They're only two months late, but Blogger have finally got round to undoing some of the damage caused by Auto-Pagination. They haven't abandoned the concept, but they have published some special code which allows those of us with Classic templates to link to "Older posts". It's quite simple code too - you just add <$BlogPaginationLinks$> and all the appropriate blog pagination links appear. Me, I've chosen a (slightly) more complex option and used new Blogger code to add some customised links at the bottom of my template...
Which means that all of my monthly archives can now be reached if you click back far enough. Result! But why couldn't Blogger have produced this code right back at the start, rather than breaking things and then saying nothing? And I hope they'll soon get round to publicising their solution properly, rather than hiding it away in a help forum where nobody affected will ever spot it. I may still dislike Auto-Pagination, but thank goodness it's no longer a blogkiller.
We take our sky for granted. It hangs above our heads, overlooked. We live in it, we move in it, we breathe it in.
It blows and flows and churns. It transforms into random clouds that bubble and swirl. It thickens to obscure our vision, then clears to reveal a dome of blue. It can be fiery red or leaden grey, sometimes both. It's a layer of beauty, a mantle of life.
It regulates our lives. We rise when it brightens and we fade when it goes dark. It protects and nurtures us. We'd freeze without it, yet we'd fry without it. Sometimes, with ice or rain or electricity, it attacks us without warning. And other times, just when we've taken it for granted once more, it kicks back and reminds us of its power.
It doesn't take much to knock our sky off kilter. A few too many power stations, a lot too many cars, and its atoms inexorably heat up. A shroud of smoke, a dearth of sun, and instant cooling kicks in. When nuclear fallout is expected, it's the sky that kills you. And a singlevolcano, with the wind in the wrong direction, can bring everything to a standstill.
We thought we'd conquered the sky, but a single Icelandic fissure proved us wrong. We thought cross-country travel was a short hop, but we've been firmly land-locked. We thought a tube with wings could connect us to anywhere in the world, but we've been uncompromisingly grounded. We made plans, and assumed connections, but a billion ash particles dashed those dreams. Our sky has rejected us, and it could be days, weeks or even months before the Earth lets us have it back.
We're trapped on the surface, staring up at some obstruction we can't even see. We've been swept back to an era before flight, an age of awe and incapacity. Maybe we won't take the sky quite so much for granted in the future, not after Eyjafjallajoekull's done its worst. But honestly, after all these centuries of waiting for a plume in the right place and the wind in the right direction, wasn't the sunset a bloody disappointment?
Vote2010: I'm sure you've been reading the parties' manifestos carefully. I mean, it's only right to discover precisely what you're voting for, rather than simply trusting the media to dripfeed you selected policy snippets. Imagine your embarrassment if you voted in a government and only afterwards discovered that they were planning something stupid. Or if you overlooked a candidate, then found out later that they had the best policies all along.
So, to check you've been paying attention properly, here are some policies lifted from thethreemain manifestos. Each set of three contains one Conservative policy, one Labour policy and one Liberal Democrat policy. I'm sure you'll be able to guess correctly which is which. Then check your hunch by clicking on the drop-down list.
1a) Double the rate of modernisation of forces’ family homes to ensure they are fit for heroes. 1b) Ensure every vote will have equal value by introducing ‘fair vote’ reforms to equalise the size of constituency electorates, and conduct a boundary review to implement these changes within five years. 1c) Move towards a ‘zero waste’ Britain, banning recyclable and biodegradable materials from landfill.
2a) Introduce a faster approvals process for planning applications where neighbours raise no objections. 2b) Expand tough ‘Community Payback’ for criminals who don’t go to prison, giving everyone the right to vote on the work they do. 2c) Introduce a Universal Service Code to secure high-quality customer service in the private and public sectors, for example by requiring that the customer service phone number is free from mobiles and landlines.
3a) Legislation to ensure Parliaments sit for a fixed term and an All Party Commission to chart a course to a written constitution. 3b) Make Network Rail refund a third of your ticket price if you have to take a rail replacement bus service. 3c) Transform the civil service into a ‘civic service’ by making sure that participation in social action is recognised in civil servants’ appraisals.
4a) Make prisoners work and contribute from their prison wages to a compensation fund for victims. 4b) Give residents the power to instigate local referendums on any local issue if 5 per cent of the local population sign up. 4c) Access to psychological therapy for those who need it.
5a) Conduct a Strategic Defence Review to equip our Armed Forces for 21st century challenges, and support our troops and veterans. 5b) Work to reduce litter, which spoils too much of our countryside and urban environment. 5c) Bring in stop-on-request for night buses. You should be able to ask the driver to let you off between stops, so you’re as close to home as possible.
If verystrong rumours are to be believed, the central chunk of the East London line will finally reopen tomorrow. Trains will rumble again through the Thames Tunnel after two and a bit years of total closure. Opposite banks of the river will be reconnected, enabling northern folk to pop down south and southern folk to pop up north even further than they used to pop before. But which fresh delights does the East London line open up? Where can you suddenly go that you couldn't be bothered to go before. Here's the diamond geezer guide to...
Interesting places to visit along the East London Line
Dalston Junction: There's the Kingsland Shopping Centre, where you'd only ever shop if you were desperate, or local, or both. There's Dalston Kingsland station, where you can change for the North London Line (except that's extremely closed at the moment, so all you'll get is a rail replacement bus). Or there's, erm. There's a brand new station opening tomorrow, maybe that'll have to do.
Haggerston: The Regent's Canal is within brief walking distance. Other than that, tourist hotspot this is not.
Hoxton: Yay, East London's hippest trendiest quarter finally gets its own station. Except that this station's up the lowly end of town, nowhere near the lively bit, and Hoxton Square's actually rather closer to existing Old Street. But alight here for the wonderful Geffrye Museum (immediately nextdoor), and on Sundays it's only a short walk to Columbia Road Flower Market.
Whitechapel: No, not the Whitechapel Gallery, because that's next to Aldgate East station instead. Whitechapel may be the heart of the East End, and therefore steeped in history and character, but it's lacking in in must-see attractions. If you get desperate, the Royal London Hospital has a tiny weekdays-only museum.
Shadwell: There's not much here in Shadwell either, or so you might think. But if you fancy a historic prowl I'd very much recommend trails 2, 3 and 4 from the Heritage of London Trust's excellent downloadable booklet.
Wapping: Yay, Wapping. Twisty riverside streets, ye olde pubs and a dash of lingering maritime character. Come at low tide, find the right steps down, and you can even go wandering around the Thames foreshore. This is one station I'm looking forward to getting back to.
Rotherhithe: Yay, Rotherhithe. Twisty riverside streets, ye olde pubs and a dash of lingering maritime character. Plus the Brunel Museum, where you can find out the history of the ground-breaking tunnel you've just ridden through. If you've not been before, tomorrow's line reopening is the perfect excuse.
