Appropriately for Hallowe'en, commuters at Canary Wharf station are in for a nasty shock this morning. Two ginormous digital screens have been installed and are now belching out advertising.
Commuters won't be surprised by the screens. These were installed over the last couple of months in the ticket hall, erected at first under a sheath of scaffolding which passengers walked beneath, then later unwrapped. Commuters won't be surprised by the digital displays either. These were switched on last Friday, broadcasting a colourful artistic image by Mark Titchner to make Londoners think, and to brighten up their day. But they will be surprised by the commercials, because today's the first day the screens have been used for advertising.
The art was the cunning bit, because it allowed TfL to publish a press release on Friday praising the existence of the big screens and the uplifting message portrayed thereon. The art allowed the Mayor to give the screens his blessing, purposefully aligned as they were to his #Londonisopen campaign. The art gave the screens intrinsic cultural value, enriching the journeys of all those passing through. But from this morning the art is sidelined, after only three days, and now advertising is the dominant feature.
These are massive screens, 7.2m wide and 4m high, hung low enough below the ceiling to completely dominate Canary Wharf's cathedral-like space. They're double-sided screens, all the better to grab passengers' attention coming in and going out. They're officially sanctioned, designed in collaboration with the original station architects Foster and Partners. They're accentuated because the lighting in the concourse has been subtly dimmed to make the messages stand out more. They're valuable real estate, bringing in considerable revenue from a stream of advertisers aiming to reach a quality market. And they're the first example of how TfL is now going all out to embrace digital advertising, as part of a campaign called Hello London.
This is the campaign's flagship project, targeting what's probably the biggest space on the network and the wealthiest passengers too. The station's layout conspires to maximise customer interaction, with the screens visible across Canary Wharf's nave-like atrium, and a bank of deep escalators providing a captive audience all the way down. As for the reason why the advertising comes in six ten-second slots, that's because it takes about sixty seconds to glide down from the piazza and walk forward to the screens, so nobody need miss out.
The cycle kicks off with an advert for Lloyds Bank featuring a giant black horse, then slips into a promo for Google's new Pixel phone. Their opening image of a blank white screen with search engine box may be the most minimalist image this huge screen ever shows. Slot number three retains the art, that's Mark Titchner's 'No Them Only Us', and then the ads kick in again. Hewlett Packard have paid for slot four, then a dramatically bright orange background flashes up to help promote Thomson Reuters, a media agency based close by. Mark's #Londonisopen image is back again for the final slot, and then the black horse reappears as the whole cycle goes round again. One third art, two thirds ads.
This isn't the first time there's been advertising at Canary Wharf. The atrium has been bedecked with sponsorship several times, generally for a bank or financial service, with ads and banners plastered around the concrete void. But none of these moved, and it's the animated nature of the new screens which makes them particularly intrusive. It won't be easy to look away on entering the station when twenty foot high graphics and slogans are dancing all over your field of vision. It takes something special to drag the average punter's attention away from the little screen in their hand, but this new intervention manages just that. Sorry, were you lost in your own private thoughts? Stop that right now, engage and prepare to consume.
It's also not the first time there's been a big screen at Canary Wharf. TfL installed a massive screen at the far end of the ticket hall in 2012 as part of their excellent Art on the Underground project. This was one of London's largest public projection screens - far bigger than these latest two - and was used to present films and videos by leading contemporary and historical artists. A pair of benches was set up in front, carefully curated collections of themed works were shown, and anyone using the station could visit, or even pop in for free by downloading a Canary Wharf Screen ticket from the art.tfl.gov.uk website.
Almost nobody went. The screen played films to an audience-free zone at the dead eastern end of the station, invisible from the main flurry of activity up west, with passengers required to walk through an additional set of ticket gates to reach it. Even commuters coming up the farthest escalator were facing the wrong way to spot this secret cinema, and those entering from Montgomery Square would have rushed past too. Several seasons of videos were screened, and good stuff too, often in conjunction with the BFI. But the eighth and final season expired on 17th August 2014, as a forlorn poster facing this forlorn facility reveals, and since then the screen has been dark. Art in an inaccessible location has had its day. The future is advertising you cannot miss.
And there's a lot more of this commercial stuff on its way, targeting you, the London Audience.
Hello London will soon be "expanding its digital footprint" and "introducing new high impact formats", of which the Canary Wharf screens are premium examples. Expect to see more "captivating sequential messaging" alongside escalators, and "digital landmarks on bulwark walls of select, high footfall central London stations". What's more, new Crossrail stations are being deliberately designed with "a wide range of innovative and high impact formats" in mind, to "best complement the stations' large proportions and modern design elements." Advertising is at the heart of TfL's new Underground Station Design Idiom, which means promotional electronic media being deliberately integrated into the fabric of stations old and new.
TfL needs the money, of course. Boris set TfL on a more commercial course to help offset cuts in funding, and Sadiq's insistence on freezing fares for four years only makes the yawning gap greater. Hello London is charged with raising £1.1bn over the next eight years, which sounds a lot, but when over 1.3 billion tube journeys are made each year, it's less than a 10p increase in fares would have raised instead. For this there'll be dozens of visual intrusions, or "enhancements to the customer experience" as the project has it, pushing brands in your face as you travel like never before. Adverts that move are only the start of it - Hello London already has plans for "a Christmas themed station renaming" in partnership with Westfield, which can only be the thin end of a very thick wedge.
You may not mind all this, if it means travelling around the network a fraction cheaper than would otherwise be the case. You may even think it necessary, given that austerity has changed the country's economic mindset in recent years. But there are many ways to adopt commercial solutions, not all of them so intrusive, nor so unforgiving. Canary Wharf station has enjoyed 17 years as an architectural masterpiece, with a vast subterranean vista to take the breath away on entry. And now it's an advertising hoarding you can't take your eyes off, feeding brands and slogans to the London Audience in return for propping up taxation. From Hallowe'en 2016 onwards, Hello London is unlikely to ever say goodbye.
I have again been somewhere you won't go. I have been to a remote bend in the Thames east of Gravesend. This is why you have not been.
I have been to Cliffe Fort, which is a fort at Cliffe. More accurately it's two miles west of Cliffe, and Cliffe is the last village up a dead end road north of Rochester before the marshes begin, and this again is why you haven't been.
Cliffe Fort was one of three artillery forts built in the 1860s to guard the entrance to the Thames from maritime attack by the French. The others are at Coalhouse Fort which is much easier to get to, and Shornemead Fort which is probably harder. The forts were decommissioned in the 1920s, and Cliffe is now in ruins.
If you want to see inside a Victorian fort you should go to Coalhouse. Coalhouse is actually open today, if you're interested. But I went to Cliffe, and you can't go inside at Cliffe because it's in ruins. Indeed there are several warnings at Cliffe warning that attempting to go inside would be perilously unsafe and very stupid. So I didn't.
