I take a lot of photos. I stick a handful of them on Flickr. And yesterday afternoon, somewhere around 4pm, they were looked at for the millionth time. I'm very humbled.
Those are my five most interesting photos, according to Flickr's mysterious "interestingness" algorithm. I'm not quite sure what this proves, but I think it means that my viewers have good taste. Top of the pile are the seaforts at Shivering Sands in the Thames Estuary. I took 60 photos bobbing about in a speedboat, and posted six, but it's this particular one that seems to have captured the imagination. Then there's the fireworks at the London Eye for New Year 2006 (top of the list until last week), followed by the now-being-demolished platforms at Blackfriars. Number four is the very last Routemaster chugging through Piccadilly Circus, and the fifth is a gas storage tank in Canvey Island. Some I planned carefully, but most I just got lucky.
And those are the next five. That curvy one in the middle is my favourite. It's a meander on the River Cuckmere, snapped at the end of a long walk along the coast from Beachy Head, and discovering it was like being back on a school field trip. The photo's been published in a book, thanks to appearing on Flickr, and it's also being used by the BBC to help the nation's 16 year olds to revise for their Geography GCSEs. I am well chuffed. And it beats the old days where I'd have taken a photo, collected the prints from the local chemist and hidden the results away in an album. These days everyone's a communal photographer, and our images are available for almost instant consumption via a myriad of webpages, feeds, and streams.
I'm fortunate, being a blogger, that my photos get rather more exposure than they might do otherwise. I can write a sentence like "I was watching the sheep on London Bridge yesterday" and almost guarantee that 100 of you will be curious enough to click through and take a look. I can mention a new Flickr pic on Twitter and entice scores of you across to see what I'm talking about. I can even trick you into looking at something I know you're not interested in (look, it's a photograph of me), which rather demeans the photo statistics a bit. Even so, I'm honoured that every single one of my photos (bar one posted last week) has been viewed more than 50 times, even the shots I've never mentioned here.
A lot of my 1000000 views have come from people surfing in via search engines. For some reason a lot of Googlers are interested in what the Harrods Food Hall looks like, and the 80s council houses on the site where the Krays grew up, and the Hogwarts Quidditch lawn. But the majority of views are from you lot taking a look at somethingextra to illustrate a post of mine, which is immensely reassuring. Oh yes it's been quite a journey, from the ten-year old me taking dire photos with a cheap plastic instamatic to today's multi-megapixel online uploads. Thanks a million.
• Big Ben is the bell, not the clock (which is the Great Clock) nor the tower (which is the Clock Tower) (not St Stephen's Tower). • Officially Big Ben is called the Great Bell. • Big Ben first tolled the time on Monday 11th July 1859, which makes today its sesquicentenary.
• Big Ben is thought to be named after Sir Benjamin Hall, First Commissioner for Works 1855-1858, whose name is inscribed on the bell (or maybe after Benjamin Caunt the 17 stone Victorian boxer, nobody's quite sure). • The first Great Bell, cast near Stockton-on-Tees, cracked during testing at Westminster and had to be melted down. • It was recast at the Whitechapel Bell Foundry(yes, I've been) (yes, I've seen the mould they cast Big Ben from, that's it on the wall, top left, in this photo). Casting took place on Saturday 10th April 1858, and the molten metal took 20 days to cool down. • Big Ben weighs 13 tons 10 cwts 3 qtrs 15 lbs. It's 7½ feet high and is 9 feet in diameter. • Big Ben strikes an E (a note-able pub quiz fact, that) • Big Ben was so big that it had to be winched up the clock tower sideways, taking 30 hours to reach the top. • Big Ben cracked after two months use because its hammer was too heavy, and remained silent for four years. Rather than lug the cracked bell back down the tower and recast it again, the Astronomer Royal eventually came up with a better (cheaper) plan. The bell was rotated (through a quarter turn), a small square was cut out of the soundbow (to prevent the crack from spreading further) and a smaller hammer was installed (weighing 'only' 200kg). The crack gives Big Ben its distinctive (but less-than-perfect) tone.
• The clock's central mechanism is the world's first Double Three-Legged Gravity Escapement, invented especially for the Great Clock by Edmund Beckett Denison QC MP. It's still dead accurate. • Approximately two seconds before each hour a one ton strike weight is released, pulling a wire which rotates a barrel which operates a lever which pulls a second wire which causes the bell hammer to fall. • If you'd like to see how the Great Clock's mechanism works, there's a particularly fine animation here. • The clock's pendulum is 14 feet long and weighs 321kg. Adding or removing a penny to the top of the pendulum changes the clock's speed by 2/5 of a second per day.
• The clock's only serious breakdown was on 5th August 1976 when a speed regulator broke causing serious damage to the chiming mechanism. • The tune of the Westminster Chimes originated at the church of St Mary the Great in Cambridge. The chimes were composed in 1793 and are said to be based on the fifth bar of the aria "I know that my Redeemer liveth" from Handel's Messiah. • A verse inscribed on the wall of the clock room provides words for each quarter chime - "All through this hour, Lord be my guide, And by Thy power, No foot shall slide". • At 12 o'clock, the time from the first chime to the last is approximately 45 seconds. (You can watch Big Ben chiming twelve here)
• The Clock Tower is 11 storeys high. There are 334 steps up to the belfry. There is no lift. • Each clock face is made up of 312 pieces of opal glass. • Each dial is just over 7m in diameter, and is cleaned once every five years by abseilingtechnicians. • The tip of the minute hand travels approximately 190km each year. • Above the belfry, at the top of the tower, is the Ayrton light. This shines at night when either House is sitting, and is extinguished upon the House rising.
• There are tours of the clock tower on weekdays at 9.30am, 10.30am, 11.30am and 2.30pm. Only UK residents may visit, and you have to be aged over 10, and you must be fit enough to climb stairs, and the ascent's not recommended for those with vertigo, and you have to apply through your MP, and it's currently fully booked until October. • If you're 10, or unfit, or foreign, or just never likely to visit for yourself, there's a fantastic flash video tour here. (no, really, it's very good indeed)
For even more facts (and some of the same ones), you can celebrate Big Ben's 150th year on its official website here (or unofficial website here).
And now a message to East Londoners who travel on the District line a lot. Bad luck, it's buggered this weekend. There's no service between Whitechapel and Barking/Upney due to track replacement work, which means the reappearance of the rail replacement buses. They were out in force a few weeks ago, chugging out to Newham and beyond, and they'll be back again in equally scary numbers tomorrow. Slight problem - the District line crosses the Lea Valley at a point where there are no parallel roads, so the buses are taking some major twirly detours to get from one side to the other. "Journey times may be increased by up to 45 minutes." Oh joy.
But it's worse than that. The eastern end of the District line is buggered every single weekend for the next three months. It's our turn to suffer, like Londoners on the Jubilee line have been suffering for the last umpteen months. Not quite so relentless perhaps, but a lot of extra inconvenience attempting to get here, there and back again until at least the middle of autumn.
Here's a fuller list of District line weekend closures, according to the pdf list provided on the TfL website. If a stretch of line is marked in green it's open, if it's red/italic it's closed. And yes, if the District line's closed then the Hammersmith & City is too. There is no escape.
