1) Bloody Yahoo! They bought Flickr. Everyone moaned. They told all the users they'd have to sign up using a Yahoo! ID. Everyone moaned louder. And now the deadline for signing up is nigh. It's next Tuesday. So I bit the bullet and switched over. And then they sent me this email.
Hi diamond geezer! This is just a little note to remind you that your diamond geezer Flickr account has been merged in to your Yahoo! account. You will need to sign in to Flickr via Yahoo! with your Yahoo! ID from now on. Thanks, and we hope you enjoy the sign-on-to-everything-in-one-place goodness! The Flickreenies
How bloody patronising is that? I've had to log in twice during the last 12 hours, whereas I only had to log in once during the previous 2 years. I feel unclean and exploited. My contempt for the Yahoo! brand has significantly increased. Bloody Yahoo!!
3) Bloody Thames Water. I have a water meter which they claim to know nothing about, so they need to send somebody round to check that it exists. I told them this 4 weeks ago. They sent a meter reader round earlier this week, while I was at work, without telling me. The meter reader poked a brief handwritten note through my letterbox asking me to ring up to make an appointment. I rang Thames Water to make an appointment, but they told me they couldn't do that. They could only pass on my telephone number to their metering department. And nobody from their metering department has yet rung me to arrange an appointment. My water bill is therefore four times greater than it needs to be. Bloody Thames Water!
4) Bloody Tesco. I went shopping at my local supermarket yesterday and walked out carrying four of their new biodegradable carrier bags. On the way home one of the bags' handles suddenly stretched and broke, spilling my shopping all across the floor. I had to struggle home using one bag fewer, and then discovered that my four pint carton of milk had sprung a leak leaving white puddles on my kitchen floor. Bloody saving the planet. Bloody Tesco!
5) Bloody Google. They're suddenly sending loads of visitors my way looking for pictures that aren't here. It's because I sometimes link to pictures on my blog. I don't hotlink the jpgs so that they steal bandwidth, I just link to them. But Google's incompetent search engine mistakenly believes that these images appear on my blog, and tags them completely wrong, and then redirects people here to view "the image in its original context". These people don't find what they're looking for, but Google insists on sending them to my page anyway. I don't want this endless stream of misdirected visitors, and they don't want to be here either. Surely it's not rocket science to write an Image Search algorithm that actually works. Bloody Google!
6) Bloody moaning bloggers. Bloody cynical pessimistic grumblers, always seeing the negative in everything. Why can't they just cheer up and write about the good things in life? Sigh.
The government announced yesterday that the cost of hosting the 2012 Olympics has soared to £9.3bn. Or rather it turns out that the initial estimate of £2.4bn was very wrong, and this new estimate is much more realistic. But if you look at how this £9.3bn is broken down, you'll see that the cost of actually putting on the Olympics (£3.1bn) hasn't gone up much. It's all the associated expenditure which is having a financial impact.
£3.1bn Site construction (all the various stadia and stuff) [47%] £1.7bn Regeneration and infrastructure (Stratford's a contaminated dump) [26%] £0.8bn Olympic Delivery Authority tax bill (Gordon has to take his cut) [13%] £0.6bn Extra security (because it only takes one nutter...) [9%] £0.4bn Non-ODA provision (whatever that is) [6%] Expected Total = £6.6bn
+£2.7bn Programme contingency (because things always cost more) [+40% of the above] Potential Total = £9.3bn
Yes, £9.3bn is a lot of money. It's £155 for every man, woman and child in the country. It's £1.25 each every week until the Opening Ceremony. But it's still a lot cheaper than buying a daily paper, or watching Sky TV, or going to the pub once a month, or feeding a dog, so it's not that terrible. Because, whatever people might hope, investment in the future doesn't come for free. And, believe me, those of us who live around the spot where London's three most deprived boroughs meet, we'll be eternally grateful.
You know how wonderful it is that mobile phones don't work on the Underground? The fact that you can hide away on a train where the office can't ring you? The fact that you don't have to listen to everyone else in your carriage droning on and on to their mates while you're fifty feet under? Well, that peace and quiet is about to end. TfL have just announced a six month trial of "mobile phone technology services" on the Waterloo & City line, starting in April next year. Passengers will be able to use their phones on the platforms at Bank and Waterloo, and also on trains in the tunnel between the two stations. The W&C isn't London's most popular tube line, so the majority of commuters will be able to avoid this temporary electromagnetic intrusion. But if the trial is successful the technology could be introduced across the entire underground network by mid 2009. And then there'll be no escape. Make the most of being incommunicado while the silence lasts.
Since 1985 Comic Relief has raised more than £425 million in its mission to help end global poverty and social injustice, and today is the eleventh Red Nose Day. I'm proud to say that I own the complete set of eleven smelly / colour-changing / squeaky / hairy / etc red noses, which means I've forked out a total of £11 on nasal dressing since all this began. But for less than £11 I could have waited until today and bought myself a copy of Shaggy Blog Stories instead. This collected volume of 100 "amusing tales from the UK blogosphere" has been compiled in one week flat by mike over at troubled diva, and is now available for online purchase. It may not look as good on your nose as a blob of red foam, but it's guaranteed to be a lot more entertaining.
25,000,000: If you own a camera and have ever been to London, you've probably taken a photograph of the London Eye. In fact, you've probably taken several. Some from a distance, some from underneath, and some from the pod at the very top looking down on all the grinning people in the capsule just beneath you. The London Eye is a magnet for megapixels. It's almost impossible to walk past without whipping out your camera and snapping a shot or three. Indeed a significant proportion of your hard drive or mobile phone memory may be taken up with digitised images of this revolutionary London icon. Today there's an opportunity to unload some of your favourite London Eye photographs onto the attraction's website, and it's all thanks to an imminent visitor milestone.
Very soon, probably at some point during the next seven days, the London Eye will welcome its twenty-five millionth passenger. That's an impressive total, approximately equal to one thousand visitors for every hour that this giant observational wheel has been open to the public. 25 million is of course a very important milestone, and therefore well worth celebrating with a PR-inspired competition. So yesterday the Eye's owners invited a handful of media types and bloggers along for a free ride on the Eye and a glass of bubbly, just in case any of us should choose to publicise the contest on their behalf. What are the chances, eh?
It was interesting to watch what happens when a dozen or so 'photographers' are locked inside a pod on the London Eye for half an hour. Unlike normal tourists, who spend all their time taking photographs of one another with Big Ben in the background, we spent most of our time attempting to take artyshots instead. Three things made this easier than normal. Firstly our flight was timed perfectly for sunset, so bright skies dimmed imperceptibly to pinky-blue darkness as the 30 minute revolution passed. Secondly the Eye is currently bathed in soft red illumination in honour of Comic Relief on Friday, so the spoked metalwork glowed in perfect contrast to the twilight sky. And thirdly there were no tourists or small children getting in the way of all the best shots, so everyone moved around the capsule with appropriate care and deference for one another's line of sight. It was almost too simple.