Canada Water: On the face of it, there's not much here but a bus station and some unfilled-in docks. But follow the remaining waterways to the heart of the peninsula and you can enjoy panoramic views from Stave Hill (which is a bit of a secret local place, ssssh).
Surrey Quays: Named after the adjacent Shopping Centre. Nuff said.
New Cross/New Cross Gate: End of the line, for now. Both stations are very convenient for Goldsmiths College, not that non-students have much excuse to visit. Or there's some famous beerynightlife along the New Cross Road. But quite frankly, if you're looking for something touristy to do, take the bus to Greenwich instead.
Brockley/Honor Oak Park/Forest Hill/Sydenham/Crystal Palace/Penge West/Anerley/Norwood Junction/West Croydon: No, not tomorrow. Not until the end of May. Be patient.
Having spent rather too long in the northern third of Kingston, because that's where all the interesting stuff is, I thought I'd better go and explore the remainder. So I took a five mile walk from one side of the borough to the other, from the Thames to the A3, along an especially river-y section of the London Loop.
Somewhere pretty: Hogsmill Valley Walk The Hogsmill River rises on the North Downs, round about Ewell, then flows roughly northwards all the way down to the Thames. I walked the valley in the opposite direction, starting at Charter Quay on Kingston riverside. All busy with bars and restaurants it was, and in complete contrast to medieval ClatternBridge which carries the High Street over the river a hundred yards later [photo]. Then past the Coronation Stone, through the Guildhall and out across Kingston's main ring road. Don't worry, that's as built-up as the walk gets.
This was a not-quite-along the river walk for the next couple of miles. There were glimpses of brook through the backstreets of Kingston, notably alongside the University and its well-hidden art gallery, but then the London Loop diverted me away. Lower Marsh Lane went on and on through increasingly depressing scenery - unless, that is, you like being sandwiched between a cemetery and a sewage works. Not all river valleys are sweet fragrant backwaters! Next up was Berrylands station, a remote halt serving the commuterfolk of an aspirational estate, although I suspect they have to keep their windows closed more often than they'd like. The Loop wove past an under-frequented shopping parade and an overspilling pub before finally returning to the stream.
At last, proper greenery and proper riverbank. A thin mile-long strip of meadow has been left undeveloped, providing sanctuary for wildlife and a good place to exercise dogs. I was especially chuffed to spot a flash of blue skimming across the water - the first time I've ever seen a kingfisher within the bounds of Greater London. Upstream the Hogsmill gets to dip beneath the concrete scar of the A3, but I had to make a detour to the nearest subway to get across this ten-lane arterial. And then back to peaceful meadows, alone this time apart from rather a lot of magpies (I counted thirteen - that's not good, is it?).
The path left the river at Old Malden, at the reputed spot where Millais painted his ever-so famous painting Ophelia. No dead Shakespearean heroines in the water when I passed by, you'll be glad to hear [photo]. Artistic inspiration also struck at the Gunpowder Mills a short distance upstream, in whose doorway William Holman Hunt famously painted Jesus knocking. Those mills are long gone, but The Light of the World shines on. One last stretch of Hogsmill awaited my weary feet, enlivened first by a field of grunting footballers, then by the whine of a major karting circuit. I even earned sight of a flapping heron ascending from the riverbed. But this was as far as I was going because a sign at the next road junction announced "Welcome to Surrey", and that wasn't on my agenda. Ewell'll have to wait. by train: Kingston, Berrylands, Malden Manor, Tolworth
To reach my final stop... ... I nipped into Tolworth, whose slab-like tower is a landmark for miles around. This was the first Outer London skyscraper, formerly with a Fine Fare supermarket at its base, now propped up by an M&S Food Hall. [photo][photo] ... I rode on the K2, which is surely the only London bus named after a mountain. ... I hopped off to see the big house in Hook where Enid Blyton first became a governess and started writing [photo]. Today there's a bus stop outside, a skip in the garden and a union HQ nextdoor, which aren't really the ingredients for any jolly adventures.
Somewhere famous: Chessington World of Adventures Britain's first theme park sits in the very southwestern corner of London, almost as if the capital's boundary was especially extended to include it. Initially a zoo, Chessington relaunched in 1987 as a souped-up fairground, and punters have been flocking back ever since. There are 27 rides altogether, plus significantly more monkeys, as well as all the opportunities to buy fizzy drink a visitor could need. One of the oldest coasters is theVampire, a dangly whizzabout with a Transylvanian theme. It was my favourite ride when I first visited, on a quiet day when making repeated trips was delightfully achievable. I also enjoyed ProfessorBurp'sBubbleworks nextdoor, with its swirling waters and light-hearted humour, although it seems a 2005 refit has turned it into a characterless advert for Imperial Leather shower gel.
But I didn't venture inside on this occasion. It was already late afternoon by the time I arrived, and a few families were starting to dribble out back to their cars. All I could do was eye up the empty queueing slalom, and peer through the railings beyond the ticket line as the occasional monorail chugged by. And I could stare at the noticeboard which listed admission prices, and quietly gasp, and realise how out of touch with entertainment prices I've become. It's £34 to get in, or £23 if you're under 12, which soon adds up to a substantial sum for visiting families. There are slightly better deals if you book online, and greatly reduced rates if you stay for two days, which is no doubt why a vast Holiday Inn recently opened across one edge of the car park. In a couple of months an African Savannah Experience opens too, which sounds like a perfect opportunity to watch shivering zebras from a plywood walkway. But it probably won't tear the majority of visitors away from the thrill of a big coaster ride, and then a box of soggy chips to follow. by train: Chessington South by bus: 71, 465
Somewhere random: Norbiton/Surbiton Two 1970s BBC sitcoms sealed this area's reputation as quintessential suburbia. Both featured stuck-in-a-rut locals turning their back on the rat race, much to the amazement of friends and family. In one the main protagonist faked his own suicide, and in the other a middle-aged couple ploughed up their garden to go self sufficient. I wonder how many Reggies, Toms and Barbaras there are around Kingston today.
Reggie Perrin lived in the fictional suburb of Climthorpe. Its location was never specifically stated, but the opening minutes of episode 1 show Reggie walking through through a succession of residential streets to board the 8:16 at Norbiton station. There was always some reason why his train was 11 minutes late, and the offending disruption was usually at some local station like New Malden or Berrylands, so that's evidence enough. Not that the BBC filmed any of the rest of the series round here. Shots of Coleridge Close, from which Reggie set out every morning, were actually filmed in Beaufort Close in Ealing. His routine walk through the avenues of the Poets Estate was filmed in W5 too, but I guess ending up at Park Royal tube station was never an option.
