Londoners based nearby, and inclement weather held at bay outside, this would seem an ideal spot for festive merriment. It certainly looks impressive at first glance, especially the green-lit rollercoaster which whips punters almost up to the teflon roof. The fair's official website certainly wants you to come visit, and ideally to shell out for an all-inclusive fair and restaurant package ('only' £150 for a family of 4). The reality, however, isn't yet so worthwhile. I counted only 7 rides within the fairground space, one of which was being shunned by all and sundry, and one of which was a £4-a-time hall of mirrors. There'll be a few more 'Vintage' rides in early December, but I'd still expect visiting families to spend longer in the restaurant than at the fair. As further distraction there's a Traditional German Market outside in Peninsula Square - so 'traditional' that the traders include a Dutch mini-pancake booth and a Charcoal BBQ. Alas, not the most attractive place to be on a wet November afternoon. The poor soul manning the isolated glühwein bar, for example, could do little but stand alone in his illuminated shack waiting for the rain to subside. A Dome-estic Christmas is better than nothing, but could do better.
Winter Wonderland When I visited this Hyde Park funfair the first year it opened, I was woefully underimpressed. A handful of booths and fairground rides tacked along a single concrete path - most definitely nothing to write home about. Things have moved on, and this year's Winter Wonderland event is considerably larger. The main entrance from Hyde Park Corner is via a temporary wooden arch, alongside which on Saturday various parties of visitors were busy snapping souvenir photos. Immediately beyond is a carol-singing reindeer, a clear favourite with those passing by, but revealed from behind to be powered by an Einhell KCK 210/8 Kompressor. There are streets of Black Forest-style booths across these 20 acres - a whole Hansel & Gretel forestful - rather like the Cologne Christmas Fair on steroids. Too much food, I'd wager, unless the intention is to ensure that whenever your appetite wavers there's a icing-dusted hot waffle nearby. At one particular multi-storey dining establishment I watched as five red-coated servers stood poised to dish up XXL-Bratwurst, Pommes Frites and Maiskolben, but alas their "please queue here" sign was proving wholly unnecessary. One of London's temporary winter ice rinks is located nextdoor, swirling with talented amateur skaters and a few terrified klutzes hanging on to the perimeter barrier for dear life. And, unlike at the Dome, there are fairground rides a-plenty. Big wheels and funhouses and twirly things and a whopping great Christmas Coaster - which appears to be a normal rollercoaster but with a few silver baubles attached. In a profiteering twist, even the smallest sleigh ride comes with a "souvenir photo" booth so that you can take away a hastily-printed image of your grinning toddler. A cup of "Warming soup" (Heinz tomato) will set you back £3, or £3.50 if you splash out with a bread roll. These are almost Mayfair prices, which is appropriate given that Mayfair is very close by and was itself named after a seasonal showground. The organisers have thought of everything, financially, and signposts will direct you towards the nearest cashpoint should your wallet starts to flag. But I suspect that London's latest funfair is going to prove rather popular this winter, whatever the cost, especially with families, after-hours workmates and bunches of pleasure-seeking teen- and twenty- somethings.
Conclusion: If you want a traditional German Christmas Market, go to Germany. If you want an expensive funfair, a few trinkets and a lot of sausage, stay in town.
Q: Ooh look, the new map has the river Thames on it! A: The London Connections map has always had the River Thames on it. This is not the new tube map. This is not news.
Q: Isn't there a mistake in the key on TfL's new "Oyster rail services in London" map? A: I think so. The key says that "station names in black are served by at least four trains per hour from 0930 to 1600, Mondays to Fridays". The problem is that all the station names in zones 1-6 are in black, even the ones that have fewer than four trains per hour off-peak. I do hope that TfL haven't printed hundreds of copies of this map in advance. [10pm update: The key on the official map has now been changed. Glad to be of service]
Q: Does this map offer any hints as to what'll be on the new tube map? A: Yes. It's the first official map to show the extended Circle line. Edgware Road is two stations again, not a mega-interchange. There's a new bus service shown to link Stratford station to new High Speed services at Stratford International. And there are no wheelchair blobs! (I know, wishful thinking)
Q: Enough about the map. Tell us which rail lines in London won't be accepting Oyster. A: Heathrow Express (Paddington → Heathrow), Heathrow Connect (Hayes & Harlington → Heathrow); Southeastern High Speed Services (St Pancras → Stratford International)
Q: And which National Rail stations outside London will be accepting Oyster? A:Zone 6: Elstree & Borehamwood; Hampton Court, Thames Ditton; Stoneleigh, Ewell West; Ewell East; Banstead, Epsom Downs; Chipstead, Kingswood, Tadworth, Tattenham Corner; Whyteleafe, Whyteleafe South, Caterham; Upper Warlingham. Zones 7/8/9: Rickmansworth, Chorleywood, Chalfont & Latimer, Amersham; Bushey Zone W: Watford Junction Zone G: Purfleet, Ockendon, Chafford Hundred, Grays
Q: What about journeys further out of London than that? A: Oyster will not be accepted for National Rail journeys that start or finish outside the Oysterised zones.
Q: Can you reassure me that fares won't rise as a result of this change? A: I'll try. Take a peak return from Surbiton to Waterloo, for example. At the moment this costs £9.80 return. In the future, on PAYG, it'll cost £4.90 into town and £4.90 out again. Exactly the same. And off-peak the return fare is currently £6.50, and will change to two £3.20 singles. That's 10p less. Sounds good so far.
Q: When are peak fares charged on National Rail? A: This currently varies by train company, all of whom have a morning peak but only some of whom have an evening peak. From January they're all going to have two weekday peaks, one in the morning (0630-0930) and one in the evening (1600-1900). Many late-starting commuters will face unexpected fare increases as a result.
Q: OK, so now do that Surbiton → Waterloo return journey again, but leaving at 11am and returning at 5pm. A: At the moment this is a purely off-peak journey, costing £6.50 return. In the future, on PAYG, it'll cost £3.20 into town (off-peak) but £4.90 back again (new peak). Bugger, that's £8.10 in total, which is £1.60 more than now. Looks like many passengers who travel in the new afternoon peak will be big losers.
Q: Will Oyster always offer the cheapest fares? A: Almost always, yes. But not if you have a Family Railcard, Network Card or Gold Card. These offer off-peak discounts that Oyster won't recognise, so you may end up being overcharged.
Q: You've got a Gold Card, haven't you? Tell us how pissed off you feel. A: Yes, I have an annual Z1-3 Travelcard, which means I also get sent a Gold Card. This permits me one-third off off-peak fares in London and the southeast, which is lovely. For example, an off-peak return ticket to Cheam currently costs me £2.05, which is 1/3 off the usual price of £3.10. But Oyster PAYG will charge me £3 for the same journey (two £1.50 singles). So either I'll have to queue up and buy a paper ticket before I travel, as before, or I won't get my one-third discount. And yet the Oyster system knows I have an annual travelcard, so it ought to know I have a Gold Card, so it really ought to be able to calculate the correct discount. Apparently not. For me, Oysterisation brings no rewards.
Q: How do TfL cover their backs on this one? A: They say "We would always advise customers to check which ticket or travel product is best for them – depending on the route, time of day and mode of transport taken – before they start their journey." You'll be able to check fares here, from 2nd January. But not yet.
Q: Which National Rail journeys will still be charged at (cheaper) TfL rates? A: Marylebone → Amersham; Marylebone/Paddington → West Ruislip; King's Cross/Moorgate → Finsbury Park; Liverpool Street → Stratford; Stratford → Tottenham Hale/Seven Sisters; Liverpool Street → Walthamstow Central/Tottenham Hale/Seven Sisters; Fenchurch Street → Upminster/Rainham; Watford Junction → Euston/Clapham Junction; West Hampstead → Moorgate/Elephant & Castle/London Bridge; Paddington → West Drayton/Greenford; Victoria → Balham [see map here]
Q: Oyster PAYG is also now available on the river, isn't it? A: Yes, on Thames Clippers, with immediate effect. A single PAYG journey, say from Greenwich to Embankment, will cost £4.80. Ouch. That's almost as expensive as a peak time rail fare from Zone 6 to Central London.
Q: Did anybody important mention OEPs yesterday? A: No, they thought it was best only to announce one big thing at a time. Apparently only 0.04% of passengers will be affected anyway. Or 0.04% of journeys. Whatever, OEPs are being saved as a special surprise for later.
Convenient though an Oyster card may be, there's one large swathe of London transport on which it's not valid. Fine on the tube, perfect on the buses, OK on the Overground, even usable on trams and along the river. But try using your Oyster on National Rail services and you're likely to be guilty of fare evasion. Certain rail routes are permitted, if you know which they are, but most South London trains remain an Oyster-free no-go zone.
Hurrah, not for much longer! Pay-as-you-go is coming to National Rail as of 2nd January next year, which means it'll be possible to travel by train from Zone 1 to Zone 6 merely by swiping your plastic. It's been a long time coming, but negotiations by both Ken and Boris have finally softened up the Train Operating Companies to the point where they're willing to accept non-paper tickets aboard their services. Boris should be be down at Balham station this morning to celebrate, presumably so that he can point out how the Southern station is attaining the same ticketing status as its Northern line cousin nextdoor. Major cheers all round, and rightly so.
However, just to keep travellers on their toes, the fares for National Rail Oyster are going to be different to those for TfL Oyster. There's a different set of fares for peak and off-peak travel, and yet another set of fares if your journey starts on NR and ends on TfL (or vice versa). A PAYG tube journey from Balham to Waterloo, for example, will cost £2.70 at peak times and £2.40 off-peak. A National Rail version of the same journey (via Clapham Junction) will cost £2.60 at peak times and £2.00 off-peak. Meanwhile off-peak return fares are to be scrapped, forcing Londoners to pay the equivalent of two single Oyster PAYG fares instead. Most travellers won't notice these differences, however, because the system will simply deduct the appropriate amount from their PAYG balance as they pass. [Darryl has the full list of new fares, in all their opacity]
But there's one group of people who are going to find the new system especially complicated, and I count myself amongst them. Folk with season tickets and Travelcards that don't cover the whole of Zones 1 to 6, they're going to have to learn a new way to travel. And if they get it wrong, it's going to cost. Welcome, London travellers, to the OEP.
OEP stands for Oyster Extension Permit, and come January it'll be required by any Travelcard owner using National Rail to travel out of their usual zones. At the moment, should my tube journey take me across the zone 3/4 boundary, I merely touch in at the start and finish and the correct fare is deducted. On National Rail, it won't be that simple. I'll need to add an electronic OEP to my Oyster card before I travel, before I pass through the first ticket barrier, else when I reach the end of my journey I'll be a guilty man.
OEPs are being required because most far-flung NR stations are ungated, and the Train Operating Companies don't trust Travelcard holders to touch out. Say, for example, I take a train from from Lewisham (zone 3) to Hayes (zone 5). When I touch in at the start, my Oyster has no idea where I'm heading. It could be to another station within zone 3, in which case there'd be no extra cost, or it could be to a station further out, in which case I need to be charged. The size of this charge can only be calculated when I touch out. But what if I decide to save money by not touching out at the far end? The system only knows that I touched in at Lewisham, and there are plenty of legal zone 1-3 journeys starting there which would cost me nothing. An OEP loaded on my card ensures that I pay, either the correct amount if I touch out or the maximum cash fare if I don't.
Here's the message that TfL has to get across to its PAYG users. a) From 2nd January, you can use your Oyster on National Rail services in London. b) Other than that, same as normal.
But here's the message that TfL has to get across to its Travelcard users. a) From 2nd January, you can use your Oyster on National Rail services in London. b) If your journey includes National Rail, you might need to add an electronic 'OEP' to your Oyster before you travel. c) You can obtain an OEP from anywhere that sells Oyster top ups (i.e tube stations and certain shops) but not from National Rail stations. d) You'll only be able to use an OEP if there's a certain minimum PAYG balance on your card. e) You'll need an OEP if your journey ends outside the zones covered by your Travelcard. f) You won't need an OEP if your journey ends inside the zones covered by your Travelcard. g) If you don't add an OEP before you travel, and a ticket inspector catches you outside your zones, you'll be charged a penalty fare. h) If you have an OEP on your card and choose to touch in and touch out inside your zones, then the OEP will be stored away until the next time it's needed (even if that's six months away). i) If you make a journey within your zones, normally you don't have to touch in and touch out. But if there's a surplus OEP on your card and you touch in, then it's essential that you touch out. If you don't touch out, we'll assume you've skedaddled to zone 6 and will charge you the maximum cash fare.
Confused? I believe the public will be. They're not all train nerds who know the difference between a tube station, an Overground station and a National Rail station (OEPs will only be required for travel to the latter). They may not be able to work out what happens in special cases (for example if they take a train, a tube and then another train out the other side of London, or if they travel on a National Rail train to a TfL-owned station). They won't appreciate having to queue for an OEP before they travel, maybe even at the newsagent round the corner, which is no improvement on queueing for a paper extension ticket today. They may feel forced to stick an OEP on their Oyster just in case, to avoid being stung by an unexpected penalty fare later on. And they may discover too late that their OEP has cost them money because they failed to touch out properly at stations where they currently don't have to. Thank goodness this confusion 'only' affects Travelcard users. [London Reconnections has more - lots more]
An excessively complex Oyster rollout solution is being imposed in order to try to shore up fare revenue. I wish Boris, TfL and the various Train Operating Companies well in attempting to explain this one. I think they may find it difficult. And I think we will too.
You wouldn't believe how much effort goes into flogging cans of lager. One particular brand of lager in this case, the one that prides itself on being "reassuringly expensive". I won't mention it by name, but a link to the squandering parasites should suffice.
Last Tuesday an intriguing lager-related email popped up in my inbox. It didn't originate from the brewery, nor even from their advertising agency, but from an online marketing agency called goviral. Here, in their own words, is what they do.
Or, in other words, it's their job to try to coerce as many people as possible to talk online about what goviral want them to talk about, and then to try to encourage as many of their net-mates as possible to do the same. Do bear this in mind as you flit around the internet. Not everybody saying nice things about products, brands and services is doing it unprompted. They may be doing it because they've been asked to... or, more sneakily, been influenced to.
So, this email. It came from a lady I'll call Stella, and she had an invite which seemed too good to be true. She was promoting a campaign regarding the recyclableness of the packaging surrounding a certain brand of lager. There was a video she really wanted me to see, and to share, which would premiere online on Sunday. And to persuade me to watch she wanted to bike round a haute cuisine three course meal which I could eat at the same time.
As blogger freebies go, this was undoubtedly one of the more luxurious. My gourmet takeaway would commence with Pork Rillettes, continue with Coq au Vin and be wrapped up with Chocolate Profiteroles (plus, of course, a bottle of the sponsor's lager). A vegetarian option was also offered in case I wasn't partial to meat-munching, and I was asked to send a list of all my allergies so that their chefs couldn't accidentally kill me and get sued.
Terms and conditions, of course, applied. I had to be "aged 18 or over" and resident in "London or the Greater London area of the UK". Bad news there for underage alcoholics in Watford. My TV Dinner would be delivered "on 22nd November 2009 between 6pm and 8pm", so I had to ensure I'd be home otherwise the courier would have to chuck my meal away. And I had to RSVP by 16th November which, given they'd sent me the email on 17th November, meant my chances were surely scuppered.
I emailed Stella to tell her I wouldn't be taking her up on the offer, firstly because I have principles, but also because she'd invited me to take part after the deadline had passed. I refrained from calling her incompetent, because I always attempt to appear civil when telling marketeers to bugger off. Stella replied quickly saying "haha, yes we sent the email out yesterday and another reminder today as we have been given one days extension! Are you still keen to get involved?" Three things I've noticed that online social media PR folk do - they always assume you're receptive to their brand, they always use exclamation marks willy nilly, and they never apologise. I declined, obviously.
I declined in particular because the campaign was so atrociously ill-conceived. The theme of the campaign was "recycling", emphasising the carbon-friendly credentials of the lager in question. And yet the promoters were intending to haemorrhage food miles by cooking a wholly unnecessary multi-course meal and biking it to the four corners of the capital. And then they intended to leave us all with a whole pile of packaging to get rid of, thereby increasing recycling rather than decreasing it. Now there's a rubbish message to be sending out. And people actually get paid to think this sort of thing up.
So watch out for any London-based bloggers praising a certain brand of lager to the skies this evening. They're not genuinely impressed that the six-pack is wrapped in compostable cardboard, they're just easily bought by a freebie meal. Me, I thought I'd have beans on toast tonight instead. And a nice cup of tea.