After our flight we were whisked off into a sideroom at County Hall to meet with some of the Eye's staff and upload a few of the photos that we'd taken. This was, no doubt, a cunning ploy to make sure that the competition gallery has a variety of images already loaded when it launches officially this afternoon. Sorry, but if it's still Thursday morning you won't yet be able to access the competition website, nor view the 4 slightly random photos I uploaded. Once the official site is up and running you'll be allowed to enter up to ten photographs altogether, each of which must be in some way Eye-related. There's a registration form to fill in first, and some terms and conditions about copyright which one of the more professional photographers present last night didn't seem too happy about. I've stuck my ten chosen photos onto flickr while I wait for the Eye's site to emerge. [5pm update: it's emerged!]
The 25 million competition is open for the next month, after which the best picture will win some photography equipment and a year long ticket to various Tussauds attractions (that's Alton Towers as well as the waxworks, before you sound too disappointed). You almost certainly won't win, but it's a good way to bring your photographic skills to a wider audience. And one of the best things about the competition is that you don't need to fork out £14.50 for a flight on the Eye in order to enter. You can take perfectly good photographs of the Eye for free from a distance or from underneath, without needing to take any from the pod at the very top. In fact, if you have a hunt around on your hard drive you'll probably find that you've already got at least ten photos of the Eye which you could enter immediately. Very few world-class attractions can boast such universal popularity.
How to generate a bit of PR out of nothing... • First, check your visitor statistics and watch for an approaching milestone. • Pretend that this milestone is somehow important. • Assemble an inexpensive collection of related digital data. • Launch this collection with a splash when the milestone is reached. • Network with key stakeholders in the hope that their feedback may generate more interest. • As well as the larger players, include smaller sites in an attempt to increase your outreach. • Sit back and watch visitor numbers increase. • Wait patiently for visitor numbers to approach next milestone. • Repeat.
2/3: Today, probably sometime around lunchtime, diamond geezer will receive its two-thirds-of-a-millionth visitor. Actually that's not quite true, because it's impossible to make two thirds of a visit to a website, but the fractional milestone will be reached somewhere between the 666,666th and 666,667th arrivals. Maybe it'll be you, or maybe it'll be yet another passing Googler searching for a photograph that isn't here. Believe me when I say it's almost too exciting for words.
All of which can only mean that it's time once again for an update of my regular 'league table' of top linking blogs, ordered by volume of visitors clicking here from there. I've also provided added value by including the 'highest climbers' since my last update back in August. Remember, this is important stuff, and not just a meaningless rank ordering devised for self-publicity purposes.
Thank you all for linking, because every click-through is appreciated. Go on, go check out a few of the above blogs and return the favour. And, fingers crossed, I'll see you all back here for the three-quarter million.
Welcome to THIRD LIFE, part of the new diamond geezer internet experience. Third Life is a 3D Online Digital World imagined, created and owned by its residents. Membership is free.
Third Life residents create avatars to represent the physical manifestation of their online personality. These avatars wander the virtual world and chat via text-based communication in localised public conversations. You can sample this innovative dialogue interface for free in the GeezerVille microworld below.
Third Life offers a whole digital continent to explore, teeming with characters to meet, locations to investigate and opportunities to experience. Third Life is not (repeat not) a sad virtual reality simulation populated by geeks, introverts and social outcasts, nor a cynical marketing exercise designed to encourage users to part with their money in exchange for shiny non-existent trinkets.
Third Life is your world. Use your imagination and open your mind to opportunity. We look forward to interacting with you.
Commonwealth Day quiz: As all good loyal subjects of Her Most Royal Majesty Queen Elizabeth will be aware, today is the second Monday in March and therefore CommonwealthDay. Just in case you don't have your own celebration of international diversity planned, why not join in with today's special quiz. Here are anagram clues to 26 of the countries of the Commonwealth. How many can you identify?
A) aim law B) he loots C) I regain D) ay salami E) swan boat F) moon race G) mad lives H) ink pasta I) anal risk
J) absorb ad K) sandal wiz L) spa region M) lariat USA N) I suit arum O) sly leeches P) bag handles Q) Zane Wandle R) silica aunt
S) release iron T) haircut sofa U) a mob quiz me V) mandolins solos W) nodding emu kit X) new iguana pupae Y) abroad and dittoing Z) kids invent satanist
(Answers in the comments box)
n.b. Don't bother celebrating Commonwealth Day by visiting the Commonwealth Institute in Kensington. It's closed, and has been for a decade, while a battle rages about the building's future. Everyone agrees that this copper-topped brick pavilion is one of the most important post-war buildings in the capital - everyone, that is, except for the charity Trust who own it. They'd rather sell the place for redevelopment "to realise the full value locked up in the site", and nearly won the support of the Government to do so. Thankfully, at present, the building appears to have been given a reprieve. In the meantime, those interested in finding out more about the cultural diversity of nations should visit the British Empire and Commonwealth Museum in Bristol instead.
The Ultimate journey of life, the universe and everything
Bus 42: Liverpool Street - Denmark Hill Location: London south, inner Length of journey: 4 miles, 50 minutes
London's ultimate bus journey of life, the universe and everything begins in Worship Street, just to the north of Liverpool Street station. This lowly sideroad marks the precise boundary between the wealthy City of London and the rather needier borough of Hackney. On the rich side is one of London's biggest building sites, upon which the 35 storey BroadgateTower is being constructed. At the moment all you can see is a giant concrete shell surrounded by cranes, looming down over the railway tracks buried beneath, but when finished next year it'll be the third tallest building in the City, visible for miles around as a shiny glassy spike. The first number 42 bus stop is sited, more appropriately, on the poor side of the street. Here, outside a walled-off 5-a-side-football centre, stands a lonely bus shelter where almost nobody ever waits. I was the exception. The driver gave me a very strange look as I boarded, as if somehow unprepared for company so early in the route. And so we set off somewhat uncomfortably, across the girder-topped rail bridge, turning right into prosperity.
The 42 is an ugly bus, both inside and outside - a boxy single decker with almost no character whatsoever. The seat covers are a nasty combination of blue, pink and purple, and far too many of them face backwards. This proved unfortunate when a particularly large woman in a woolly hat climbed aboard and wedged herself in beside me, ignoring at least 6 empty rear-facing double seats. I breathed in and prayed for rapid deliverance. The bus creaked and rattled its way along the eastern edge of the City, all of its plastic fixtures vibrating as we orbited the oversized roundabout at Aldgate.
And then what should be the true highlight of the journey - the crossing of Tower Bridge. Unfortunately the worst place to view the bridge is from a passing single decker bus. You get a decent side view of the Tower itself as you go by, but alas the gothic towers of the Victorian bridge are completely hidden behind the vehicle's broad red roof. Your only hope of seeing Tower Bridge properly is if the central piers have been raised to let through some tall ship, in which case the 42 is diverted over neighbouring London Bridge from where the riverside panorama is rather more impressive.