Norbiton station is a fairly ordinary halt on the Kingston loop, boasting little more than two platforms and a pedestrian subway underneath. One one side of the tracks the residential avenues start straight away, while on the other side there's a car park, a newsagent and a funeral directors. Here too is Hanover House - a squat brown office block that's ugly enough to be a modern Sunshine Desserts. The whole station area is overshadowed by the backside of Kingston Hospital. I discovered later that David Cameron had been inside visiting the maternity unit at precisely the same time I'd been walking by, but all I saw was a lone medical underling sneaked out for a quick fag.
Tom and Barbara Good, meanwhile, very definitely lived in Surbiton. Even the name screams "suburbia", in this the last London outpost before the Thames slips quietly into Surrey. Their house was supposedly in The Avenue, although again the BBC used artistic licence and did all the filming outside a house in Northwood. But a few local scenes were slipped in, notably of Surbiton's unmistakeable station, plus use of a number 71 bus when Lenin the chicken attempted to escape.
Surbiton may have a stereotypical reputation, but I was pleasantly surprised by the place. Independent shopping retains its niche here, from a proper florists by the station to the Regency Bookshop at the foot of Victoria Road. Peering in through the coffee shop windows I spotted several well-to-do couples - modern-day Margo and Jerrys - perhaps preparing to head off to Dollie Mountshaft's Music Society or Mrs Dooms-Patterson's Pony Club. It's easy to see why people might settle here, tempted by near-river terraces or sweeping exclusive drives. But I also noted that the old Woolworths had been taken over by a lowly 99p store, so presumably there are still plenty of Tom and Barbara types ekeing out a less than good life hereabouts. by train: a) Norbiton; b) Surbiton
Somewhere sporty: AFC Wimbledon, Kingsmeadow No, of course Wimbledon football club don't play in Wimbledon. The original team upped sticks to Milton Keynes (where the money was better), while a fresh club continuing the old south London spirit attempted to continue nearby. With no home of their own they crossed into the neighbouring borough and entered a ground-sharing deal with Kingstonian. Several seasons, and promotions, later they're riding high in the Blue Square Premier League and on their way to maybe overtaking their upstart Midlands impostors. But not yet.
AFC Wimbledon's stadium is a non-photogenic arena on the banks of the Hogsmill River. Accessed beneath an arch on Jack Goodchild Way, the outer shell has the look of a row of cheap warehouses on a trading estate. The main stand is sponsored by a roofing company, not that it looks especially sturdy. Far more unlikely a sponsor is the independent record label who've conspired to name this The Cherry Red Records Fans' Stadium. Thankfully 'Kingsmeadow' will do for most users. Not that there were any users when I turned up on Saturday morning. Four hours from kick-off (although admittedly for lesser partners Kingstonian), there wasn't a soul in sight. Nobody tweaking the pitch, nobody firing up the hotdogs and absolutely nobody practising a few last minute ball skills. It'll no doubt be busier on Tuesday night when AFCW host an end-of-season battle against the not-so mighty Grays Athletic. And one day, who knows, even those blessed MK Dons might find their team coach pulling in here. London can but hope. by train: Norbiton by bus: 131, K5
That's the Royal Borough of Kingston upon Thames, to give it its full name (although there's not much Thames, and the royalty's long gone). London's southwesternmost borough is a long tongue of suburban hinterland poking into Surrey, to which it traditionally belongs. But it's not packed with fascinating tourist-worthy locations, which made exploring its leafy acres a tad challenging. I think I found enough to write about...
Somewhere historic: Kingston Museum Opened in 1904, Kingston's museum sits on the ring road near the bus station. It's not a busy place - I was the only visitor there - although being attached to the library must help lure in folk from time to time. And yet it has a fascinating history to tell, because Kingston is one of only a handful of places in England to have hosted a coronation. Reputedly seven coronations, in fact, all Anglo-Saxon kings of whom the most famous was Ethelred the Unready. Westminster Abbey took over from Harold onwards, but back in the 10th century this Mercia/Wessex border town ruled. Amazingly Kingston's coronation stone still exists, despite having spent most of the 18th century used as a mounting block for horsemen in the Market Place. In 1935 it was reinstalled with due reverence outside the Guildhall, right next to the Mayor's parking space, where it's now fenced off and generally overlooked. [photo][photo]
Kingston's coronations provide an amazing heritage for a London suburb, but don't expect to hear much about them in the borough museum where the 'Kings' bit is glossed over in two cases flat. Instead there's the usual whistlestop selection of flint axes and Roman hoards before the timeline screeches headlong into the second millennium. Kingston's riverside past is celebrated (watermen, swan upping, logboats), as is the Sopwithaircraft factory that developed to churn out Hawker Siddeley bombers in WW2. A separate gallery remembers pioneering Victorian photographer EadweardMuybridge (ooh, early moving images) (mmm, panoramas of pre-quake San Francisco). But most of the central display could represent life in any major town around the country - all the usual museum stuff that appeals to schools on field trips. Everything feels a bit ordinary, a bit understated, and most definitely not packed with interactive flashy things for maximum modern appeal. And hurrah for that. If you're ever passing and you like your museums old school, enjoy the contents within. But don't rush. by train: Kingston
Somewhere retail: Kingston They're not really keen on tourists in Kingston. There used to be a well-stocked Visitor Information Centre in the old Town Hall in the Market Place [photo], but this shut down at the end of February. Now only a handful of non-useful leaflets remain in the foyer, and would-be tourists are directed instead to reception desks in far-flung hard-to-locate shops and offices. Never mind, I'm sure this has cut the council tax by a penny or two, so who's to complain? Kingston's visitor website is no better, praising the area as "one of the liveliest Royal London Boroughs" (there are only two). It thinks it knows what visitors want, and that's cash tills and steaming coffee. If you only have one hour to enjoy in Kingston, it advises, "....go shopping". So I did.
Kingston's shops are very popular (in London, second only to those in the West End). Some of them are enormous. There's a giant modern John Lewis which disfigures the view from Kingston Bridge, as well as the granddaddy of all things retail hereabouts - Bentalls. This department store's been serving Surrey since 1867, and its cliff-like frontage spans the length of an entire street. An equally-long glass-roofed shopping mall has been carved out behind [photo], its sparkly atrium higher than the nave of Westminster Abbey (Kingston may have lost its coronations, but they've won the war). Less gorgeous is the Eden Walk Shopping Centre, whose underwhelming architecture you can probably imagine once you know it was opened in the late 1970s. Move on - the surrounding pedestrianised streets are far more alluring.