7pm update: Here's the meal, freshly delivered elsewhere in London, in all its packaging-tastic glory. Looks more airline meal than gourmet treat, and a true bin-filler.
I went to see 2012 last night. Not the Olympic Park, for a change, but the blockbuster disaster movie of the same name. The world's going to end on 21stDecember2012 because that's the day the Mayan Calendar runs out of numbers. You remember, I blogged about this whole doomsday scenario in 2002, so there's obviously no point in repeating the whole saga again. But that's the scenario this new film is based on.
2012 is a very long film - longer indeed than an entire Olympic marathon. During the course of its two and a half hours, I don't think it's revealing too much to say that civilisation is wiped out and nearly everybody dies. It's mostly Americans that get killed, on screen at least, although there are a few token massacres on the other continents for good measure. I think I died just over halfway through, but it was hard to tell because the film gave the UK a wide berth. Damn those pesky mutating sunspot neutrinos (or whatever plot device the film used to attempt to justify the onset of tectonic armageddon).
The special effects in the film were very impressive, if scientifically highly suspect. Buildings don't topple like that, do they, they tend to collapse. Earthquakes don't cause the earth's crust to subside leaving only an airport runway standing amid a general hellhole inferno. And raging volcanic clouds don't pause briefly to allow all-American heroes the chance to leap aboard departing planes before continuing their awesome destructive billow.
2012's plot was a string of cliches, as might be expected. The nutter who nobody believes until its too late. The American president with a scrupulous sense of dignity in the face of destruction. Two cute kids and a dog (who may, or may not, survive until the end of the film) (but you can probably guess). The rekindled love interest, brought together by the slaughter of six billion surrounding souls. And the statistically impossible car chase through a metropolis of collapsing buildings, at least one of which ought to have taken out our hero within the first two minutes thereby shortening the film considerably.
Much as I sort of enjoyed the film, I couldn't help sitting there for 150 minutes picking holes in the plot. How come the mobile phone network still worked after half of the nearby continent had been destroyed? How could a camper van travel several miles across the Yellowstone National Park in a couple of minutes? When the fate of the world is hanging imminently in the balance, why would you stop to snog your ex-wife? And when almost every human on the planet is dead, shouldn't the survivors be even a teensy bit grief-stricken?
So I have a proposition to make. If the director had shown me the film before releasing it to general the public, I could have pointed out several of these plot holes well in advance. Dear Mr Emmerich, you need to explain the mobile phone thing, maybe by mentioning it's all done by satellite. Dear Mr Emmerich, when depicting a digital countdown to some imminent catastrophe, try to make sure it's running simultaneously to the action. Dear Mr Emmerich, a wave 1500m high isn't going to lap the flanks of Mount Everest. Dear Mr Emmerich, the London Olympics won't be underway in December, and the Queen can't walk that fast, and not every computer in the world is a Sony. That sort of thing.
I wouldn't have charged much, a mere fraction of the $200m the film took to produce, but my input at an early stage might have helped 2012 to be less of a logical turkey. Additionally I'd be more than willing to bring rigour to the rest of Hollywood by validating their plotlines for a very reasonable fee. I'm also available should Russell T Davies or his successors need help in plugging script inadequacies in Doctor Who (so many time paradoxes to clear up). Indeed, I could even have advised God that his "I created the world in six days" story was scientifically bankrupt. A pre-screening service for screenwriters, that's what's the world needs. I bet you could do it too.
You're new here, aren't you? No, not you, I know you've been reading this blog for a while. But you, you've not been around for long, and it's good to see you.
Usually when people arrive on this blog for the first time, they don't come back. They were searching for something unlikely on Google, and I didn't really have what they wanted. Or they came looking for a photograph, and then went away. Or they clicked on some link on some other webpage with the promise of reading something interesting, and weren't impressed. Or they simply skimmed the post at the top of the blog and thought "sheesh, what sort of tedious rubbish is this?" and scarpered. For the great majority of visitors, once is enough.
But some people stay. Some people come back, maybe once, maybe weekly, maybe even every day. If you're reading this, you're probably one of those people who come back. And suddenly there are a few more people coming back. For which I thank you.
Visitor numbers have been sort of static on this blog for the last couple of years. Healthy-ish, but steady. Until mid-September that is, when there was a sudden influx of people, maybe including you, round about the week I wrote about de-rivering the tube map. Usually these temporary peaks die down, especially when I then go on to write about something considerably less mainstream. But this wave continues to ripple, which is nice.
Here's a graphic to show you what I mean. It shows visitor numbers to this blog for a typical week in mid-November. As you can see, there's been a minor step change of late.
Nov 2006
Nov 2007
Nov 2008
Nov 2009
So, if you're new-ish around here, I wanted to warn you that this blog isn't especially normal. Often it's about London, but often it's not. Sometimes it's about a place, sometimes it's about no place at all. Occasionally it'll be about somewhere or some topic you know well, but frequently I'll write in detail about something you simply can't relate to. Might be an anniversary on Monday, an Ealing suburb on Tuesday, some snarky Mayor-bashing on Wednesday, lots of geeky stats on Thursday and a load of personal waffle on Friday. Sometimes you can predict what I'm going to write about next, but usually you have no idea at all. Whatever this blog may be, it is not niche.
My chief raison d'être is that I write what I want to write, not what you want to read. If you want cosy gossip, go somewhere else. If you want a reliable stream of single-issue blogging, go somewhere else. If you want cut-and-pasted news items, exciting competitions and thinly disguised marketing, go somewhere else. But I hope you'll stay and hold the faith, even through the dull irrelevant bits. There's something new on this blog every day so, even if you don't like the tedious garbage I'm churning out today, hopefully you'll enjoy one of the posts that follows. You're very welcome here, and something half decent should be along shortly.
The back streets of FishIsland may be less than four light years away, but I was reminded of Douglas Adams' wise words when attempting last night to find an Olympic exhibition hidden inside an industrial unit at the back of a gloomy trading estate in a windswept corner of E3. A non-illuminated sheet of A4 stuck to the front door pointed to an unstaffed side entrance, then up some twisty back stairs overlooking a knifing chamber and finally into the exhibition proper. Unsurprisingly, the room was not packed.
The location was H Forman & Son, former salmon smokers of Marshgate Lane, and now the proud owners of a state-funded state-of-the-art pink factory. They inhabit an attractive fish-slice-shaped building with an upstairs function room overlooking the Olympic Stadium. Ideal for conferences, parties and exhibitions, I don't doubt, so long as the participants can actually find their way there. No delicate fishy nibbles for yesterday's visitors, but there was a nigh-untouched table laid out with juice and coffee.
This was day 2 of the consultation events for the London 2012 parklands[pdf]. Once the £9.3bn month-long Olympic jamboree has passed, this is what remains. Get it wrong, and there'll be a bleak unvisited desert between Stratford and Hackney Wick (much like things were before 2007, to be honest). But get it right and East London's legacy is a top notch greenspace increasing leisure amenities and transport infrastructure for all.
Here are a few things I discovered: » It's planned to have most of the Olympic Park open in Spring 2013. That's only about six months after the Paralympic closing ceremony. That's impressive. » Some of the trees that'll be planted immediately after the Olympics are already paid for and growing somewhere else. So expect some deceptively mature-ish woodland. » The allotments will be back. There'll be more than there were before, and in two chunks (one up to the north and one down to the south). » The new Velopark will boast a cross country circuit that crosses the River Lea, twice. » Yes, there will be roads (and bus services) through the Park, including the re-opening of White Post Lane and Carpenters Road. A long-blocked fortress will finally open up. » The post-Olympic Olympic Park will have 17 entrances. Planners hope that members of the local community will occasionally choose to use at least one of them. » The last bits of the Park to open will be the swimming pool and the Olympic Stadium. It's proving nigh impossible to plan for the stadium in legacy because no politician can make up their mind what it ought to become. » In amongst the park will be fifteen large "development platforms", upon which will be built homes and offices and flats and stuff. But only when a developer is ready to develop them, which may take a while (particularly if the recession drags on). » The Olympic Park Legacy Company will be responsible for shaping the future until 2037. You just missed the opportunity to apply for one of their six top jobs.
I had the opportunity to have a long chat with one of the ODA workers at the heart of making this transformation happen. I had the opportunity to have a very long chat, because there was nobody else queueing behind me to have their say. A handful of other visitors came by, but there were more than enough Olympic people on hand to chat to them too. We asked questions, and looked at the display boards, and even found time to inspect an additional 'Wick Lane' project piggybacked onto the parkland consultation. But although all the staff listened, and answered, there seemed to be no urge for anybody to actually write anything down. There were "Have your say" cards to fill in, but I wasn't asked to, and I didn't. I only saw one card get popped into the box by the door, and I can't believe there were many more inside.
So I've learned a few important lessons from my week of attending local planning consultations. i) Most public consultations are merely a box-ticking exercise. They have to be seen to be carried out, but merely slow down the inevitable. ii) Only a minuscule proportion of the local community are ever consulted, because most people never notice there's a consultation on, and 99.9% of the rest aren't interested enough to take part. iii) Only a minuscule proportion of the local community are ever consulted, yet their responses are deemed to be representative of the majority. iv) The outcomes of any privately-funded consultation should always be treated with a huge pinch of salt (but probably won't be). v) If you visit a consultation event and your opinions aren't written down, your opinions are probably going to be ignored. vi) I go along to public consultations to find out what's going on, whereas I ought to go along to public consultations to have my say about what's going on. I'm doing it wrong. vii) As a concerned resident who actually gives a damn, I have undue influence over the local planning process. And yet I completely fail to use it.
Every time a planning decision is made that you disagree with, it's likely that you missed the public consultation which would have enabled you to disagree in advance. Equally, even the very best planning applications contain minor niggles that make them less than perfect, but which you could easily have pointed out if only anyone had asked. So it's been good of Tesco to ask my local community what they think of proposals to double the size of their superstore in Bromley-by-Bow, and of plans to stick a library, hotel and housing nextdoor. Sadly only a handful of the local community have so far taken up the opportunity.
There was a "Community Forum" event at Kingsley Hall last night, hosted by the Tower Hamlets planning team, at which a suited Tesco threesome were given a public opportunity to put forward their proposals. Slightly revised from those they presented in September, and which I outlined here, but this time a teensy-bit more firmed up. And another chance to screen their very impressive computer generated "fly-through", so that we could all gulp and go "blimey, really, gosh" and "oh look, they can't spell pedestrain crossing". The area facing redevelopment is to the eastern side of the A12 close to Bromley-by-Bow tube station, including the current Tesco and the industrial land between that and the railway. Everything here could look very different before the Olympics, and even more different a couple of years later.
It was illuminating to hear Tesco's representatives belittling the current Bromley-by-Bow store as badly-stocked and underperforming. Serves us all right for doing our shopping there for several years, I guess. But the new Tesco Extra, if built, will be a whopper. Almost Beckton-sized, we were told, with all the increased traffic that might bring. It'll have a "bespoke sustainable roof design" which'll let in plenty of light, and an underground car park with 480 spaces. That's only 30 spaces more than exist outside the store today, so let's hope that a larger proportion of the new shoppers arrive by public transport.
Plans are afoot for much more than just a megastore. 18 adjacent retail units for a start, hopefully selling goods that can't be undercut by Tesco nextdoor, and perfect for residents who can't be bothered to go to the new Stratford Westfield up the road. There'll be a 10 storey hotel, probably of the Travelodge/Premier Inn style, with another 10 storeys of apartments piled high on top. I can't imagine wanting to stay here myself, not unless it's a particular few weeks in mid-2012, but a cut-price room beside a Zone 2 tube station should have potent backpacker appeal. There'll be a medium-sized Idea Store, for which all credit to Tower Hamlets council for squeezing a souped-up library out of a multinational. And a gym! I cannot imagine a £500-a-year gym being popular in Bromley-by-Bow today... but the proposed future is, I suspect, rather yuppier.
Many attendees were interested in transport-related issues. Would there be any new bus services? No, and they were sorry TfL couldn't be persuaded to reinstate the S2. Would the subway under the A12 from the tube station be upgraded and enlarged and better lit? Yes, and about time too. How would cars approach the new district centre? Via a new "all movements junction" on the dual carriageway, which when installed would become the only traffic lights between Poplar and the Redbridge roundabout. Last night's attendees were split between delight at a non-subterranean pedestrian crossing of the A12, and concern that speeding Blackwall-bound traffic might not really want to stop.
And what of timing? If all goes to plan and the appropriate land is snapped up, construction will begin around this time next year. The new MegaTesco will then be ready to open in March 2012, just in time to sell to grab-and-go sandwiches to visiting Olympic tourists. The Idea Store would also open at this time, and the 18 neighbourhood shops, and hopefully the renovated subway. But as for the 25%-affordable housing on the old Tesco site, plus the new hotel and the new park and the new school, expect these no earlier than 2014. Drivers on the A12 need fear no new pedestrian crossing until 2014 either, because there are rules in place banning any kind of major road upgrade before the Olympics.
None of this is yet a fait accompli. Tesco are putting in their planning application at the end of the month and then Tower Hamlets will go through all the appropriate official consultation stages into the New Year. There'll then be full opportunity for local residents to inspect and interact with the proposals, including via an as-yet-unregistered website called tescoinbromleybybow.co.uk (dangerous things, as-yet-unregistered websites). Up until now the consultation has been Tesco's own, farmed out to a private liaison company who've been busy gathering feedback. I was impressed to hear that "1000 expressions of support" had been received, but less than reassured when the consultants admitted that a huge proportion of these had been obtained by approaching shoppers in the existing store. I trust that the E3 community will give Tesco's plans rather more diligent scrutiny in the months ahead, but I bet that 99% of them won't even notice until the whole megaplex is eventually underway.
East London's latest cafe opened last week. It's in the middle of nowhere, inside a building site, up a dead end, with minimal signage and almost zero publicity. I suspect it'll do very well.
This is the View Tube - the latest attempt to try to make the pre-Olympic Olympic Park a tourist draw. It's based inside recycled shipping containers, painted lime green, one of which has been tipped up on end to provide a far-visibletower. It's been constructed on the Greenway close to Pudding Mill Lane DLR. It's two storeys tall, with a cafe and toilets downstairs and a classroom and viewing platform upstairs. It's been designed as a community centre, despite the fact there isn't a community living anywhere nearby. And when I visited over the weekend it was unexpectedly busy. Serve coffee, it seems, and they will come. [photo]
The only publicity visible from the main drag of the Greenway was a single sign at the top of a nearby ramp reading "Cafe Open". There wasn't a single mention anywhere further away - nothing at all to lure in footfall from the surrounding area. And there was only mention of the "cafe" function - nothing about there being a viewing platform or cycle hire facilities or even some highly convenient conveniences. Whoever's in charge of this new facility needs to sort out some promotional presence sharpish, else folk will wander by without realising quite what's on offer inside.
Approach from the Greenway is past what look like 16 lock-up garages, except they're lime green and no vehicles are concealed inside. On the other side of the path there's a fine view of the Olympic Stadium unencumbered by whopping great security fences. The view is clear enough to make me think that a special cappucino-enabled viewing platform wasn't entirely necessary, but does at least mean that coffee-sippers sat outside at patio tables have something decent to gawp at.
There are two entrances, neither of them yet clearly labelled. You want the one through the patio windows (unless you've got a burning desire to go to the toilet, in which case veer right). Welcome to the cafe[photo]. I think it'll also double up as an arts space, but at the moment the emphasis is very much on snacks and drinks. The menu choice is slim but well targeted - nothing too deli-bistro and nothing too greasy-spoon. A bacon baguette with relish or a plate of Eggs Benedict, that sort of thing, plus a fresh selection of Olympic-priced cakes and pastries on the counter. The oven wasn't working properly at the weekend, so maybe the menu will ramp up once it's been fixed. A previous customer had recommended the tea ("good and strong"), but I plumped instead for a two quid hot chocolate. I should have had the tea.
A bloke in a cycle helmet wandered in to have a chat to the person in charge. He was concerned (well, more than concerned) that the extensive expanse of wooden decking around the View Tube was especially dangerous for cyclists in wet weather, and why weren't there warning signs? The three lovelyfolk in the kitchen explained that they weren't in charge, they just ran the cafe, and there was currently nobody about who could answer questions like that. Apparently it's possible to hire a bike here, or hereabouts, although there was absolutely zero information inside the building about how to do that either. But the cycle racks out the back were already being well used, so there's every chance that the VT will prove a popular two-wheeled stop-off [photo].