And so down Tower Bridge Road into Bermondsey, the affluence of the City instantly forgotten. A photocopied sign in the window of a new yellow-striped building reveals that its grand opening by Jade Goody has been unceremoniously cancelled. An unassuming plaque on a very ordinary brick wall reveals that a block of council estate flats has been erected on the site of 11th century Bermondsey Abbey. The famous New CaledonianAntiques Market breathes commercial life into the area, but only on Friday mornings. And there was worse to come. As we entered the Old Kent Road our driver suddenly bolted from his cab and escaped onto the pavement rather than continue any further. It took several minutes for his replacement to emerge, shut the doors and continue our journey southward.
The AylesburyEstate is one of the largest housing estates in Europe, and also one of the poorest. The 42 heads straight through the middle, down a bleak concrete canyon lined by long narrow blocks of flats. A decade ago Tony Blair came to this run-down social backwater to make his first speech as Prime Minister. He pledged to fight for a brighter future, for Britain as a whole and the Aylesbury in particular. But that fresh start is hard to spot today. A few colourful backlit signs have been erected bearing uplifting messages ("Do Magic!" "Nobody Is Not Loved!" "Yeah Yeah Yippee Yippee Yeah!") but very few of the original blocks and walkways have yet been torn down to be replaced by something better. The area is very badly connected, shunned by every railway line in south London, and the 42 provides one of the few lifelines for escape.
The daffodils are blooming in Burgess Park, along the concreted canal and behind the boarded-up pub. Further down the road Camberwell Green is even less welcoming, once a village green, now a meeting place for yobs and massed pigeons. But things pick up a little, past the shops and a pair of hospitals, as the bus slowly empties and climbs the gentle slopes of Denmark Hill. Here at last is recognisable suburbia, complete with tree-lined avenues and a giant Wetherspoons.
The 42 turns left and drops down into a valley of slightly twee cottages. This is Sunray Avenue, at the junction with Casino Avenue, where this service terminates. I was ejected into an environment unlike any other along the journey, if only for its wholesome ordinariness. Three lads alighting in front of me decided to ride down the street in a discarded supermarket trolley before abandoning it in the gutter, blocking the path of the departing bus. A pit bull with a large stick in its mouth padded slowly home along the pavement in front of its ageing owner. It started raining, quite heavily. As I headed rapidly for the nearest bus shelter I wondered what my ride on the 42 had taught me about life, the universe and everything. Nothing special, I guess. Mostly harmless.
I have entered another world. It's an environment wholly unfamiliar to the majority of Londoners. It's something experienced by few under the age of 60. It's Friday lunchtime in a Norfolk village pub.
From inside you might think you were standing in a genuine ye olde public house. There are rows of gnarled wooden beams running across the ceiling, with brass tankards hanging at regular intervals along their length. China plates and watercolour prints adorn the walls, while iron-framed lamps flicker silently beside the old oak fireplace. But look more carefully. The half-timbered ceiling is a fake, the walls are far too straight, the fire is gas-powered, and the flames in the lanterns are actually oscillating electric filaments. In reality the pub is a rectangular brick extension bolted onto a tiny Victorian cottage, bought out by a national brewery chain serving gassy beer and non-real ales. But it's still the beating heart of the village.
From all across the surrounding area they come - ladies who lunch and their associated husbands. Some are here to fill their time. They sit in married pairs, communicating infrequently as they pick and chew their way through a shared salad. Others are here to ease their loneliness. They sit in larger groups, smiling and nodding, helping to blot out the fact that there's nobody left to talk to back home. Some have had their hair permed especially for the occasion, others have pulled on a wig and hoped that nobody else will notice the difference. These are the rural retired, splashing out their company pensions over a mild chicken curry and a slice of lemon cheesecake.
And every Friday lunchtime is different. Every week a different selection of almost-gourmet "specials" is chalked up on the board to augment the regular set menu. There's nothing too extreme, nothing too foreign, just wholesome English food with a slightly superior twist. Hotpot still beats noodles, and steak and ale pie still trumps enchiladas. Everything comes with chips or jacket potatoes, accompanied by a small silver tray of seasonal steamed vegetables. Wash it all down with a bottled fruit juice (or a nice cup of non-frothy coffee) and you have the perfect recipe for an unhurried social event.
For those of us who spend our weekdays working in the city, this is the noonday rural world we never see. While we're grabbing a quick sandwich to gulp down at our desks, the grey haired and the retired are busy spending their time (and our inheritance) on cosy two-hour two-course banquets. From what I saw yesterday, it doesn't seem a bad way to live out one's twilight lunchtimes. I just hope that I retain good enough health and a decent enough pension to join the pampered delights of the over-70s pub lunch club one day. Mine's a mixed grill and chocolate tart, thanks.
When a birthday comes around, thoughts often turn either to fun, excitement and frivolity or instead to destiny, opportunity and mortality. This year however, at the age of 42, I find myself pondering on the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything. I'm in deep thought, I am.
At least this'll give me something meaningful to contemplate on the train up to Norfolk this morning, as I head out east for a double birthday celebration with my Mum. There may not be Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters but there should at least be plenty of cake. Life's pretty good really, all told. Don't panic.
Life is always a game of two parts. There's the part you've lived through, leading up to now, and then there's the part you have yet to live through. To start with the second part is longer than the first part. You've experienced a bit of life, but there's so much more yet to come. Later on the first part is longer than the second part. You've experienced most of life, and there's not so much still to go. Only once is the first part equal in length to the second part, and you never know precisely when that moment occurs at the time. Official UK statistics suggest that, for the average UK male born 42 years ago, this moment occurs just before your 42nd birthday. Damn.
not born yet
LI
FE
dead
But human existence continues beyond the two extremes of your life. Time divides up into three sections. There's the bit before you were born - the bit you never experienced but can always find out about. Then there's your alloted life span - the bit you've already experienced plus the bit you have yet to experience. And then there's the bit after you die - the bit you will never experience and will never find out about. Which is a shame. You may discover what your great great great grandmother got up to, but you can never know how your great great great great grandchildren will turn out.
not born yet
dead
But time is vast beyond comprehension in comparison to our lifespan. Billions of years had passed before the moment we breathed our first, and billions more will pass after we've gasped our last. Our lives are wholly insignificant on a universal scale, nothing more than a heartbeat in a vast expanse of forever. You may think that it's a long time until the weekend begins, whereas that's absolutely no time at all when compared to eternity. It's far too easy to be oblivious of the extended past and to completely ignore the longer term future.
not born yet
d
But what if that longer term future turns out to be much shorter than we imagine? It might well be. Human society is geared up to live for today rather than make sacrifices for our descendants. Our oil supplies might run out before the century is over, but we'd still rather devour the lot rather than abandon our wasteful consumer lifestyles. Nuclear power might bring us a short term energy solution, but we'll happily leave scores of future generations to mop up the mess. Global warming might eventually make our planet uninhabitable, but why bother attempting to halt it when we'll not be around to notice? We're too busy squandering the world's resources to care about sharing them with those who follow us. If we're not careful, we may be the last generation to imagine that humanity has a future. Maybe the period after our deaths will be measured in years, not billions of years. Maybe our lifetime, right now, is as good as it gets.
not born yet
dead
But I like to think that the future could be rather brighter. There may be a golden age ahead, complete with hovercars, interstellar travel and eternal harmony. It's just possible that humanity might not make a complete mess of things, so long as we can all stop thinking only about 'now' and start concentrating a bit more on 'later'. We need to face up to the consequences of our wastefulness and become considerably less selfish on a global scale. Those yet to be born will surely thank us for it. Even if we can never live long enough to discover how everything turns out.