11/12 Jul
Tower Hill → W'chapel → Plaistow → Barking → Dag'm East → Upminster
18/19 Jul
Tower Hill → W'chapel → Plaistow → Barking → Dag'm East → Upminster
25/26 Jul
Tower Hill → W'chapel → Plaistow → Barking → Dag'm East → Upminster
1/2 Aug
Tower Hill → W'chapel → Plaistow → Barking → Dag'm East → Upminster
8/9 Aug
Tower Hill → W'chapel → Plaistow → Barking → Dag'm East → Upminster
15/16 Aug
Tower Hill → W'chapel → Plaistow → Barking → Dag'm East → Upminster
22/23 Aug
Tower Hill → W'chapel → Plaistow → Barking → Dag'm East → Upminster
29/31 Aug
Tower Hill → W'chapel → Plaistow → Barking → Dag'm East → Upminster
5/6 Sep
Tower Hill → W'chapel → Plaistow → Barking → Dag'm East → Upminster
12/13 Sep
Tower Hill → W'chapel → Plaistow → Barking → Dag'm East → Upminster
19/20 Sep
Tower Hill → W'chapel → Plaistow → Barking → Dag'm East → Upminster
26/27 Sep
Tower Hill → W'chapel → Plaistow → Barking → Dag'm East → Upminster
3/4 Oct
Tower Hill → W'chapel → Plaistow → Barking → Dag'm East → Upminster
10/11 Oct
Tower Hill → W'chapel → Plaistow → Barking → Dag'm East → Upminster
17/18 Oct
Tower Hill → W'chapel → Plaistow → Barking → Dag'm East → Upminster
It's the District line between Whitechapel and Barking that's going to suffer the most. My local station at Bow Road will be closed on nine out of the next eleven weekends. There'll be no interchange with the Central line at Mile End on those same nine weekends (and no trains through Mile End at all on Sunday 18th October). Further out there are nine imminent weekends with no District line service through West Ham (three of those with no Jubilee line either). There'll be no trains at Upton Park when West Ham play their first weekend home match of the season against Tottenham on 23rd August. There's no alternative escape route at Barking because the Overground's closed every weekend for the rest of the year. And there are fifteen consecutive weekends where it's impossible to get from Dagenham to Tower Hill on one train. Thank goodness for c2c services which should still speed passengers through with no delays whatsoever... so long as you actually live near one of their stations.
Yes, I know the work's essential and it's got to be carried out some time. And yes, I know those of you living elsewhere don't really care, because you rarely feel the need to nip from Stepney to Becontree or from Plaistow up to town. But for those of us out East it means added hassle and wasted time, wiping the shine off our weekends for weeks to come. You wait until they start on your local tube line for months at a time, see how you like it then. May there be plenty of rail replacement buses to go round.
Oh, and one bit of good news. I've been moaning for ages that TfL don't have a single page on their website listing all of the forthcoming weekend's engineering works and station closures. Turns out that they do, it's just that it's hidden and nothing links to it. So let me link to it for you. It's http://www.tfl.gov.uk/tfl/livetravelnews/realtime/tube/tube-all-weekend.html. Go on, bookmark it now, you may be glad you did.
14 June update: TfL have now released further details about track closures for the next few months, so I've updated the table above to take these into account. More track closed, not less, obviously.
You may not remember the last project to appear on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square. It was a red, yellow and blue glass sculpture resembling the floors of a building, entitled Model for a Hotel, and it was up there for a full 18 months. You can't fail to have noticed the latest project on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square. It's one person an hour, dumped on top of the stone platform by a JCB and left to do whatever they choose. It's One and Other. And I know which of the two projects I prefer.
I've been along to Trafalgar Square twice since Anthony Gormley's latest presentation began, and on both occasions I've got absolutely drenched. You might have seen me on the webcam, shirt dripping wet, looking up at the better-prepared umbrella-carrier on the plinth above. I bet they had visions of a delightful sunny summer's afternoon in the centre of London, but instead they got the windswept drowned rat option. That's the danger of agreeing to take part in a public-facing art raffle - you never quite know what weather you're going to get.
On my first visit I got to see Rupert, a "symbolic modeller" from Derby, standing in his three-quarter length trousers doing nothing much. I only discovered he was called Rupert when I got home, because there's no hour-by-hour schedule or scrolling Twitterfeed in the Square. His 60 minute slot was typical of one particular type of plinther - those that are up there for the experience. Rupert just wanted to soak up the atmosphere, while others have simply chosen to sit and sketch, or sit and read, or stand and stare. Great for them, but not so thrilling for the rest of us. "Is that all he's going to do?" asked one disappointed lady passer-by who'd paused to watch. Yes, that was all, and how selfish of us to expect to be entertained throughout. Not every piece of individualistic art has to be a performance.
On the opposite side of the square, closer to Nelson's lions, is a large green two-storey portakabin. This project doesn't run itself, and all the organisers, crew and technical boffins have to be housed nearby. This is also where the participants await their turn, and presumably where they get a jolly good rub-down with a dry towel afterwards. Every hour, on the hour, a yellow truck with an extendable platform scoops up the next volunteer, chugs across the piazza and raises them to plinth-top level to be exchanged. If you need something while you're up there, be it a placard, a cup of tea or a spare raincoat, better make sure you're carrying it with you when you go.
On my second visit I got to see Bobbie, a former headteacher and a Lancashire lass. She was being rather more interactive, having brought copious notes to read from, and peered down from on high through half-rimmed reading glasses. It was rather like being back in school assembly, but without the hymn singing and sports notices (and rather more interesting too). Bobbie was an example of the other category of plinther - those with a message to get across. Not all deliver it as eloquently as she, and not all use words. Some resort to actions (Tai Chi, anyone?) or costumes (did you see that man in a cow suit over breakfast) or blatant advertising (no, just no), whichever they think best tells the world why they're here.
One and Other is two very different experiences. For those watching in real life it's an unlikely intrusion into the everyday, high above and very real. It's also very difficult to hear a word the plinther is saying. Trafalgar Square's a fairly noisy spot, not least because of the nearby fountain, so better to make your point visually or to utilise some form of portable amplification. Meanwhile for those watching elsewhere via the webcam, microphones ensure that every mumbled platitude can be overheard. Viewers also get the opportunity to watch the crowd interacting with the action - some staring up intently, others walking by without even stopping to look. And everybody's hour will be archived for posterity, all 3-months-worth of them. Maybe online is the more complete experience.
Last night I sat at home and watched Fran, a doctor from the West Midlands. She arrived on the plinth with a blue holdall within which her entire 60 minutes was carefully plotted. First a Shelter t-shirt and a stand to hang it from, then an oversized pack of playing cards. She fought the wind to attempt to construct a house of cards, utilising a handy grabber when some blew over the edge into the netting. The online crowd was critical... "can't believe she didn't think of tape before building a playing card sculpture OUTSIDE. #oneandother" At which point Fran produced some tape from her bag and set about constructing a rather sturdier habitation - all planned, all part of the charitable allegory. Quite the best use of an on-plinth hour I've yet seen (but then I've not seen many).
There are more than 2300 on-plinth hours still to go. Some participants will give it everything they've got, others will be there solely for themselves. Some will make you cringe, others may draw you in. Some will get the nightmare pub-chucking-out slot and struggle against London's finest hecklers, others will be up there at dawn performing to two pigeons and a roadsweeper. One could even be you, because they haven't selected the participants for August to October yet. Being a Londoner is a distinct disadvantage here, there's far too many of us chasing our allocation of places, whereas Northern Irish souls are currently "almost guaranteed" a spot. You might even get allocated a time well after the rest of us have lost interest, weeks after we've all stopped watching, months after the Twitterbuzz has died down. But somehow I doubt it. I think this one will run and run. Hope the rain holds off for you.
Random borough: Wandsworth(mopping up) Blimey, there was far more in Wandsworth than I expected. I may have written too much about the place, but I omitted even more. Here are a few additional delights I didn't get round to mentioning.