Upstairs I was expecting to find a viewing platform, but instead I found a classroom. A brilliant idea this, to bring in local schoolchildren to do fieldwork and make the most of this unique location. Secondary pupils get to do proper geography with a dedicated teacher, whereas primary kids are to be lumbered with investigating wildlife. This surprises me, given that the Olympic Park has been systematically stripped of almost all its wildlife over the last two years, and now even the vegetation on the nearby Greenway has been utterly and completely eradicated. Surely few locations in London are less suitable for ecological fieldwork than the middle of Europe's biggest building site. It did seem particularly pointless having posters on the classroom wall identifying several different types of UK ladybird when no UK ladybird with any sense would ever alight here.
Assuming the classroom's not being used (don't visit midweek), you can then walk out onto the viewing platform proper. There are a few window-sized metal holes to stare through [photo], and even a roof in case it's raining. And there is indeed a fine view of the Olympic Stadium from here, unencumbered by any ludicrously high security fence, although there was a whopping big crane in the way when I visited which ruined the symmetry somewhat [photo]. There ought also to be a fine view of the Aquatic Centre with its newly completed waveform roof, except there's a massive pile of earth in the way at the moment (really, it couldn't be in a more intrusive location) so you'll see bugger all of interest there. At least the general sweeping Olympic panorama more than makes up for it - still very much a building site at present, but in 1000 days time home to a grandiose Gamestide finale.
So, one week on from opening, is the View Tube worth a visit? If you're in the area or cycling by, then yes, do pop in for a smoked salmon bagel and/or a good long stare from the upper platform. But there's nothing in the building (yet) that merits a lengthy trek from afar. I'll let you know if that changes.
You've not lived there long, but it's already been too long for me. I didn't notice your predecessors, they didn't really make much of an impact on my life. But I noticed the instant they moved out and you flat-sharers moved in. Because, well, you're a bit blatant, aren't you?
It was your smell I noticed first of all. That telltale waft of cigarette smoke, swirling in through the gaps in the door on my balcony and slinking silently into my nostrils. There are few smells worse than the insipid stench of burning tobacco, especially when you think you're living in a no smoking zone. Not any more I'm not. And what's not fair is that you know that cigarette smoke reeks, which is why you go out onto your balcony to light up rather than stinking out the inside of your own flat. If only you'd stay indoors rather than popping out to fill an ashtray every thirty minutes, my internal atmosphere would remain pristine. I know, it's your own airspace, you have every right. But I wish you wouldn't.
And then there are your noises. Strange scraping, whirring and knocking noises, the like of which I'd never before heard from anybody nextdoor. All of my previous neighbours have been quiet souls, or at least never managed to make their presence heard through what I've always assumed was a fairly thick wall. But you've managed, haven't you? One of your noises sounds like a squeaky hippo writhing around the inside of a bathtub, and another resembles an industrial strength hoover scratching along a particularly dirty skirting board. It's almost as if you go out of your way to bump into the wall, rather than walking across the carpet or lino like any normal resident. I know, it's your flat, you have every right. But I wish you wouldn't.
And then there's your music. Again, I'd never heard any previous neighbour's music, and I've assumed in return that you couldn't hear mine. But you've changed my mind on that. When you turn up your volume past normal, I can hear every raging thump. Your bass is the worst, penetrating my living space and undisguisable even when I attempt to listen to something louder myself. Then there are your guitar bands, absolutely none of which I recognise, which you'll sometimes pump up and fling open your doors so that everybody else can hear. Your sheer arrogance disappoints me, as if you think this musical tripe is somehow worthy of wider dissemination. I'm relieved only in that the volume never seems to stay high for very long before you lower it to socially acceptable levels - i.e. so that I can't hear a note. I know, it's only occasional, you have every right. But I wish you wouldn't.
And then there are your parties. At least I'm assuming they're parties, in that they happen on certain evenings and involve smoking and noises and music. You have lots of people round, several of them as raucous as you, and you drink beer and smoke fags and bellow loudly as you spill outside onto your balcony. Honestly, none of my previous neighbours have ever dared throw a mass gathering like this, let alone approximately once a week. It is just possible, I guess, that you're merely being something called 'sociable', which is not a home-based entertainment concept I fully relate to. It's only high spirits, I know, you have every right. But I wish you wouldn't.
Finding a flat with quiet neighbours is like hitting the jackpot in London. I know I could have it a lot worse, what with screaming babies or blasting R&B or rampant coupling through paper-thin walls. But it appears I've been extra-fortunate until you lot turned up, and that my luck just ran out. I can only hope that your lease is a short one, and that inclement winter weather keeps you off the balcony with your windows firmly shut. Sometimes, whatever they say, the best neighbours are the ones you don't know you've even got.
38, de-bendied Boris's election pledge to remove the bendy bus from London's streets took a major step forward yesterday with the reintroduction of 'normal' double deckers on route 38. Major improvement to services, or total waste of money? I took a ride to investigate further.
At Clapton Pond, a man with a brush is busy sweeping leaves and rainwater into the gutter. Hopping aboard a dry double decker feels like a very good idea, and there should be a 38 along soon now that its frequency of service has been increased. The Saturday timetable at the bus stop promises "every 3-6 minutes", but it's been 8. Several buses have passed in the opposite direction, imminently terminating at the bendy-sized bus stand in the middle of the Clapton roundabout. But it takes a while for a Victoria-bound 38 to appear, with entrance today via a single door, and we all bundle inside.
The top deck smells artificially (and not pleasantly) new, but that'll pass once the floor's seen its first week of chip wrappers, spilt drinks and kebabs. There are no adverts above the windows, nor indeed yet on the outside of the vehicle. No disembodied voice yet screeches "38 to Victoria" every couple of minutes - the front-mounted electronic gubbins isn't switched on yet. And, most deliciously of all, there are actually seats! 70-odd on board each double decker as opposed to 50-ish on the old bendies, so there's far less likelihood of having to stand. Given how long my backside is going to be plonked atop the blue moquette, that's just as well.
We skim through rainswept Clapton. Our driver parks (slowly) in a large puddle outside Hackney Baths, avoiding a watery fate for those waiting alongside. Up on the bus stop a yellow square still reads "38 Buy tickets before boarding", although the 38s elsewhere have been replaced, gleaming on each sign like a freshly-polished tooth. The on-street ticket machines are going too, beheaded and covered over by fluorescent protective covers. Hackney's winding Narroway is noticeably easier to negotiate in a double decker than a bendy, as are several other of the sharper bends along the route. Umpteen shoppers pile aboard downstairs, although the top deck won't be full for several stops yet.
A lengthy detour through Dalston is necessary to avoid Overground-induced roadworks. By the time we reach the Balls Pond Road, half of the timetabled 44 minutes for the entire route have already elapsed. The back seat is claimed by what looks like a stereotypical group of boisterous teens, although they keep their voices down and fail to turn up their mobile R&B to maximum volume. Meanwhile an unfortunate pushchair user fails to squeeze aboard downstairs - there's far less buggy space aboard these DB300s than was the case on the former Citaros.
The Essex Road is perfect for people watching, increasingly middle class as Islington Green approaches. We top-deckers also get to look down our noses at fellow travellers still unfortunate enough to be riding bendy aboard a 73. Never mind, their day will come. Then, at Angel, a surprise. A semi-uniformed official strides up our stairs, waves his 'official' metal badge and demands to see our "tickets and passes". This would have made sense the day before, with unchecked entry a faredodgers delight, but today we've all had to touch in as we boarded. There are muted sighs as we reach for our Oysters and everybody aboard gets the (predictable) green light.
A stormy Saturday is keeping many Londoners indoors, but we're protected from the whirling leaves behind the rain-splattered front window. It's plain sailing down half-empty Roseberry Avenue, but then the Lord Mayor intervenes. His parade may be a mile away but the backed up traffic is clogging Kingsway, which is clogging High Holborn, which is clogging Theobald's Road. A new bus lane ought to speed us through to the next lights, but we're unable to reach it across a stream of selfishly immobile car drivers. The bus edges forward, rather too slowly, and the lady sat beside me with a dripping umbrella audibly tuts.
By the time we divert off down Shaftesbury Avenue my bus journey is a full hour old, with yet another half hour still to go. A one-legged wino in a wheelchair decides at the last minute not to try to scoot on board, much to the relief of the driver, but we do gain an even more unlikely passenger. It's another official walking up the stairs to check our "tickets and passes", to the incredulity of everyone who's been on board since Islington. When questioned, he explains that there are 50(!) inspectors riding the 38 today because it's the first day of the new double decker service and they're trying to get a message across. Yeah right. Yet nobody aboard this bus has been caught out, twice, so surely their time would have been better spent catching chancers on London's remaining bendies.
Nearly there. Piccadilly Circus requires a five minute detour because a brand new road improvement scheme isn't quite ready yet. The removal of certain one-way restrictions means that future 38s will be able to sail past Eros rather more directly, and then they'll enter a new two-way bus lane in Piccadilly (with bus stops planted on a narrow island in the centre of the road). We follow a Routemaster plying route 9 - a reminder of the rather more characterful doubledeckers that used to service the 38 in the pre-bendy era. Alas all we've gained in the last four years appears to be a bigger front window and a rear platform you can't escape from at whim.
On past Green Park, where a fallen plane tree has been encircled by red and white tape, and then the opportunity to peer over the Queen's back wall and eye up her tennis courts. You didn't get that view from a bendy. And, having ridden all the way to Victoria on the first day of both the new and the old services, I know which I prefer. Give me a 'normal' double decker any day. A seat, a view, and that special feeling of not being treated like cattle prodded aboard a box on wheels. Whether the expense of swapping 47 bendies for 68 doubledeckers is a good use of TfL's money is highly questionable. But, now that the exchange has occurred, I suspect the fare-paying residents of Hackney will be well pleased.
There's been a tangible pro-military shift in public opinion of late. The army is no longer full of soldiers, but of heroes. A poppy is no longer an expression of individual conscience, but a nationwide expectation. No civilian is afforded greater importance than a bereaved parent. And woe betide anyone who causes "offence" by failing to display respectful behaviour towards Our Lads, because that's the media's new expected norm. As pride replaces honour, it's almost as if Army Worship has replaced Christianity as our new national religion.
I'd prefer to reflect on the futility of war, not revel in its glorification. I'd prefer to decide for myself how I remember the dead, rather than being coerced into obligatory public display. I'd prefer a single tribute to the casualties of war each Remembrancetide, rather than three weeks of build-up culminating in two separatesilences. I'd prefer to commemorate long-fallen veterans rather than prioritising desert-booted teenagers. I'd prefer to watch the news without being exposed to lengthy over-reverential reviews of some passing cortège. And I'd prefer to see tolerance from politicians and the press, rather than shame and vilification every time someunfortunatesoul fails to demonstrate sufficient military deference.
I'd prefer to go back to how things used to be - respect for our Armed Forces rather then reverence, and gratitude rather than fawning. But I fear that by the time the next Remembrance Sunday comes around, exactly one year from today, this jingoistic Army Worship will be even more entrenched. At ease.
And so ends diamond geezer's seventh annual tube week. I continue to be amazed by how much interactive interest the London Underground inspires, even amongst people who rarely or never use it, so thanks for all your comments. And I'm also surprised, every year, that I don't run out of new tube-related stuff to write about. I mean, seven years on and I still haven't written a tube week post about disusedstations. Maybe next year...
Tubewatch (30)Extended Circle I've been discussing the possibility (and geometric ludicrousness) of an extended Circle line on this blog since 2004. But in exactly one month's time, it actually happens. The Circle will be broken at Edgware Road and trains will trundle on to Hammersmith.
Here's the official poster already appearing at tube stations. Let's check out its claims.... • A more reliable service The Circle line's often unreliable because delayed trains stay delayed as they keep going round and round. But as of December 13th, once these trains have somewhere to terminate, the timetable ought to get a chance to catch up. That's the theory anyway, we'll see if it works. • Fewer delays Erm, that's exactly the same as the last claim, isn't it? • More trains to Hammersmith Absolutely right, and the main benefit of the entire change. The Hammersmith branch currently sees seven trains an hour. Next month it'll be twelve trains an hour - half of them on the Circle and half on the Hammersmith & City. Big win, surely?
But here's the flipside of the argument - three more claims that TfL probably don't want to publicise... • Less frequent Circle line trains Yes, sorry. At the moment seven Circle line services are scheduled every hour, but in future there'll only be six. Trying to get round from Gloucester Road to High St Ken, or from Liverpool Street to Tower Hill? Expect to wait up to ten minutes in the future, not the present eight and a half. A not-very-frequent service just got worse. • Less frequent Hammersmith & City line trains Same here. No problems west of Liverpool Street, but trains will only head round the curve to Aldgate East every ten minutes. Expect an even longer wait. • Potential passenger chaos at Edgware Road A 'broken' Circle means that everybody travelling between Bayswater and Baker Street will need to change trains at Edgware Road. Travel east and there's a 50/50 chance you'll arrive on the 'other' platform. Travel west and there's a 50/50 chance the next train to depart will be from the 'other' platform. In either case you'll need to cross the footbridge, so long as you realise, which is a sure-fire recipe to confuse tourists and even regular travellers. I've seen the system in action, remember, so I'll be giving Edgware Road a wide berth in the future. I suspect you will too.
Tube geek (30)Interchange TfL define a interchange as "a transport hub where two or more different modes of transport meet". Tube interchange stations, therefore ought to be easy to spot, particularly as they're labelled on the tube map with a black circle. But just how far apart are two stations, or bits of stations, allowed to be before we shouldn't call them an interchange any more?
Case in point. This is a section of the latest tube map showing four different central London interchange stations. Baker Street is a well-known five-line intersection, while Marylebone is an interchange to National Rail services. But the other two stations depicted here look rather different to their incarnation on the previous tube map. Paddington used to be shown as two distinct stations, with the Hammersmith & City out on a limb, but now it's only one. The H&C station remains a long (and awkward, and congested) walk from the rest, along the edge of mainline Platform 8 and up some not-really wide enough stairs. But now, to the uninitiated at least, it appears on the map like a simple and straight-forward interchange. You know, and I know, that only an idiot would change between the H&C and District lines here. But I bet that many tourists have acted like idiots at Paddington since this new map was released.
More to the point, Edgware Road. On the last tube map two quite distinct stations were depicted, one for the Bakerloo and the other for the Circle/District/H&C. No indication was given that changing to or from the Bakerloo line was possible, let alone a good idea. And now the whole thing - two stations on either side of a busy flyover - is marked as a single point of interchange. Sure you could change here, if you like a trip in a lift and a long yomp across dual carriageway sliproads. But there's no logical reason why anybody should, not when swapping at Baker Street or even Paddington is so much easier.
I had a go from Edgware Road (Circle/District/H&C) to Edgware Road (Bakerloo). There's a potentially helpful sign above the former station's exit, telling interchangers to start by finding a set of traffic lights. That's easier said than done. The aforementioned traffic lights are the wrong end of a one-way street, so not one single red amber or green light points back up the road towards the station. Only if you spot the illuminated pedestrian signals will you be certain which way to go. Turn right at M&S, past a not terribly beautiful Hilton, and thence to the MaryleboneFlyover. There are pedestrian crossings now, but the only way to cross used to be via an other-worldlysubway. It's very empty down here today - just a rather lonely-looking newsagents kiosk, a wholly unlikely art gallery and signs still pointing towards the "Metropolitan line". Negotiating all that lot, either above or below ground, takes at least two minutes from station to station. No fun with luggage, or a pushchair, or in pouring rain. The Bakerloo line station's gorgeous, especially the ticket hall with its green-glazed ticketwindows. But with a judderingly slow lift journey still to go, this is a cross-London trek you're far better off not making.
So please beware of the new tube map. Although every interchange shown is possible, this certainly doesn't mean that every interchange is wise. The linked blobs at Edgware Road are a deceit, not an aid to travel, however tempting they may appear. Do try hard never to change trains here.
Tube quiz (30)t-shirts If you're looking for a Christmas present idea for the tubegeek in your life, and don't mind forking out a lot of money for a bit of white fabric, then you might consider ordering a personalised tube map t-shirt from the London Transport Museum website. Damned clever idea. You move a zoomable square around the tube map until it encloses the area you'd like to select. Then you decide whether you'd prefer a t-shirt, mug or mouse mat, and click 'create product'. The website shows you what it would look like and, should you be smitten, you can then buy it and go walking down the street with half the Victoria line on your chest. I shan't be splashing out myself, but I have had a go at creating something suitably quirky. Here's my Oxford Circus mug, here's my attempt at a more symbolic t-shirt, and here's something rather cleverer (not my idea, I'm afraid).