1) Buy new mobile phone to replace malfunctioning 2½ year old anachronism (without buying function-excessive, battery-deficient, teenage-targeted model) 2) Persuade Thames Water that, despite what they think, I do indeed have a water meter and would like to use it to pay all my future bills (rather than them forcing me to pay a flat rate equivalent to a family of five with a dishwasher each) 3)Wash up 4) Find a new source of disposable contact lenses which doesn't involve returning to my previous optician (who's 50 miles away and has recently been taken over by East Anglia's least competent local business) 5)Acquire Calvin Harris single Acceptable In The 80s to adore and to cherish 6) Tidy up my dining table so that I could actually make room for a dinner plate on it 7) Rescue my salt cellar (which I've had for 25 years) from the narrow deep inaccessible canyon behind my oven (where it fell last week and lodged behind some pipes) 8)Finish replying to email I started replying to on Sunday 9)Reply to unexpected email from fellow blogger 10)Ignore accumulated backlog of stacked-up emails on the basis that they don't really need replying to 11) Dispose of unwanted large chunky computer monitor (superseded by modern flat-screen model) 12)Acquire pack of rewriteable CDs which my laptop actually recognises and doesn't spit out in disgust (for back-up purposes) 13)Complete next Time Out article (which I've started twice so far but haven't managed to finish) 14) Buy new office-type chair (because every office-type chair I ever buy always breaks) 15) Hoover that corner behind the bathroom door (the door I never close, and therefore never see that the corner behind it needs hoovering) 16) Recycle excessive pile of plastic carrier bags stashed behind door in kitchen 17)Pay in two cheques at bank (how very 20th century) 18)Post birthday card to parent 19)Buy train ticket for tomorrow 20)Write To Do list
I am the first person off the platform. I am the Underground expert. I always travel in exactly the right carriage, beside exactly the right door, to leap off the train at exactly the right point. I lead the commuter charge off the platform and up the staircase. I know there are scores of passengers pouring off the train behind me, but I never look back, never give them any advantage. The passageway ahead of me is clear. The passageway ahead is mine. I am the King of the Tube.
I am the second person off the platform. Who is that jerk in front of me? I too always travel in exactly the right carriage, beside exactly the right door, to leap off the train at exactly the right point. But today, somehow, he's got in front of me and all I can see is his departing backside. How dare he? But I'll be first tomorrow, you see if I'm not.
I am the third person off the platform. I'm late! And I'm in a hurry! Come on, I've got to be in work in three minutes time, and I'm never going to make it! So I'm going to run up these steps like a man possessed, weaving deftly round those two interlopers ahead of me. Get out of my way! If I can overtake them both I might still be out of the station first. Cha-aarge!
We are the ninth and tenth people off the platform. We're in no hurry, no hurry at all. Have you seen this story in today's Metro? Have you finished the sudoku yet? We're going to carry on reading as we walk, slowly, steadily, oblivious to all around us. Why rush? It's only work we're all going to, after all.
I am the eleventh person off the platform. I may have charged off the train really fast, but there's no rushing any more. The slowcoaches in front of me are impeding the crowd's departure, down to a steady crawl, and there's no squeezing past. It's more like being in a queue now, patiently making forward progress, one amongst many. This morning rush is no longer any rush at all.
We are the twenty-eighth and twenty-ninth people off the platform. Ooh, that was lucky. What are the chances of two tourists accidentally being in exactly the right carriage near exactly the right door? Very fortunate indeed. Hang on, let's just stop and work out which way we're going next. Ah yes, over here, probably. It's a bit crowded around here at the moment isn't it? Maybe we should have picked a quieter time to try to get to the airport. But hey, we're still going to to shuffle slowly up the middle of the staircase, lifting our enormous luggage up one step at a time. Why can't people look where they're going and stop tripping over our big wheelie suitcases? Why is everyone else intent on knocking us over as they attempt to struggle by?
I am the thirtieth person off the platform. Damn and blast. There I was making good progress towards the exit when these two inconsiderate tourists appeared and totally blocked the passage in front of me. Do they have no idea of timing? It's the height of the bloody rush hour for heavens sake. I suppose I could try glaring at them, but they're probably too busy gawping hopelessly at a tube map and wittering in foreign. Grrr.
I am the one hundred and ninety-third person off the platform. Sigh. It's taken me two minutes to shuffle along this platform behind a seething throng of bobbing heads. Looks like I was in exactly the wrong carriage, beside exactly the wrong door, at exactly the wrong end of the train. One day I'll learn and plan ahead, and position myself somewhere more sensible in advance. But can you hear that? It sounds like another train is rushing into the station behind me, ready to empty another load of human cargo onto the platform. By the time I reach the top of the steps I bet there'll be another crowd of eager commuters snapping at my heels, racing for the exit. Well, they'll just have to wait.
I note, with a mixture of fascination and dismay, that today's almost effort-free post about crisppacketcolours has attracted more visitors to this blog (and also more comments) than I've had on any other day since January, back when I was pretending to be dead.
geezer stays in...
because nobody goes out on a Monday night
That's probably quite enough of going out and being vaguely sociable for the time being. I don't want to overdo it yet, just to ease myself gently back into the social mainstream. And anyway, you don't want this blog to become an endless series of reports about what I got up to yesterday, because that could get rather too introspective and less than interesting. Nice generic posts about stuff we all have in common, that's what you like best. Writing about television, or music, or Trafalgar Square, or why different crisp manufacturers can't agree to use the same colour for certain key flavours. These are the topics that engage and encourage feedback. This is what you want - not an endless list of pubs you haven't been to, gigs you didn't attend and suburban locations you'll never visit. So, as my social life continues to slowly ramp up over the next few weeks, I'll try not to bore you with all the minor details. Even if that means my blog going a bit quieter than usual sometimes...
geezer goes out... to ThreeMills for a British Waterways Open Day Prescott Lock - a new green gateway to the Lower Lea valley
With Olympic construction due to begin next year, a heck of a lot of building materials need to be delivered to the Lower Lea Valley in the run up to 2012. They could be driven in by road, but a far more environmentally-friendly solution would be to ship them in by boat. And so British Waterways are to build a brand new lock on the Bow Back Rivers, just south of the Olympic Park, with the aim of removing 1000 lorry journeys a week from the streets. The exact location of the lock is the Prescott Channel [photo], a quarter-mile navigation around the back of the Three Mills film studios. Don't worry, it's not named after our esteemed Deputy Prime Minister, just in honour of one of the men who had this cut-through constructed in the 1930s. The Prescott Channel is a quiet waterway - off the beaten track and rarely visited - and yet it's still somewhere you probably know very well. Because it's across this river, during the summers of 2000 and 2001, that Big Brother contestants were led to the studio following their eviction from the House. Because this is Davina's Bridge [photo].
