The rest of my family came down to London from Norfolk yesterday. Which was nice. "Hello," I said. "This is nice. So, where do you want to go?"
» Hamleys is pretty quiet first thing on a Saturday. The Apple store is pretty busy, even first thing on a Saturday. » We walked past my office, the one I was working in last week. They were impressed. Later we walked past my office, the one I'll be working in next week. They weren't impressed. » There were a lot of extremely sweaty dancers in Trafalgar Square, for the "Big Dance". A big "Big Dance" video screen had been erected under Nelson's Column. (Remember Boris Johnson promised Londoners a big screen in Trafalgar Square "if England make it through to the semi-finals of the World Cup." Presumably this was it - no extra money, just a piggybacking of opportunity)
» I took my Dad round the 2010 Portrait Awards at the National Portrait Gallery. He was impressed by a few portraits, and very unimpressed by the inclusion of others. At Boris's portrait he made an out-loud comment about the mayor holding his Oyster, which made two dear old ladies laugh. » I also took him to Kings Place, which is the new Guardian-office-cum-arts-complex at King's Cross. As arts hubs go, it's disappointingly dead Saturday daytime. I'll not be rushing back. » At King's Cross tube station we made the mistake of following the "Way Out" signs from the Victoria line platform, and ended up going on a scarily long trek through the extended underbelly of the extended station. On our return, we had the sense not to follow the signs for the Piccadilly line, which would have taken us even further out of our way on a double deviation, and took the shortcut down the old escalator instead. (note to self: write a ranting post about the evil con trick of the new diversionary King's Cross tunnel system)
» My brother and two nephews went to Lord's for the full behind the scenes tour. They got inside the dressing rooms, and walked through the futuristic podlike Media Centre, and even managed to nip through the LongRoom before it was taken over by an extremely posh wedding reception. I am reliably informed that the tour is "amazing". » We all went up to Wembley, to take a look at the new stadium, which hadn't even been built the last time my Dad was in the capital. What this turned out to mean was a baking walk across a trading estate and a sweaty walk round the stadium podium which was half closed for building work. » And we all went to the Greenway to stare at the Olympic Stadium, and all the associated buildings arising around it. The Basketball Arena got the biggest "blimey, what on earth is that?" And the View Tube had already shut, so we couldn't go up and look at the view. (The poor bloke running the cafe was having a tough time politely persuading a steady stream of visitors that he had to lock up and would they please stop being quite so interested and go away)
» It was extremely hot yesterday. But it was lovely and cool aboard the new Overground trains, which are clearly the place to go in extremely hot weather. » Another good place to go in extremely hot weather is Victoria Embankment Gardens, at least until the jobsworth parkkeeper goes round jangling his keys 45 minutes before the advertised closing time and chucks everybody out. Miserable git. » Despite it being extremely hot yesterday, youngest nephew still insisted that we went to a pancake restaurant for dinner. (I suspect he slept well on the coach back to Norfolk)
70 years ago today, the Second World War entered a deadly new phase. France had fallen to the might of Nazi Germany, our own soldiers had been forced to retreat across the Channel from Dunkirk, and an attempted invasion of the UK looked highly likely. Britain stood alone, and vulnerable, and Hitler knew it. On 10th July1940 he ordered the Luftwaffe to attack shipping in the English Channel, and so the BattleofBritain began.
If you'd been standing on the Kent cliffs at the time, an extraordinary aerial battle would have played out in the skies ahead of you. Hurricanes and Heinkels diving out of the clouds, Spitfires and Messerschmitts spinning above the waves, each plane piloted by patriotic young airmen in a combat to the death. Down below were at-risk convoys attempting to bring in supplies, with anti-aircraft guns blazing from their decks. And not just a three-minute burst, this went on for hours, and for weeks, with the inevitable casualties and destruction creating enormous logistical pressure on each side. From the clifftop all you could have done was watch, and pray, and marvel at the bravery of those risking all for everything.
And it's on these very same clifftops that the Battle of Britain Memorial has been constructed. On the chalk above Folkestone, close to the village of Capel-le-Ferne, a permanent tribute to the sacrifice of The Few. You're probably expecting a marble wall inscribed with the names of dead pilots, and yes there's one of those, but it's not the main focus of the memorial [photo]. Instead a major earthwork has been constructed, consisting of a horseshoe shaped ridge and two smaller circular mounds. At the heart of this central space sits the statue of a young pilot, staring respectfully out to sea [photo]. And leading outwards from this inner hub are three paved convex paths, stretching out from the centre to resemble a giant three-bladed propeller [photo]. It's hard to take in from the ground, or even from the top of the ridge, because this is a memorial optimised for viewing from the air[aerial map]. Clever that, if not quite as obvious as it could be for earthbound visitors.
Most visitors arrive by car, not least because most visitors are over 60. But it is possible to wander in along the North Downs Way, along the clifftop, by following the footpaths east of Folkestone. There are several places to stop and linger, in addition to the pilot statue and his big propeller. That marble wall, for starters, which was unveiled by Prince Michael of Kent five summers ago. There's a full-size Spitfire and an impressive Hurricane to stare at, although they're both replicas because you can't leave genuine vintage aircraft lying around in a field with full public access. And there's a visitor centre [arty photo], which looks rather like an oversized conservatory, where you can sit down with a nice cup of coffee and a KitKat whilst looking at some appropriately deferential memorabilia. Or you can bring your own sandwiches and sit outside on the benches beneath the flagpole, with added rucksack, which was very definitely the more popular option when I visited.