Tubewatch (29)litter There used to be litter bins on tube stations, as can be deduced by anybody who visits the Bakerloo line platforms at Charing Cross. A rather splendid black and white mural of the Gunpowder Plotters was installed here 30 years ago, slap bang in the middle of which is a slot for the disposal of litter. Or at least there was. It's far too dangerous to permit such a useful facility today lest some evil passenger insert gelignite rather than an empty Ribena carton through the slot. And so the Ugly Squad have come along and bolted a featureless white rectangle over the hole, simultaneously preventing terrorism and wrecking the artwork underneath. This design aberration perfectly sums up the tube's litterbinlessness - "No you can't have a bin, and who cares how much of a mess is created as a result."
I fully understand why it's a bad thing to have hidden black voids at central London tube stations. But surely it must be possible to design and position an underground litter bin so that it doesn't create an unacceptable threat to world security. A few outer London tube stations are permitted dangling transparent plastic bags - could we have a few more of those further in? Or some sort of newspaper recycling slot on trains (OK, not enough room), or on platforms (OK, too much congestion) or in ticket halls (yes please). Meanwhile TfL's "please take your litter home with you" argument is ignored by all and sundry, as the floor of any tube carriage in the early evening will attest. The introduction of bins within, or even immediately outside, tube stations would surely help Londoners to recycle more, and help to keep our tube network tidier. Who could refuse?
Tube geek (29)Installed by cretins Last year I spent an entire week blogging about 'next train' indicators, and how they're installed by cretins in locations where passengers can't actualy read them. After the week was over I enjoyed some lengthy email communications with one of TfL's Press Officers, who empathised with my thoughts and assured me (in some detail) that things were slowly getting better. One particular paragraph in her reply stood out, which was this:
"With regards to the positioning of train indicator boards, ideally there should be one on each platform and it should be positioned so that the information on the display can be read as customers enter the platform and from the middle of the platform. If this cannot be achieved by a single display then an additional one should be fitted where possible. As part of the Tube Investment programme we have endeavoured to install train indicator displays in the best possible positions on the platforms. The layout of many of our stations means it will never be possible for customers to see the train indicator boards from everywhere on the platform and so we stipulate that they can be seen at the entrances to platforms so customers can see what trains are due as soon as they get on to the platform."
Which is an excellent sentiment. It's just a shame it doesn't always happen.
Let me illustrate this with an up-to-the-minute example of 'next train' indicator cretinousness, which is happening as we speak at Mile End station. The platforms at Mile End have been a complete dump for the last couple of years because they were mid-strip-out when Metronet collapsed and the tube upgrade programme ran out of money. Recently, finally, the station's modernisation has kicked off again, which appears to involve the construction of a suspended ceiling across the top of Mile End's cavernous platforms. It's unnervingly low, indeed so low that the ceiling is in some places lower than the top line of the existing 'next train' indicators. Which means that passengers arriving down the stairs onto the westbound Central line platform can no longer see where the next train is heading. The second train's fine, but not the first, because a metal bar at new-ceiling-height now blocks the view [enlarged photo]. Cretins, I tell you, absolute bloody cretins.
Mile End is already seriously sub-optimal for the viewing of 'next train' indicators. Its rows of prettily-tiled pillars don't help, because they tend to block either the left hand end of the board (destination) or the right hand end of the board (minutes). But the real problem has been that there aren't enough 'next train' indicators, and they aren't in the right place. Let me sketch you a pretty diagram of Mile End station to show you what I mean.
Mile End's two eastbound platforms form an island across the top, and its two westbound platforms form an island across the bottom. Trains run along the white strips - the Central line very-top and very-bottom, and the District/H&C through the middle. The stairs down from the ticket hall are at one end of each platform, whereas the exit stairs are located much more centrally. There are four 'Way out' signs, shown in yellow, and six 'next train' boards, shown in blue. The bottom left 'next train' board is one-sided only, facing west. And all the green squares represent pillars (which, for the purposes of what I'm about to explain, are irrelevant).
The blue shaded areas are the sections of each platform from which a 'next train' indicator can be seen. Maybe not easily, and maybe requiring a step to one side and a shuffle, but visible all the same. Good news, that's pretty much the entire length of the westbound District line platform, as well as most of the eastern half of the station (the end furthest away from the station entrance). But there's a long-term problem with the (yellow) 'Way out' signs, because they're positioned right up close to the four 'next train' indicators in the centre of each platform. They have to be there, it's Health and Safety, because everybody needs to know how to get out. But they act as an opaque shield to the destination information immediately behind, which means that the 'next train' can't be viewed from any of the areas I've shaded red. Bloody useless, but nothing new.
What is new are the pink bits. It used to be possible (last month) to view the 'next train' indicator from the pink areas, and now it isn't. This is the fault of those new low ceiling bars, which are extra-low in places and are getting in the way of important customer information. Stand at the far eastern end of either eastbound platform and, especially if you're tall, the 'next train' is no longer visible. More importantly, walk down the steps from the ticket hall onto the westbound Central line platform and the 'next train' is suddenly no longer visible. Where's it to? Don't know. How long's it going to be? Haven't a clue. Previously available information, shielded, covered, obscured.
Which brings me back to TfL's supposed rule regarding 'next train' indicators - "we stipulate that they can be seen at the entrances to platforms". Not at Mile End they aren't. At Mile End, bizarrely, they're only perfectly visible at the exits to platforms! Enter either eastbound platform and they can't be read, not unless you walk halfway up towards the front of the train. And now, thanks to the implementation of some all-encompassing modernisation programme, westbound Central line customers arrive on the platform in a freshly created blind spot. Totally un-joined-up thinking, as one part of TfL sticks in a new station feature which acts as a barrier to something previously installed by another. The cretins are back, right now, this week, in a tube station near me.
I did email TfL 10 days ago to see if they could tell me what was going on at Mile End station. I asked for reassurance that I'd interpreted the situation wrongly, and that in fact engineers had some other solution up their sleeve (like lowering the 'next train' indicators or installing new ones or not actually building a new ceiling quite so low as it appears). But no answer has been forthcoming, despite an initial reply saying they'd look into it. So I can only assume that TfL-directed engineers are continuing to add a too-low ceiling at Mile End because nobody's thinking about the complete picture. New ceilings, sanctioned by ignorance, installed by cretins. Nothing changes.
Tube quiz (29)Zone to zone Some tube trains nip through entire travelcard zones really quickly, pausing at only one or two intermediate stations along the way. So this morning I'm asking you to identify the intermediate station (or stations) in these zone-to-zone journeys. A) Zone 1 → two intermediate stations → Zone 3 B) Zone 1 → two intermediate stations → Zone 3 C) Zone 1 → one intermediate station → Zone 4 D) Zone 3 → two intermediate stations → Zone 5 E) Zone 4 → one intermediate station → Zone 6 F) Zone 7 → one intermediate station → Zone 9 n.b. None of the stations involved in these journeys are on the boundary between zones. All answers are now in the comments box.
Tube quiz (28)Gateline There aren't many stations left where you can still exit from the London Underground without passing through a ticket barrier. Roding Valley is one. How many more do we know of?
Ungated station: Roding Valley, Finsbury Park, South Kenton, Mill Hill East, Kensington Olympia. One ungated exit: Chorleywood (westbound), Waterloo (W&C), Bank (via lift), Chalfont & Latimer, Finchley Central, Sudbury Town (westbound?), Woodside Park (northbound), Farringdon (rush hour). Ungated exit on special event days: Sloane Square (Chelsea Flower Show), Oval (cricket), Fulham Broadway (Chelsea FC), Arsenal (Arsenal), Putney Bridge (Fulham), Westbourne Park (Carnival). Exit via Tramlink: Wimbledon. Exit via DLR: Bank, Canning Town, Stratford. Exit via London Overground: West Brompton, Willesden Junction, Richmond, Kew Gardens, Gunnersbury, Highbury & Islington, Blackhorse Road. Exit via National Rail: several - including Farringdon, Greenford, Ealing Broadway, West Ruislip (via car park), Amersham, Moorgate, Old Street.
Tube geek/watch (28)Roding Valley Of all the stations on the London Underground, the one you're least likely to visit is Roding Valley. It's on the Essex/London border at the eastern end of the Central line on the Hainault Loop, roughly halfway between Woodford and Buckhurst Hill (but not actually served by trains on that main branch). Three trains an hour, if you're lucky. And maybe that's why this station sees only 210,000 passengers a year (which is half the total of the second least visited station - neighbouring Chigwell). Roding Valley is the tube's most overlooked destination. So, obviously, I had to go and take a look.
Took a while. I had to let five Central line trains go past before a "Woodford via Hainault" train finally rumbled along. I was taken on a circuitous route around the London borough of Redbridge, eventually rumbling across the M11 and over a river whose name you can probably guess. I was surprised that there were still as many as nine passengers in my particular tube carriage as Roding Valley station approached. But I wasn't surprised when the doors opened and I was the only person on the entire train to step out onto the platform.
An entire TfL station to myself - this surely doesn't happen very often. But I did get a very definite feeling that I was being watched. There are a ridiculous number of security cameras at this station, pointing this way and that, ensuring that nobody can even pick their nose without being scrutinised from ten different angles. Loudspeakers are even more numerous, most of these planted on closely-spaced metal stalks, meaning there's absolutely no escape from announcements about engineering works and unattended luggage. So dense is the electronic forest sprouting from Roding Valley's platforms that I can only assume the Hainault Loop is some asbo hotspot (or else tube infraco Metronet were a bunch of scamming swindlers fleecing TfL's budget for every penny they could screw).
Or maybe all the CCTV is a revenue protection scheme. Roding Valley is one of the few ungated stations on the tube network, meaning it's perfectly possible for the criminally-minded to slink in or out without waving an Oyster card. Instead the two entrances are protected by an enamel sign warning of a £50 penalty fare, which is a lot cheaper to install than a full-time member of staff. Incidentally these are also step-free entrances, recently enabled, meriting Roding Valley a rare wheelchair blob on the Central line tube diagram. Just be aware that it's not possible to wheel from one platform to the other via the footbridge - a 500m trek along local backstreets is required.
When the next train arrived I was watching from the footbridge, looking down across the tracks curving beneath me. This particular service from Woodford was a little busier, this being the quicker route to/from central London, and a quartet of passengers disembarked and rapidly dispersed. I was then surprised by something I wasn't expecting to see at a reputedly unstaffed station - a TfL member of staff. There was me wandering around with my camera like I owned the place, and all the time I was being watched by the bloke paid to keep an eye on things. I gritted my teeth and walked down to the ticket hall to try to take some more pictures under his surveillance.
I needn't have worried. While I was snapping away the station manager popped over for a chat and was politeness personified. He said he'd seen somebody else taking photos of the tree-flanked platforms earlier, and wondered what the attraction was. He was also particularly keen to show me Roding Valley's unique front-of-station topiary - the hedge beside the bike rack that's been clipped and coerced into the shape of a steam locomotive. There's more than enough spare time inbetween trains for him to ensure its immaculate upkeep, and if I come back next year it might even have four new wheels. As head gardener he also maintains the station's hanging baskets, in season, and pointed out the three "second place" certificates displayed proudly on the station wall. Woodford's the local station to beat, apparently. Maybe next year.
At this point in the conversation there was another customer to deal with, wanting to know which platform to use to get to London (answer: either of them). This gave me the chance to take a final look around before heading off down the street into surrounding suburbia. But Mr Station Bloke stopped me before I left with an interesting proposition. He said he had something in his office that someone like me might like, and would I wait while he went inside to fetch it. So I waited, and what do you know, he was absolutely right. It's easy to bash TfL and point out small niggly faults that make our everyday tube journeys less than perfect. But at a very human level, in this remote under-visited outpost, the organisation's true quality shone through.
Tube quiz (27)Platforms Most London Underground stations have an even number of platforms. But can you identify any stations with an odd number of platforms? (That's platforms currently in use by Underground trains)
1 platform: Chesham, Heathrow Terminal 4, Mill Hill East, Kensington Olympia 3 platforms: Amersham, Chalfont & Latimer, Stanmore, Edgware, High Barnet, Finchley Central, Seven Sisters, Woodford, Hainault, Leytonstone, Upminster, Dagenham East, Plaistow, Tower Hill, Mansion House, Gloucester Road, Putney Bridge, Richmond, Morden, Hammersmith H&C, North Acton, North Greenwich. 5 platforms: Ealing Broadway, Stratford
Tubewatch (27)The Little Book I'd like to apologise to you if you've bought a copy of "The Little Book of the London Underground". This is a stocking-filler hardback, recently launched, which offers 200 pages of "wacky" tube facts for £9.99. It's been written by Times journalist David Long, who's written three other books about the capital including one particular volume that Amazon keeps urging me to purchase. David's latest densely-packed book contains chapters on Mapping the Underground, Heroes & Villains and Stories, Songs & Films. And look, I'd just like to apologise for the bits I wrote, because they're mostly inaccurate.
I was quite surprised to find bits in the book that I'd written, because nobody asked me if it was OK to include them. To be fair, David has tweaked them and written around them and applied his own take on things. But I take full responsibility for writing them in the first place, and for them not being entirely correct. If you want to ask for your money back, don't let me stop you.
When my annual Tube Week started, way back in 2003, one of the first lists I published was "the number of tube stations in each London borough". It was a lot like the list you can see in the post below, only a 2003 version. I sat there with a map and tried to tally up how many stations there were in each borough, and I made a list, and I published it on the blog. And blimey, what do you know, there's that same list on page 104 of David's book. OK, so he's listed the boroughs in alphabetical not numerical order. OK, so he spotted that Lewisham now has no stations rather than the two it had in 2003. And OK, so he's accidentally omitted Westminster, which is the single most station-packed borough in London. But I recognise most of the rest of the numbers in his list because I counted them myself six years ago. Even the ones that are wrong. Tower Hamlets doesn't have 12 tube stations any more, because the East London line's closed. Hillingdon now has an extra station at Heathrow, which makes 15 not 14. And Hammersmith & Fulham actually has 15 tube stations not 13 because online mapping was rubbish in 2003 and I couldn't be sure whether two of them were over the border or not. You may have added a few errors of your own, David, but I got it wrong first.
Then there's page 142, where David publishes a list of average speeds on various tube lines. That's a nigh-perfect copy of my original list, also from Tube Week 2003, where I divided the length of each line (in miles) by how long a typical journey was from end to end. Desperately unscientific stuff, and in no way related to the top speeds that trains on these lines actually reach, but David's published it all the same. My apologies, I should have researched it better.
Then there's page 60, which is the classic "it's sometimes quicker to walk" section. David's been kind enough to give me a namecheck here (I am the "popular Tube-blogger known as Diamond Geezer"), and then used exactly the same six examples of journeys that I used in Tube Week 2003. Unfortunately this time he's copied them wrongly, making the perhaps understandable error of assuming that metres are the same as yards. They're not. So I'd like to apologise, again, because Regents Park to Great Portland Street isn't 220 yards it's 220 metres.
I also had more than a flicker of recognition on page 92 - "Stations with lifts instead of escalators" (but no, David, you really shouldn't have added East Ham, Finchley Central, Hammersmith, Hillingdon and Wembley Park).
So look, I'd hate you to think I was ungrateful. And I'd hate you to think that I have any sort of rights over this sort of information, because it's freely available on the internet and anyone can use a blog for inspiration if they so wish. But I would like to apologise for providing incorrect information which has now been immortalised in print, thereby adding to a number of other inaccuracies stated as fact in David's book. So if you bought The Little Book of the London Underground, sorry, that could have been ten pounds better spent. And if somebody buys you this book for Christmas, please take all my bits with the huge pinch of salt they deserve.
Tube geek (27)Borough How many tube stations are there in each London borough? Lots. Or maybe none.