Channel 4 built the first Big Brother house in a field on the eastern side of the Prescott Channel [photo]. But producers weren't convinced that the show would be a hit and only had planning permission for two years, after which Newham Council insisted that the house be pulled down and the site returned to a natural habitat. Five years later not a trace remains, just a locked-off patch of green wasteland [photo]. Peering through the gate it's hard to imagine that this is where Nasty Nick was unmasked, where Vanessa Feltz went slowly mad and where Marjorie the chicken pecked her way to fame. But the bridge [photo] is still there. The same bridge across which evictees ran the gauntlet of the press, and behind which fireworks erupted as Craig and Brian crossed to victory. But the bridge won't be there for much longer.
To ensure that Prescott Lock is in place before Olympic construction begins, the old bridge has to go. It'll be replaced, fractionally further upriver by a state-of-the-art tidal barrier, complete with sluice gates, fish ladder and pedestrian walkway. The new lock gates will be big enough to accommodate two 350 tonne barges, enabling building materials to sail up the Lea from the Thames into the heart of the Olympic redevelopment zone. There's also every expectation that a green transport network can be established as the regeneration of the valley continues. It'll then be possible to move waste and recyclables up and down the river by barge, rather than them continuing to be dumped into the water by couldn't-care-less local industries. As those responsible for the development delighted in telling me yesterday, the lock should have a sustainable future well beyond the closing ceremony of the 2012 Games.
One of the biggest problems seeping out into the Bow Back Rivers at the moment is biodegradable human pollution. Most of North London's sewage passes through the Abbey Millspumping station, just to the north, and the Victorian pipes are no match for modern levels of effluent. Fifty times a year, on average, sewage from Abbey Mills overflows out into Abbey Creek, down the Channelsea River [photo] and into the River Lea. I bet they didn't warn Big Brother contestants of this regular current of sludge sweeping right past their living quarters. And it's not one-way traffic. The Lea is a tidal river and so, less than 12 hours after every discharge, most of the sewage is washed back upriver to contaminate a much larger area of waterway. One extremely useful side-effect of constructing the Prescott Lock will be to block off this brown backwash and prevent it from reaching the Olympic Zone a short distance upstream. Longer term, however, only an upgrade of London's 150-year-old sewer infrastructure can solve the underlying issues with outfall pollution, and the cost of such a major project would dwarf even the Olympics.
Construction on the new lock begins in a few weeks time, which means the closure of even more local waterside pathways (this time for an 18 month period). Three different footpaths meet at the bridge and each will shortly be sealed off for security reasons. One heads north to Three Mills Green, and another west along a puddle-strewn track round to Three Mills itself [photo]. But the most charming of the three is the eastern footpath along the Channelsea River towards the Greenway. The water below may be a nasty shade of brown, the view across the river may be of a forest of gas cylinders and the land opposite may be the site of an old cyanide factory, but it's a lovely walk [photo]. Nesting moorhens waddle across the tidal mudflats, and catkins hang low from trees above the riverbank. You can walk along this path and not see a soul, save for scores of passengers peering from the windows of passing District line trains wondering what the hell you're up to [photo]. Before long, however, watching from the train is going to be the only way to keep track of how the construction of Prescott Lock is going. But British Waterways are certain that, once complete, it will kickstart the renaissance of this sub-Olympic corner of the Lower Lea Valley. Let's hope the future round here is green, and not brown.
How "vaguely sociable" was it? Sort of. A blazered gent and I had a nice chat with the British Waterways representatives who'd given up their Sunday to stand in a tearoom at Three Mills and talk in some detail about this new project. But I didn't stay for a cup of tea and a chat, sorry.
With the London Transport Museum in Covent Garden closed until the Autumn, the capital's bus and train enthusiasts have had nowhere to go recently. Thank goodness for the Museum Depot in Acton Town, home to hundreds of thousands of pieces of transport ephemera, which occasionally unlocks its doors for an official Open Weekend. And then they come, out of the shadows, both young and old, to spend the day staring at tube trains and old trolleybuses and stuff. There was a ridiculously long queue outside yesterday morning, but I'd bought my ticket in advance and so walked past the lot of them. Damn, that probably makes me a bigger geek than any of them.
Once inside there was a lot to see. Several bits of trains are lined up in the main body of the warehouse, from old Metropolitan milk wagons to prototype Crossrail carriages. You're only allowed inside a couple of them, which gave several parents a chance to show their precocious offspring the semi-luxurious conditions in which they used to travel. A number of old buses have been crammed in along one side. Nothing too modern, you'll be glad to hear. Proper buses (some red, others green) with friendly drivers and conductors, and comfy seats, and route information on the front blinds. unlike many of the visitors I didn't remember any of the trams and trolleybuses, but some of the 60s and 70s vehicles looked nostalgically familiar.
Elsewhere there are ticket machines, signals, escalators and engine parts, and racks of smaller items such as clocks and fire buckets. There are 3D models of tube stations, built to assist engineers when the labyrinth of tubes and tunnels beneath was being extended. There's a big shop, where yesterday grown men were queueing to purchase a limited edition Acton 2007 diecast Routemaster 1:76 scale model (already selling on eBay for £89). Upstairs there are rows and rowsof station signs ("Look Daddy, Arsenal! Arsenal!"), and old maps, and even some old furniture from London Transport HQ. If you like this sort of thing, you'd have loved it. Maybe next time.
How "vaguely sociable" was it? Not even slightly. OK, so if you came with family and friends then it was very sociable indeed, and you could spend all day saying things like "Ooh, I remember that" and "Look Johnny, Daddy remembers that". If you were a true transport aficionado you could go round meeting like-minded souls and telling them "Of course, the Class B was withdrawn in 1957 and replaced by the frankly substandard twin-valve Class F." But I went by myself, and kept myself to myself, and kept reminding myself that actually I'm nowhere near as borderline Aspergers as I sometime think I might be.
geezer goes out... after dark last night, looking up at the sky Total lunar eclipse - perfectly timed for the journey to the nightclub
Aww, did you see it? One bold bright full moon in a cloudless sky, slowly nibbled away and fading to red? I watched the first silver sliver disappearing high above the Blackwall Tunnel Approach Road. I observed a twin-horned crescent shining ominously between the towers of Canary Wharf. I saw the shadowy disc fading fast while stood on a deserted bridge in the middle of the Thames. I stared wistfully at the eclipsed copper moon hanging high above the nightclub car park. And then I went inside and missed all the rest of the lightshow. But it was great, wasn't it?