Bends on the Thames downstream of London are often quite isolated, and this one's no exception. The land rolls down to the estuary across bleak Dickensian expanses of marshland, with the cranes and chimneys of Tilbury clearly visible lined up in the distance. At the apex of the bend, by a footbridge of sorts over Higham Creek, I found a cluster of chunky concrete blocks. A few ponies had clustered here, perhaps for shelter, there not being much else to cluster around.
Inland the view is of cement works, and of large lakes where cement and gravel have been quarried since the 1850s. Indeed to get to this point I'd had to walk across a ploughed field to a gravel works, up the side of the railway sidings to the gravel works, then alongside the gravel works and at one point across it, before continuing alongside again past heaps of sand and silos and a long sea wall. This is another reason you have never been.
Two long jetties stick out into the river, and these are still in commercial operation. A wooden boat decays nearby, a Danish schooner called the Hans Egede, beached in the mud in 1957. And the footpath wiggles on as the Thames bends north, following a narrow raised dyke, inexorably approaching Cliffe Fort and the supposed highpoint of the walk.
It turns out Cliffe Fort is not very exciting. It would be if you could get inside, but you can't, so it isn't. Instead the Saxon Shore Way passes around the front of the building, which is quite low so there isn't much to see. The casement is crumbling, and overgrown, and festooned with those warning notices I mentioned. It's not especially worth the six mile round trip, alas.
Much more interesting is the torpedoslipway. An experimental system was installed in 1890 by Irish/Australian inventor Louis Brennan, making Cliffe Fort the site of the world's first practical guided missile. His torpedo was powered by wired propellers linked to the shore, and could travel at speeds of up to 30mph, to be targeted at any French ships which might attempt to invade London. No ships came, and after fifteen years the technology was superseded.
But the torpedo slipway survives as a concrete slot aimed across the the Thames, though in increasingly poor shape, and with parts of the guideway recently broken away. Someone's graffitied it too, with a tag and a bad Lisa Simpson. You can clamber down, or try walking precariously along the upper rim. This is proper military archaeology. I spent at least two minutes looking at it.
Awkwardly, the footpath immediately to the north of the slipway has crumbled away. It's a long drop down to what passes for a beach, and then you have to get back up again, which is OK so long as the bricks haven't washed away and it isn't high tide. A sign on the other side of the break, by the cement works, warns that this section of the Saxon Shore Way is actually closed. But there hadn't been a sign in the direction I'd approached, which was my excuse for continuing.
I was getting quite blasé about walking through cement works at this point. It was also no longer much of a novelty to be walking underneath elevated conveyor belts. I was less inspired by a broad puddle which covered several yards of footpath and forced me to get my boots and socks wet in order to avoid having to retrace all my steps thus far. I'm aware that I'm not selling this walk particularly well.
Tramping along the edge of the Thames I was surprised to spot a familiar sheet of plastic spread across the path. I recognised it as a Smiths crisp packet, blue and white so presumably salt and vinegar, with a special 'Supercolour fibre tip pen offer' emblazoned on the front. That looks old, I thought, they don't make packets with vertical crimping any more. And I was amazed when I stooped down and read that the closing date for the special offer was February 15th 1974.
They say plastic lingers in the natural environment for years, and they're not kidding. Here was a packet of crisps from my childhood, indeed one I might have saved up tokens for myself before sticking them (along with a 65p postal order) into an envelope. The world has spun thousands of times since 1974, and yet here was a wrapper still mostly intact, its special offer still legible, washed up on the shore as if only recently thrown away.
The estuary-side path north from Cliffe Creek round the Cliffe Marshes is something else, a truly remote trek along the seawall with no connections back inland for miles. I might walk it one day, but this did not seem the time. Meanwhile the inland marshes are popular with birdwatchers. They don't mind coming all this way to stare across large quarried pools at birds, not that there are many birds in October.
Cliffe has a decent pub, once you get back that far, perhaps via Pickle's Way, perhaps up Buttway Lane. I had a pint in The Six Bells and a packet of salt and vinegar crisps, Golden Wonder this time, taking care to dispose of the packet properly before leaving. A trip to Cliffe Fort has this effect, it seems. Not that you'll ever go.
The M25 was officially opened 30 years ago today. On Wednesday 29th October 1986 Margaret Thatcher cut a ribbon north of South Mimms, wagging a finger at "those who carp and criticise", and millions of vehicles set off on their orbital jaunt. It's now one of Europe's busiest motorways, and an icon to boot, and to many the unofficial boundary of London. But that would be wrong. At least a couple of million people live inside the M25 but outside London, including the whole of Watford, most of Dartford, all of Epsom and Ewell and a considerable chunk of Surrey. Indeed the M25 generally runs a few miles beyond the Greater London border, in Hertfordshire up to seven miles distant, so adopting it as a new boundary would be geographically ridiculous.
From Junction 1 at the QE2 Bridge round to Junction 14 near Heathrow the M25 and the capital never meet, coming closest near Orpington and north of Leatherhead. Motorway and border are perfectly aligned between J14 and J15, bar a little wiggle where the River Colne used to run (and which is destined to end up under Runway Three). A much longer overlap runs between J24 at Potters Bar and nearly-J26 at Waltham Abbey, and again from before-J28 to after-J29 in Essex, where legislation has matched the edge of London to the line of the motorway. But there is one significant corner of the capital which pokes out beyond the M25, roughly eight square kilometres in size, and that's around North Ockendon.
North Ockendon is London's most easterly village, a medieval community amid the fields and forests beyond Upminster. Neighbouring Cranham had been similarly undeveloped, but in the early 1930s extensive housing estates were built and it was widely assumed that land around North Ockendon would be next. The parish was therefore assimilated into Hornchurch Urban District, which thirty years later became part of the borough of Havering, even though the avenues of semis never came. Hence today we see the anomaly of a tiny village sticking out beyond the obvious city perimeter, a mismatch made all the more obvious by the M25 slicing through the fields inbetween.
North Ockendon is of village of two parts, one clustered and one linear, separated by a large field. I started in the younger part, the majority, a scattered run of houses along the Ockendon Road where some of the cottages date back to the 1700s. They're charming but not everything else is, for example the old post office is now a hideous Towie-style uber-chalet perched on a double garage with an ostentatious portico. No shops have survived, but there is a well stocked garden centre, and Steak Night at The Old White Horse is on a Wednesday. This being London there's a very good bus service which belies the size of the population, every quarter of an hour to Lakeside or Upminster (plus yes, the least frequent bus service in the capital, the runty 347). Entirely unserved is Fen Lane which leads down past a somewhat smug golf course, a full mile to the easternmost point in London, a gloriously remote spot by the Mardyke.