• The De Morgan Centre: Ooh, now this was a gorgeous surprise. Housed in the old West Hill Reference Library above Wandsworth Town Centre, this tiny museumette holds the decorative artwork of a most talented Victorian couple. Husband William De Morgan was one of William Morris's Arts and Crafts collaborators, and was the most wonderful ceramicist. The museum holds cabinetsful of lustrous glazed dishes and brightly tiled panels, often decorated with something natural, fantastical or maritime. Wife Evelyn De Morgan was a pioneering artist, and her classical and allegorical paintings are interspersed between the pottery around the gallery walls. Lovely. Small, but lovely. Update (thanks Hedgie): The De Morgan Centre will be closing to the public on 25th July 2009. This is to prepare for the relocation of the collection to a new site, as yet to be confirmed. So hurry. • The Wandle Trail: There's nothing quite so Wandsworthy as a walk/cycle along the banks of the River Wandle. But I did that three years ago, with photos, so not this time. • Young's Ram Brewery: Opened in the 1500s in the heart of Wandsworth, closed in 2006, still looking pretty much intact at the moment, destinedto become some ghastly twin tower shopping/office complex. More butchery than brewery. • Clapham Junction: It's not in Clapham, it's in Battersea. It's not the busiest station in the world, passenger-wise, but it does see more trains than any other station in Europe. • The Putney Sculpture Trail: Nine life-size bronze sculptures by Alan Thornhill, along the banks of the Thames, either side of Putney Bridge. Here's Punch & Judy (entwined outside a bankrupt restaurant). • London Heliport: The only approved spot to land your chopper in the capital is on the banks of the Thames in Battersea. Beware Noel Edmonds. • Balham (gateway to the south): Listen to Peter Sellers' 1958 travelogue tribute to Bal-Ham here.
Somewhere historic: The Putney Debates In 1647, during a lull in the English Civil War, the New Model Army bedded down in Putney for a few months. Amongst other things their thoughts turned to representative democracy, like you do, and an unlikely series of debates took place. Should every soldier, every land owner or even every free citizen, have the right to vote? Did the King have a divine right, or should the people demand equality under the law? Pretty basic stuff today, but ideas unrehearsed at the time. A manifesto was put forward entitled The Case of the Armie Truly Stated, and the voice of the common man was put forward by a disparate pressure group called the Levellers.
Day 1 of the debates kicked off in St Mary's Church on the banks of the Thames. Arguments were heard for both sides under the chairmanship of Oliver Cromwell, and continued for a fortnight. In the end nothing really changed - a resurgence of the Civil War saw to that. But the Putney Debates have come to represent an early outbreak of modern constitutional thinking because of one lucky coincidence - their transcripts survived. The paperwork was uncovered in Worcester College Library in the 1890s, and the stenographer's shorthand eventually deciphered allowing historians to look back at the thoughts and arguments of an underclass whose thoughts were not normally heard. A new exhibition in St Mary's continues to tell their story today.
I made the mistake of attempting to enter the church via the west door. Wrong, this is a church you enter via the café. They're rightly proud of their newextension at St Mary's, paid for out of a bequest by two dear old parishioners called Olive and Nora, enabling the church to reach out into the community via the medium of frothy caffeine. Past the tables and comfy sofas, past the orders of service and parish notices, and into the main body of the church itself. OK, so this is no normal ancient church. It was badly damaged by an arson attack in 1973 and subsequently remodelled, so the interior feels more like a theatre in the round than a place of worship. There's a particularly fine view from the new gallery down onto the central dais, from which the rector holds forth every Sunday. You may have heard Giles on Thought For The Day, he's a forthright cheery progressive, and he leaves St Mary's this month to take up a new post at St Paul's Cathedral.
The Putney Debates exhibition is crammed into a tiny alcove close to the entrance. There are several fact-packed display boards to read, plus an hour's worth of video to watch. Don't worry, there's also a seat, because this could take some time. I pressed button 1 to hear more about Putney's constitutional legacy from various luminaries including Tony Benn, Lady Antonia Fraser and our Giles. I wasn't quite convinced that the debates lay the foundations for modern civil liberties, but as an early symbol of emerging democracy they remain unmatched. A quotation from a Roundhead army captain has been inscribed in gold on the south wall where you might expect to find a line from scripture. "I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live, as the greatest he". How very apposite. And plenty to ponder over a caramel milkshake in the café on the way out. by tube: Putney Bridge
Somewhere pretty: The Alton Estate, Roehampton When the London County Council sought to rehouse ten thousand inner London slum dwellers in the late 1950s, their eyes alighted on what was then the westernmost tip of the capital. Beyond Roehampton Lane, in the parkland grounds of several former Georgian mansions, they plotted the construction of a vast council estate to the very latest architectural specifications.The Alton Estate was designed in two contrasting halves. Alton East was softly Modernist with a mixture of low- and high-rise housing, and nothing particularly extraordinary. But Alton West was built to a more Brutalist functional agenda, reflecting Le Corbusier's recent success in Marseille with l'Unitéd'Habitation. The first Alton residents loved it.
Alton West is spread across the banks of a wooded hollow beyond the edge of Richmond Park. Into this landscape were dropped zonal clusters of identikit habitation - cuboid apartment blocks, flat-roofed terraced maisonettes, even meandering rows of prefab bungalows. Each provides a distinct neighbourhood identity within the wider community, with a more rural feel the further west along Danebury Avenue you go.
Rising above them all, along the brow of the hill, are five imposing eleven-storey slab-blocks. They're aligned in parallel, staggered diagonally, each perched up on matchstalk pillars to provide residents with a grandstand view. Grade II* listed, obviously, although I'd be surprised if anyone from English Heritage would choose to live here.
The estate's got its problems. Stairwells and corridors have seen better days. The rolling grassland setting is ideal for a summer picnic (so long as you check carefully for dogmess before you sit down), but far less attractive on a dark winter's evening. The far end of Danebury Avenue is fairly remote, and residents wait expectantly at the central bus stop for carriage up to civilisation and beyond. The library, added as an afterthought in 1961, had to be squeezed in beneath an austere apartment block. And Wandsworth planners recently decided that the shopping parade and eastern flats need to be replaced by something more modern, more regenerative, less 'council'. Maybe a mistake. Alton will never be Arcadia, but this pioneering architectural experiment has laid down strong communal foundations. by bus: 170, 430 on film: Fahrenheit 451
Somewhere retail: The London Sewing Machine Museum When I mentioned the London Sewing Machine Museum in passing last week, little did I imagine I'd be walking through its hallowed portal over the weekend. The museum's only open for three hours a month, so the chances of ever finding myself in the vicinity were quite frankly minimal. But when eleven-to-one shot Wandsworth emerged from my random jamjar on the first Saturday of the month, I decided I had to visit. It took two attempts to get inside because the website doesn't reveal any precise opening times (two til five, as it turned out). But I'm so glad I made the effort, because the experience was unforgettable.
To Tooting Bec station, then a brief stroll north along the Balham High Road. There are two large sewing-machine related buildings to pick from (I know, what are the chances?) but ignore the Sewing and Craft Superstore at number 300. You want the premises of the Wimbledon Sewing Machine Company Limited at 312, a very ordinary-looking two-storey block industrial block [photo]. The ground floor houses the workshop, still very much a going concern, with scores of tabletop machines laid out amid shelves piled high with thread and spare parts [photo]. The working week ends Saturday lunchtime, and once a month manager Ray hangs around afterwards to welcome visitors to his upstairs collection. It's a whopper.