How "vaguely sociable" was it? Extremely. Easily my sociable night of the year so far (maybe that's not saying much, but this was proper chatty beery sociable). See, I do go out sometimes - once in a red moon.
geezer goes out... after dark tonight and looks up at the sky Total lunar eclipse - perfectly timed for the walk back from the pub
20:18 Saturday: The Moon enters the outer shadow of the Earth, or penumbra. It gets slightly dark. Nobody notices. 21:30: The Moon enters the inner shadow of the Earth, or umbra. Slowly the lower left corner is eaten away, still sort of visible but darker, then more and more disappears until the whole disc has gone. 22:44: Total eclipse. The Earth lies now directly between the Sun and the Moon, so no light can get through, so the Moon goes dark. Not black though, usually a sort of dark red colour, because some light is still getting through diffracted by the Earth's atmosphere. But quite moody-looking all the same. 23:57: Now the top left of the Moon edges back out into light shadow, and the eclipse is partial again. And slowly more and more partial. 01:11 Sunday: Back into the outer shadow, where the eclipse is again barely even noticeable. 02:23: That's it, all over, and the full Moon shines brightly once again.
If you miss this, then there's another total eclipse visible from the UK next February (but you probably won't be awake to see it at 3am on a Thursday morning). Miss that, and you'll have to wait for December 2010 (although the eclipse starts at sunrise, so it won't be as impressive as tonight's). It's an even longer wait for the next half-decent opportunity. So don't miss tonight.
• East (1-6 March): A six-day festival of food, history, performance, art and fashion. Although it looks suspiciously like "all the usual stuff that goes on in East London but under a fancy title" to me.
• London: A Life In Maps (closes Sunday): A brilliant retrospective of capital cartography, attended so far by ninety thousand appreciative visitors. If too many more turn up during this final weekend, however, expect South London to disappear behind a sea of bobbing heads.
• Barbican Arts Centre: It's 25 years old. It's 25 years old today! This concrete palaceof the arts is always a fascinating place for a wander (assuming you don't get lost, that is). Plenty of special activities this weekend, especially for kids.
• Open weekend atthe London Transport Museum Depot: Head to Acton Town to see tubes and buses and trams and signs and posters and other urban transport ephemera. Anoraks optional. Not open again until 2008. [photos][photos]
• City Hall: The Mayor's giant bike helmet is open on the first weekend of every month, but have you ever been inside? And up to the observation deck at the top? And down the fantastic central spiral staircase? And wondered how anyone ever gets any work done whilst sat in the goldfish bowl offices?
Three weeks ago, you may remember, I told you how utterly rubbish Visit London's official search engine was. Because it was utterly rubbish. I asked the site to tell me "What special events are taking place in London tomorrow?" and the search engine listed 854 events, the great majority of which weren't actually happening at all. So I thought I'd go back today to see if things have improved. And, what do you know, they have! Lots!
Let's try asking that same question again. What special events are taking place in London tomorrow? According to Visit London today, there are 181 special events taking place in London tomorrow. That may sound a lot, and indeed Visit London have a very broad definition of "special". But 181 is a much more realistic total, and 80% lower than the 854 they were offering three weeks ago. I am impressed.
Last time round, Visit London were insistent that a Tuesdays-only art course at Sotheby's happened every day of the week. Now it only crops up if your search includes a Tuesday. Likewise Cripplegate's 7-11 Club is now rightly restricted to Wednesdays, and Storytime at Pollards Hill Library only appears on the last Friday of the month. The search engine designers have pulled their fingers out and labelled everything properly, by date, including a special new "recurring events" category. I am impressed.
Last time round, searching Visit London still threw up events from several months past, such as Lewisham's Winter Festival and Christmas Market. No longer - all these anachronistic events have been deleted. I am impressed. The database still contains a few events ridiculously far into the future, such as next year's Lord Mayor's Firework Show (9 November 2008). I guess it's possible that some tourists really are interested in planning that far ahead, but the continued inclusion of events dated 2010 and 2012 is surely unjustifiable.
Last time round, searching for "free events" generated a list of absolutely no events whatsoever. This counter-intuitive result was a consequence of incompetent programming, which has now been fixed. Attempt the same search today and you'll discover 56 free special events taking place in London this weekend. I am impressed. There used to be a similar problem when searching for events with "wheelchair access" or "disabled toilets" - none whatsoever showed up. Visit London haven't fixed this problem, they've hidden it by removing all four accessibility categories from the search form. There's still absolutely no functionality for disabled visitors, but at least nobody's going to waste their time looking any more.
Last time round, the Visit London search engine had been rubbish for months and months and months. And now it isn't. At some point (very very recently) the site's programmers have knuckled down and sorted out the great majority of issues that were making the search facility nigh impossible to use. It's still not perfect, but it is at least now fit for purpose. I'm sure it's just a coincidence that all these changes have occurred during the last three weeks, because I'd hate to think that Visit London had to be shamed into action by having their site's flaws exposed in public. But credit where credit is due - I am impressed.
geezer goes out... to Sister Ray record shop, Berwick Street Onetwo - performance and record signing by Paul Humphreys and Claudia Brücken
Old pop stars never fade away, they just carry on making music for an increasingly small nucleus of hardcore fans. And we love them for it. Onetwo is the 21st century performance vehicle for two 1980s stalwarts - Paul Humphreys of sensibly electric OMD, and Claudia Brücken of intensely epic Propaganda. Together they make sensibly electric intensely epic music, as you might expect. Claudia's voice is as recognisable and captivating as ever, and Paul can still stand behind a synth and smile with the best of them. Last night's after-work crowd in a Soho record shop lapped up this upbeat and rather special performance, then queued to get the band's new album signed by the demi-gods of their adolescence. Because old pop fans never fade away either.
How "vaguely sociable" was it? Pretty good. Not only did I attend in company, but I also bumped into somebody else I knew while I was there. And I was reminded (by the odd icy glare) that it's not deemed good manners to be too chatty and sociable during a musical performance.
geezer goes out...In a gentle attempt to break out of my recent hermit-like state, I've decided to try "going out and being vaguely sociable" a bit more often. I started last night with a bit of urban planning, just to get the new month off to a flying start.
As part of the British Library's phenomenally successful London: A Life In Maps exhibition (closes Sunday), a series of related talks has been running on Wednesday evenings. The last of these was given yesterday by the man in charge of 2012 Olympic planning, and hence with the job of ensuring that our taxes deliver a lasting legacy to the Games. I think our money's in safe hands.
Planning for the 2012 Olympics isn't just about making sure that all the stadia open on time. It's also about ensuring that local communities benefit from all the millions being pumped into redevelopment and new infrastructure, helping one of the poorest corners of the country to reinvent itself. It's about making sure that government funding isn't just used to spend and spend, it's used as an investment for the future. And, as Jerome explained, this isn't a new idea - it dates back to the Victorians.
Over the last 150 years there have been several attempts to revitalise various areas of London via expensive grand schemes. The Great Exhibition of 1851 inspired the development of our Museum quarter on the fringes of Hyde Park, then delivered suburban acceptability to the newly established suburbs of Sydenham. The development of Alexandra Palace in the 1870s provided another nucleus of development in North London, even though the original building burnt down within a fortnight of its opening. The British Empire Exhibition proved the catalyst for the growth of the Wembley area, and the Festival of Britain in 1951 opened up the South Bank to culture and respectability. Even the Millennium Dome, though much maligned, is finally starting to bring prosperity to the former industrial wasteland of the North Greenwich peninsula. London's history has proven time and time again that substantial investment in green space brings significant added value to the surrounding area. When viewed in the context of long-term legacy, the 2012 Olympic Games are just another example of government-sponsored regional philanthropy.