To reach the older part of the village I slipped up the side of the pub's garden and crossed the intermediate field along a line of telephone poles. This cut through to the foot of a dead-end lane, the original heart of North Ockendon, surrounded by manor, moat and church. The church is St Mary Magdalene, a flinty number known to have existed in 1075, and then under the direct ownership of new-fangled Westminster Abbey. It's typically Essex-looking, which is to say charming, although likely to be securely locked if you're hoping to look inside. One exterior point of interest is St Cedd's Well, a baptismal spring beside a lilypond, accessed down a set of stone steps from a gate in the corner of the churchyard. I didn't realise at first it was OK to go down, so missed seeing the low kennel-likestructure below the wall, eyes fixed only the remains of the medieval moat beyond.
A handful of houses line Church Lane, two of them formerly the village school, and another still with a blue roundel out front advertising 'Coal Merchant'. Some of the other homes are seriously large affairs, gabled hideaways with long drives and outbuildings, plus one farm that keeps the surrounding area in trim. It felt odd seeing wheelie bins labelled London Borough of Havering in the front gardens, indeed North Ockendon and Romford might as well be different worlds. A warning however not to hang around this part of the hamlet for too long else you'll arouse the suspicions of the locals. I aroused the suspicions of the vicar, who drove up (potentially tipped off by one of his flower arranging ladies), said hello briefly, drove off and then drove straight back to see what I might be up to. With his eagle gaze upon me I decided against revisiting the well, indeed probably against revisiting his fiefdom ever again.
I fled instead towards the motorway, which proved convenient for anniversary reasons. The footpath emerged immediately alongside a line of queueing lorries, and a sign warning of no hard shoulder for 230 yards, the traffic separated from me only by a wooden fence and some autumnal undergrowth. I got a much better view further up the hedgerow (and across a very basic stile) from the bridge on Ockendon Road. I think this is the only bridge across the M25 which is in London at both ends, once a few knotted twirls at junctions are excluded. The bridge has ridiculously wide pavements, given that there aren't any along the lane to either side, but all the safer to look down over the gantries and the eight-lane cutting. In one direction traffic was whizzing through, but in the other all was congestion, with trucks and cars and the occasional caravan backed up as far as I could see. How very typical, how very M25.
Just to the north of here, at the Thames Chase Forest Centre, is my favourite scrap of Outer Orbital London. Most of this modern nature reserve lies within the motorway, its wooded paths and scrub heavily frequented by gambolling families, dogwalkers and mildly amok kids. But one triangular segment lies on the far side of the motorway, accessed though a culvert barely six foot high, and prone to flooding if the tiny stream running through fractionally rises. And nobody ever seems to walk this way, at least when I've been - they peer through the dark tunnel and decide against, leaving the umpteen acres on the far side delightfully uninhabited.
This entire triangle has been planted with trees to make driving along the motorway more interesting, bar a few interlocking clearings, regularly mown. Break away from the spine footpath and you can explore the nooks and crannies of this manmade environment, past young spinneys and junior copses, to ascend to the plateau of Clay Tye Hill. At this time of year the leaves are turning gold and red, and edging on gorgeous, and without a single bleating child or bouncy dog to intrude. I like to stand on the hillside near the oakleaf sculpture and look down towards the motorway snaking away across the fenland, with several sequences of blue signs to confirm its presence. I give thanks that I'm not down there in the traffic, instead somehow outside, serene and unspoilt above the snarl and fumes. The M25 may encircle London, but it does not define it.
» If you'd like to follow in my footsteps, Thames Chase Walk No 1 can be downloaded here(or it's available to pick up for 10p at the Thames Chase Forest Centre)
I knew I had a local library, indeed I've been to my local library numerous times, but I suddenly realised I hadn't been for some time. So I went again.
We don't have libraries in Tower Hamlets, we have Idea Stores. Idea Stores are libraries with extra bits, like adult learning courses and activities and events, which might be a bit like your local library except Tower Hamlets likes to brand things differently. The first Idea Store opened in Bow in 2002, which is damned convenient, and now there are five. Oh and we do still have libraries, there's one in Bethnal Green and one in Cubitt Town, either because the transformation money ran out or because they're gorgeous buildings and it would have been wrong to make them temples of glass.
Tower Hamlets hasn't closed any libraries since the cuts started, indeed quite the opposite, they've opened one. That's brilliant, although when you consider we only have one library for every forty thousand residents, perhaps not great. But that's all you need if most of those forty thousand residents don't turn up.
I turned up. It was quite busy. A lot of people had mustered on the internet. A lot of people were sitting with a coffee. A lot of people had settled with the newspapers and magazines. A lot of children were doing childrenly things in their special section out back. Some children were hunting for books for school projects with their mother. Some people were collectively knitting and eating the lunch they'd bought with them. And all because libraries do a lot of extra things that aren't just lending, and have done for a while. The modern library is also a community centre, learning facilitator and events hub, but then you know this, even if you've not been recently to check.
I looked at the books, because that's what I'd gone to the library specifically for. All the newest books were out front, as if this was a Waterstones or something, alongside displays of specially selected theme books, ditto. I remembered libraries having a few new-ish books but nowhere near this many, a selection suspiciously similar to that which might be found on the high street with a price tag. As a child only WH Smiths had the new stuff, whereas my local library had a musty stock of everlasting books. I grew up alongside the browning reference books, the stocky hardback classics and umpteen paperbacks in protective plastic cases. The choice is considerably broader today.
I scanned the shelves, and some more shelves, and several more shelves. There were a lot of shelves. The fiction section went on for ages, and not just the large print Catherine Cookson stuff, but full variety. Even the crime section covered one long wall, because I guess that's what people like to read these days, boasting sufficient whodunnits and Scandi noirs to see anyone through several winters. And plenty of sci-fi, and yes, the historical romance, and even a wider range of horror stories than you'd normally find in a typical bookshop. I'll have that one, I thought. And come back for those four later.
I spent longer perusing the non-fiction shelves. There were so many sections to browse through, and sub-sections within, reminding me quite how many different parts of human knowledge I find fascinating. Scanning across the spines revealed intriguing topics and tempting titles, their blurbs easily checked, far quicker than browsing online. Within the London section I picked out a couple of books I'd considered buying for myself but baulked at the price, and here they were for grabs for nothing. I'd only have them for three weeks, but who reads a book twice anyway? Sorry Foyles, sorry Amazon, this deal's a winner.
I was issued with my library card so long ago I wasn't sure it still worked. It still worked. A member of staff showed me how to use the self service scanner, and got it right the second time, and let me have a go myself on the third. He was bright and engaging, indeed it almost seems a shame to have to check out the books myself next time to save him the work. And I walked away with a printed receipt, which surprised me because since when have libraries given you a receipt, surely they're supposed to datestamp the inside cover in slightly smudgy red text. See, I told you, I really haven't taken out any library books for quite some time.