Even in the downstairs lobby there's a strong hint that somebody around here is obsessed with sewing machines. A variety of old machines and assorted ephemera litter the floor, balcony and stairwell, each lovingly presented. An antique industrial machine spooled-up and ready to sew, a metal advertising panel for the French branch of Singer, even a 1981 receipt for spaceprobe insulation. Climb higher, because you ain't seen nothing yet.
On the first floor I entered a room filled with more sewing machines than I'd ever seen in my life [photo]. Shelf after shelf, with more laid out on tables across the floor, every space filled, every machine dutifully labelled. This room's home to the more workaday machines, mostly black, once commonplace in homes and factories across the country. Before all our clothes arrived via imported sweatshops, Britons were clothed only thanks to these machines and the skill of their operators. I looked in vain for the precise model my Mum used to own, although the Silko reels and coffin-top carrying cases seemed eminently familiar. A brief video in the far corner told the story of the museum, information which was also detailed in a 13-page stapled handout freely available to take away.
One of the curators wandered over for a chat - friendly but intense - and his devotion to the cause shone through. Much of the collection has been sourced from closed-down businesses and household clearouts, and it was clear that the loss of even a single chucked-away machine hurt him deeply. He directed me through to the second room at the rear (ohmigod, a second room) where the antique machines were housed (blimey, hundreds more). Glass cases this time, in front of plush curtained walls to emphasise the rarity of their contents. Many of these were delicate machines for delicate Victorian ladies, the highlight being one especially ornate Wheeler & Wilson device given to Queen Victoria's eldest daughter as a wedding present [photo]. Members of the International Sewing Machine Collectors' Society would be so overwhelmed they'd need several visits to take everything on board.
The collection has breadth and diversity - it's not all sewing machines. Threads and needles and pattern books, obviously, plus a delightful wind-up marionette merrily sewing away beneath a glass belljar. One corner has been given over to recreating Ray's dad's sewing machine shop along the Merton Road, a poignant display of labelled merchandise from an era I can almost remember myself [photo]. There are antique clocks too, plus a proper barrel organ that plays music hall tunes which the curator willingly demonstrated to the watching crowds. Not terribly large crowds, admittedly, but the Australian trio and myself were duly appreciative.
I learnt several things during my hour in the museum. Firstly not to take my clothes for granted - somebody somewhere sweated to put all those seams in my trousers, and my great-grandparents would have thought nothing of doing it themselves. Secondly that anything can be made interesting if presented with sufficient love and flair - even a floorful of domestic appliances. Thirdly that the museum's owners are enormously generous of their time and resources - admission is free, but owner Ray still popped in with a tray of chilled wine glasses mid-way through the afternoon. And finally that you really ought to visit, especially if handicrafts, technology or the quirkier side of London float your boat. 2pm, Saturday 1st August - start forming the queue now. by tube: Tooting Bec by bus: 155, 249, 355
Somewhere sporty: Tooting Bec Lido Perfect day for it. A dip in Britain's largest freshwater swimming pool, all one million gallons of it, was packing them in on Saturday at the eastern end of Tooting Bec Common. Opened as the Tooting Bathing Lake in 1906, this outdoor pool evolved into a lido in the Thirties and is a notable survivor of Wandsworth council's relentless cutbacks. The public are allowed in between May and September, while the South London Swimming Club have exclusive access during the often-freezing winter months. One 100 yard-longswimming pool, one much smaller paddling pool, a café and a bit of grass for sunbathing on - these are simple pleasures. Not that I was getting inside for a look. The lido's deliberately screened behind an earth bank and various rows of trees, so that snooping is pretty much impossible. Turnstiles bar the way at the entrance, as well as a sulky guard, and on Saturday morning additional security was being called in to cope with the burgeoning crowds. Alas I hadn't brought a towel or my trunks (do swimmers still wear trunks or is everything baggy Speedos these days, I wouldn't know), so getting inside would have been pointless. All I could see through the gap was the bright blue shallow end and a gushing weddingcakefountain. A walk around the perimeter proved difficult, not least because the lido was built right up close to the East Croydon mainline. But I did eventually catch sight of a few of the Lido's trademark primary-colouredchanging booths through the trees, across the railway. Sorry, I wasn't attempting too look like a pervy stalker lurking in the undergrowth. But why should swimmers have all the fun? by train: Streatham by bus: 249, 319
Wandsworth is in southwest London, close enough in parts to feel distinctly metropolitan, far enough in others to be proper suburbia. Much of its Thames-side fringe has recently been overtaken by a string of vulgar apartment blocks, whereas the interior is generally of solid Victorian stock. Wandsworth's also renowned for its extremely low council tax, usually amongst the very lowest in the country, which is one reason why the borough museum closed a few years back. Frugality might also explain why the council's website was bugger-all help in planning my whistlestop tour around the borough yesterday. But I found plenty of interest all the same.
Somewhere famous: Battersea/Nine Elms Several of the things for which Battersea is famous aren't necessarily in Battersea proper. They're in Nine Elms, a dreary slice of industrial riverside named after a line of trees (what else?). To investigate I took a walk along sun-baked Nine Elms Lane, starting at the edge of the borough just beyond Vauxhall. Some of the places I passed are famous, some could have been, and one will be. And hurrah, there were even kittens.
New Covent Garden Flower Market: To enable Covent Garden to become a central London tourist trap, all the flowersellers had to move out. And its to Nine Elms that they fled, to a new 1970s market building blessed with chilled air conditioning and an isometric roof. The site had previously been a locomotive works, but go back even further and it was almost one of the most important stations in London. In 1838 the services of the London & Southampton Railway terminated here, and passengers had to continue into the centre of town by boat or road. Damned inconvenient, so the company extended their tracks to a new inner terminus and shut Nine Elms down. You've probably heard of Waterloo station, it's quite busy these days.
The US Embassy: Ah, this hasn't arrived yet. But Uncle Sam's new home is at the planning stage already, and everyone should eventually be moving out of Grosvenor Square to this unassuming Wandsworth location. It's a seemingly odd choice. At the moment the chosen spot is part of a relatively inaccessible industrial estate that's seen far better days. There are several anonymous warehouses, and a Bentley dealership, and an imposing 80s office block now boarded up with weeds growing across an extensive courtyard. My photo shows Ponton Road, which is to be diverted so that the new embassy building can be built slap bang across its former carriageway. Current plans feature "consular pavilions", "earth sculptures" and "public art opportunities", but expect an expensive hi-tech fortress within which visas will be denied and potential immigrants will be belitted. Happy future Independence Day.
Battersea Power Station: A 1930s coal-fired shouldn't gladden the heart but, even in its derelict state, this towering workhorse still has a special place in Londoners' hearts. It must be the chimneys, visible for miles around, and still mighty impressive from almost-up-close. Sir Giles Gilbert Scott's templeof power generated mega-megawatts for London before the off switch was finally flicked in 1983. Proposals for the building's rebirth have been many - a theme park, offices, a shopping mall - but planning dissent and failed funding have left the building roofless and decaying. The latest residential plan even selfishly suggests a short spur off the Northern line to serve tenants and shoppers, and bugger anyone living further west in Wandsworth or Battersea proper. Most worrying is the idea that the chimneys are in a precarious state and may have to be replaced, because I'd have no faith that once demolished they'd ever be rebuilt. Instead I cherish my memories of a tour of the interior in 2006 for a Chinese art exhibition, and I fear I may never get the opportunity again.