On Saturday morning a throng of Conservative activists had descended onto Clarence Street, thrusting NHS leaflets and beaming Camerons into the hands of passing shoppers. Many of them sported navy blue "I back Zak" jackets in support of the multi-millionnaire banker's offspring who's currently trying to get himself elected around here. You might have assumed that Kingston would be prime Tory territory but no, the entire borough's currently a Lib Dem stronghold. Zak's pack were attracting decidedly less interest than the band of fresh-faced musicians busking in the precinct outside HSBC, but more interest than the bloke trying to flog helium balloons up the street.
Meanwhile one of Kingston's most famous attractions went almost ignored, except by me and my camera. A stream of shoppers walked straight past the famous set of tumbling red phone boxes in Old London Road, presumably because they've been there since 1989 and everybody local's got over the novelty shock value by now. The sculpture's called Out of Order, and would make a fantastic assault course scramble for big kids if only there weren't signs attached saying "No Climbing". Instead it merely acts as an artistic windbreak between a branch of Wilkinson and an Italian restaurant. Let's hope that Kingston's occasional tourists manage to stumble across it without directions. [photo][photo] by train: Kingston
Today I'm three quarters of the way through my random exploration of the capital. At this stage only a northwestern strip and an eastern chunk remain to be visited, plus the outlier of Kingston down in the southwest. But these nine still form a hugely diverse set of boroughs. Will I end up in the densely-packed centre of town - somewhere like Westminster or Camden? Or will I be despatched instead to the attraction-lite outskirts - somewhere sprawling like Barnet or Bexley?
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 and the rain holds off. 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...
??? Colourful London quiz Let's put together a list of London placenames which include a colour. I'll start you off with Greenwich, Goldhawk Road, Shoreditch and Camberwell. How many colourful places can we find?
Greenwich, Goldhawk Road, Shoreditch, Camberwell, Blackheath, Limehouse, Primrose Hill, Primrose Hill, Silvertown, Lavender Hill, Grays Inn, Stanmore, Whitechapel, Plumstead, Northumberland Heath, West Ealing, Canary Wharf.
• I'm allowing districts, stations, rivers, parks, that sortof thing. • I'll pick the best example for each colour from those you suggest. • No more than three places each, please.
Vote2010: Why bother? The Electoral Reform Society claim that 25 million voters in 382 safe seats are wasting their time because their constituency will never ever change hands. Live in Beaconsfield, Birkenhead or Belfast and you already know who's going to be your MP, and the next four weeks of campaigning are but a pointless charade. As I discovered when I lived in rural East Anglia, the only way to change your MP in these circumstances is to move house.
But it's actually far worse than that. In the 2005 General Election Tony Blair secured a majority of just 66 seats, and yours probably wasn't one of those which made the difference. Had only 33 seats fallen the other way, to the Conservatives rather than Labour, we'd have been in hung parliament territory five years ago. I've added up the majorities in the 33 tightest Lab/Con marginals and I've worked out that as few as 13500 electors made the difference. Their last minute decisions to vote Blair rather than Howard changed the election, and they form only 0.05% of those who turned out and voted.
» Take Crawley, for example. With a Labour majority of just 37, it would have taken only 19 voters swinging rightwards to turn the seat blue. The flaw in this logic, of course, is that nobody could have predicted in advance who those 19 voters might be. But the other 41954 needn't have bothered. » As for Bethnal Green and Bow, with a relatively tiny majority of 823, it was George's ability to get a few hundred extra supporters into the polling booths which earned him a five-year East End platform. Sometimes it doesn't take much.
But it's actually far worse than that. Not everybody bothers to vote, and indeed the proportion of the electorate who bother to exercise their franchise has been tumbling steadily. There's not a single UK constituency where the MP commands the support of at least 50% of the electorate. Even Tony Blair's last mini-landslide earned the trust of less than a quarter of UK over 18s.
» Bethnal Green and Bow turns out to be a true rotten borough, one of only six in the UK where less than 20% of the electorate voted for their MP. Least representative of all was neighbouring Poplar and Canning Town, at 18.4%, so it seems we Tower Hamlets folk are plain apathetic about our politics.
But it's actually rather better than that. Politicians may moan and whinge about proportional representation and single transferable votes, but our first past the post system tends to deliver satisfaction to most. Safe seats give the majority the MP they want, even if those MPs don't then go ahead and form a government. Tot up the votes cast for all the sitting MPs in the House and it turns out that 50% of the UK's voters voted for them. I may never have managed to vote for my MP, yet, but half of you do every time.
And it's actually rather more important than that. Never assume that your vote will be wasted, because your vote might always cancel out the X cast by some misguided extremist bigot. So no, your vote won't be wasted at all. It'll only look like that afterwards.
I bought a book called 'Map Addict' last week. It's not a self-help guide for surveyors, it's a celebration of British cartography, and it's rather wonderful. Its author Mike Parker has recently been delivering a ten-part related series on Radio 4, a fraction of which remains on iPlayer for your delectation and delight. And here's a top-notch historical story from the London suburbs which I'd never have been aware of otherwise. You'll never guess where the Ordnance Survey started...
In the late 18th century there were no accurate maps of the UK. The man who changed this was Major-GeneralWilliamRoy, a Scottish engineer who realised the military importance of knowing precisely where things were. He set out to establish the relative positions of the Greenwich and Paris observatories, and decided that triangulation was the way to go. Establish a baseline somewhere, measure the angle of a third point from both ends, and a network of interlocking triangles would eventually pinpoint the location of everywhere on the grid.
For his initial baseline Roy needed to pick two endpoints about five miles apart with a large flat expanse inbetween. He found the ideal location to the west of London, on Hounslow Heath. This was a highwayman'shaunt covering 25 square miles of undeveloped scrubland, and its lack of contours made it ideal for taking extended measurements. This contourlessness also made it ideal, two centuries later, for the construction of London's largest airport. Only a rump of Hounslow Heath remains today after the majority disappeared beneath the all-consuming monster of Heathrow. But one thing that wasn't wiped out was Roy's northwestern endpoint, which it's still possible to visit without disturbing national security.
Along the northern edge of Heathrow Airport, between the A4 and runway 09L/27R, runs the Northern Perimeter Road. It's a major road artery, definitely not designed for pedestrians, but provides those who venture here with a grandstand view of enormous aircraft roaring into the skies alongside. Head to the section immediately above the road tunnel that emerges from the middle of Terminal Island, and hunt for a small ornamental garden in the corner of a Business car park. In any economically-driven world this car park would extend right up to the road junction, but instead it's been held back to reveal an upright cannon rammed into the ground. General Roy's baseline began here, now also marked by a plaque and by a rather delightful hedge. You'd not deduce it from the ground but, viewed from above, the shrubs form the shape of a finger, or maybe a cannon, pointing southeast towards the other end of the line. Even in this hinterland of hotels and long-term parking, one tiny scrap of historical magic lives on. [photo]
From here at Heath Row, Roy's men set about painstakingly measuring the distance to Endpoint Two using rods and iron bars. They came up with a distance of 27404.01 feet, which turned out later to be within two inches of the correct length. Not GPS-perfect, but damned impressive for 1784 all the same.