The other thing I did whilst in the library was to enquire at the counter about my PIN. Apparently I was given a security number when I first got my Idea Store card, and I think I put the scrappy printout in my wallet where it eventually faded and got thrown away. We all have far too many PINS and passwords in our lives, so what hope did I have of recalling one I've rarely used a decade and a half later? The nice lady at the desk changed my PIN to the year I was born, because I have a hope of remembering that, and because it turned out I couldn't remember a randomly generated uneventful year from the 16th century which is what I had before.
Knowing my PIN is especially useful because now I can log into the library service at home, and check my loans and even, if I'm remiss, my overdue fines. More to the point I can search out new books in the catalogue and reserve them, which is like having your own personal bookshop for nothing. I worry that I might now end up going into bookshops less, or doing that thing other people do with jackets or fridge freezers where they browse in store and then go home and buy it cheaper on the internet instead. But surely libraries have always worked this way, for longer than I've been alive, so I doubt my occasional defection will cause booksellers to go bust any sooner.
My online account additionally allows me access to a variety of other services I wasn't expecting, including free eBooks and free audiobooks, for free. I can take the latest Bill Bryson with me on the bus, or work my way through all the Harry Potters, or thousands of other titles from historical fiction to actual DC comics. Plus I have reader access to 2000 global news and magazine titles, from yesterday's complete Evening Standard and Lancashire Evening Post to this month's SFX, Q and Viz, not to mention Simply Crochet, Rail, Grazia and the Beano. This is brilliant, an almost bottomless stream of content, and all because I have (and use) a library card.
I tell you all of this not because I expect you to find it surprising, but because I wonder whether you too have forgotten to visit your library lately. It's not a stuffy room of books, it's so much more, so long as we remember to take advantage. And it's crucial to take advantage, because otherwise this hugely important community service can be whittled away, as I hope yours hasn't been yet. A place of discovery and of learning, a place to meet and socialise, a place to go when it's cold outside, a place to inform and inspire. Don't leave it too long to love your library again.
Sometimes a footpath is closed for so long that you imagine it'll never open again. There have been plenty of these in the Lower Lea Valley over the last decade, mostly as a result of the Olympics, but with Crossrail works severing several foot connections too. The Greenway north of Stratford High Street has been closed since 18th April 2009, for example, and opened only briefly during the summer of 2012 to allow passage for Olympic spectators.
So I'm pleased to be the bearer of good news about a footpath that's been sealed off for even longer, since 20th March 2007 in fact, and which has been silently reopened this week. It's the footpath along the edge of Abbey Creek, a minor backwater between the Greenway and Three Mills, and which can be seen from the tube to the east of Bromley-by-Bow station. This time the closure was thanks to Thames Water, originally to aid the construction of Three Mills Lock, and with the intention of reopening in the summer of 2008. Didn't happen. The next excuse was the Lee Tunnel, a massive sewage-related infrastructure undertaking, coupled to a proposed reopening date of Christmas 2014. Didn't happen either. Instead it's taken until October 2016, a few months short of ten years, but the Long Wall Path is finally accessible again. "And Will Remain Open For The Foreseeable Future", says a helpful laminated sign tied to the unlocked gate.
WALK EAST LONDON: Long Wall Path
Greenway to Three Mills(600m)
The Greenway is all about sewage, a giant Victorian pipe carrying north London's waste to Beckton with a footpath laid on top. Its focal point is Abbey Mills, where one old and one new pumping station sit alongside the waters of the Lea, occasionally overspilling into Abbey Creek. Or at least they used to overspill, dumping 40% of London's Combined Storm Overflow through a row of sluices into the river, but that's all changed since Boris opened the Lee Tunnel earlier this year. Abbey Creek is now free of nasty organic floaters, and the ecosystem from here down to the Thames is a more regularly pleasant environment than it was before. And this means the footpath running alongside is more pleasant too, not that it was ever obviously unpleasant, not that I can really remember given how long ago it was open to the public.
The Long Wall Path begins at a bridge over what used to be the Channelsea River, long since culverted to the north through the Olympic Park and central Stratford. Look out for the graffitied snail, a brightly painted swirl of pipe behind the wire fence, to mark the start of your waterside stroll. The sluices are best seen before you set off, 14 burrow-like holes from which brown liquid occasionally gushed when it rained too much, but which are now more ornamentally inert.
It's immediately obvious, to those who've walked this way before, that a lot of infrastructure work has taken place over the last few years. Two metal cages have appeared on the banks where previously there were none, one monumental in scale, containing pipes and pumps diverting surplus flow elsewhere. A choice of routes remains available to cyclists and those on foot - one via the river's edge, the other higher up - but a lot of concrete has gone in where facilities were previously low key. That pair of chunky planters look new but were added in 2004, according to the plaque, constructed from railway sleepers by community volunteers. Two similarly resilient benches provide somewhere to sit and look across towards Channelsea House, previously a stark lonely office block, now 72 apartments. Thames Water have done their work and made good, even if it's taken them an age.
To chime with modern times the path is now fully accessible, thanks to an expensive zig-zag ramp which links the upper path at Greenway level and the lower continuation. The two alternative footway options join up a short distance ahead below the Abbey Mills perimeter fence, and then the creekwalk proper begins.
It's still October, so much of the path is screened off from the water by trees in leaf. Any blackberries are shrivelled and well past their best, unsurprisingly given that nobody's been able to come brambling this autumn, but there are also a few clusters of red berries which might (but please not yet) form an attractive festive centrepiece. In a couple of locations invasive Japanese knotweed has been identified, and screened off behind fencing prior to someone hopefully coming along and doing something to remove it. Elsewhere the traditional Lower Lea mix of bush and bracken and grass holds sway, ensuring that this wildlife habitat remains appealing to many estuarine species.
The best views come where the treeline breaks, across a broad creek which might be filled by the tide or might, six hours later, be mostly mud. As well as waterfowl you'll see a lot of trains, rattling by to Barking, Upminster or Southend, with the Twelvetrees gasholders rising elegantly in the background. At one point the path nudges fractionally inland to avoid an eroded bank, adding an unnaturally prefabricated slant to proceedings. I noted that a lot of understated remediation work has been going on, for example the ground under foot is scattered with gravel, so this shouldn't become a mudbath in the winter. But don't expect to meet any other walkers along here, not yet, if ever - the most I bumped into was a slightly startled cat.