Battersea Dogs Home: And Cats, these days, before anyone adds a comment to correct me. The nation's favourite pet dispensary moved to Battersea in 1871, at which time it was known as The Temporary Home for Lost and Starving Dogs. Its operations have expanded somewhat since, and the Battersea site now includes kennels for nearly 300 dogs and even a suite of "Cat Socialising Rooms". The current building resembles a cross between a small prison and a Travelodge, but is (one suspects) slightly more comfortable inside. Passers-by along Battersea Park Road are still met by the unmistakable sound of hopeful barking attempting to tempt them inside. Late afternoon I watched as a smiling family emerged into the sunlight with a new addition, the lady of the house clutching a fragile puppy in her arms. Once across the road and into the car, a new home beckoned. Buster, Pippin and Beetroot still await their happy ending.
Battersea Park: And finally, one of London's very finest parks. It's blessed by a riverside location, and it's huge, and yesterday it was the perfect spot for thousands of Wandsworthians to strip down and toast their flesh. Unlike many other London parks, it's hard to get bored here. Take a look inside the Pump House Art Gallery, go for a pedal around the boating lake, or maybe potter around the children's zoo. My choices included watching the sun glinting on the 25-year-old PeacePagoda, going for a wander along the Tea Terrace, and enjoying a bit of cooling spray around the central fountains. Back in 1951 these synchronised gushers were a centrepiece of the park's contribution to the Festival of Britain, advertised as the "Festival Gardens" and boasting a large number of whimsical attractions. Most were swiftly withdrawn afterwards, but the Battersea funfair survived into the 1970s until doomed by a fatal Big Dipper accident. Traces of past glories remain, but these days the park's simpler pleasures are perfectly attractive.
Somewhere infamous: Wandsworth Prison The second biggest prison in the UK (after Liverpool, if you must know) is tucked away inside a pocket of suburbia to the southeast of Wandsworth town centre. The prison opened in 1851 as The Surrey House of Correction, arranged radiallly with six cellblock wings that still house prisoners to this day. In total 135 inmates have experienced irreversible 'correction' at Wandsworth, most of these on the gallows located in "The Cold Meat Shed". Many renowned miscreants have spent time within the prison's walls, including Oscar Wilde, Charles Bronson and Pete Docherty, although most inmates are only here before being packed off to somewhere else. One convict who refused to hang around was train robber Ronnie Biggs, who escaped from the exercise yard in an audacious breakout in 1965 and rapidly swapped South London for South America.
From the front in Heathfield Road the prison looks more like a Victorian brick castle, complete with turrets and central portcullis. The facade is brightened up by an unfeasibly high number of blooming flowers in black boxes, no doubt planted (but not watered) by the prisoners inside. Even the security cameras are bedecked by colourful hanging baskets, as if to soften up the reality of what goes on inside. If you're visiting a prisoner, entrance is up a small staircase to the left, whereas staff enter via a separate set of steps to the right of the cycle racks. There's also a (very) small museum, officially opened last year inside what looks like an old shed up the road. Entrance is by appointment only, so I wasn't able to look inside, but you might be more tenacious. Just be careful where you leave your car - a sign in the staff car park warns "no parking against wall after 5:30pm". They'll try anything to get out of Wandsworth, some people. by train: Wandsworth Common, Earlsfield by bus: 77, 219
Today I'm two thirds of the way through my random exploration of the capital, with just a western strip and an eastern chunk still to go. My most recent visits have all been fairly peripheral. I haven't been in as close as Zone 1 during the last two years, nor even as close as Zone 2 since last summer. Is today the day I finally hit the central tourist hotspots of Westminster or Camden. Or am I heading back to Boris's beloved outskirts, dispatched somewhere attraction-lite like Kingston or Havering?
Once I've researched my randomly-chosen borough online I'll then head off and visit some of its most interesting places (assuming it has any). As usual I hope to visit somewhere famous, somewhere historic, somewhere pretty, somewhere retail, somewhere sporty and somewhere random. I might even take lots of photographs while I'm at it, if the borough's photogenic enough. Then after I've made my grand tour I'll come back tomorrow and tell you all about it. Let's see where I'm going this time...
Some days the comments are more interesting than the blog. Some days new comments on yesterday's post are more interesting than today's. And some days somebody slaps a really interesting comment on a really ancient post where you'd never ever notice it (unless you were me). Here's two you missed.
Henry Allingham on Harrington Hill Post from Monday, June 22, 2009 Comment from Friday July 3, 2009 "My great-grandparents lived at 39 Harrington Hill in 1911, having moved to the area from a tiny village called Radwinter in Essex sometime before 1887. The family lived in, or near, Harrington Hill from that time to at least 1930, when my great-uncle was still living at no. 39. Other members of my family also migrated from Essex, from about 1871, when Clapton at the time was a small village, just outside Hackney, and boasted just one farm. I'm running a family history project centred on Harrington Hill, so if anyone would like to read it and/or participate, visit my website or email me at drbabs1@me.com. Great bit of gazeteering btw - now I definitely have to revisit (I was born in the Sally Army Mothers' Hospital in 1953, as was my father before me in 1921). Cheers." (from Dr Babs)
The Kray Brothers in Bow Post from Friday, August 29, 2003 Comment from Wednesday July 1, 2009 "From birth to 5 years of age I lived with my family in a small flat at the top of a very large house. This was 8, Wellington Way Bow. It largely remained empty whilst I was very small. I used to ride my tricycle or pedal car around huge downstairs rooms and corridors. Then it all changed and became a club. From my upstairs bedroom window I would look down and see rows of roulette tables, snooker tables and the air thick with smoke. One day the owner visited arriving in a large American car - I was so impressed. For some reason we had to meet him. I only remember that he was smiling and pressed a huge half crown coin into my hand. It was only last year, 50 years later that I realised I was living above one of the Krays gambling clubs." (from Len Holman)
I have this red iris thing that grows in a pot on my balcony.
Every year around this time it suddenly puts on a growth spurt, pushes up several thin reedy leaves and then ejects one slender stalk higher and taller than the rest. At the end of this stalk hang a series of seven or so crimson buds which, over the period of less than a fortnight, gradually unfurl, bloom and wilt. It looks gorgeous, but only briefly, and then fades swiftly away.
This year the flowery stem stretched out rather further than usual, then promptly sagged under its own weight and drooped headlong into the rosebush alongside. In attempting to remove the flowers from their thorny hideaway I managed to damage the stalk, creating a nasty torn fold that would never repair. Damn. My prize bloom, now at risk of rapid extinction, drooped even more precipitously below the horizontal. Rather than watch the flowers die unattached and unloved, I snipped off the stalk at its point of damage and placed the single stem into a vase I've had for eight years but never used. It looks a bit lonely, but at least I get to admire its beauty indoors for a brief period before the petals fade away.
The plant's entire flowery lifecycle is now displayed across seven simple blooms, from the tip of the stalk down to the cusp of the container. Two darkly budding, the next tentatively opening, one in the centre bright and resplendent and proud, then two past their prime, and finally one hanging soggy and limp. Nature's annual miracle is being played out on my windowsill - severed, captured, defiant. I keep staring at it, wondering how much longer it can survive, then looking back to the balcony where it ought to be the dominant feature. By next week I expect to be chucking the whole withered has-been into the bin, and feeling a slight twinge of guilt as it departs.
Fingers crossed that next year's single-stemmed flowershow survives intact, outside where it belongs.
What happened after... Are You Being Served? Lee and Carla opened Mollie Sugden's Hairdressing at the top end of Brick Lane a couple of years ago. I don't believe that the latecomedy goddess ever visited the salon to have her purple rinse touched up. But it's good to know that her name lives on.