It's easy to nip to the other end of Roy's baseline by catching the 285 bus. This service runs approximately along his invisible corridor - round Hatton Cross, through Feltham and past Hanworth Sainsburys. Alight at the far end of Uxbridge Road, just before the bus reaches Hampton Hill, and the second memorial cannon is close by. It used to be set in parkland, but a chunk of residential infill has left the monument adrift up a council cul-de-sac. It's not in Cannon Close, though that's nearby, but up at the end of adjacent Roy Grove. A wide gap has been left inbetween the houses at number 7 and number 9, and here the commemorative ironwork emerges from the grass. I'm not sure what the neighbours think of sharing their suburban backwater with a nationally-significant memorial, but I bet it makes cutting the lawn tricky. [photo]
From Heathrow and Hampton, General Roy's triangulation spread out first across London and then the entire country. Most importantly, the mapping of Britain completed from this baseline gave birth in 1791 to the Ordnance Survey. Originally established for military reconnaissance, this august body now maps the nation with pinpoint digital accuracy. But they've not forgotten the Scottish engineer whose initial measurements kicked off their work. OS maps of Heathrow Airport still mark William's survey point with the unusual legend "Cannon West end of General Roy's Base (site of)". If you're a UK map addict, it's the only place to start.
Seaside postcard: Camber Sands I thought I'd go back to Rye at the weekend. I decided to go somewhere I've blogged about before so that it didn't matter when I didn't write about my trip afterwards. But then I turned left outside the station, and carried on walking, and ended up somewhere completely different altogether. To a seaside resort I'd haven't visited since I was two. Better blog about that then.
Camber Sands lies at the mouth of the River Rother - once a formidable natural harbour but long since destroyed by medieval storms. It's a two mile walk from Rye down to the reconstructed seashore, and a lonely windswept walk if you choose to hug the remains of the river. The first flat field is full of sheep, and hundreds of weeny cute lambs too at this time of year. Slowly the town on the hill shrinks across the salt marsh [photo], and all that can be heard is the squelch of mud beneath boot. And the odd seagull. Weather permitting.
Halfway down on the opposite bank is modern Rye Harbour. Here fishing boats tussle with medium-sized container ships, and at high tide one of these may go scudding off down the narrow channel towards the sea. Look carefully in the path alongside the golf links and you should spot two metal rails - the remains of the Rye and Camber Tramway which used to transport golfers and holidaymakers down from the main town. The corrugated iron hut near the harbourmaster's tower is all that remains of an intermediate station, once visited by tens of thousands of Victorian holidaymakers for fourpence return.
The end of the river is very different depending on the tide. At high tide a deep broad channel merges straight into the sea, while at low tide a shallower flow ebbs further out past a distant buoy. It's then that the expanse of Camber Sands is revealed - a gently-sloping yellow shelf ideal for test-match scale beach cricket [photo]. At midsummer its multitudinous acres are undoubtedly busier, but on Easter afternoon there was more than enough room for every dog to have a meadow-sized chunk to itself. The sands are widest nearest the river's mouth, gradually tapering to the east and turning ever shinglier. Ten miles up the coast at Dungeness the seashore's all bleak and pebbly but, here at Camber, sand reigns. [photo]
The dunes are fabulous. Great heaps of sand bound together by razor-sharp grass, piled up between the beach and the village beyond [photo]. The council would rather you stuck to recognised paths through the valleys inbetween, but far more fun to stomp up to the top and hope not too much sand gets displaced. Families hide from squalls within silica hollows, while dogwalkers trail their hounds from summit to summit parallel to the beach. Look west from up here and that's Winchelsea, while look north and the marshes are clumped with twirling turbines. Lazy tourists can rejoice that the highest dunes are nearest the car park, which is also conveniently situated for the Kit Kat Cafe. This classic beachfront diner serves fry-ups and candy floss to grateful holidaymakers, while the recess nextdoor supplies all the plastic buckets and rubber rings any toddler could ever need. [photo]
As I was only a toddler in 1967 I remembered nothing of my previous visit to Camber. This is where I spent the Summer of Love, not letting my hair down in a patchouli haze but holed up in a rented chalet with my parents. They spent the week playing cards and changing my baby brother's nappy, while I dug holes in the beach and went to bed early. The bungalow we stayed in is probably still there, somewhere, amidst one of Camber's two large holiday parks [photo]. I attempted to walk round their perimeter by following a muddy bridleway, but ended up getting very lost within the recreational compound. A few of the chalets looked new, almost luxurious, but further inland living conditions were decidedly more spartan, decrepit and bleak. The social highlight for today's kids seemed to be an indoor waterpark, and definitely not the rusting sign on a chalet wall advising budding naturalists to "look up, you might see a squirrel". I couldn't get back to the beach fast enough.
Vote2010: here we go again... I have never voted for my MP. Wherever I've lived, be it leafy shire or urban heartland, I've never once put my X against the name of the chap who got elected. It's always been some other schmuck who ended up in Westminster, carried aloft by the misguided votes of thousands who clearly didn't view the world the way I did. Such is democracy. My ill-starred electoral record may finally change on May 6th - seventh time lucky - or else I may choose 'wrong' again. But I've already made up my mind who I'm voting for, and no amount of debate or posturing over the next 30 days will change my mind. Instead I shall sit back and watch the zealots shouting at the impressionable, and sigh a lot. And I shall also smile, for no other reason than that George Galloway can't possibly be my MP for much longer. However bad it gets, it's not all bad.
OK, so I have a sticking plaster solution to Blogger's buggered archives.
It's actually been there for 24 hours, down at the bottom of the page, although almost nobody seems to have noticed.
Thanks to a nifty piece of Javascript code, conjured up by my Tridentscan correspondent, it's now possible to click back to "Older posts" every time Blogger decides to truncate my pages early. It's not a perfect answer to my Auto-Pagination woes, but it'll do for now.
It's not perfect because it doesn't restrict itself to individual months, it simply churns back through the timeline. It's not perfect because it sometimes jumps back to the last post you read, not the first post you didn't. It's not perfect because there isn't a "Newer posts" button for going back the other way. It's not perfect because few people will ever bother clicking on it, because that takes effort, whereas with complete monthly archives it was possible to scan your eye down to the bottom and spot something interesting. It's not perfect because hundreds of internal links in 4000 posts over the last eight years no longer work. And it's not perfect because none of my lost posts are searchable. These "older posts" pages don't exist as fixed webpages, so Google never indexes them, so nobody deliberately searching for something in the truncated chunks will ever find it. I've still wasted my time writing 60% of my blog because you can only stumble on it, not search for it. Like I said, this solution's not perfect, but it'll do for now.