On the right hand side after the waterworks, or on the left if you're walking the other way, is this blog's favourite secret location. Mill Meads is the site of Channel 4's first Big Brother house, home to Craig and Nick and Brian and Marjorie the chicken, conveniently located for the Three Mills studio where the programme was made. In 2002 the programme moved to Borehamwood and this meadow lay empty, then was sealed off, and has since been used to dump spoil from the Lee Tunnel. The ground's now much higher than before, the ultimate intention being to reopen this as a landscaped public space as part of the Leaway project. For now, however, it looks like a landfill tip infested with scrappy undergrowth, and any physical reacquaintance will have to wait until someone deems the site reborn.
It takes less than ten minutes to reach the other end, turning right where the Prescot Channel flows into the creek. This is where Davina's Bridge used to stand, long gone, and a second unlocked gate allows access where previously there was none. A sturdy track runs up the side of Three Mills Lock, possibly London 2012's biggest infrastructural white elephant, where almost no river traffic passes through the multi-million pound state-of-the-art lock gates. Look through the security fence to see the western end of the Lee Tunnel, resembling a biodome from some dodgy 1980s sci-fi series. Then cross the new bridge to Three Mills Green, a much improved greenspace with a special playground and several artificial ridges. Three Mills itself is beyond, then Tesco, then Bromley-by-Bow station, confirming the usefulness of this abruptly-reopened link. [8 photos]
Other local paths not yet reopened include:
• The narrow path from Three Mills Lock round the watery edge of Three Mills Studios to Three Mills. Also closed in March 2007. I fear it'll never reopen. [map]
• The staircase from the Greenway to Abbey Road, opposite Abbey Mills, closed in 2012. [map]
• Sugarhouse Lane, closed while a massive new IKEA-funded housing estate is built. [map]
• Wick Lane up the eastern edge of Bow Quarter, closed for Crossrail works since 2009, meh. [map]
• The tunnel beneath the Greenway at the end of Blaker Road, sealed in 2007. [map]
• The footpath joining Otter Close to the Greenway, closed 2007. [map]
• The path up the Waterworks River past the allotments into the Olympic Park. [map]
• The Greenway north of Stratford High Street, as discussed. Apparently Crossrail were planning to be finished by Christmas, but then "Thames Water need to carry out strengthening works to the bridge over the Waterworks River (adjacent to Stratford High Street) and therefore this section of the Greenway will remain closed until around the end of July 2018." And that's so far away as to leave me in some kind of frustrated post-Olympic despair. But the example of Abbey Creek shows that sometimes public bodies do keep their promises, even if it takes nine and a half years, and the final result (assuming you haven't died in the interim) can be worth the wait. [map]
This is the view of Heathrow Expansion most commonly offered yesterday by television news. A gaggle of media vans adorned with satellite dishes gathered around Harmondsworth's village green as the government confirmed that Heathrow was their chosen option for an additional runway in the southeast. The village was originally going to be completely consumed beneath the tarmac, before an improved option was proposed nudging the new runway fractionally further south. This reprieves the village green, two pubs, the 12th century parish church and the largest tithe barn in the country. But the new runway will run perilously close to this spot, and houses less than 50 metres away will be demolished as a new northwestern perimeter wipes three quarters of Harmondsworth away.
This view shows precisely where the third runway will be going. It'll be cutting across this field, approximately along the line of poplars, before smashing into what used to be Hatch Lane. From here it'll head due west through the village of Harmondsworth, making a beeline for the primary school and community centre, if you can get your head around the idea of taking off on a foreign trip through what used to be kitchens, living rooms and classrooms. Most of the houses along Hatch Lane have No Third Runway posters in the window, while the lampposts are bedecked with a flurry of Stop Heathrow Expansion posters. Alas yesterday every resident's luck ran out, and not for the first time, although maybe it's better to have your home bought up with compensation than to have to live in decibel hell a few dozen houses up the road.
Every bungalow in Harmondsworth Lane is safe from demolition, but the runway will be scything straight across the field they look out across. It's not that noisy here at present, perhaps surprisingly, because it's much quieter to live parallel to an airport than at either end. But because the plan is to align the third runway as far north as possible within the new Heathrow envelope, with all the taxiways to the south, the screech of engines will then be a lot closer than anyone would like. The field's been farmed for generations, and the owner of Home Farm has no intention of caving in quietly. Everything up to and including the A4 is to be appropriated for airport expansion, including several business parks and hotels along the Great West Road, as a mile and a half of existing infrastructure is displaced.
Nudging the runway slightly south and west has provided a much more beneficial outcome for the village of Sipson. Like Harmondsworth it had been due to disappear, but now its pub and butchers and primary school and hundreds of homes will survive. All except these houses on the western side of Sipson Road, that is, which have to be sacrificed to create the RESA, or Runway End Safety Area. This'll be the overshoot safety zone, running right up into the back gardens of three dozen houses, and swallowing up a small cul-de-sac for good measure. How those living on the opposite side of the road will cope with takeoff roar and landing burn is anyone's guess, but perhaps a Holiday Inn or trading estate will be dropped here instead when local plans are finalised.
On the other side of Harmondsworth, beyond the Duke of Northumberland's River, lies Harmondsworth Moor. It looks very attractive, an expanse of braided streams and woodland, with winding paths, a convenient visitors' car park and a fluttering Green Flag to boot. In reality it's a former landfill site, landscaped and prettified by British Airways twenty years ago for the benefit of the local community, and to build their global HQ. They own an enormous office complex to the south of the site, alongside a serpentine pool called Swan Lake, and all of this will have to be knocked down. A substantial proportion of the 70000 young trees will have to go too, although those on the northern half of the moor should survive, accessed via a new road carving through the Green Belt along the airport perimeter.
The second village to be seriously affected by airport expansion is less well known, and that's Longford. Unlike Harmondsworth it'll be completely eradicated, every last brick and back garden, vanished as completely as was the village of Heath Row during the war. One of the two pubs is Tudor, one of the listed cottages is thatched, and there are several other hints of heritage among the more recent infill. Longford grew up as a linear settlement on the old Bath Road, and its residents must have been delighted when the Colnbrook bypass swept all its traffic away. But now its luck has run out, Third Runway permitting, as the entire village is replaced by two new piers where planes will dock, or rather the aprons upon which they'll park. The roar of engines will be as loud, but nobody will be left to hear.
Just to the west is Moor Bridge, the last patch of moorland before the edge of London, directly opposite the western end of the existing northern runway. It's currently part of the Heathrow Biodiversity Site, a green barrier of moor and meadow along the River Colne, and maintained by the airport because nobody in their right mind would live there. I've been before, and was amazed to find public access to hillocks immediately beneath the flight path. Heathrow's heaviest jets ascend at shallow gradients as they take off, so expect one to fire low above your head within a few minutes of standing here, at least for now. Expansion plans will see this meadow swallowed by taxiways and an internal parking zone, so picnicking plane spotters should visit soon.