What happened after... Geoff went to Epping? You remember Geoff, he's the one zipping round America visiting places named after tube stations, in an epic road trip entitled Underground : USA. After Epping (Maine) Geoff went to Putney (Vermont), and since then he's managed 15 or so other appropriately-named backwaters. But then disaster. Overnight in North Carolina some Greensboro lowlife stole his PC, camera, GPS and video-editing stuff out of the back of his car (yeah yeah, he knows), throwing the remainder of the trip into doubt. But that was Monday, and since then the online community has pulled together in a life-affirming way and raised more than $4500 towards replacement gadgetry. Hurrah. So the journey continues. It's Finchley and Hampstead next, and still seven weeks to go. [blog][twitter][facebook][map][helpgeoff]
What happened after... Smoke #13? Obviously, eventually, Smoke #14. The latest edition of this irregular London fanzine is now available, and the 52-page glossy offering features the usual mix of "words and images inspired by the city". All hail editor-in-chief Matt and his eclectic selection of contributors. Look, the cover even manages to make Camberwell appear glamorous. Most of the articles have an articulate literary bent, more descriptive than factual, and there's usually an arty angle to the images and illustrations. In this issue you can read about night-biking on the Regent's Canal, bus queues on Tulse Hill, windows that look like monkeys, London's campest statues, post-war Leytonstone and Narroway shopping. If you live in West London you might be disappointed by the geographical spread of articles, but who cares, the whole magazine's more about atmosphere than location. Perhaps these snippets here will give you a better idea. And then £2.90 (stockists here) or £3.30 (mail order here) will earn you a proper collectable copy.
What happened at... the end of the Story of London? The June-long celebration of London's history has now finished, concluding with a weekend of building-related events. Ian went to the SoL event at Three Mills (but not many other people did) and to the SoL-related event at Crossness (although they were opening anyway). Dave Hill believes that the festival could have used its small budget to greater effect. And in case you're wondering what you missed, bad luck, because Boris has already taken down the entire website. If the festival runs again next year, I hope the publicity (and the listing of events) is a darned sight better.
Chocolate makes you fat; London 2012 is all about encouraging healthy living and getting everyone inspired to do more sport.
So as the first London 2012-branded Cadbury Dairy Milk bars soon appear on the shelves, people will no doubt start asking questions: How can we responsibly partner with a chocolate company? Surely we're sending out the wrong message? Aren't we just encouraging obesity at a time when it's already such an issue?
Well, you've got to admit, this does look like a bloody stupid link-up. On one hand the London 2012 Olympics attempting to promote sport for all and healthy living, especially for kids. And on the other hand a purveyor of sugar-loaded fat-drenched cocoa. Thank goodness Deborah, one of the 2012 Organising Committee's top copywriters, is on the case.
Well, no. Chocolate does make you fat, but only if you eat too much of it.
Brilliant. Likewise Marmite makes you fat, but only if you eat too much of it, and a diet of deep fried Mars Bars and cheese-coated chips makes you fat, unless you eat too little of it. Sorry Deborah, but as arguments go, that one's vacuous.
So firstly, and most importantly, Cadbury and all their variety of treats are, well, just that – they're treats, marketed as treats (think Cadbury Fudge), and intended to be enjoyed as part of a healthy lifestyle.
That's not right, is it? When you see Cadbury's products advertised, the idea of "treats" and "health" is rarely at the forefront of the company's brand message. That percussive gorilla in the Phil Collins adverts may be burning up calories whilst waving his drumsticks around, and that lady in that bathtub getting oral pleasure from a thrusting Flake may be treating herself to some vigorous healthy exercise later, but the emphasis is always on chocolate rather than health. Good try Deborah, but I'm not buying this one either.
Cadbury are up-front about this on their website. Where they tell you about their products, there's a clear nutrition section which says: 'We would like you to enjoy your treats as part of a healthy and well-balanced diet. By using the links and tools below you will find information about our products that will help you to understand the part they play in your diet and therefore how you can enjoy them sensibly.'
I had a look at the flashy purple website for Cadbury's Dairy Milk. Even when I spotted the the "Nutrition" option, it was six more clicks before the "links and tools" finally revealed that 56.7% of each bar is sugar. Even sneakier, the on-screen graphic gave only the calories, sugar and fat in one chunk, leaving me to try to work out (no clues!) how many chunks the bar might contain. No Deborah, this is not up-front, this is very carefully hidden away. Do Cadbury's shout? No, Cadbury's whisper.
So not 'buy all of these delicious things we make, now, in great quantities', but 'buy sensible, eat responsibly and you'll be able to enjoy'.
How many mass market companies do you know who advertise in the hope that you won't buy many of their products? If Cadbury were truly serious about healthy eating they'd market their Creme Eggs as "Cardiac Bullets", rather than hiding a tiny purple sentence on the bottom of their packaging - "to be enjoyed as part of a healthy, active lifestyle". Cadbury may claim they want us to be "treatwise", but chocolate and health will always be uneasy bedfellows.
That very much fits in with our thinking – the idea of healthy living sitting within our wider aim of creating a sustainable Games.
And that's why London 2012 and Cadbury are supposed to be a perfect match, is it? Oh please. Attempting to prove corporate symbiosis by matching mission statements is the last resort of the failed PR copywriter. But everybody's doing it. Look, here's Todd Stitzer, Cadbury's CEO, with an absolutely desperate example of the genre.
Since John Cadbury opened a chocolate shop in Birmingham in 1824, we have strived to be a company that is both performance driven and values led – a philosophy that is at one with the long held ethos of the Games: inspiration, optimism and community.
Deborah continues by promising that Cadbury aren't out to flog chunks of brown fat to children, they're far more interested in long-term sports sponsorship and engendering a sense of community. Yeah right. And she concludes thus:
Cadbury genuinely believe in the wider, positive change the Games can bring about, and want to help that happen. They want to spread the powerful message of the Games to the hundreds of thousands of people who buy their bars.
Buy one of the newly-branded 2012 bars of Dairy Milk and all you'll notice is a purple version of that logo nobody likes. It's extremely unlikely that you'll suddenly think "ooh, once I've gobbled down this slab of artery-blocker I really must go for a healthy jog to burn off all its calories, and then pledge to make running a sustainable permanent change to my lifestyle going forward."
No, the reason for Cadbury's Olympic sponsorship is really very simple. When you and I go to the Stadium in 2012, we might want a bar of chocolate. And if the weather's anything like it is this week, we're almost certainly going to want a choc ice. All that Cadbury have done is to pay £20m for the exclusive rights to sell chocolate and ice cream at the 2012 Games, and the London Organising Committee are allowing them some elevated publicity in return. And I like my ice cream, so I'm perfectly OK about an Olympic deal that saves taxpayers some money. But please Deborah, please Todd, all you're doing is setting up an international sweetshop, so please don't try to dress up your sponsorship deal as anything more meaningful than that.
• Big Ben is thought to be named after Sir Benjamin Hall, First Commissioner for Works 1855-1858, whose name is inscribed on the bell (or maybe after Benjamin Caunt the 17 stone Victorian boxer, nobody's quite sure).
• The clock's central mechanism is the world's first Double Three-Legged Gravity Escapement, invented especially for the Great Clock by Edmund Beckett Denison QC MP. It's still dead accurate.
• The Clock Tower is 11 storeys high. There are 334 steps up to the belfry. There is no lift.
And now a message to East Londoners who travel on the District line a lot. Bad luck, it's buggered this weekend. There's no service between Whitechapel and Barking/Upney due to track replacement work, which means the reappearance of the rail replacement buses. They were out in force a few weeks ago, chugging out to Newham and beyond, and they'll be back again in equally scary numbers tomorrow. Slight problem - the District line crosses the Lea Valley at a point where there are no parallel roads, so the buses are taking some major twirly detours to get from one side to the other. "Journey times may be increased by up to 45 minutes." Oh joy.