Westminster (30); Brent (20); Camden (17); Hammersmith & Fulham, Hillingdon (15); Ealing (14); Barnet (13); Kensington & Chelsea (12); City of London (11); Harrow, Redbridge (10); Islington (9); Hounslow, Lambeth, Tower Hamlets [Essex] (8); Southwark (7); Haringey, Newham, Wandsworth (6); Barking & Dagenham, Merton, [Herts] (5); Enfield, Havering, Waltham Forest (4); [Bucks] (3); Hackney, Richmond (2); Greenwich, (1); Bexley, Bromley, Croydon, Kingston, Lewisham, Sutton (0) (This is an updated, hopefully now correct, version of a list which first appeared in Tube Week 2003)
My borough-by-borough list perfectly sums up the inequitable geographical spread of the tube network. Westminster, not surprisingly, fares the best. All of the top eight boroughs in the list are to the north or west of the capital (along an approximate Metro-land-ish axis). Meanwhile all but one of the bottom nine boroughs in the list are to the south of the Thames. Six of these southern boroughs have absolutely no tube stations at all (although Lewisham used to have two until the East London line changed hands). Hackney's the most glaring exception to the north-south rule with a mere two tubestations, both of which are located unhelpfully on the borough boundary. But otherwise this may be the true reason why the river's so important on the tube map - it divides the haves from the have nots.
Tubewatch (26)Non-priority seats The ten people you least want sitting beside you on the tube: • The accordionist. • The extremely chunky fat man. • The bloke who hasn't washed since September. • The woman attempting to read a broadsheet newspaper in your airspace. • The flustered parent with a whiny kid who wants to crawl across and sit on your lap. • The shouty girl gossiping across the carriage to her six mates, know what I mean. • The shift worker eating something oozy, drippy, slurpy and honking. • The adolescent with a frisky pitbull on a short lead. • The girl who thinks the entire armrest is hers. • The blogger taking notes.
Tube quiz (26)Name that station Here are the names of 30 tube stations with all the consonants replaced by 'c' and all the vowels replaced by 'v'. Can you identify them? For example, Neasden = consonant vowel vowel consonant consonant vowel consonant = cvvccvc
Tube geek (26)Re-rivering the tube map A couple of months ago, you may remember (of course you remember, even people who live in Lerwick probably remember) there was an incredible furore about the new clutter-free tube map. The River Thames went missing, and the general public went apoplectic. Never mind that nobody catches trains down the Thames, nor that the tube crosses the river without obstruction. The media screamed, Boris pronounced, and the Thames will be back on our tube maps next month.
Which creates an awkward problem. It'll be fairly simple to squeeze the Thames back into west and central London because there's plenty of room for manoeuvre. But out east it's a very different story, and two conflicting blue lines are to blame. One is the DLR, which insists on having umpteen stations every few hundred metres, and the other is the river's whopping great meander around the Isle of Dogs.
Here's the Docklands chunk of the latest tube map. It's noticeably simpler than used to be the case, with no East London line replacement buses, a single-blob interchange at Canary Wharf and a slimmer-than-before curve through North Greenwich. But now this elegant layout and spacing are under threat. Look at the gaps through which the restored Thames has somehow got to weave its way. First between Rotherhithe and Wapping (squish), then bending sharply south to the left of Canary Wharf. From here it's all the way down to squeeze between Island Gardens and Cutty Sark, then all the way back up and over the top of North Greenwich before flowing right back down again. Tight fit indeed. There's always been an unwritten rule on the tube map that station names must never be written across the Thames, but I wonder if they'll have to break that this time. Or maybe those IoD DLR stations will have to be compressed even closer together... which would be far easier if (cough) all the blue accessibility blobs were removed from the map.
Replacing the Thames won't help 99.9% of passengers to make their journeys, but it is going to make East London travel look far more complicated than it ought to be. The December tube map will be forced to sacrifice clarity of vision for political correctness, and all because people who rarely use the Underground say it must. Only a few weeks to wait and we'll see how good a damage limitation exercise the designers have managed.
Time once again for diamond geezer to go totally tubular with another week devoted to the London Underground. Prepare for five days of quizzes, quirks, commentary and obscure statistics. Six years ago I looked at the busiest stations and journeys where it was quicker to walk. Five years ago I investigated tube line colours and the easiest interchanges. Four years ago I discussed overcrowding and precisely where the underground is underground. Three years I wrote about accessibility and why people never move down the platform. Two years ago I examined the agonies of Bank/Monument and taking your bike on the tube. And last year I spent the entire week wondering why 'next train' indicators are installed by cretins. I hope there's still something left to write about this year. Mind the doors.
LONDON A-Z An alphabetical journey through the capital's museums UCL Collections - Petrie Museum
Location: Malet Place, University College London WC1E 6BT [map] Open: Tue - Fri, 1pm-5pm (& Sat, 11am-2pm) Admission: free Brief summary: academic Egyptological hoard Website:www.ucl.ac.uk/museums/petrie Time to set aside: an hour
The University of London is reputedly the third oldest in England, after Oxford and Cambridge, established in Gower Street during the reign of George IV. It's old enough to boast (count 'em) eight different museums, most of them small, and several open by appointment only. Only one of these is open at the weekend, and then for only three hours, so I took my chance and that's where I headed. Back in time to the age of the Pharaohs, to an upper room where eighty thousand catalogued Egyptian artefacts are stored.
They don't make museums like the Petrie any more. No buttons to press, no £3 audio guides, just a heck of a lot of very old things in gloomy glass cases. The collection's primary function is to serve the needs of classical and archaeological students, and don't you forget it. Admittance is via a dead-end backstreet, through a not-entirely obvious door, then upstairs to an admissions desk in what looks like one of the campus's forgotten offices. Prepare for items-on-shelf overload, and step inside.
The first short gallery, which is not entirely typical, houses fragments of carved stone. Few are wholly intact, but several slabs are carved with strip upon strip of exquisite hieroglyphics. As languages go, the Egyptian's intricate pictorial script may have been woefully inefficient (and entirely inappropriate for web-based communication), but it doesn't half look good. Another narrow gallery is located alongside, opening out into a larger space beyond, and all bursting with rammed-full glass cases. Don't expect glittering mummies and whopping sarcophagi, these tend to be much smaller more commonplace tomb-raided treasures. Votive tablets, serpentine caskets, and signet rings once worn by Nectaneto II - that sort of thing. Every item in the museum is labelled with a painted serial number plus a short written description, and here you'll find regular reference to dynasties, cartouches and "faience pendants". Ssh, try not to mention that all these objects were thieved from their country of origin by Empire-building 'collectors'.
For a relatively obscure museum, the building was busier than I expected. Some visitors were young couples, quite possibly UCL freshers taking time out to see what their new university had to offer. The rest tended to be older and more scholarly, or were at least pretending to be. A couple of earnest Egyptologists were wandering around, busy telling an ever-decreasing crowd of hangers-on about their favourite Petrie exhibits. It was entertaining to watch their beleaguered audience attempting politely to slip away before their nemesis dived into yet another lengthy anecdote about a big dig or the object of their PhD thesis. "You have to go do you? Pity, but thank you for your attention."
A second, lower, gallery contains an unfeasibly high number of different kinds ofpot, plus a few hundred tiles for good measure. If Egyptian earthenware is your thing then there's even a table for personal study, or alternatively where visitors under the age of 10 can colour in some pictures in crayon. One one particular wall there's a rack of torches - do take one, because the lighting's kept low throughout the museum to preserve the exhibits from permanent decay. And don't forget to check out the rear staircase, where yet more objects (including a fair number of ornamental cats and a sandstone jackal's paw) have been stashed. No space in this historical repository is underused.
If you want dazzling Egyptian treasures, then head instead for the British Museum. But for a clearer sense of the ancient everyday, or simply for the opportunity to potter round a musty academic backwater, try the Petrie. by tube: Euston Square
U is also for... » UndercroftMuseum(in Westminster Abbey) » erm, that's it for London museums, innit?
Four weeks on from the Evening Standard's giveaway rebirth, how is its distribution network doing? You may remember that free copies were originally available only outside central London stations and in scattered suburban supermarkets. Have things got any better? I've taken a look at the Evening Standard's newly-updated distribution map to find out.
Hmm, better. But could do better.
In the centre of London the story is pretty much the same as before. Full coverage at tube stations and mainline termini, which is great so long as you work or travel via one of them. And quite a few W H Smiths, even the bookshop in the basement of Selfridges (which isn't normally the sort of place I associated with picking up a freesheet newspaper). But still no vendors in tube-free Clerkenwell, as I noted a month ago, and no Standards available on Fleet Street. At my local workplace tube station, the one I commute home from, The Evening Standard is being given out by the nice bloke who runs the newsagents kiosk outside. No special Standard hander-outers here, just a whopping pile of zero-priced papers securely positioned beneath a metal weight for anyone to take. This probably boosts sales at the kiosk as more people stop by, which is nice. But having to make an effort to seek, lift and remove one's own copy definitely diminishes the Standard's potential readership by a significant factor.
Head a little further out, say to Zone 2, and there's been a bit more progress. The Evening Standard is now increasingly available in the one type of shop where you'd expect to find it - in a newsagents. ES management have done a distribution deal with various independent stores and paper shops, widening availability to plug several previous gaping holes in the network. Residents of Blackheath, for example, can now pick up a Standard from Nicky's News on the Old Dover Road, from Shepherd Foods in Blackheath Village or from Platform News inside the station. That's a big improvement. And in Kilburn, previously an ES-desert, there's now distribution at Rainbow News, Pelican News and Smoker's Junction. Like I said, getting better. But, erm, is it just me, or are the huge majority of these newsagent-type places in the western half of London, not the east. From the map it doesn't half look like they're concentrated in affluent areas like Richmond, Maida Vale and Barnes, not in less advertiser-friendly locations like Dalston, New Cross and Bow. Let me check by doing a tedious map-based survey of outlets in the W and E postcode areas... <goes away and checks>... I'll disregard postcode W1, because it's too central. Across postcodes W2-W14 there are 64 Standard dispensing outlets, one-third of these independent retailers. Whereas across the 18 E postcode areas there are only 34 distributors, every single one of them either at a station, a Smiths or a supermarket. Not one independent East End newsagent gives away the Standard. And that stinks.
Head further out, to the commuting suburbs, and the picture is as sparse as ever. If you want an Evening Standard in Zones 4, 5 or 6, you're probably going to have to head to your nearest major supermarket. We're talking major, the ones with the big car parks, so they're few and far between. And out here there's been almost no attempt whatsoever to broaden the distribution network since relaunch four weeks ago. In Romford you still have to head for Sainsburys or Asda, in Ruislip to a single southern Sainsbury, and in Purley a lonely Tesco Extra. Who's going to bother? in Bow, where I live, the only place I can get a Standard is my local Tesco in Bromley-by-Bow. It's not somewhere I'd ever go daily, even if I worked from home. Even worse, the pile of Standards is located in a box beyond the entrance barrier, so popping in for a freebie paper and then leaving would make me look extremely shifty. As part of a supposed 'distribution network' this supermarket option is bloody useless, even tokenistic.
One more thing. The Standard's availability map now includes additional information about which edition of the paper you'll get where. In Central London you'll get both versions - the First Edition which hits newsstands at lunchtime and the West End Final which appears later in the afternoon. But step outside Zone 1 and you'll only find a copy of the First Edition, even if it's six o'clock in the evening. If Prince William gets engaged at lunchtime, readers at Kings Cross will read about it in their evening paper but readers in Islington will still see the earlier headline. Ditto there's a world of difference between Vauxhall (both) and Oval (first) only, and between Baker Street (new news) and St John's Wood (old news). Essentially, if you're not a homebound Central London commuter then you're a second class ES citizen. I remember the days, not so long ago, when an orange and white van would pull up outside Bow Church DLR in the evening rush hour to deliver extra copies of the latest edition for the local populace to read. Those days are gone.
Having switched to publishing an un-paid-for freesheet, I guess it makes economic sense for the Evening Standard to cut its distribution costs to the bone. But the end result, even after a month of improvement, remains unimpressively parochial for a supposedly pan-London newspaper.
And finally, in this week of anniversaries, a pre-anniversary.
There are precisely six months to go until Thursday 6th May 2010, which is the most likely date for the next General Election. Today is also precisely 4½ years since Tony Blair triumphed in the UK's last General Election. Which makes today precisely 90% of the way through this Parliament. With 10% still to go.
Here's that "10%-to-go" in a meaningful graphic. Not long. And yet ages.
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When the election comes round, it's a pretty sure bet that we're in for a change of occupant at Number 10. This means that Gordon Brown will have survived just over 1000 days running the country before the country kicks him out. He only became PM in the middle of 2007 (I know, seems longer doesn't it?), so there's still one sixth of his Premiership to go.
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As for the current Labour Government, which kicked off with Tony Blair's red dawn way back in 1997, that's now 96% complete and only 4% remains. New Labour is now Very Much Approaching Retirement Labour, and remains in power only because no General Election need be held until the PM's forced to hold one. That's how democracy works in this country - you don't have to be the most popular party to govern, you just have to have been the most popular on the one day when the electoral snapshot was taken.
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The UK's political pendulum has already swung back into the blue, in one of those great mood shifts that comes along every half-generation or so. Unless David Cameron is suddenly outed as Adolf Hitler's grandson (and even that might not be enough), he'll be celebrating a landslide election victory in precisely six months time. There'll be rapturous applause from the press, and a honeymoon period with the public that might last months or even years, and then all the usual scandals and crises that beset every government we've ever had until eventually everybody hates the Conservatives as much as they hate Labour now and the whole utterly predictable cycle goes round again.
70 years of political power
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Six months until everything changes. Which will either fill you with joy or with fear. Hold tight.
Hurrah! Britain's favourite department store is celebrating its centenary today.
Frank Winfield Woolworth opened his first UK shop in Liverpool on 5th November 1909. He'd arrived in the city by liner six months earlier, fresh from establishing a successful chain of five and dime stores in the US. The idea needed translating a bit for the English market (thruppence and sixpence were the initial prices charged over here) but Frank's underlying raison d'être remained the same. Buy quality in bulk, pile it high, and they will come. And so they did, to 25Church Street that Friday morning, to see what lay behind the curved glass frontage. "The handsome premises were thronged the whole time they were open," reported the local paper on the day of opening, even though not a single item was sold. American tradition dictated that day 1 was for viewing only, although visitors were also treated to complimentary tea in the refreshment room and a variety of circus acts. A bit gaudy, thought some, but Liverpool loved FWW and stripped the shelves bare. Within five years another 40 stores had opened across the country, and a retail empire was born.
And so today there'll be centenary celebrations in Woolworths stores across the nation. Bunting will flap, brass bands will play, and there'll be special merchandise at Edwardian prices... except, damn, no there won't. Woolworths spontaneously combusted earlier this year and now exists only as an insignificant online brandname. What a pity that Frank's company didn't live long enough to still be trading today, and maybe even receive a special telegram from the Queen.
So, in the absence of any official 100 year shindig, I thought I'd ask "What happened to London's Woolworths?" There used to be just over a hundred Woolies in the capital. Most have since been filled by some other retail enterprise, although a fair proportion are still locked, shuttered and empty. I've compiled the following list using informationavailableonline, but there may be several omissions and errors, and there are definitely gaps. Can you help me to improve, update and complete it? 6pm update: I've updated the list in line with your (many) comments so far, thanks!.
Iceland: Bethnal Green, Bow, Greenford, Hackney, Harold Hill, Highgate, Kilburn, Leyton, Mill Hill, Palmers Green, Pinner (Rayners Lane), Plumstead, Poplar, Stoke Newington, Upminster, Wallington. 99p store: Balham, Camberwell, Chingford Mount, Edgware, Eltham, Enfield Town, Hornchurch, Muswell Hill, Penge, Shirley, Sidcup, Southall, Stratford, Streatham. Poundland: East Ham, North Finchley, Tooting, Uxbridge, West Ealing. Wilkinsons: Ilford, Walthamstow.
Not sure: Beckton, Burnt Oak, Elm Park, Enfield Highway, Harrow, Hayes, Hounslow, Kingston, Lee, Lower Edmonton, New Addington, North Cheam, Richmond, Romford, Sanderstead, West Hounslow.
Sorry, it would appear to be anniversary week this week. And I'm not finished yet.
It's 40 years ago today since my very first day at school. Not nursery school, because I'd been going up the road to play in the sandpit for a couple of years before that. But proper big school where all the old kids went, some of them even six or seven years old.
To start with I was only invited to go into school for a couple of afternoons a week. There was no mass enlisting of the nation's pre-infants into full time education in those days, oh no, we were generally left free to toddle about in the garden and go down the shops with our mums. But I was permitted admission a few months earlier than most because I was a precocious little thing, and going to school meant I could ask lots and lots of questions to somebody who was actually paid to answer them.
It wasn't far to walk, just a minute up the road and a couple of minutes down. Obviously on that first day I was taken by a parent, but within a few years I'd be allowed to walk home at lunchtime all by myself. You allow a six year-old boy in shorts to do that today and social workers would be down on you like a tabloid headline writer.