The M25 is the Third Runway's greatest engineering challenge. When it was built it carefully skirted the edge of the airport, but sparing Sipson from the bulldozer has shunted the new runway west and the motorway will need to be tunnelled underneath. Not only will this be massively expensive but a fresh network of feeder roads will be required, and routes for drivers around the edge of the airport will become considerably more limited. The upside is thousands of construction jobs, but in the medium term expect a horrific number of closures and diversions while the new multi-lane carriageway is built, there being no obvious alternative roads to take.
Finally here's a look at the western end of Heathrow's proposed Third Runway, which'll be located to the north of the Colnbrook bypass in a large scrappy field currently grazed by horses. Specifically the runway will terminate beside what are now the banks of the Colne Brook, one of the watery threads of the Colne valley, where today a thicket of trees rubs up against the meandering stream. Relocating local rivers is going to be another massive civil engineering task - it has been every time Heathrow's been extended in the past. Approaching along a rarely-used footpath I disturbed a heron who'd been enjoying the silent banks, and also watched a hawk fly off with a small mammal dangling from its claws. If all goes to plan millions of foreign travellers will one day take off right here instead, and never once imagine the natural environment swept away for their convenience.
Back in Harmondsworth, an old lady with a shopping basket stopped to talk to me outside Gable Stores. She looked bemused by the crowds of media assembled on the green, so I told her they were here because a decision had been made on Heathrow expansion. "I've lived here 87 years," she said, "and I don't know any of those people." I tried to explain further, but the words floated past her, and instead she told me I should go and see the Great Barn. I realised with sadness that she didn't understand much of what was going on any more, and that further discussion about Harmondsworth's fate was no longer possible. Her plight matched that of her childhood village - slowly slipping away, deleting, erasing, until barely a memory remains. And that's when the intended impact of the Third Runway really hit home.
1933 Opens to commercial flights
1939 Requisitioned
1938 Airfield opens
1939 Requisitioned
1936 130000 passengers
1939 Requisitioned
1940s
1943 Secretly requisitioned
1946 Opens as London Airport
1946 Reopens
1949 Will not be developed further
1943 Airfield opens
1949 Pencilled in as London's second airport
1946 Reopens, but now second to Heathrow
1943 Cliffe proposed
1950s
1953 Confirmed as London’s 1st airport
1955 First terminal opened
1953 Designated London's 2nd airport
1953 Will not have a second runway
1958 Reopens after renovation
1953 Pencilled in as backup for Gatwick
1952 Civil use resumes
1952 Closure proposed
1959 Closed
1960s
1961 Renamed London (Heathrow)
1966 Renamed Heathrow
1948 14m passengers
1961 Renamed London (Gatwick)
1963 All charter flights transferred from Heathrow
1963 Proposed as London's 3rd airport
1965 Public enquiry begins
1966 Placed under BAA control
1967 Confirmed as London's 3rd airport
1968 Ignored by Roskill Commission
2012 Airports Commission set up to consider additional runway
2015 Heathrow and Gatwick on final shortlist
2016 Government decides
2017 Parliament votes
It's never ideal to close the A1, but sometimes needs must. The railway bridge at Upper Holloway needs replacing, and has done for a while, with weight restrictions looming if nothing were done. TfL are therefore throwing £25m at the problem, and also taking advantage of the closure of the Gospel Oak to Barking line to get things done. The existing bridge will be demolished and replaced over the New Year, and a additional service duct has already been constructed alongside to carry pipes and cables. In the meantime relocating the pipes and cables is proving awkward work, with the result that the Holloway Road will be either partly or fully closed from this weekend until mid-January. This weekend has been one of the full closures, with the knock-on effect of diverting all the usual traffic elsewhere, including five bus routes. Which is where the 563 comes in.
Often it's only when a road is closed that travellers realise how much they rely on it. The Holloway Road is the only road to cross the Overground for almost a mile, so its closure is sending drivers and bus passengers on an awkward lengthy diversion along semi-inappropriate streets. Meanwhile those living along the broken stretch suddenly have no bus service, which isn't ideal. Those to the north of Upper Holloway station can walk to Archway, it's not far, even if it is uphill. But those living to the south are instead being offered a temporary shuttle service down to the Nag's Head where they can catch numerous other buses, and that's the 563. And it's free. And it's secret.
Not completely secret, obviously, because it runs with a notice saying 563 in the window, and because TfL have employed lots of volunteers to stand around at relevant bus stops and funnel people towards it. But quite secret, for reasons we will now discover, because this is yet another post about how a new bus route hasn't quite been adequately introduced.
I didn't see any posters at, or near, Archway tube station, regarding where to go to catch a bus. The bus stop on the corner with St John's Way appears to have been removed, because it's not needed again until January, so there were no clues there. A couple of hi-vis-wearing officials were standing nearby, but their role appeared to be observing and chatting, and they didn't offer any advice. At the last bus stop before the railway bridge a proper pink-clad volunteer was waiting, and she was charming and helpful. To help me on my way she gave me a leaflet, a double-sided full colour leaflet no less, with full details of road closure dates and bus diversions. But although the leaflet mentioned every existing bus and where to catch it, it didn't once mention the 563.
There is a pdf which mentions all the bus diversions and the 563. It's available on TfL's website, on a special page set up to provide information on the Upper Holloway bridge closure. The text on this page doesn't mention the 563 either, nor the fact that a free shuttle bus exists, but it is mentioned on the pdf along with a complete description of the route. And yet the print-out being freely offered to the citizens of Holloway, at this bus stop and several others along its route, is definitively 563-free. I can only presume that either the people who printed it are inept, or the 563 is indeed a secret bus.
There is plenty going on at the railway bridge, you'll be pleased to hear. A number of diggers were in evidence yesterday afternoon, and several men in protective clothing doing stuff, and a rather disturbing-looking tanker from a 'Suction Excavation Hire Service'. All the action was on the station side of the bridge, where the cables and pipes are being relocated, but with the full width required for more awkward manoeuvres. Contractors have been charged with working 24 hours a day to get the job done quicker, with noisier activities restricted to daytime hours. Meanwhile the main A1 road to either side was uncharacteristically silent, with only the occasional car approaching and turning off up a minor sidestreet to take advantage of 'local access'.
The 563 starts at a temporary bus stop to the south of the railway bridge. Being a temporary stop there is no indication of what stops here, nor that what stops here is special, maybe even a little bit secret. Only if you ask the hi-vis volunteers do you find out, or if the bus is actually parked up waiting to depart, which to be fair it is quite a bit of the time. The destination blind says Special Service, and a card saying 563 has been stuck lower down in the window. 563 Upper Holloway & Holloway, Nag's Head, it reads. And it turns out that one of these endpoints may be a lie.