On my first visit I got to see Rupert, a "symbolic modeller" from Derby, standing in his three-quarter length trousers doing nothing much. I only discovered he was called Rupert when I got home, because there's no hour-by-hour schedule or scrolling Twitterfeed in the Square. His 60 minute slot was typical of one particular type of plinther - those that are up there for the experience. Rupert just wanted to soak up the atmosphere, while others have simply chosen to sit and sketch, or sit and read, or stand and stare. Great for them, but not so thrilling for the rest of us. "Is that all he's going to do?" asked one disappointed lady passer-by who'd paused to watch. Yes, that was all, and how selfish of us to expect to be entertained throughout. Not every piece of individualistic art has to be a performance.
On my second visit I got to see Bobbie, a former headteacher and a Lancashire lass. She was being rather more interactive, having brought copious notes to read from, and peered down from on high through half-rimmed reading glasses. It was rather like being back in school assembly, but without the hymn singing and sports notices (and rather more interesting too). Bobbie was an example of the other category of plinther - those with a message to get across. Not all deliver it as eloquently as she, and not all use words. Some resort to actions (Tai Chi, anyone?) or costumes (did you see that man in a cow suit over breakfast) or blatant advertising (no, just no), whichever they think best tells the world why they're here.
Last night I sat at home and watched Fran, a doctor from the West Midlands. She arrived on the plinth with a blue holdall within which her entire 60 minutes was carefully plotted. First a Shelter t-shirt and a stand to hang it from, then an oversized pack of playing cards. She fought the wind to attempt to construct a house of cards, utilising a handy grabber when some blew over the edge into the netting. The online crowd was critical... "can't believe she didn't think of tape before building a playing card sculpture OUTSIDE. #oneandother" At which point Fran produced some tape from her bag and set about constructing a rather sturdier habitation - all planned, all part of the charitable allegory. Quite the best use of an on-plinth hour I've yet seen (but then I've not seen many).
2400 people on a plinth.
• The De Morgan Centre: Ooh, now this was a gorgeous surprise. Housed in the old West Hill Reference Library above Wandsworth Town Centre, this tiny museumette holds the decorative artwork of a most talented Victorian couple. Husband William De Morgan was one of William Morris's Arts and Crafts collaborators, and was the most wonderful ceramicist. The museum holds cabinetsful of lustrous glazed dishes and brightly tiled panels, often decorated with something natural, fantastical or maritime. Wife Evelyn De Morgan was a pioneering artist, and her classical and allegorical paintings are interspersed between the pottery around the gallery walls. Lovely. Small, but lovely.
In 1647, during a lull in the English Civil War, the New Model Army bedded down in Putney for a few months. Amongst other things their thoughts turned to representative democracy, like you do, and an unlikely series of debates took place. Should every soldier, every land owner or even every free citizen, have the right to vote? Did the King have a divine right, or should the people demand equality under the law? Pretty basic stuff today, but ideas unrehearsed at the time. A manifesto was put forward entitled The Case of the Armie Truly Stated, and the voice of the common man was put forward by a disparate pressure group called the Levellers.
The Putney Debates exhibition is crammed into a tiny alcove close to the entrance. There are several fact-packed display boards to read, plus an hour's worth of video to watch. Don't worry, there's also a seat, because this could take some time. I pressed button 1 to hear more about Putney's constitutional legacy from various luminaries including Tony Benn, Lady Antonia Fraser and our Giles. I wasn't quite convinced that the debates lay the foundations for modern civil liberties, but as an early symbol of emerging democracy they remain unmatched. A quotation from a Roundhead army captain has been inscribed in gold on the south wall where you might expect to find a line from scripture. "I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live, as the greatest he". How very apposite. And plenty to ponder over a caramel milkshake in the café on the way out.
When the London County Council sought to rehouse ten thousand inner London slum dwellers in the late 1950s, their eyes alighted on what was then the westernmost tip of the capital. Beyond Roehampton Lane, in the parkland grounds of several former Georgian mansions, they plotted the construction of a vast council estate to the very latest architectural specifications.The Alton Estate was designed in two contrasting halves. Alton East was softly Modernist with a mixture of low- and high-rise housing, and nothing particularly extraordinary. But Alton West was built to a more Brutalist functional agenda, reflecting Le Corbusier's recent success in Marseille with l'Unité d'Habitation. The first Alton residents loved it.
Rising above them all, along the brow of the hill, are five imposing eleven-storey slab-blocks. They're aligned in parallel, staggered diagonally, each perched up on matchstalk pillars to provide residents with a grandstand view. Grade II* listed, obviously, although I'd be surprised if anyone from English Heritage would choose to live here.
When I mentioned the London Sewing Machine Museum in passing last week, little did I imagine I'd be walking through its hallowed portal over the weekend. The museum's only open for three hours a month, so the chances of ever finding myself in the vicinity were quite frankly minimal. But when eleven-to-one shot Wandsworth emerged from my random jamjar on the first Saturday of the month, I decided I had to visit. It took two attempts to get inside because the website doesn't reveal any precise opening times (two til five, as it turned out). But I'm so glad I made the effort, because the experience was unforgettable.
On the first floor I entered a room filled with more sewing machines than I'd ever seen in my life [photo]. Shelf after shelf, with more laid out on tables across the floor, every space filled, every machine dutifully labelled. This room's home to the more workaday machines, mostly black, once commonplace in homes and factories across the country. Before all our clothes arrived via imported sweatshops, Britons were clothed only thanks to these machines and the skill of their operators. I looked in vain for the precise model my Mum used to own, although the Silko reels and coffin-top carrying cases seemed eminently familiar. A brief video in the far corner told the story of the museum, information which was also detailed in a 13-page stapled handout freely available to take away.
The collection has breadth and diversity - it's not all sewing machines. Threads and needles and pattern books, obviously, plus a delightful wind-up marionette merrily sewing away beneath a glass belljar. One corner has been given over to recreating Ray's dad's sewing machine shop along the Merton Road, a poignant display of labelled merchandise from an era I can almost remember myself [photo]. There are antique clocks too, plus a proper barrel organ that plays music hall tunes which the curator willingly demonstrated to the watching crowds. Not terribly large crowds, admittedly, but the Australian trio and myself were duly appreciative.
Perfect day for it. A dip in Britain's largest freshwater swimming pool, all one million gallons of it, was packing them in on Saturday at the eastern end of Tooting Bec Common. Opened as the Tooting Bathing Lake in 1906, this outdoor pool evolved into a lido in the Thirties and is a notable survivor of Wandsworth council's relentless cutbacks. The public are allowed in between May and September, while the South London Swimming Club have exclusive access during the often-freezing winter months. One 100 yard-long swimming pool, one much smaller paddling pool, a café and a bit of grass for sunbathing on - these are simple pleasures. Not that I was getting inside for a look. The lido's deliberately screened behind an earth bank and various rows of trees, so that snooping is pretty much impossible. Turnstiles bar the way at the entrance, as well as a sulky guard, and on Saturday morning additional security was being called in to cope with the burgeoning crowds. Alas I hadn't brought a towel or my trunks (do swimmers still wear trunks or is everything baggy Speedos these days, I wouldn't know), so getting inside would have been pointless. All I could see through the gap was the bright blue shallow end and a gushing weddingcake fountain. A walk around the perimeter proved difficult, not least because the lido was built right up close to the East Croydon mainline. But I did eventually catch sight of a few of the Lido's trademark primary-coloured changing booths through the trees, across the railway. Sorry, I wasn't attempting too look like a pervy stalker lurking in the undergrowth. But why should swimmers have all the fun?