The plan for 2012 is to "start with the park". Get that right, said Jerome, and everything else should follow. The ODA started their detailed planning by considering what they'd like the Olympic Park in Stratford to look like a few years after the Games have finished, and worked back from there. Sustainable venues such as the Velodrome will be built to last. Other 'unnecessary' venues will be dismantled soon after 2012, and these adaptable plots of land given over to other uses such as housing. It's expected that at least 9000 new homes will have been built around the Olympic Park by 2025 (which, sold off at a few hundred thousand pounds each, should pay back a substantial proportion of the Games' building costs). Initial estimates suggest that the population of this part of East London may eventually rise by between 100,000 and 150,000 people (approximately one-and-a-half Olympic Stadium-fuls). And that's a lot longer-lasting legacy than two weeks of athletics.
Jerome confirmed that the Olympic site in Stratford will be barricaded off in just four months' time. The ODA plan to erect 13km of security fencing to surround the site, allowing major remediation work to begin across the 300 hectares of land within. I've long been concerned that the unique nature of the Bow Back Rivers would be eradicated by the imposition of major building works, but Jerome had reassuring words that this ought not to be the case. The plan is to "enhance, not obliterate", and steps are already underway to populate a seedbank of the Lower Lea Valley's native species to ensure their survival. It won't look or feel the same after 2012, obviously, but it was good to hear that the Olympic Park won't be a bland featureless landscape of lawns and saplings cut through by ugly concrete channels. Come July we locals are to be locked out from our favourite backyard wilderness for at least five years, probably rather longer, before the full extent of Olympic regeneration can be revealed. But after Jerome's talk I'm now more hopeful that it'll be worth the wait.
How "vaguely sociable" was it? Not very. There were about 200 of us in the audience, but we all sat far enough apart so as not to have to chat to anyone else. I did try to return a dropped pencil to its owner on my way out, but that was the total extent of my evening's conversation.
The government announced yesterday that the cost of hosting the 2012 Olympics has soared to £9.3bn. Or rather it turns out that the initial estimate of £2.4bn was very wrong, and this new estimate is much more realistic. But if you look at how this £9.3bn is broken down, you'll see that the cost of actually putting on the Olympics (£3.1bn) hasn't gone up much. It's all the associated expenditure which is having a financial impact.
You know how wonderful it is that mobile phones don't work on the Underground? The fact that you can hide away on a train where the office can't ring you? The fact that you don't have to listen to everyone else in your carriage droning on and on to their mates while you're fifty feet under? Well, that peace and quiet is about to end. TfL have just announced a six month trial of "mobile phone technology services" on the Waterloo & City line, starting in April next year. Passengers will be able to use their phones on the platforms at Bank and Waterloo, and also on trains in the tunnel between the two stations. The W&C isn't London's most popular tube line, so the majority of commuters will be able to avoid this temporary electromagnetic intrusion. But if the trial is successful the technology could be introduced across the entire underground network by mid 2009. And then there'll be no escape. Make the most of being incommunicado while the silence lasts.
Since 1985 Comic Relief has raised more than £425 million in its mission to help end global poverty and social injustice, and today is the eleventh Red Nose Day. I'm proud to say that I own the complete set of eleven smelly / colour-changing / squeaky / hairy / etc red noses, which means I've forked out a total of £11 on nasal dressing since all this began. But for less than £11 I could have waited until today and bought myself a copy of Shaggy Blog Stories instead. This collected volume of 100 "amusing tales from the UK blogosphere" has been compiled in one week flat by mike over at troubled diva, and is now available for online purchase. It may not look as good on your nose as a blob of red foam, but it's guaranteed to be a lot more entertaining.
25,000,000: If you own a camera and have ever been to London, you've probably taken a photograph of the London Eye. In fact, you've probably taken several. Some from a distance, some from underneath, and some from the pod at the very top looking down on all the grinning people in the capsule just beneath you. The London Eye is a magnet for megapixels. It's almost impossible to walk past without whipping out your camera and snapping a shot or three. Indeed a significant proportion of your hard drive or mobile phone memory may be taken up with digitised images of this revolutionary London icon. Today there's an opportunity to unload some of your favourite London Eye photographs onto the attraction's website, and it's all thanks to an imminent visitor milestone.
It was interesting to watch what happens when a dozen or so 'photographers' are locked inside a pod on the London Eye for half an hour. Unlike normal tourists, who spend all their time taking photographs of one another with Big Ben in the background, we spent most of our time attempting to take arty shots instead. Three things made this easier than normal. Firstly our flight was timed perfectly for sunset, so bright skies dimmed imperceptibly to pinky-blue darkness as the 30 minute revolution passed. Secondly the Eye is currently bathed in soft red illumination in honour of Comic Relief on Friday, so the spoked metalwork glowed in perfect contrast to the twilight sky. And thirdly there were no tourists or small children getting in the way of all the best shots, so everyone moved around the capsule with appropriate care and deference for one another's line of sight. It was almost too simple.
Commonwealth Day quiz: As all good loyal subjects of Her Most Royal Majesty Queen Elizabeth will be aware, today is the second Monday in March and therefore Commonwealth Day. Just in case you don't have your own celebration of international diversity planned, why not join in with today's special quiz. Here are anagram clues to 26 of the countries of the Commonwealth. How many can you identify?
The Ultimate journey of life, the universe and everything
London's ultimate bus journey of life, the universe and everything begins in Worship Street, just to the north of Liverpool Street station. This lowly sideroad marks the precise boundary between the wealthy City of London and the rather needier borough of Hackney. On the rich side is one of London's biggest building sites, upon which the 35 storey Broadgate Tower is being constructed. At the moment all you can see is a giant concrete shell surrounded by cranes, looming down over the railway tracks buried beneath, but when finished next year it'll be the third tallest building in the City, visible for miles around as a shiny glassy spike. The first number 42 bus stop is sited, more appropriately, on the poor side of the street. Here, outside a walled-off 5-a-side-football centre, stands a lonely bus shelter where almost nobody ever waits. I was the exception. The driver gave me a very strange look as I boarded, as if somehow unprepared for company so early in the route. And so we set off somewhat uncomfortably, across the girder-topped rail bridge, turning right into prosperity.
And then what should be the true highlight of the journey - the crossing of Tower Bridge. Unfortunately the worst place to view the bridge is from a passing single decker bus. You get a decent side view of the Tower itself as you go by, but alas the gothic towers of the Victorian bridge are completely hidden behind the vehicle's broad red roof. Your only hope of seeing Tower Bridge properly is if the central piers have been raised to let through some tall ship, in which case the 42 is diverted over neighbouring London Bridge from where the riverside panorama is rather more impressive.