In fact, to be honest, it's more than imperfect. I'm lumbering on with a less-than-optimum blogging interface because I hate change. I haven't upgraded to a new Blogger layout template because many of the problems I mentioned in the last paragraph would still exist. And I haven't switched to Wordpress or Movable Type because I'd have to abandon my current URL and start afresh somewhere new. I know you don't care. I know you just wish I'd shut up moaning and start writing about obscure London backwaters again. But I care, because I want the least worst option for my writing - whatever that may be.
One thing that's increasingly clear is that Blogger couldn't give a damn. They could make available the "Older posts" code I'm now using at the bottom of the page, but they choose not to. Their priority is delivering future advertising opportunities, not safeguarding existing content. Their techies don't give a damn that new features might 'break' stuff, they just plough ahead grinning and tell us it's allfor the better. One day, surely, they'll introduce something so awful that I'll be forced to jump ship altogether. But, until an escape route is absolutely necessary, I'll make do with my sticking plaster for now.
I suppose that means I've actually got to write something tomorrow.
What happened yesterday? • You quite liked the updated Blogger template I showed you [or you quite liked the idea of migrating to Wordpress instead] • ... but a simple solution to the Classic template "Older posts" problem may have materialised [it just needs a little more tweaking] • I went to the Sussex seaside[and, if this "older posts" tweak works, I might tell you about it soon] • It was Easter and I didn't eat any chocolate eggs at all [not even a Creme Egg] [I'm slipping]
What happened yesterday? • The starting-blogging-again solution is looking like being either: a) upgrading to a Blogger layout template that looks a bit like my current template [but not completely identical] [any thoughts?] b) switching lock stock and barrel to a brand new Movable Type or Wordpress template [which is a bit scary] [I wonder which of the two is better] • I went to the cinema to see Clash of the Titans [classical maybe, but no classic] • I made sure I got home in time to watch Doctor Who number 11 [I think we're in safe hands]
What happened yesterday? • The Blogger employee, on discovering his first advice had failed, advised me to upgrade to a Layout template and then went quiet [Classic templates are evidently dead] • Volunteers offered their services to provide a possible Movable Type relocation solution [hasn't solved anything, yet] • I got very wet and very muddy walking to a National Trust property in the Chilterns [Bank Holiday washout] • And then I came home and didn't write about it [which was strange]
What happened yesterday? • A Blogger employee poked around and offered some advice (action from Google, unheard of!) [He hasn't solved anything, yet] • Volunteers continued to conduct experiments into the tweaking of my Blogger template [hasn't solved anything, yet] • Volunteers offered their services to provide a possible Wordpress relocation solution [hasn't solved anything, yet] • I went up onto the Greenway to take a good look at the Olympic Stadium[it's coming on]
Instead I'm going to sulk about Auto-Pagination, which is Blogger's grand idea to speed up pageloads on blogs. This has been achieved by automatically chopping off pages once they're deemed to be too long, which is shorter than my pages usually are. If your blog has a Layout template, that's fine, because a link appears at the bottom of the page inviting you to click back to "Older posts". But if you have a Classic template, like what I have, there's no way for the casual user to read the missing bit. In my case, about 60% of each of my monthly blog archives have disappeared. You can't read them, Google can't read them, and folk linking in from elsewhere can't read them.
Needless to say, Blogger are delighted. Here's what they said yesterday.
Except, in my case, blog readers are spending no time reading the posts I work so hard to write, because they've vanished. But Blogger's fixed-grin spin fails to acknowledge that. There's not even been a murmur of acknowledgement that those of us with Classic templates are essentially screwed. There's been no attempt to provide some code so that we can add an "Older posts" button to our pages. Instead we either have to upgrade to a Layout template, or lump it, or bugger off some place else. Yesterday's announcement makes it clear that there will be no alternative.
Over the last month one kind reader has been trying to code a "diamond geezer" Layout template in the hope that I could seamlessly switch over and use it. As yet, alas, it doesn't quite function properly because Layouts permit far less control over template coding. Alternatively I could go back and delete half of my photos (but that's not on), or I could go back and add "Jump breaks" to all my old posts (except I've written more than 4000 posts, so no thanks). As an additional problem, since Haloscan's demise my blog now has a bespoke non-standard commenting system which works OK in Classic but isn't necessarily transferable to Layouts. Upgrade now (or transfer to another platform) and I lose identity and comments. Fail to upgrade and I lose 60% of posts. Great choice.
Over the last month, Blogger has been busy eating half of the posts I wrote in March. You'll not find my trip to Shoeburyness anywhere, nor my journey on the number 45 bus. My post about walking through the Thames Tunnel has vanished (much to the annoyance of everyone the Brunel Museum keeps directing here via a link that no longer works). I wrote three posts complaining about Auto-Pagination, each of which got a link on Blogger's official Auto-Pagination page, but now nobody clicking through will ever find them. Most upsettingly, I wrote a couple of posts earlier this month in tribute to my Mum, and they've completely disappeared too. I can't let April go the same way.
So, temporarily, I give up.
There's no point in posting anything in the first half of April, because by the end of the month Blogger will conceal it. There's no point in researching stuff, visiting stuff, taking photos of stuff or writing stuff, because my blogposts currently have a shelf life of only a fortnight. There's no point wasting my life churning out thousands of words that are destined for oblivion, so why bother?
I will continue to explore alternative options. I will continue to play around with the template and see if I can make things work. But I'm not going to post anything else, at least nothing significant, until I have a solution. Or until I give up.
Sorry, no April Fool today. Alas, I think the fool is me.
That's it, that's all ten chunks of Counter's Creek's lost journey down to the Thames. You can read them in reverse below, or in the correct order over here. There are 36 photos from along the route to flick through, and there's also an approximate map to follow.
I was considering assembling the entire series into a pdf which you could print out and top-left-staple, like I did with the Westbourne. But you weren't very impressed last time. Fewer than 100 of you even bothered having a look, let alone printing and stapling, and only another 50 have clicked to view in the two months since. Plus I've noticed that most people are even less interested in Counter's Creek than they were in the Westbourne. Yes, I know you've been reading the last few days with interest, but overall visitor numbers are down this week to their lowest level since last summer. Lost rivers, niche interest, not the publishing mainstream.
THE LOST RIVERS OF LONDON Counters Creek 10) Chelsea Creek
Counter's Creek used to flow south into the Thames at Battersea Reach, but construction of the Kensington Canal diverted its last few hundred yards eastward along an artificial tidal waterway known as Chelsea Creek. The water here was only deep enough to be navigable at high tide, and this impractical oversight is one of the main reasons why the canal failed to make any money.