My teacher was called Carol, although I only ever knew her as "Miss" at the time. She welcomed me to the school and led me past the coathooks out of sight of my anxious parent. Had I realised what my mum was thinking I'd have turned round and said "Don't worry, I'm not planning on bursting into tears the minute you've gone, although obviously I still love you very much" but I didn't.
My new classroom was big and broad and tall. They no longer build classrooms like these Victorians spaces, all echoing chambers with tall windows, and hard to keep heated during the dark days of winter. There were lots of drawers around the edge of the room, some for scrap paper, some for scissors, and one of which was destined to be mine. I was a bit miffed that Miss had already written my name on it in chunky bold marker pen when I was perfectly capable of writing my own name unaided. Precocious, yeah.
I was taken over to sit next to a girl called Marianne. Such a very 1960s sort of a name, not that I realised this at the time because I was into nursery rhymes and not waspish folk singers. I wasn't initially very chatty with my new friend, sitting there in her polyester blouse and grey skirt, but within a year she'd be inviting me to her birthday party. We spent much of the afternoon bonding over a jigsaw. It wasn't the most academic start to my formal education but, despite this early setback, I still managed to knuckle down and gain a place at university several years later.
My teacher didn't attempt to teach me phonics, or assess my nascent ability against centrally prescribed Early Learning Goals. However, I was given my very first maths exercise book, which was slim and yellow and ruled with chunky squares inside. Miss personalised everybody's book by writing a selection of digits and symbols on the front cover in coloured paint. I remember being distinctly unimpressed by her choice of numerals, and insisted that she give me an out-of-curriculum 'zero' as well. I think she smiled as she painted it, but that may have been a fixed grin.
I later made acquaintance with the class guinea pig, or at least the straw-filled cage in which it supposedly lived. We didn't do pets in my house, what with my dad being allergic to all things furry, so this close encounter was quite a revelation. Several months later I'd make the mistake of convincing my teacher to let me take the cage home for the weekend, which would lead to an impromptu science lesson when an entirely predictable itchy rash broke out.
During afternoon break I learned from my new classmates that there was to be a very special Guy Fawkes treat the following day. Every child in the school was going to be given a sparkler, a whole entire sparkler of their very own, and then allowed to wave it around in the lower playground as it flashed and spluttered and fizzed. There were no nannying health & safety risk assessments in those days - teachers simply stuck a lethal weapon in our hands and let us get on with wielding it. I was extremely excited, until I remembered that tomorrow was a Wednesday and I didn't yet come to school on Wednesdays. This was undoubtedly the day's low point.
I'm sure I pestered my mum something rotten when hometime came around, but I was told point blank that I definitely couldn't come back until Thursday. If only the teachers had told me back then how rare a day off would be in the future, I doubt I'd have complained quite so much about my sparkerlessness. But my first day at school had achieved its intended goal and I was already aching to come back. It wouldn't all be jigsaws and guinea pigs on the several thousand schooldays that followed, but I wouldn't be where I am today without the education that Miss and her talented successors provided.
If it's quarter past seven on the morning of the third of November then I've been single for exactly ten years. (Yes, I know I've posted this particular post atthesametimeeveryyear since this blog started, but I always update it a bit, and it seems to resonate. And I'm not after sympathy, really I'm not, because I'm perfectly happy being single thanks. But, blimey, ten years eh? Maybe it's finally time to give this post a rest)
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 double the size.
Single: You can watch whatever TV channel you like, without arguments. Coupled: There's somebody 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: Nobody insists on coming over to yours for Christmas. Coupled: Everybody insists on coming over to yours for Christmas.
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 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 get told by your partner, in no uncertain terms, to refrain from ever having any kind of emotional or sexual liaison with anybody else, otherwise there'll be shouting and screaming, even violence, except it turns out later that your partner has been repeatedly shagging around behind your back ever since the relationship began, so those same rules clearly didn't once apply to them, but then that's what happens when you fall in love with a psychopath. Not that I'm in any way bitter, you understand...
Yes, I know, it's illegal to go for a walk along a motorway. But, to celebrate the 50thanniversary of the opening of Britain's most famous road, I've been for a stroll as close alongside the M1 as I could get. From Junction 5, which is where the 1959 motorway began, all the way up to junction 6a, which is the M1's more recent mega-connection to the M25. That's a six-mile rural hike up the edge of Watford. Oh yeah, I know how to live it up, me.
Junction 5: Berrygrove Before the M1 came along, the Colne Valley southeast of Watford was a place of relative peace and calm. OK, so there was a major trunk road passing through - the A41 - but nothing visually intrusive. And then Britain's first major motorway arrived, launching off from these fields towards Luton and "The North", and the area was never the same again. A buckle-shaped roundabout was built to link the new M1 to the parallel A41, and traffic filtered off to drive on the pristine no-speed-limit carriageways. It's still possible to see what used to be here, before the concrete crash-landed, by taking a walk up from the Aldenham Road along the very edge of the motorway. The path passes first through a field, then enters thick beechy woodland - this being Berrygrove Woods after which the carved-out junction is named. It's a delightful place, all shady forest and muddy trails, currently with scrunchy brown leaves and sprouting fungi underfoot [photo]. From the central sloping trail the roar of the M1 is never too far away, though well hidden. Only by stepping deep into the undergrowth can the roundabout's embankment be seen, high above, disgorging traffic towards the backstreets of Bushey. Best not to even look, and simply to enjoy the unexpected woody solitude of Junction 5's scarred neighbour.
Munden Drive Despite being a mile from the M1, the landowners of stately Munden House risked being cut off from civilisation when the M1 was constructed. Their (very) long drive would be severed by the new road, and no alternative exit across the scenic River Colne looked practical. So the very first bridge across the M1 was a tiny thing designed to link a single mansion to the outside world. No cyclists are permitted to cross today, but pedestrians are welcome to stand high above the centre of the dual carriageway so long as they step out of the way should any Jag or Roller swan by. One wonders what drivers thundering below think when they spot somebody gawping from the overbridge. "Who is that up there?" "Why the hell are they taking photos, are they police?" "Oh no, he's not going to drop a brick on my windscreen is he?" "Don't jump!" [photo]
Meriden Estate The M1 divides residential Watford from some really very lovely countryside. I stuck to the pretty side, following untrod footpaths across meadows and through brambly copses. Every now and again the path came right up alongside the hard shoulder, sometimes beside a giant roadsign, occasionally past one of those anonymous grey boxes that monitors something. A real ale pub in the middle of nowhere came as a pleasant surprise, although the M1's concrete barrier must restrict the clientèle somewhat. Residents of the Meriden Estate aren't given too much opportunity to cross from their side to this, just a couple of gloomy subways, which tends to keep them away unless they have a dog to walk. The only bunch I encountered were a bunch of lads lurking in silhouette beneath the northbound carriageway. They might have been sweet kids who do errands for their grannies, or they might have been comparing knife sharpness, I didn't pause to find out.
Bucknalls Lane If your flat takes longer than an hour to burn down, or if relatively little heat escapes through your newbuild walls, then you probably have the Building Research Establishment to thank [photo]. They're based in Garston, up the far end of Bucknalls Lane, and in the mid 1950s the M1 came burrowing right past their main entrance. All these government scientists carrying out thrilling state-of-the-art research into pre-stressed concrete, and suddenly a genuine concrete-churning project materialised immediately alongside. BRE's thoughts today are with sustainability, low energy houses and all that tedious quality review stuff, so I doubt if the current generation of administrators are quite so excited by the engineering marvel outside the main gate. [photo]
Junction 6: Waterdale The M1 had an architectural style all of its very own, with every bridge along the 53-mile length essentially built to the same design. Flat slablike tops, bold concrete curves, and a pleasing modernity throughout. In the days before computer-aided design, it helped to have one chunky blueprint to stretch or skew to fit the space available. At Waterdale the A405 ducks beneath what was the second junction on the motorway, but is now number six [photo]. It's a very simple (and fairly cheap) junction with a couple of single-lane slip roads curving round to/from the embankment above. Catenary lighting hangs messily along the centre of the dual carriageway, ensuring that this key stretch of the UK network is illuminated at all times. I guess there can't be too many amateur astronomers living in neighbouring Bricket Wood.
Junction 6a: (M25 Junction 21) You've probably driven through here. It's where the M1 meets the M25, a triple-level free-flowing junction where the country's two most iconic motorways intersect. But I bet you haven't been here on foot. I was amazed that it was even possible. First I had to follow a non-footpath along the edge of the A405 dual carriageway to a half-hidden signpost, then cross a ploughed field up a shallow incline into a wood. No clues thus far as to what was hidden on the other side. A sudden fence corralled me alongside the southbound M1, a mere stone's throw away, then down to an unexpected viewpoint beneath a stack of three intersecting overpasses [photo]. As the traffic sped by, both above and below, I felt like an insignificant infidel encroaching into the heart of an automotive temple. But don't knock the power of the pedestrian "right of way". The Department of Transport has had to construct a traversable route through and across this multi-lane canyon, resulting in a pair of narrow footbridges suspended higher than the tops of the lampposts below. These bridges can't be used by more than a couple of pairs of walking boots each day, but they provided an excellent grandstand view as well as a route of passage. First to cross was the M25 proper, a few hundred yards down from the centre of this complex half-cloverleafjunction[photo]. A trio of mighty painted arrows reminded me just how huge road markings have to be so that they're legible through a speeding windscreen [photo]. And then to bridge number two, invisible from the first, across a gentle twin-lane chicane used by southbound M1 traffic attempting to join the M25 eastbound. Less busy, although still strangely picturesque in its own way [photo]. Fifty years on, even a pedestrian can sometimes appreciate the brutal beauty of our motorway network.
WALK LONDON The London Loop[section 3] West Wickham Common to Petts Wood (10 miles)
Last Sunday I walked another segment of the London Loop - the capital's 24-bit perimeter footpath. This time I headed southeast to walk one of the longest sections, through swathes of rolling autumnal countryside. And it was proper lovely.
A short distance from Hayes station, on the boundary between suburbia and countryside, I kicked off my walk by entering a thin wooded outpost of the City of London. West WickhamCommon came under the philanthropic jurisdiction of the City in 1878, and Victorian by-laws still prohibit the driving of bicycles through shrubberies, the grazing of mules, the use of disgusting language, the selling of indecent books and the erection of photographic apparatus. Thankfully walking was still permitted. Ancient earthworks lurked amid heathery ferny glades atop the chalk ridge. There ought to have been a great view to the south, and occasionally there was [photo], but a long row of ever-so exclusive homes had stolen most of it for themselves. Onward along the edge of Hayes Common, eventually re-emerging onto Kestonvillage green. Two pubs and a Post Office proved to be the limit of retail civilisation for the next several miles.
The path returned to muddy woodland and twisted round past KestonPonds. Only one of these pools is natural - the most secluded of the three - while the other two are larger and much beloved by fisherfolk. These anglers had set up stools on the banks and were casting their lines in an entirely unsuccessful attempt (at least while I was watching) to lure wily fish onto their floating hooks. I was much taken by the brightly lit autumn backdrop and by the occasional shower of yellow leaves tumbling gently into the water [photo]. Above the highest pond lies a brick-circled spring called Caesar's Pond, so named because allegedly Julius and his invading army once stopped here for a drink. This is also the source of the River Ravensbourne, rather lovelier here than at its mouth 11 miles away in Deptford Creek. Most visitors appeared to have walked no more than 200 yards from the car park - and I could see the attraction in not straying too much further.
Despite being in the middle of rural nowhere, a fairly decent bus service runs along the Westerham Road (round of applause to TfL). I crossed cautiously and started the steady climb to an unusual and historic tree stump [photo]. The Wilberforce Oak is reputedly the spot where William Wilberforce paused for a chat with PM William Pitt, and here made up his mind to bring forward the abolition of the slave trade in the House of Commons. Alas there's not much of the old tree left, having been snapped and toppled by a ferocious 1991 storm, and there's a now replacement oak bursting forth on the wooded slopes. Close by is a commemorative stone bench, but protected behind a tall wire fence so that no passing citizen could ever sit on it. I got the distinct feeling, continuing down into a spacious but inaccessible valley, that the current estate owners at Holwood House (just visible on the hilltop [photo]) prefer their ramblers at arm's length.
This chunk of London didn't feel like London at all. Rolling hills bedecked in autumn shades, light aircraft buzzing overhead on their way into Biggin Hill, and a winding country lane leading uphill to working stables. I ascended behind a chestnut mare and her squat rider, accompanied on foot by a wheezing over-stocky companion for whom the climb proved almost too much. A delightful narrow path between fields went by the less than delightful name of BogeyLane, and here again I found myself stuck behind an equine traffic jam.
After the obligatory golf course, an unusual clock tower heralded the edge of High ElmsCountry Park[photo]. This is a favoured recreational bolthole for the outdoorfolk of southern Bromley, and home to a number of elegant formal gardens as well as a variety of attractive wilder habitats. I'd accidentally timed my visit to coincide with the park's annual Apple Day, hosted at the recently opened Environmental Education Centre. It wasn't quite the exciting event I'd been led to believe, more a couple of classrooms emblazoned with apple-related laser printout. In one room members of staff were attempting to flog apple juice, and handing out sliced samples of some less common varieties of apple, and inviting visitors to guess the number of crabapples in a jar. Visitors however seemed far happier to sit in the adjacent café and eat anything other than fruit.
Back into built-up London via the suburb of Farnborough, arriving in town up the hill through St Giles' churchyard[photo]. Close by the path is buried the (supposedly) legendary Gipsy Lee, the area's last ever Gipsy Queen, but whose real name was Urania Boswell. It was strange to be walking past bus stops and shops and front gardens again, but the London Loop never strays away from greenery for too long. An open grassy slope provided some fine views towards the North Downs - a visual experience savoured only by myself and a tiny handful of local dogwalkers. I then got terribly lost in Darrick Wood. The walk had been extremely well signposted until this point, but I must have missed a turn-off and so wandered around the maze of wooded paths until I'd completely lost my bearings. Eventually escaping, I negotiated my way through the streets of Crofton - a lesser-known residential neighbour of mighty Orpington.
Yet more urban forest to explore, taking a very lonely path through the middle of Crofton Wood. "If five lads jump out with a knife I'm in big trouble," I thought, although I encountered nothing scarier than an abandoned supermarket trolley and a posh girl with an alsatian. One final lengthy estate-yomp eventually led to Jubilee Country Park, a more-than pleasant nature reserve with open common surrounded by leafy thickets. Much as I love my manor in East London, we have absolutely nothing extensive and natural like this back home, so the London Loop's a great way to rediscover brief segments of what I'm missing. And each stage always ends up back at a station, in this case Petts Wood, where there's a rather fetching Loop 3 route map etched in metal bolted to the wall. My walk definitely hadn't been a shortcut, more a devious downward meander, but all the more enjoyable for it.
What's on this weekend? Chinese New Year (Sat 13 &) Sunday 14 February
Oriental fun (and free entry) at the Museum of Docklands. Valentines at Valentines Sunday 14 February (11-3:30)
1st anniversary celebrations at Ilford's historic house.
For those of us who grew up in the early 1970s, one man in a bowler hat became a firm childhood friend. He never seemed to have a job, he often hung around small children in the street and he had a penchant for dressing up. His name was Mr Benn, and we loved him.
This is the front door to number 52 Festing Road, a residential street half a mile to the west of Putney Bridge. And nextdoor is number 54, formerly the home of David McKee who was Mr Benn's creator. He liked the idea of living beside his cartoon creation, never imagining that the bowler-hatted bloke might eventually take on a life of his own. And so Festing Road became Festive Road, and Putney became the gateway to our imagination.
If Mr Benn lived in Festing Road today he'd notice a considerable number of differences. The houses didn't need burglar alarms in the 1970s, neither were there loft extensions tucked away in the roofspace. More particularly there are absolutely no parked cars in the cartoon series, whereas they're thickly packed along both sides of the street today. Mr Benn and the Traffic Warden wouldn't have been a classic episode, I fear. Also fresh is the local Neighbourhood Watch scheme. A single gentleman with an eye for the childish wouldn't escape their scrutiny today, and I was certainly eyed up and down by more than one householder as I attempted to take photographs of numbers 52 and 54.