"Free bus," said the driver, chirpily, because it's not every day you get to tell passengers this. He made his announcement to eight separate passengers, which I thought was quite a healthy number for a secret bus going not very far every ten minutes.
We headed off down the hill, stopping at a bus stop labelled "This bus stop is not in use". That's odd, I thought, because the bus stop clearly was in use, just not by its normal buses, only by the secret bus. The volunteer waiting by the bus shelter had a sheaf of leaflets stuffed in her pocket, again the not-quite-helpful kind on which the 563 was never mentioned.
We headed off down the hill, stopping at a bus stop labelled "This bus stop is not in use", opposite another bus stop labelled "This bus stop is not in use" at which another 563 was stopping. That's fairly typical, I thought. A passenger who didn't speak English very well tried to board. She asked whether we stopped at Highbury & Islington, and probably didn't understand that we didn't, but did understand the word 'free', so came for the ride.
We headed off down the hill, stopping at a bus stop which was very much in use, being the first after the diversion. "All change," said the driver, "this bus terminates here." This surprised me, because we hadn't yet reached the Nag's Head, indeed the map on the TfL website shows the 563 going two stops further. But no, the driver was off to turn his bus around alone, and our three minutes on the secret service were over.
Heading northbound the 563 does indeed depart from the Nag's Head bus stop, opposite Selby's department store. But you'd be hard pushed to tell. The 563 doesn't appear on the bus stop flag, nor is a timetable provided, nor does it show up on the appropriate digital webpage. There's also no poster or notice announcing its presence, and the Countdown display is switched off, or at least it was yesterday. Two volunteers were standing around when I was there, but they were talking to each other, and there was no hint to anyone waiting that it might be a good idea to talk to them about potential trouble ahead. When the 563 turned up they made a fuss, but the rest of the time they didn't, which left plenty of people boarding buses that were about to be seriously diverted when this might not have been what they wanted.
I caught one of these other buses back to Archway to see what happened. Tons of people poured off as I boarded, having been warned by an electronic message that a diversion was coming up - perhaps they'd guessed how long it was going to take. We made a good start up Tufnell Park Road, but this is no trunk road, more a residential street lined with parked cars, and progress soon slowed to a crawl. A lot of the problem was buses attempting to pass each other, five times more than usual, and another issue was waiting to filter through the traffic lights at the far end. All in all we took 20 minutes to escape, during which time I could have walked direct from Nag's Head to Archway and beat the bus.
This was on Sunday afternoon, hardly the busiest time of the week, so you can imagine how grim this week's rush hours might be. The Upper Holloway Bridge is closed all this week, then next weekend and two weekends in November, then all the way from Christmas to mid-January, and the remainder of the time open northbound only, It's not ideal, but it's got to be done, and the end result will be a bridge which should stand for 120 years. In the meantime TfL are running a marvellous free community service - a digitally invisible secret bus running up and down a silent road stopping at bus stops that are supposedly not in use and terminating early. Another triumph.
Nobody is here to see the Understudy. The audience has paid to see the stars.
Two great shining stars, two leading lights of screen and stage - they sold out all the seats. One's a much loved knight of the realm, a character in that series of films everyone likes, and that other series of films everyone likes, and a national treasure to boot. The other's a much loved knight of the realm, another character in that series of films everyone likes, and world renowned from that TV show even more people like. The opportunity to see the pair together on the West End stage proved unmissable, as sales swiftly proved, and tickets waved at the ushers tonight were snapped up back in March.
An usher stands out front as the bearer of bad news. One of the lead actors will not be appearing in today's performance, doctor's orders, he needs to rest his voice. This is ghastly news. The entire point of the evening was to see the two gentleman friends engaged in verbal sparring, to enjoy the frisson as they stared at one another on the boards, to say you'd been there when they did. How annoying to realise that you'll be missing out, whereas the audience who came last night got the real deal. One of the main voices might have been raspy, but what does that matter when both were there, whereas tonight's cast list has a gaping hole.
But the name was indistinct - which one did they say? Which one would it be better to lose, assuming it were necessary to make the choice? Better to lose the slightly older knight, with his twinkly eyes and decades of experience, or better to lose the slightly younger knight, with his wicked grin and decades of experience? It matters not, the question is moot. Everybody paid up front to see the pair, and that coupling is broken, and oh bugger did you see how much the tickets cost?
The arriving audience can already guess what the terms and conditions will say. They'll say "Ha! Like it or lump it, we've got your money. You paid to see the play, and the play will be performed. Ha!" In fact they say "We reserve the right to make alterations to the advertised time, programme and cast as a result of circumstances beyond our control." Tonight only the cast has been altered, and it matters not that the cast is the only reason everyone's here.
A hastily-printed sign beside the box office window reveals the name missing of the missing knight, and less importantly who's been substituted instead. "Tonight the part of..." it says, confirming one of your two worst fears and crushing your soul. Then underneath it continues "...will be played by Somebody You've Never Heard Of". Googling him might prove informative, perhaps even reassuring, but his name is very common, and the theatre appears to have done a damned fine job of shutting down 4G within its walls.
Fork out extra and there he is in the programme... the Understudy. Normally nobody reads his biography, they don't care, scanning straight past from the lead actors to the production notes, and umpteen colour adverts for other productions with famous names to tempt you later. But tonight the Understudy's brief column is suddenly important; ten years with the Royal Shakespeare Company, stood in as Gandalf at the Theatre Royal, won a Manchester Evening News Best Actor Award, last theatrical work White Christmas at the West Yorkshire Playhouse. All admirable stuff, but with a gaping hole where 'Famous Person' ought to be.
The audience gather in their seats, perhaps more subdued than usual. They are an especially Home Counties crowd, not office workers at the end of their day, and older rather than younger, not the fantasy-loving demographic you might have expected to flock in given the cast. Meanwhile somewhere out back, in a star dressing room to which he is unaccustomed, the Understudy waits for curtain up. He knows the audience hasn't come to see him, he knows they wish he wasn't there, but his job is to step up and do the play full justice because that's the insurance policy he represents.
First out onto the stage is the non-absent knight, inhabiting his somewhat creepy character with award-winning fervour. Only after a good five minutes of monologue does the Understudy fling open the door and join him. How much the audience's hearts might have leapt to see the spark between the actors at this point, and to revel in their partnership on stage. How marvellous it would have been, from this point on, to feel the buzz of being in the actual same room as two actual big names. But not tonight. It soon becomes evident that the Understudy is indeed a fine performer, delivering his part flawlessly and with aplomb, but he is not The Missing One.