As recently as the early 1990s it was still possible to trace the old canal back as far as the King's Road, but a council highways depot now covers this part of the filled-in channel. [photo]
The inland tip of Chelsea Creek now lies in a muddy tree-lined basin [photo], conveniently shielded out of sight from the luxury apartment complex at Chelsea Harbour. A steady stream of taxis crawls across the creek's only bridge, helping the isolated Thames-side residents to escape to somewhere more convenient.
The mouth of Chelsea Creek is best viewed from St Mary's Church on the Battersea shoreline, with the twin chimney stacks of the former Lots Road Power Station standing as an imposing backdrop. [photo][photo]
Following Counter's Creek: The last few hundred yards of Chelsea Creek are accessible only by boat. Lots Road Power Station flanks one bank, currently with most of its roof off as the interior is rejigged for flats. On the opposite shore a former warehouse [before] has recently been reduced to a pile of rubble [after], opening up the view, and no doubt this site is destined for apartments too. The Chelsea Harbour development looks like it was attempting to be St Katherine's Dock but forgot to include a dash of character. The architecture's datedterribly in 20 years, and I can only assume the flats look somewhat more desirable on the inside. The site boasts a central marina where over-successful people moor their yachts [photo], and also a Design Centre which is the deadest shopping mall I've ever seen on a Saturday. Riverside living isn't all it's cut out to be.
THE LOST RIVERS OF LONDON Counters Creek 7) Earl's Court
In the early 19th century the site of the future Earl's Court Exhibition Centre was an unremarkable patch of market gardens on the banks of Counter's Creek. A trio of railway lines sealed its fate. One was the West London Railway, built along the line of the river. The other two belonged to the Metropolitan and District Railways, which bifurcated to the west of Earl's Court station hemming in a triangle of unwanted wasteland.
The triangle's potential was recognised by showman John Robinson Whitley who hired the site in 1887 to host an American-themed exhibition. His star turn was the Buffalo Bill Roughriders and Redskin Show, a Wild West spectacle which drew large crowds including Queen Victoria and William Gladstone. Further exhibitions followed and an extended entertainment park was created, but interest slowly waned and all were shut down during WW1 to make way for a Belgian refugee camp.
The present triangular exhibition hall dates back to 1937 [photo][photo]. It was one of the largest reinforced concrete structures of its day and conceals an Olympic-sized swimming pool at its heart. A second major hall, the barrel-roofed Earl's Court Two, was constructed alongside in 1991. It stands directly above West London Railway tracks and boasts Europe's largest unsupported roof span. [photo]
8) Lillie Bridge
Bridges were plentiful in the lower reaches of Counter's Creek. Lillie Bridge was built to carry the Old Brompton Road across the stream [photo], and still gives its name to the railway depot west of Earl's Court station.
Peer over the edge of platform 4 at West Brompton station and you might still see what looks like Counter's Creek disappearing into a big pipe alongside the railway. It's not the genuine article alas, merely a water feature in a council-run wildlife garden, although it does serve as drainage almost precisely where the old river ran. [photo]
A few yards up the slope is the site of Lillie Bridge Athletic Ground whose sporting star shone briefly but brightly in the late 19th century. The arena's greatest claim to fame, long forgotten except by pub quiz afficionados, is that Lillie Bridge hosted the second ever FA Cup Final. Battersea-based Wanderers retained the trophy here in 1873 by defeating challengers Oxford University two-nil.
On the opposite side of the station, with the railway shielded behind a high brick wall, lie the formal avenues of BromptonCemetery[photo]. This outstanding Victorian burial ground was laid out on water meadows in the 1830s, shortly after Kensal Green upstream, and is filled with characterful monuments surrounding a central colonnade. [photo][photo]
9) Stamford Bridge
Chelsea's top flight football ground derives its name from a bridge over one of London's lost rivers. [photo]
This lowly span, now barely noticeable as a mild hump in the Fulham Road over a railway line, has had many names over the years [photo]. In the 15th century it was Samfordesbrigge, meaning the bridge at the sandy ford. 18th century locals knew it briefly as Little Chelsea Bridge, while an 1827 map gives the name as Sandford's Bridge. Further evolution (maybe confusion with Stanley Bridge to the south) nudged Sandford to Stanford, after which there was only one slipped consonant to go.
By the time Chelsea Football Club was established on an adjacent athletics ground in 1905, the locality was most definitely Stamford Bridge. Early supporters cheered from the single East Stand [photo], or else perched themselves atop terraces constructed from earth excavated during construction of the Piccadilly line.
Numerous upgrades have boosted the ground's capacity since, but no amount of Russian roubles can shift the stadium into Chelsea proper. The borough boundary persists along the line of Counter's Creek, ironically leaving Chelsea F.C stranded a few yards into neighbouring Hammersmith and Fulham. [photo]
We take our sky for granted. It hangs above our heads, overlooked. We live in it, we move in it, we breathe it in.
The Hogsmill River rises on the North Downs, round about Ewell, then flows roughly northwards all the way down to the Thames. I walked the valley in the opposite direction, starting at Charter Quay on Kingston riverside. All busy with bars and restaurants it was, and in complete contrast to medieval Clattern Bridge which carries the High Street over the river a hundred yards later [photo]. Then past the Coronation Stone, through the Guildhall and out across Kingston's main ring road. Don't worry, that's as built-up as the walk gets.
At last, proper greenery and proper riverbank. A thin mile-long strip of meadow has been left undeveloped, providing sanctuary for wildlife and a good place to exercise dogs. I was especially chuffed to spot a flash of blue skimming across the water - the first time I've ever seen a kingfisher within the bounds of Greater London. Upstream the Hogsmill gets to dip beneath the concrete scar of the A3, but I had to make a detour to the nearest subway to get across this ten-lane arterial. And then back to peaceful meadows, alone this time apart from rather a lot of magpies (I counted thirteen - that's not good, is it?).
Britain's first theme park sits in the very southwestern corner of London, almost as if the capital's boundary was especially extended to include it. Initially a zoo, Chessington relaunched in 1987 as a souped-up fairground, and punters have been flocking back ever since. There are 27 rides altogether, plus significantly more monkeys, as well as all the opportunities to buy fizzy drink a visitor could need. One of the oldest coasters is the Vampire, a dangly whizzabout with a Transylvanian theme. It was my favourite ride when I first visited, on a quiet day when making repeated trips was delightfully achievable. I also enjoyed Professor Burp's Bubbleworks nextdoor, with its swirling waters and light-hearted humour, although it seems a 2005 refit has turned it into a characterless advert for Imperial Leather shower gel.