What surprises me, having visited Festing Road, is that Mr Benn always turned right on leaving his house and never left. Number 52 is only six houses down from the river Thames, and yet the riverside appears briefly in just one of the 13 original episodes. There are a heck of a lot of boathouses along Putney Embankment, probably the greatest concentration to be found anywhere within London, so if Mr Benn had turned left he could have ended up an expert rower or a prize-winning cox instead. It's our gain that he turned right to the parade and found the shopkeeper's magic door, the door that could lead to an adventure.
the DG monthly guided walk
It wasn't the most interesting start to the route, I have to confess. The roads of suburban Ruislip are designed for drivers first and pedestrians second, so I was relieved when none of my fellow walkers suffered a nasty accident attempting to cross Station Approach. Best not to attempt to cross again to view the Polish War Memorial, I thought. But we had a better view of the eagle-topped pillar, even from the opposite side of the road, than drivers rushing beneath the A40 roundabout ever see. Onward along the Ruislip Road until a fingerpost indicated the "Dog Rose Ramble" footpath heading off to the left. It sounded delightful, if unlikely, but the reality proved rather less than attractive. A smelly worksite for starters, then a trackless yomp along the edge of a very muddy golf course. Every bunkers and water feature appeared to have been abandoned, but a lumpy landscape of artificial grassy hillocks reminded us all of Tellytubbyland.
Back across Western Avenue via a rarely-traversed footbridge, then a less than inspiring trudge along the avenues of Islip Manor. I was, at this point, apologising to all my fellow ramblers that the early part of the walk had looked more interesting on the map than it proved to be in real life. But from here onward our route followed a succession of attractive greenspaces, and I'd didn't hear another word of complaint from anyone. After Islip Manor Park we reached the suburbanised heart of medieval Northolt, located in a culverted valley below centuries-old St Mary's church. One especially aspirational house on Mandeville Green boasted no fewer than three personalised numberplates out front - including the desperately expensive T33 (on a Citroen) and 33TT (on a smart car). Apparently it's de rigeur on guided walks to pause for an hour to drink beer and nibble sandwiches, but I resisted all calls to stop off for a liquid lunch at The Crown because I wanted to reach our destination before sundown.
Each windswept peak duly conquered, I took the lead in walking east along the southern edge of the A40. Whilst this could have been grim, a lengthy strip of meadow and scrubland helped shield the rushing arterial traffic from view. Not a soul was to be seen through Smiths Farm, beyond which snaked the Grand Union Canal, unrippled by passing narrowboats. We passed close by the Aladdin Building, its factory tower a familiar sight to Western Avenue drivers, but now lying empty and at risk of dereliction. There was one final opportunity for chat and cameradie as we negotiated Greenford Lagoons - which promised much but delivered only an impenetrable roadside marsh. And at last we reached Greenford station, where everyone took their leave, but only after considerable interest had been shown in the Underground's last remaining flight of wooden escalators.
Earlier this month I reported on the installation of a new suspended ceiling at Mile End station and its unintended impact on the travelling public. The top line of the 'next train' indicator at one end of the westbound Central line platform had been obscured by freshly-decreasing roof level, making it suddenly impossible to read the time and destination of the next train. Freshly arrived on the platform and want to know where you're going? No can do. New ceiling, installed by cretins.
The two green chunks are the new areas of platform from which the relocated 'next train' indicator board is now visible. One of these is the key arrival space at the bottom of the stairs. Walk down from the ticket hall, step out onto the Central line platform and the destination of the next train is now perfectly visible to all and sundry. Win 1! And the second green area is the one I'm most pleased about - the previous total blind spot inbetween the stairs. Sight of the indicator to the east is still blocked by an annoyingly-positioned "Way Out" sign. But turn to look in the opposite direction and you can now tell whether the next train's heading to West Ruislip, Ealing Broadway or White City, and how long it's going to be until it arrives. Win 2! I can't tell you how much of an improvement this is, especially for folk exiting from a District line carriage and crossing the platform to change trains. OK, so you need decent eyesight, else the far-distant blur is as useless as the previous blank. But the entire westbound platform is now next-train-enabled. Win win.
London was once a Roman stronghold, but the centre of the City has been so wholly and utterly developed over the centuries that barely any trace remains. Modern London boasts just one Roman villa open to the public, and that only because the boundaries of the capital have been stretched out to encompass chunks of Kent. Originally a remote rural farmstead, it's now conveniently located immediately adjacent to Orpington station. Ideal for commuting, if only the former residents had hung around for long enough.
From Crofton Road, the bland municipal exterior looks like it might hold a youth club, swimming pool or church hall. Indeed no expense has been wasted outside - this is simply a big shed containing Roman leftovers. No permanent staff are employed, just a group of kindly volunteers who give up their time in case any members of the public might open the door and step inside. I would have had the entire place to myself, but a well-intentioned local parent had hired the villa for their child's birthday party and so a crowd of well-behaved under-10s were quietly assembling mosaics on a trestle table.
I managed to explore the fenced-off perimeter of the Roman remains whilst carefully avoiding getting too close to the assembled birthday crowd. They were still busy mosaicing while I perused the "touch table" of genuine ancient stuff and the sandtray in which children pretend to be archaeologists. Then we swapped places, and I went to stand on the raised platform at the rear while they went to sit in the dressing-up corner. I earned a different perspective on the old villa, including a close up of where the underfloor central heating used to be, while the kids were held distantly spellbound by a selection of animal bones.
Olympic update
London's Olympic Stadium has been designed to a special "sustainable" brief, and has particular features which ensure that an athletics legacy could continue after the world has moved on. Very few sporting organisations (other than a top-flight football club) could have sustained an 80000-seater bowl in perpetuity. The entire top tier of seating is therefore a temporary structure, and can be removed after the Games to leave a 25000-capacity arena. The stadium's in-built slimmability means that rugby, athletics or even cricket might be interested in taking over after 2012. But this initial design, coupled with a desire to maintain an athletics track at all costs, is making certain alternative legacy options very awkward indeed. So London's pretending it doesn't matter.
Today there's another iron in the fire, as the London stadia to be considered for our 2018 World Cup bid are announced. Wembley's one, Arsenal's another, and the not-yet-rebuilt White Hart Lane is a third. And what do you know, London's number four is to be the Olympic Stadium, preserved with its upper tier at a size appropriate to hosting a top notch soccer international. Legacy bosses are no longer quite so tied to the promise of an athletics facility, it seems, even if that means breaking a pledge made when London won the games back in 2005. "Nothing is ruled in or out at this stage," they now say, as pragmatism replaces principle.
With only one month to go until Christmas, the thoughts of many Londoners have already turned to the vexing question of "where can I buy a Bratwurst, some Lebkuchen and a wooden puppet theatre?" Time was when you'd have to travel abroad to a European Christmas market to acquire these seasonal treats. But now they come to us. I've been to three of the capital's faux-German festive fairs to investigate.
Along the South Bank, roughly from Coin Street to the Eye, a fresh wooden shanty town has sprung up. Scores of shed-type booths masquerading as chalets, most with fairy lights and plastic evergreens draped across the front, now line the river's edge. Approaching from the east the first hut advertises the sale of "fake snow", which sort of sums the whole thing up. But there was a willing crowd thronging the Cologne Christmas Market at the weekend, not just for the chemical white stuff but also for the wide variety of gifts and food on offer. There's a lot of food. Think of it as Borough Market West, but with substantially less locally-sourced food. Much of this food is meat-based, because stereotypical Germans like meat, and lot of it is sausage. Those aren't extended hot dogs, those are megawurst, and at a price which would look high in euros let alone pounds. Beer is also freely available, carefully branded as "bier" to distinguish it from any import you might be able to buy in a nearby pub. You could, quite frankly, do a lot worse for lunch. A damp November day was far too early in the season for Santa's Secret Village to be doing a roaring trade - no queues of wide-eyed kids yet hoping for a delve in the old man's toysack. And the red-robed carol singers beneath Hungerford Bridge were having to struggle hard to be heard, their fa-la-las drowned by each and every twelve carriage monster passing overhead. But you might well find a stocking filler or two here if you're desperate for gift ideas, and there's plenty of time left before Christmas for a South Bank stroll.
For punters at North Greenwich's favourite upturned lid, a stroll along Entertainment Avenue usually ends with nothing. There's a huge void at the far end of the internal walkway, beyond the Michael Jackson exhibition, in the space where the supercasino was meant to go. This Christmas they've finally got round to filling it, and the inspired choice of content is an undercover funfair. With hundreds of thousands of Londoners based nearby, and inclement weather held at bay outside, this would seem an ideal spot for festive merriment. It certainly looks impressive at first glance, especially the green-lit rollercoaster which whips punters almost up to the teflon roof. The fair's official website certainly wants you to come visit, and ideally to shell out for an all-inclusive fair and restaurant package ('only' £150 for a family of 4). The reality, however, isn't yet so worthwhile. I counted only 7 rides within the fairground space, one of which was being shunned by all and sundry, and one of which was a £4-a-time hall of mirrors. There'll be a few more 'Vintage' rides in early December, but I'd still expect visiting families to spend longer in the restaurant than at the fair. As further distraction there's a Traditional German Market outside in Peninsula Square - so 'traditional' that the traders include a Dutch mini-pancake booth and a Charcoal BBQ. Alas, not the most attractive place to be on a wet November afternoon. The poor soul manning the isolated glühwein bar, for example, could do little but stand alone in his illuminated shack waiting for the rain to subside. A Dome-estic Christmas is better than nothing, but could do better.
When I visited this Hyde Park funfair the first year it opened, I was woefully underimpressed. A handful of booths and fairground rides tacked along a single concrete path - most definitely nothing to write home about. Things have moved on, and this year's Winter Wonderland event is considerably larger. The main entrance from Hyde Park Corner is via a temporary wooden arch, alongside which on Saturday various parties of visitors were busy snapping souvenir photos. Immediately beyond is a carol-singing reindeer, a clear favourite with those passing by, but revealed from behind to be powered by an Einhell KCK 210/8 Kompressor. There are streets of Black Forest-style booths across these 20 acres - a whole Hansel & Gretel forestful - rather like the Cologne Christmas Fair on steroids. Too much food, I'd wager, unless the intention is to ensure that whenever your appetite wavers there's a icing-dusted hot waffle nearby. At one particular multi-storey dining establishment I watched as five red-coated servers stood poised to dish up XXL-Bratwurst, Pommes Frites and Maiskolben, but alas their "please queue here" sign was proving wholly unnecessary. One of London's temporary winter ice rinks is located nextdoor, swirling with talented amateur skaters and a few terrified klutzes hanging on to the perimeter barrier for dear life. And, unlike at the Dome, there are fairground rides a-plenty. Big wheels and funhouses and twirly things and a whopping great Christmas Coaster - which appears to be a normal rollercoaster but with a few silver baubles attached. In a profiteering twist, even the smallest sleigh ride comes with a "souvenir photo" booth so that you can take away a hastily-printed image of your grinning toddler. A cup of "Warming soup" (Heinz tomato) will set you back £3, or £3.50 if you splash out with a bread roll. These are almost Mayfair prices, which is appropriate given that Mayfair is very close by and was itself named after a seasonal showground. The organisers have thought of everything, financially, and signposts will direct you towards the nearest cashpoint should your wallet starts to flag. But I suspect that London's latest funfair is going to prove rather popular this winter, whatever the cost, especially with families, after-hours workmates and bunches of pleasure-seeking teen- and twenty- somethings.
Convenient though an Oyster card may be, there's one large swathe of London transport on which it's not valid. Fine on the tube, perfect on the buses, OK on the Overground, even usable on trams and along the river. But try using your Oyster on National Rail services and you're likely to be guilty of fare evasion. Certain rail routes are permitted, if you know which they are, but most South London trains remain an Oyster-free no-go zone.
The location was H Forman & Son, former salmon smokers of Marshgate Lane, and now the proud owners of a state-funded state-of-the-art pink factory. They inhabit an attractive fish-slice-shaped building with an upstairs function room overlooking the Olympic Stadium. Ideal for conferences, parties and exhibitions, I don't doubt, so long as the participants can actually find their way there. No delicate fishy nibbles for yesterday's visitors, but there was a nigh-untouched table laid out with juice and coffee.
Every time a planning decision is made that you disagree with, it's likely that you missed the public consultation which would have enabled you to disagree in advance. Equally, even the very best planning applications contain minor niggles that make them less than perfect, but which you could easily have pointed out if only anyone had asked. So it's been good of Tesco to ask my local community what they think of proposals to double the size of their superstore in Bromley-by-Bow, and of plans to stick a library, hotel and housing nextdoor. Sadly only a handful of the local community have so far taken up the opportunity.
Many attendees were interested in transport-related issues. Would there be any new bus services? No, and they were sorry TfL couldn't be persuaded to reinstate the S2. Would the subway under the A12 from the tube station be upgraded and enlarged and better lit? Yes, and about time too. How would cars approach the new district centre? Via a new "all movements junction" on the dual carriageway, which when installed would become the only traffic lights between Poplar and the Redbridge roundabout. Last night's attendees were split between delight at a non-subterranean pedestrian crossing of the A12, and concern that speeding Blackwall-bound traffic might not really want to stop.
This is the View Tube - the latest attempt to try to make the pre-Olympic Olympic Park a tourist draw. It's based inside recycled shipping containers, painted lime green, one of which has been tipped up on end to provide a far-visible tower. It's been constructed on the Greenway close to Pudding Mill Lane DLR. It's two storeys tall, with a cafe and toilets downstairs and a classroom and viewing platform upstairs. It's been designed as a community centre, despite the fact there isn't a community living anywhere nearby. And when I visited over the weekend it was unexpectedly busy. Serve coffee, it seems, and they will come. [photo]
There are two entrances, neither of them yet clearly labelled. You want the one through the patio windows (unless you've got a burning desire to go to the toilet, in which case veer right). Welcome to the cafe [photo]. I think it'll also double up as an arts space, but at the moment the emphasis is very much on snacks and drinks. The menu choice is slim but well targeted - nothing too deli-bistro and nothing too greasy-spoon. A bacon baguette with relish or a plate of Eggs Benedict, that sort of thing, plus a fresh selection of Olympic-priced cakes and pastries on the counter. The oven wasn't working properly at the weekend, so maybe the menu will ramp up once it's been fixed. A previous customer had recommended the tea ("good and strong"), but I plumped instead for a two quid hot chocolate. I should have had the tea.
Assuming the classroom's not being used (don't visit midweek), you can then walk out onto the viewing platform proper. There are a few window-sized metal holes to stare through [photo], and even a roof in case it's raining. And there is indeed a fine view of the Olympic Stadium from here, unencumbered by any ludicrously high security fence, although there was a whopping big crane in the way when I visited which ruined the symmetry somewhat [photo]. There ought also to be a fine view of the Aquatic Centre with its newly completed waveform roof, except there's a massive pile of earth in the way at the moment (really, it couldn't be in a more intrusive location) so you'll see bugger all of interest there. At least the general sweeping Olympic panorama more than makes up for it - still very much a building site at present, but in 1000 days time home to a grandiose Gamestide finale.
38, de-bendied
At Clapton Pond, a man with a brush is busy sweeping leaves and rainwater into the gutter. Hopping aboard a dry double decker feels like a very good idea, and there should be a 38 along soon now that its frequency of service has been increased. The Saturday timetable at the bus stop promises "every 3-6 minutes", but it's been 8. Several buses have passed in the opposite direction, imminently terminating at the bendy-sized bus stand in the middle of the Clapton roundabout. But it takes a while for a Victoria-bound 38 to appear, with entrance today via a single door, and we all bundle inside.
A lengthy detour through Dalston is necessary to avoid Overground-induced roadworks. By the time we reach the Balls Pond Road, half of the timetabled 44 minutes for the entire route have already elapsed. The back seat is claimed by what looks like a stereotypical group of boisterous teens, although they keep their voices down and fail to turn up their mobile R&B to maximum volume. Meanwhile an unfortunate pushchair user fails to squeeze aboard downstairs - there's far less buggy space aboard these DB300s than was the case on the former Citaros.
Nearly there. Piccadilly Circus requires a five minute detour because a brand new road improvement scheme isn't quite ready yet. The removal of certain one-way restrictions means that future 38s will be able to sail past Eros rather more directly, and then they'll enter a new two-way bus lane in Piccadilly (with bus stops planted on a narrow island in the centre of the road). We follow a Routemaster plying route 9 - a reminder of the rather more characterful double deckers that used to service the 38 in the pre-bendy era. Alas all we've gained in the last four years appears to be a bigger front window and a rear platform you can't escape from at whim.