Wandsworth is in southwest London, close enough in parts to feel distinctly metropolitan, far enough in others to be proper suburbia. Much of its Thames-side fringe has recently been overtaken by a string of vulgar apartment blocks, whereas the interior is generally of solid Victorian stock. Wandsworth's also renowned for its extremely low council tax, usually amongst the very lowest in the country, which is one reason why the borough museum closed a few years back. Frugality might also explain why the council's website was bugger-all help in planning my whistlestop tour around the borough yesterday. But I found plenty of interest all the same.
New Covent Garden Flower Market: To enable Covent Garden to become a central London tourist trap, all the flowersellers had to move out. And its to Nine Elms that they fled, to a new 1970s market building blessed with chilled air conditioning and an isometric roof. The site had previously been a locomotive works, but go back even further and it was almost one of the most important stations in London. In 1838 the services of the London & Southampton Railway terminated here, and passengers had to continue into the centre of town by boat or road. Damned inconvenient, so the company extended their tracks to a new inner terminus and shut Nine Elms down. You've probably heard of Waterloo station, it's quite busy these days.
The US Embassy: Ah, this hasn't arrived yet. But Uncle Sam's new home is at the planning stage already, and everyone should eventually be moving out of Grosvenor Square to this unassuming Wandsworth location. It's a seemingly odd choice. At the moment the chosen spot is part of a relatively inaccessible industrial estate that's seen far better days. There are several anonymous warehouses, and a Bentley dealership, and an imposing 80s office block now boarded up with weeds growing across an extensive courtyard. My photo shows Ponton Road, which is to be diverted so that the new embassy building can be built slap bang across its former carriageway. Current plans feature "consular pavilions", "earth sculptures" and "public art opportunities", but expect an expensive hi-tech fortress within which visas will be denied and potential immigrants will be belitted. Happy future Independence Day.
Battersea Power Station: A 1930s coal-fired shouldn't gladden the heart but, even in its derelict state, this towering workhorse still has a special place in Londoners' hearts. It must be the chimneys, visible for miles around, and still mighty impressive from almost-up-close. Sir Giles Gilbert Scott's temple of power generated mega-megawatts for London before the off switch was finally flicked in 1983. Proposals for the building's rebirth have been many - a theme park, offices, a shopping mall - but planning dissent and failed funding have left the building roofless and decaying. The latest residential plan even selfishly suggests a short spur off the Northern line to serve tenants and shoppers, and bugger anyone living further west in Wandsworth or Battersea proper. Most worrying is the idea that the chimneys are in a precarious state and may have to be replaced, because I'd have no faith that once demolished they'd ever be rebuilt. Instead I cherish my memories of a tour of the interior in 2006 for a Chinese art exhibition, and I fear I may never get the opportunity again.
Battersea Dogs Home: And Cats, these days, before anyone adds a comment to correct me. The nation's favourite pet dispensary moved to Battersea in 1871, at which time it was known as The Temporary Home for Lost and Starving Dogs. Its operations have expanded somewhat since, and the Battersea site now includes kennels for nearly 300 dogs and even a suite of "Cat Socialising Rooms". The current building resembles a cross between a small prison and a Travelodge, but is (one suspects) slightly more comfortable inside. Passers-by along Battersea Park Road are still met by the unmistakable sound of hopeful barking attempting to tempt them inside. Late afternoon I watched as a smiling family emerged into the sunlight with a new addition, the lady of the house clutching a fragile puppy in her arms. Once across the road and into the car, a new home beckoned. Buster, Pippin and Beetroot still await their happy ending.
Battersea Park: And finally, one of London's very finest parks. It's blessed by a riverside location, and it's huge, and yesterday it was the perfect spot for thousands of Wandsworthians to strip down and toast their flesh. Unlike many other London parks, it's hard to get bored here. Take a look inside the Pump House Art Gallery, go for a pedal around the boating lake, or maybe potter around the children's zoo. My choices included watching the sun glinting on the 25-year-old Peace Pagoda, going for a wander along the Tea Terrace, and enjoying a bit of cooling spray around the central fountains. Back in 1951 these synchronised gushers were a centrepiece of the park's contribution to the Festival of Britain, advertised as the "Festival Gardens" and boasting a large number of whimsical attractions. Most were swiftly withdrawn afterwards, but the Battersea funfair survived into the 1970s until doomed by a fatal Big Dipper accident. Traces of past glories remain, but these days the park's simpler pleasures are perfectly attractive.
The second biggest prison in the UK (after Liverpool, if you must know) is tucked away inside a pocket of suburbia to the southeast of Wandsworth town centre. The prison opened in 1851 as The Surrey House of Correction, arranged radiallly with six cellblock wings that still house prisoners to this day. In total 135 inmates have experienced irreversible 'correction' at Wandsworth, most of these on the gallows located in "The Cold Meat Shed". Many renowned miscreants have spent time within the prison's walls, including Oscar Wilde, Charles Bronson and Pete Docherty, although most inmates are only here before being packed off to somewhere else. One convict who refused to hang around was train robber Ronnie Biggs, who escaped from the exercise yard in an audacious breakout in 1965 and rapidly swapped South London for South America.
Random borough (22): Time once more for me to take another random trip to one of London's 33 boroughs. As I write I have no idea which one of the 12 remaining borough names will be revealed when I unfold the slip of paper I'm about to pick from my legendary (but unseen) "special jamjar". I could pick any one of the other London boroughs - inner or outer, urban or suburban, small or large, fascinating or dull. I just know it won't be Merton, Islington, Enfield, Sutton, Lewisham, Southwark, Kensington & Chelsea, Hackney, Hillingdon, the City, Bromley, Lambeth, Tower Hamlets, Haringey, Hounslow, Brent, Redbridge, Ealing, Harrow, Croydon or Waltham Forest, because they're the twenty-one (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already.
This year the flowery stem stretched out rather further than usual, then promptly sagged under its own weight and drooped headlong into the rosebush alongside. In attempting to remove the flowers from their thorny hideaway I managed to damage the stalk, creating a nasty torn fold that would never repair. Damn. My prize bloom, now at risk of rapid extinction, drooped even more precipitously below the horizontal. Rather than watch the flowers die unattached and unloved, I snipped off the stalk at its point of damage and placed the single stem into a vase I've had for eight years but never used. It looks a bit lonely, but at least I get to admire its beauty indoors for a brief period before the petals fade away.
Obviously, eventually, Smoke #14. The latest edition of this irregular London fanzine is now available, and the 52-page glossy offering features the usual mix of "words and images inspired by the city". All hail editor-in-chief Matt and his eclectic selection of contributors. Look, the cover even manages to make Camberwell appear glamorous. Most of the articles have an articulate literary bent, more descriptive than factual, and there's usually an arty angle to the images and illustrations. In this issue you can read about night-biking on the Regent's Canal, bus queues on Tulse Hill, windows that look like monkeys, London's campest statues, post-war Leytonstone and Narroway shopping. If you live in West London you might be disappointed by the geographical spread of articles, but who cares, the whole magazine's more about atmosphere than location. Perhaps these snippets here will give you a better idea. And then £2.90 (stockists here) or £3.30 (mail order here) will earn you a proper collectable copy.
The June-long celebration of London's history has now finished, concluding with a weekend of building-related events. Ian went to the SoL event at Three Mills (but not many other people did) and to the SoL-related event at Crossness (although they were opening anyway). Dave Hill believes that the festival could have used its small budget to greater effect. And in case you're wondering what you missed, bad luck, because Boris has already taken down the entire website. If the festival runs again next year, I hope the publicity (and the listing of events) is a darned sight better.
Olympic update