Reggie Perrin lived in the fictional suburb of Climthorpe. Its location was never specifically stated, but the opening minutes of episode 1 show Reggie walking through through a succession of residential streets to board the 8:16 at Norbiton station. There was always some reason why his train was 11 minutes late, and the offending disruption was usually at some local station like New Malden or Berrylands, so that's evidence enough. Not that the BBC filmed any of the rest of the series round here. Shots of Coleridge Close, from which Reggie set out every morning, were actually filmed in Beaufort Close in Ealing. His routine walk through the avenues of the Poets Estate was filmed in W5 too, but I guess ending up at Park Royal tube station was never an option.
Tom and Barbara Good, meanwhile, very definitely lived in Surbiton. Even the name screams "suburbia", in this the last London outpost before the Thames slips quietly into Surrey. Their house was supposedly in The Avenue, although again the BBC used artistic licence and did all the filming outside a house in Northwood. But a few local scenes were slipped in, notably of Surbiton's unmistakeable station, plus use of a number 71 bus when Lenin the chicken attempted to escape.
No, of course Wimbledon football club don't play in Wimbledon. The original team upped sticks to Milton Keynes (where the money was better), while a fresh club continuing the old south London spirit attempted to continue nearby. With no home of their own they crossed into the neighbouring borough and entered a ground-sharing deal with Kingstonian. Several seasons, and promotions, later they're riding high in the Blue Square Premier League and on their way to maybe overtaking their upstart Midlands impostors. But not yet.
Opened in 1904, Kingston's museum sits on the ring road near the bus station. It's not a busy place - I was the only visitor there - although being attached to the library must help lure in folk from time to time. And yet it has a fascinating history to tell, because Kingston is one of only a handful of places in England to have hosted a coronation. Reputedly seven coronations, in fact, all Anglo-Saxon kings of whom the most famous was Ethelred the Unready. Westminster Abbey took over from Harold onwards, but back in the 10th century this Mercia/Wessex border town ruled. Amazingly Kingston's coronation stone still exists, despite having spent most of the 18th century used as a mounting block for horsemen in the Market Place. In 1935 it was reinstalled with due reverence outside the Guildhall, right next to the Mayor's parking space, where it's now fenced off and generally overlooked. [photo] [photo]
They're not really keen on tourists in Kingston. There used to be a well-stocked Visitor Information Centre in the old Town Hall in the Market Place [photo], but this shut down at the end of February. Now only a handful of non-useful leaflets remain in the foyer, and would-be tourists are directed instead to reception desks in far-flung hard-to-locate shops and offices. Never mind, I'm sure this has cut the council tax by a penny or two, so who's to complain? Kingston's visitor website is no better, praising the area as "one of the liveliest Royal London Boroughs" (there are only two). It thinks it knows what visitors want, and that's cash tills and steaming coffee. If you only have one hour to enjoy in Kingston, it advises, "....go shopping". So I did.
Meanwhile one of Kingston's most famous attractions went almost ignored, except by me and my camera. A stream of shoppers walked straight past the famous set of tumbling red phone boxes in Old London Road, presumably because they've been there since 1989 and everybody local's got over the novelty shock value by now. The sculpture's called Out of Order, and would make a fantastic assault course scramble for big kids if only there weren't signs attached saying "No Climbing". Instead it merely acts as an artistic windbreak between a branch of Wilkinson and an Italian restaurant. Let's hope that Kingston's occasional tourists manage to stumble across it without directions. [photo] [photo]
Random borough (25): 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 nine remaining borough names will be revealed when I unfold the slip of paper I'm about to pick from my legendary "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, Waltham Forest, Wandsworth, Greenwich or Richmond, because they're the twenty-four (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already. [I've repaired those links, so they should all now work]
Along the northern edge of Heathrow Airport, between the A4 and runway 09L/27R, runs the Northern Perimeter Road. It's a major road artery, definitely not designed for pedestrians, but provides those who venture here with a grandstand view of enormous aircraft roaring into the skies alongside. Head to the section immediately above the road tunnel that emerges from the middle of Terminal Island, and hunt for a small ornamental garden in the corner of a Business car park. In any economically-driven world this car park would extend right up to the road junction, but instead it's been held back to reveal an upright cannon rammed into the ground. General Roy's baseline began here, now also marked by a plaque and by a rather delightful hedge. You'd not deduce it from the ground but, viewed from above, the shrubs form the shape of a finger, or maybe a cannon, pointing southeast towards the other end of the line. Even in this hinterland of hotels and long-term parking, one tiny scrap of historical magic lives on. [photo]
It's easy to nip to the other end of Roy's baseline by catching the 285 bus. This service runs approximately along his invisible corridor - round Hatton Cross, through Feltham and past Hanworth Sainsburys. Alight at the far end of Uxbridge Road, just before the bus reaches Hampton Hill, and the second memorial cannon is close by. It used to be set in parkland, but a chunk of residential infill has left the monument adrift up a council cul-de-sac. It's not in Cannon Close, though that's nearby, but up at the end of adjacent Roy Grove. A wide gap has been left inbetween the houses at number 7 and number 9, and here the commemorative ironwork emerges from the grass. I'm not sure what the neighbours think of sharing their suburban backwater with a nationally-significant memorial, but I bet it makes cutting the lawn tricky. [photo]
The dunes are fabulous. Great heaps of sand bound together by razor-sharp grass, piled up between the beach and the village beyond [photo]. The council would rather you stuck to recognised paths through the valleys inbetween, but far more fun to stomp up to the top and hope not too much sand gets displaced. Families hide from squalls within silica hollows, while dogwalkers trail their hounds from summit to summit parallel to the beach. Look west from up here and that's Winchelsea, while look north and the marshes are clumped with twirling turbines. Lazy tourists can rejoice that the highest dunes are nearest the car park, which is also conveniently situated for the Kit Kat Cafe. This classic beachfront diner serves fry-ups and candy floss to grateful holidaymakers, while the recess nextdoor supplies all the plastic buckets and rubber rings any toddler could ever need. [photo]
Vote2010: here we go again...
Counter's Creek used to flow south into the Thames at Battersea Reach, but construction of the Kensington Canal diverted its last few hundred yards eastward along an artificial tidal waterway known as Chelsea Creek. The water here was only deep enough to be navigable at high tide, and this impractical oversight is one of the main reasons why the canal failed to make any money.
In the early 19th century the site of the future Earl's Court Exhibition Centre was an unremarkable patch of market gardens on the banks of Counter's Creek. A trio of railway lines sealed its fate. One was the West London Railway, built along the line of the river. The other two belonged to the Metropolitan and District Railways, which bifurcated to the west of Earl's Court station hemming in a triangle of unwanted wasteland.
Bridges were plentiful in the lower reaches of Counter's Creek. Lillie Bridge was built to carry the Old Brompton Road across the stream [photo], and still gives its name to the railway depot west of Earl's Court station.
Chelsea's top flight football ground derives its name from a bridge over one of London's lost rivers. [photo]