There's been a tangible pro-military shift in public opinion of late. The army is no longer full of soldiers, but of heroes. A poppy is no longer an expression of individual conscience, but a nationwide expectation. No civilian is afforded greater importance than a bereaved parent. And woe betide anyone who causes "offence" by failing to display respectful behaviour towards Our Lads, because that's the media's new expected norm. As pride replaces honour, it's almost as if Army Worship has replaced Christianity as our new national religion.
And so ends diamond geezer's seventh annual tube week. I continue to be amazed by how much interactive interest the London Underground inspires, even amongst people who rarely or never use it, so thanks for all your comments. And I'm also surprised, every year, that I don't run out of new tube-related stuff to write about. I mean, seven years on and I still haven't written a tube week post about disused stations. Maybe next year...
Tubewatch (30) Extended Circle
Here's the official poster already appearing at tube stations. Let's check out its claims....
Tube geek (30) Interchange
Case in point. This is a section of the latest tube map showing four different central London interchange stations. Baker Street is a well-known five-line intersection, while Marylebone is an interchange to National Rail services. But the other two stations depicted here look rather different to their incarnation on the previous tube map. Paddington used to be shown as two distinct stations, with the Hammersmith & City out on a limb, but now it's only one. The H&C station remains a long (and awkward, and congested) walk from the rest, along the edge of mainline Platform 8 and up some not-really wide enough stairs. But now, to the uninitiated at least, it appears on the map like a simple and straight-forward interchange. You know, and I know, that only an idiot would change between the H&C and District lines here. But I bet that many tourists have acted like idiots at Paddington since this new map was released.
More to the point, Edgware Road. On the last tube map two quite distinct stations were depicted, one for the Bakerloo and the other for the Circle/District/H&C. No indication was given that changing to or from the Bakerloo line was possible, let alone a good idea. And now the whole thing - two stations on either side of a busy flyover - is marked as a single point of interchange. Sure you could change here, if you like a trip in a lift and a long yomp across dual carriageway sliproads. But there's no logical reason why anybody should, not when swapping at Baker Street or even Paddington is so much easier.
I had a go from Edgware Road (Circle/District/H&C) to Edgware Road (Bakerloo). There's a potentially helpful sign above the former station's exit, telling interchangers to start by finding a set of traffic lights. That's easier said than done. The aforementioned traffic lights are the wrong end of a one-way street, so not one single red amber or green light points back up the road towards the station. Only if you spot the illuminated pedestrian signals will you be certain which way to go. Turn right at M&S, past a not terribly beautiful Hilton, and thence to the Marylebone Flyover. There are pedestrian crossings now, but the only way to cross used to be via an other-worldly subway. It's very empty down here today - just a rather lonely-looking newsagents kiosk, a wholly unlikely art gallery and signs still pointing towards the "Metropolitan line". Negotiating all that lot, either above or below ground, takes at least two minutes from station to station. No fun with luggage, or a pushchair, or in pouring rain. The Bakerloo line station's gorgeous, especially the ticket hall with its green-glazed ticket windows. But with a judderingly slow lift journey still to go, this is a cross-London trek you're far better off not making.
Tube quiz (30) t-shirts
If you're looking for a Christmas present idea for the tubegeek in your life, and don't mind forking out a lot of money for a bit of white fabric, then you might consider ordering a personalised tube map t-shirt from the London Transport Museum website. Damned clever idea. You move a zoomable square around the tube map until it encloses the area you'd like to select. Then you decide whether you'd prefer a t-shirt, mug or mouse mat, and click 'create product'. The website shows you what it would look like and, should you be smitten, you can then buy it and go walking down the street with half the Victoria line on your chest. I shan't be splashing out myself, but I have had a go at creating something suitably quirky. Here's my Oxford Circus mug, here's my attempt at a more symbolic t-shirt, and here's something rather cleverer (not my idea, I'm afraid).
There used to be litter bins on tube stations, as can be deduced by anybody who visits the Bakerloo line platforms at Charing Cross. A rather splendid black and white mural of the Gunpowder Plotters was installed here 30 years ago, slap bang in the middle of which is a slot for the disposal of litter. Or at least there was. It's far too dangerous to permit such a useful facility today lest some evil passenger insert gelignite rather than an empty Ribena carton through the slot. And so the Ugly Squad have come along and bolted a featureless white rectangle over the hole, simultaneously preventing terrorism and wrecking the artwork underneath. This design aberration perfectly sums up the tube's litterbinlessness - "No you can't have a bin, and who cares how much of a mess is created as a result."
The blue shaded areas are the sections of each platform from which a 'next train' indicator can be seen. Maybe not easily, and maybe requiring a step to one side and a shuffle, but visible all the same. Good news, that's pretty much the entire length of the westbound District line platform, as well as most of the eastern half of the station (the end furthest away from the station entrance). But there's a long-term problem with the (yellow) 'Way out' signs, because they're positioned right up close to the four 'next train' indicators in the centre of each platform. They have to be there, it's Health and Safety, because everybody needs to know how to get out. But they act as an opaque shield to the destination information immediately behind, which means that the 'next train' can't be viewed from any of the areas I've shaded red. Bloody useless, but nothing new.
Took a while. I had to let five Central line trains go past before a "Woodford via Hainault" train finally rumbled along. I was taken on a circuitous route around the London borough of Redbridge, eventually rumbling across the M11 and over a river whose name you can probably guess. I was surprised that there were still as many as nine passengers in my particular tube carriage as Roding Valley station approached. But I wasn't surprised when the doors opened and I was the only person on the entire train to step out onto the platform.
Or maybe all the CCTV is a revenue protection scheme. Roding Valley is one of the few ungated stations on the tube network, meaning it's perfectly possible for the criminally-minded to slink in or out without waving an Oyster card. Instead the two entrances are protected by an enamel sign warning of a £50 penalty fare, which is a lot cheaper to install than a full-time member of staff. Incidentally these are also step-free entrances, recently enabled, meriting Roding Valley a rare wheelchair blob on the Central line tube diagram. Just be aware that it's not possible to wheel from one platform to the other via the footbridge - a 500m trek along local backstreets is required.
I needn't have worried. While I was snapping away the station manager popped over for a chat and was politeness personified. He said he'd seen somebody else taking photos of the tree-flanked platforms earlier, and wondered what the attraction was. He was also particularly keen to show me Roding Valley's unique front-of-station topiary - the hedge beside the bike rack that's been clipped and coerced into the shape of a steam locomotive. There's more than enough spare time inbetween trains for him to ensure its immaculate upkeep, and if I come back next year it might even have four new wheels. As head gardener he also maintains the station's hanging baskets, in season, and pointed out the three "second place" certificates displayed proudly on the station wall. Woodford's the local station to beat, apparently. Maybe next year.
Westminster (30); Brent (20); Camden (17); Hammersmith & Fulham, Hillingdon (15); Ealing (14); Barnet (13); Kensington & Chelsea (12); City of London (11); Harrow, Redbridge (10); Islington (9); Hounslow, Lambeth, Tower Hamlets [Essex] (8); Southwark (7); Haringey, Newham, Wandsworth (6); Barking & Dagenham, Merton, [Herts] (5); Enfield, Havering, Waltham Forest (4); [Bucks] (3); Hackney, Richmond (2); Greenwich, (1); Bexley, Bromley, Croydon, Kingston, Lewisham, Sutton (0)
Here's the Docklands chunk of the latest tube map. It's noticeably simpler than used to be the case, with no East London line replacement buses, a single-blob interchange at Canary Wharf and a slimmer-than-before curve through North Greenwich. But now this elegant layout and spacing are under threat. Look at the gaps through which the restored Thames has somehow got to weave its way. First between Rotherhithe and Wapping (squish), then bending sharply south to the left of Canary Wharf. From here it's all the way down to squeeze between Island Gardens and Cutty Sark, then all the way back up and over the top of North Greenwich before flowing right back down again. Tight fit indeed. There's always been an unwritten rule on the tube map that station names must never be written across the Thames, but I wonder if they'll have to break that this time. Or maybe those IoD DLR stations will have to be compressed even closer together... which would be far easier if (cough) all the blue accessibility blobs were removed from the map.
Time once again for diamond geezer to go totally tubular with another week devoted to the London Underground. Prepare for five days of quizzes, quirks, commentary and obscure statistics. Six years ago I looked at the busiest stations and journeys where it was quicker to walk. Five years ago I investigated tube line colours and the easiest interchanges. Four years ago I discussed overcrowding and precisely where the underground is underground. Three years I wrote about accessibility and why people never move down the platform. Two years ago I examined the agonies of Bank/Monument and taking your bike on the tube. And last year I spent the entire week wondering why 'next train' indicators are installed by cretins. I hope there's still something left to write about this year. Mind the doors.
Location: Malet Place, University College London WC1E 6BT [map]
The first short gallery, which is not entirely typical, houses fragments of carved stone. Few are wholly intact, but several slabs are carved with strip upon strip of exquisite hieroglyphics. As languages go, the Egyptian's intricate pictorial script may have been woefully inefficient (and entirely inappropriate for web-based communication), but it doesn't half look good. Another narrow gallery is located alongside, opening out into a larger space beyond, and all bursting with rammed-full glass cases. Don't expect glittering mummies and whopping sarcophagi, these tend to be much smaller more commonplace tomb-raided treasures. Votive tablets, serpentine caskets, and signet rings once worn by Nectaneto II - that sort of thing. Every item in the museum is labelled with a painted serial number plus a short written description, and here you'll find regular reference to dynasties, cartouches and "faience pendants". Ssh, try not to mention that all these objects were thieved from their country of origin by Empire-building 'collectors'.
A second, lower, gallery contains an unfeasibly high number of different kinds of pot, plus a few hundred tiles for good measure. If Egyptian earthenware is your thing then there's even a table for personal study, or alternatively where visitors under the age of 10 can colour in some pictures in crayon. One one particular wall there's a rack of torches - do take one, because the lighting's kept low throughout the museum to preserve the exhibits from permanent decay. And don't forget to check out the rear staircase, where yet more objects (including a fair number of ornamental cats and a sandstone jackal's paw) have been stashed. No space in this historical repository is underused.
Frank Winfield Woolworth opened his first UK shop in Liverpool on 5th November 1909. He'd arrived in the city by liner six months earlier, fresh from establishing a successful chain of five and dime stores in the US. The idea needed translating a bit for the English market (thruppence and sixpence were the initial prices charged over here) but Frank's underlying raison d'être remained the same. Buy quality in bulk, pile it high, and they will come. And so they did, to 25 Church Street that Friday morning, to see what lay behind the curved glass frontage. "The handsome premises were thronged the whole time they were open," reported the local paper on the day of opening, even though not a single item was sold. American tradition dictated that day 1 was for viewing only, although visitors were also treated to complimentary tea in the refreshment room and a variety of circus acts. A bit gaudy, thought some, but Liverpool loved FWW and stripped the shelves bare. Within five years another 40 stores had opened across the country, and a retail empire was born.
And so today there'll be centenary celebrations in Woolworths stores across the nation. Bunting will flap, brass bands will play, and there'll be special merchandise at Edwardian prices... except, damn, no there won't. Woolworths spontaneously combusted earlier this year and now exists only as an insignificant online brandname. What a pity that Frank's company didn't live long enough to still be trading today, and maybe even receive a special telegram from the Queen.
Junction 5: Berrygrove
Meriden Estate
Junction 6: Waterdale
A sudden fence corralled me alongside the southbound M1, a mere stone's throw away, then down to an unexpected viewpoint beneath a stack of three intersecting overpasses [photo]. As the traffic sped by, both above and below, I felt like an insignificant infidel encroaching into the heart of an automotive temple. But don't knock the power of the pedestrian "right of way". The Department of Transport has had to construct a traversable route through and across this multi-lane canyon, resulting in a pair of narrow footbridges suspended higher than the tops of the lampposts below. These bridges can't be used by more than a couple of pairs of walking boots each day, but they provided an excellent grandstand view as well as a route of passage. First to cross was the M25 proper, a few hundred yards down from the centre of this complex half-cloverleaf junction [photo]. A trio of mighty painted arrows reminded me just how huge road markings have to be so that they're legible through a speeding windscreen [photo]. And then to bridge number two, invisible from the first, across a gentle twin-lane chicane used by southbound M1 traffic attempting to join the M25 eastbound. Less busy, although still strangely picturesque in its own way [photo]. Fifty years on, even a pedestrian can sometimes appreciate the brutal beauty of our motorway network.
A short distance from Hayes station, on the boundary between suburbia and countryside, I kicked off my walk by entering a thin wooded outpost of the City of London. West Wickham Common came under the philanthropic jurisdiction of the City in 1878, and Victorian by-laws still prohibit the driving of bicycles through shrubberies, the grazing of mules, the use of disgusting language, the selling of indecent books and the erection of photographic apparatus. Thankfully walking was still permitted. Ancient earthworks lurked amid heathery ferny glades atop the chalk ridge. There ought to have been a great view to the south, and occasionally there was [photo], but a long row of ever-so exclusive homes had stolen most of it for themselves. Onward along the edge of Hayes Common, eventually re-emerging onto Keston village green. Two pubs and a Post Office proved to be the limit of retail civilisation for the next several miles.
The path returned to muddy woodland and twisted round past Keston Ponds. Only one of these pools is natural - the most secluded of the three - while the other two are larger and much beloved by fisherfolk. These anglers had set up stools on the banks and were casting their lines in an entirely unsuccessful attempt (at least while I was watching) to lure wily fish onto their floating hooks. I was much taken by the brightly lit autumn backdrop and by the occasional shower of yellow leaves tumbling gently into the water [photo]. Above the highest pond lies a brick-circled spring called Caesar's Pond, so named because allegedly Julius and his invading army once stopped here for a drink. This is also the source of the River Ravensbourne, rather lovelier here than at its mouth 11 miles away in Deptford Creek. Most visitors appeared to have walked no more than 200 yards from the car park - and I could see the attraction in not straying too much further.
Despite being in the middle of rural nowhere, a fairly decent bus service runs along the Westerham Road (round of applause to TfL). I crossed cautiously and started the steady climb to an unusual and historic tree stump [photo]. The Wilberforce Oak is reputedly the spot where William Wilberforce paused for a chat with PM William Pitt, and here made up his mind to bring forward the abolition of the slave trade in the House of Commons. Alas there's not much of the old tree left, having been snapped and toppled by a ferocious 1991 storm, and there's a now replacement oak bursting forth on the wooded slopes. Close by is a commemorative stone bench, but protected behind a tall wire fence so that no passing citizen could ever sit on it. I got the distinct feeling, continuing down into a spacious but inaccessible valley, that the current estate owners at Holwood House (just visible on the hilltop [photo]) prefer their ramblers at arm's length.
This chunk of London didn't feel like London at all. Rolling hills bedecked in autumn shades, light aircraft buzzing overhead on their way into Biggin Hill, and a winding country lane leading uphill to working stables. I ascended behind a chestnut mare and her squat rider, accompanied on foot by a wheezing over-stocky companion for whom the climb proved almost too much. A delightful narrow path between fields went by the less than delightful name of Bogey Lane, and here again I found myself stuck behind an equine traffic jam.
Back into built-up London via the suburb of Farnborough, arriving in town up the hill through St Giles' churchyard [photo]. Close by the path is buried the (supposedly) legendary Gipsy Lee, the area's last ever Gipsy Queen, but whose real name was Urania Boswell. It was strange to be walking past bus stops and shops and front gardens again, but the London Loop never strays away from greenery for too long. An open grassy slope provided some fine views towards the North Downs - a visual experience savoured only by myself and a tiny handful of local dogwalkers. I then got terribly lost in Darrick Wood. The walk had been extremely well signposted until this point, but I must have missed a turn-off and so wandered around the maze of wooded paths until I'd completely lost my bearings. Eventually escaping, I negotiated my way through the streets of Crofton - a lesser-known residential neighbour of mighty Orpington.
Yet more urban forest to explore, taking a very lonely path through the middle of Crofton Wood. "If five lads jump out with a knife I'm in big trouble," I thought, although I encountered nothing scarier than an abandoned supermarket trolley and a posh girl with an alsatian. One final lengthy estate-yomp eventually led to Jubilee Country Park, a more-than pleasant nature reserve with open common surrounded by leafy thickets. Much as I love my manor in East London, we have absolutely nothing extensive and natural like this back home, so the London Loop's a great way to rediscover brief segments of what I'm missing. And each stage always ends up back at a station, in this case Petts Wood, where there's a rather fetching Loop 3 route map etched in metal bolted to the wall. My walk definitely hadn't been a shortcut, more a devious downward meander, but all the more enjoyable for it.