The play is not especially engaging, unless you like this kind of thing. It boasts little in the way of plot, and is more a stitching together of circular conversations and verbal power play. One man may not be who he says he is, another drinks to forget, and two additional background characters occasionally muddy the waters. Described by some as a comedy of menace, the narrative earns only a handful of laughs. It's everything you expect from the playwright, everything and more, but his work wouldn't be your top choice for a dramatic night out were it not for the actors inhabiting his roles.
The cliffhanger ending to the first half comes as some relief. Most of the audience shuffle off to stretch their legs or for refreshment, returning with tiny ice creams and plastic goblets of champagne. Many open up their phones in case they've got a signal, or open up their programmes to read about the man they hadn't come to see. A few dare to ask one another what might have been going on. Another famous Shakespearean actor is spotted in the stalls, tall and beaming, and moving around the auditorium to chat to family and acquaintances.
The second half begins with twenty minutes of actual plot. A dash of drunken misunderstanding allows the two lead characters to enter a lengthy verbal joust, riffing off one another in an ever-increasing sequence of fabulous tales and unlikely anecdotes. Had Knight One and Knight Two been here this would have been the highpoint of the evening, with wicked grins and knowing looks, but the couple on stage have no such shared backstory. They're both excellent, firing out the lines with emotion and not a word out of place, but our Night To Remember has not materialised.
The narrative darkens as the play nears its conclusion, perhaps a commentary on withdrawal, perhaps a paean to reclusivity. The curtain call comes swiftly, and a round of much deserved applause is proffered. Secondary Character One slaps the Understudy on the back as recognition of a job well done, and then The Knight Who Is Not Sick signals for hush. He emphasises how heartbroken his old friend is not to be here, and offers a heartwarming tribute to the Understudy for stepping in and smashing the part. The audience applaud all the louder, but not as loudly as if he had not been here.
They have been watching The Play With Only One Famous Person, whereas they'd paid for two. They had anticipated an unforgettable experience, whereas what they ended up with was simply drama. They have become victims of a West End beholden to the Star Name, where fame sells tickets, and the supporting cast are merely filler. The Understudy did everything expected of him, and more, with long hours spent memorising every line bearing forth great fruit. But in doing so he revealed the audience as celebrity-obsessed philistines, come to watch a play they had no interest in, and mistakenly focusing their disappointment on the man who filled the gap.
Nobody ever comes to see the Understudy. The modern West End audience pays to see the stars.
Time for another irregular reminder that you're wasting your time sending me PR emails and marketing invites.
Here are four recent misfires.
Happy Friday!
I wondered if you would be interested coming to a great launch event we’re hosting on Thursday 20th October?
No Maria, I never attend shallow promotional shindigs. But do continue.
This week we are officially announcing the return of the iconic <lager brand> beer following a 13-year hibernation. <Lager brand> beer is returning to the UK with a brand new and refined product, look, and taste. The new <lager brand> is slow brewed using a 100% authentic Bavarian method which complies with a 500-year-old German Purity Law.
So you're launching a lager that isn't <lager brand>, because that was essentially piss on tap, but calling it <lager brand> in attempt to gain leverage with the national psyche? Go on.
No longer the beer of its past- <lager brand>’s commitment to this ancient law means that their pints will only ever include three simple ingredients. Based on the edge of <forest> Forest, one of Germany’s largest continuous areas of woodland and a biologically unique reservoir, <lager brand>’s brewery draws exceptionally pure water through their own well, as well as using locally grown barley from the private Malthouse based onsite, and hops from the world-famous <never heard of it> region. Additive-free, nutritionally sound, genuinely Bavarian beer? Sounds just lovely, right?
No, sounds like an excess of buzzwords linked together into one of the least impressive paragraphs I've ever read.
It’s a great story, so let me know if this might work for you ahead of the launch, and I can send you over the press release, images, and any other details you may need.
Alas Maria's 'great story' didn't work for me, so her lager launch went unreported.
Hi Dimond Geezer,
Spelling my name wrong is never a good start, Aneesha.
I am reaching out in regards to an opportunity with <rental company>, an international travel brand. I'd like to know if you would be interested in collaborating on a piece of content entitled Hidden Secrets of London?
As opposed to Unhidden Secrets, presumably.
Secrets of London will be shared to all of <rental company>'s 50,000 members and 200,000 newsletter subscribers and all of <rental company>'s social media channels, so hopefully we can provide new exposure to Courageously Free Travels.
Sorry what? I'm afraid I spurned Aneesha's easy advances.
Hi there,
Hope you’re good! I’m currently working with a new cultural space in London, named <windswept jetty>. This October, <windswept jetty> are hosting 4 avant-garde dating events, curated by <dating company>. On <windswept jetty>, participants are invited to explore the ideas of intimacy, gender, touch and connection.
This might be up your street, Siobhan. It is very much not up mine.
The concept of dating in this way challenges the use of Tinder, Bumble, Grindr, Happn etc, as the workshop encourages people to develop connections with others, and not a profile picture. I think this sort of event is quite unique, and think it would make for a great preview piece.
Seriously, only 'quite unique'?
Would this be possible with Diamond Geezer Blog? Please let me know your thoughts, it’d be great to bounce some ideas around.
I relayed my thoughts, namely that this was of no interest to anyone, and Siobhan bounced back.
Thanks for the feedback!
Have a great day.
And finally here's another Siobhan, with an offer many <sport> fans would have killed for.
Hello,
Siobhan here from the press office of <World famous sports ground>, hope you are well. I wanted to get in touch to invite you to a preview event taking place at <World famous sports ground> to celebrate the upcoming final of the <sporting event>.
You have a cup final you haven't sold enough tickets for, haven't you Siobhan?
The event will include an ‘Introduction to <sport>’ session with former England <sport> international <Famous Sportsman> and a chance to chat to him about the upcoming final. Don’t worry if you’re not a huge <sport> fan, enjoy the surroundings of the Academy in one of London’s most famous sporting landmarks as <Famous Sportsman> shares his <sporting> hints and tips.
The line which really rankled was 'Don't worry if you're not a fan'. I'm no fan, in any way, but I was being offered a Holy Grail experience in return for publicity.
After this, you will be treated to a behind the scenes tour of the prestigious <World famous sports ground>. Dating back to <a long time ago>, <World famous sports ground> is the Home of <Sport> and is steeped in sporting and cultural history – you might even be treated to an anecdote or two from <Famous Sportsman> on the way! The evening will then wrap up with some refreshment in <iconic> bar located within the Grounds allowing you a chance to relax in the surrounding of <World famous sports ground>.
I'll go instead of you, said BestMate, who's a big <sport> fan. But we decided best not, it only encourages them.
So please don't waste your time sending me your marketing missives, no matter how marvellous you think they might be, because they'll never make it onto the blog. Except for us to ridicule, that is...
Route 563: Upper Holloway - Holloway