The Aylesbury Estate is one of the largest housing estates in Europe, and also one of the poorest. The 42 heads straight through the middle, down a bleak concrete canyon lined by long narrow blocks of flats. A decade ago Tony Blair came to this run-down social backwater to make his first speech as Prime Minister. He pledged to fight for a brighter future, for Britain as a whole and the Aylesbury in particular. But that fresh start is hard to spot today. A few colourful backlit signs have been erected bearing uplifting messages ("Do Magic!" "Nobody Is Not Loved!" "Yeah Yeah Yippee Yippee Yeah!") but very few of the original blocks and walkways have yet been torn down to be replaced by something better. The area is very badly connected, shunned by every railway line in south London, and the 42 provides one of the few lifelines for escape.
The 42 turns left and drops down into a valley of slightly twee cottages. This is Sunray Avenue, at the junction with Casino Avenue, where this service terminates. I was ejected into an environment unlike any other along the journey, if only for its wholesome ordinariness. Three lads alighting in front of me decided to ride down the street in a discarded supermarket trolley before abandoning it in the gutter, blocking the path of the departing bus. A pit bull with a large stick in its mouth padded slowly home along the pavement in front of its ageing owner. It started raining, quite heavily. As I headed rapidly for the nearest bus shelter I wondered what my ride on the 42 had taught me about life, the universe and everything. Nothing special, I guess. Mostly harmless.
When a birthday comes around, thoughts often turn either to fun, excitement and frivolity or instead to destiny, opportunity and mortality. This year however, at the age of 42, I find myself pondering on the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything. I'm in deep thought, I am.
I am the first person off the platform. I am the Underground expert. I always travel in exactly the right carriage, beside exactly the right door, to leap off the train at exactly the right point. I lead the commuter charge off the platform and up the staircase. I know there are scores of passengers pouring off the train behind me, but I never look back, never give them any advantage. The passageway ahead of me is clear. The passageway ahead is mine. I am the King of the Tube.
geezer stays in...
With Olympic construction due to begin next year, a heck of a lot of building materials need to be delivered to the Lower Lea Valley in the run up to 2012. They could be driven in by road, but a far more environmentally-friendly solution would be to ship them in by boat. And so British Waterways are to build a brand new lock on the Bow Back Rivers, just south of the Olympic Park, with the aim of removing 1000 lorry journeys a week from the streets. The exact location of the lock is the Prescott Channel [photo], a quarter-mile navigation around the back of the Three Mills film studios. Don't worry, it's not named after our esteemed Deputy Prime Minister, just in honour of one of the men who had this cut-through constructed in the 1930s. The Prescott Channel is a quiet waterway - off the beaten track and rarely visited - and yet it's still somewhere you probably know very well. Because it's across this river, during the summers of 2000 and 2001, that Big Brother contestants were led to the studio following their eviction from the House. Because this is Davina's Bridge [photo].
Channel 4 built the first Big Brother house in a field on the eastern side of the Prescott Channel [photo]. But producers weren't convinced that the show would be a hit and only had planning permission for two years, after which Newham Council insisted that the house be pulled down and the site returned to a natural habitat. Five years later not a trace remains, just a locked-off patch of green wasteland [photo]. Peering through the gate it's hard to imagine that this is where Nasty Nick was unmasked, where Vanessa Feltz went slowly mad and where Marjorie the chicken pecked her way to fame. But the bridge [photo] is still there. The same bridge across which evictees ran the gauntlet of the press, and behind which fireworks erupted as Craig and Brian crossed to victory. But the bridge won't be there for much longer.
To ensure that Prescott Lock is in place before Olympic construction begins, the old bridge has to go. It'll be replaced, fractionally further upriver by a state-of-the-art tidal barrier, complete with sluice gates, fish ladder and pedestrian walkway. The new lock gates will be big enough to accommodate two 350 tonne barges, enabling building materials to sail up the Lea from the Thames into the heart of the Olympic redevelopment zone. There's also every expectation that a green transport network can be established as the regeneration of the valley continues. It'll then be possible to move waste and recyclables up and down the river by barge, rather than them continuing to be dumped into the water by couldn't-care-less local industries. As those responsible for the development delighted in telling me yesterday, the lock should have a sustainable future well beyond the closing ceremony of the 2012 Games.
Construction on the new lock begins in a few weeks time, which means the closure of even more local waterside pathways (this time for an 18 month period). Three different footpaths meet at the bridge and each will shortly be sealed off for security reasons. One heads north to Three Mills Green, and another west along a puddle-strewn track round to Three Mills itself [photo]. But the most charming of the three is the eastern footpath along the Channelsea River towards the Greenway. The water below may be a nasty shade of brown, the view across the river may be of a forest of gas cylinders and the land opposite may be the site of an old cyanide factory, but it's a lovely walk [photo]. Nesting moorhens waddle across the tidal mudflats, and catkins hang low from trees above the riverbank. You can walk along this path and not see a soul, save for scores of passengers peering from the windows of passing District line trains wondering what the hell you're up to [photo]. Before long, however, watching from the train is going to be the only way to keep track of how the construction of Prescott Lock is going. But British Waterways are certain that, once complete, it will kickstart the renaissance of this sub-Olympic corner of the Lower Lea Valley. Let's hope the future round here is green, and not brown.
Once inside there was a lot to see. Several bits of trains are lined up in the main body of the warehouse, from old Metropolitan milk wagons to prototype Crossrail carriages. You're only allowed inside a couple of them, which gave several parents a chance to show their precocious offspring the semi-luxurious conditions in which they used to travel. A number of old buses have been crammed in along one side. Nothing too modern, you'll be glad to hear. Proper buses (some red, others green) with friendly drivers and conductors, and comfy seats, and route information on the front blinds. unlike many of the visitors I didn't remember any of the trams and trolleybuses, but some of the 60s and 70s vehicles looked nostalgically familiar.
Aww, did you see it? One bold bright full moon in a cloudless sky, slowly nibbled away and fading to red? I watched the first silver sliver disappearing high above the Blackwall Tunnel Approach Road. I observed a twin-horned crescent shining ominously between the towers of Canary Wharf. I saw the shadowy disc fading fast while stood on a deserted bridge in the middle of the Thames. I stared wistfully at the eclipsed copper moon hanging high above the nightclub car park. And then I went inside and missed all the rest of the lightshow. But it was great, wasn't it?
London's ultimate bus journey of life, the universe and everything begins in 
The 
The 42 turns left and drops down into a valley of slightly twee cottages. This is 
I am the first person off the platform. I am the Underground expert. I always travel in exactly the right carriage, beside exactly the right door, to leap off the train at exactly the right point. I lead the commuter charge off the platform and up the staircase. I know there are scores of passengers pouring off the train behind me, but I never look back, never give them any advantage. The passageway ahead of me is clear. The passageway ahead is mine. I am the King of the Tube.
To ensure that Prescott Lock is in place before Olympic construction begins, the old bridge has to go. It'll be replaced, fractionally further upriver by a 