There's a special 70th anniversary commemoration at the Battle of Britain Memorial tomorrow, where brass bands and RAF top brass will both be in evidence. A service of remembrance will be held, wreaths will be laid, and the visitor centre will do a roaring trade in cups of tea. And a genuine Spitfire and Hurricane will fly overhead, twice, in memory of the dogfights which filled the Channel skies with death during the summer of 1940. It took a month for the main battle to head inland, with the Germans intent first on destroying airfields and signalling stations, then later the citizens of undefended cities and towns. It could all have gone so incredibly wrong for Britain, had the unthinkable happened, und unsere Zukunft würde sehr unterschiedlich gewesen sein. But those remembered here, atop the grassy chalk cliffs of Kent, helped to turn the tide in freedom's favour. This weekend, and in perpetuity, they will be remembered.
The crates have arrived. It's time to pack up. We're moving office again.
Stop the work you're doing, ignore that encroaching deadline, and pile your entire life into a crate. That means everything in your desk, and everything in the cupboard, yes and everything in those boxes you still haven't got round to unpacking since the last time you moved. Everything must go, either into a crate or into the bin, and it must go now.
A heck of a lot of rubbish lies stashed in your desk drawers. Pens that don't work, three 95%-empty notepads, and several scattered paperclips. Half a packet of mints, a thin wad of post-its, and the business card of some suited bloke you can't put a face to. It seems the more you dig the more rubbish you find, somehow rammed into a tiny space designed to hold half as much. It's time to decide what's essential and what can be chucked, time to rationalise, to move forward. And to promise yourself a fresh start at a fresh desk on Monday morning, at least until the new drawers become as inevitably stuffed as the old.
The fully electronic office remains a far distant dream. Not every document is electronic, not every sheet of paper is digitised, and all of that needs packing too. Piles of files and heaps of receipts, once deemed essential enough to keep, now lying overlooked at the back of a cupboard. There's loads of this stuff, far too much to sort through in the time available, even though what's really needed is a major slimming down. Do you stop work and waste time trying to decide what to archive and what to bin? Or do you chuck the lot because if you haven't looked at it in two years it can't be essential can it? You'd like to do the latter, but it's risky, especially if some pesky consultant comes round six months hence demanding to view your 'paper trail'. So best to simply bung everything into a crate and move the whole lot over to the new location in the hope that one day you'll have time to sort it properly, even though you know deep down you won't.
Remember this? Look, there's that report we spent weeks writing - let's bin it. Here's that policy the mad manager introduced and we all ignored - let's shred it. And here's a stack of floppy discs which no computer in the office can read any more and yet they were once deemed essential storage - let's smash the lot. We must slim down, we must declutter, because there won't be as much room in the new workplace as in the old. Every office move is always a downsize, an enforced opportunity to reverse years of unrestricted accumulation, before the whole administrative upcycle begins afresh.
Make sure every crate is properly labelled. Stick all the stickers on carefully, so none of them fall off during a weekend of manhandling. Because you don't want to reach nine o'clock on Monday morning and then start wondering where everything is. That sheaf of papers you need for a meeting at eleven, make sure you label that crate specially. Then pray the box-movers pile up the relocated crates in a convenient order, and not with five years of accumulated paperwork shielding the one you need from view.
By Monday afternoon all the existing workers in your new location will be staring at your stacks of unpacked boxes, and eyeing you frustratedly up and down, and wondering when you're going to clear the bloody gangways you miserable interlopers. So you'll empty the lot, over-fast and under-planned, into the nearest cupboard. And there the contents will stay, out of sight and out of mind, until the next day the message comes round.
The crates have arrived. It's time to pack up. We're moving office again.
Have you picked up your new River Bus Map yet? It's like a tube map, but it's for river buses. Or 'boats', as they're more usually known. Passenger boats which nip along the Thames from one pier to another. There's a new map in a new River Bus Guide, which is sort-of tube-map-sized but folds up more. Have you picked up yours yet?
The new map's very simple. It looks like a single line on a tube map, with circles representing the piers, but look closer and there are four different coloured services depicted here. Two are brief cross-river shuttles, one west of Canary Wharf, the other the Woolwich Ferry. But the other two are much longer sinuous services, one starting from Putney and the other from Woolwich with a brief overlap in Central London. Piers north of the river have their name printed above the line, while piers south of the river are printed below. It's all very simple, and clear, and effective.
Well, possibly too simple. Some services are omitted, such as the O2 Express and the Tate to Tate boat, because they'd only complicate things. One of the services runs weekday peak hours only, while the others run regularly seven days a week. And the western end of the main Thames Clipper service is actually a loop (Blackfriars → Embankment → Waterloo → Blackfriars), not the line shown here, so map-using passengers could get confused. But if the river's ever going to attract more passengers, I concede, over-simple is probably the way to go.
Apologies, I'm now going to rant about a document you don't own, and which doesn't exist online. Feel free to jump to the last paragraph, you'll not be missing much.
The rest of the fold-out River Bus Guide is pretty much devoted to timetables. Or at least timetables of a sort. The commuter service from Putney to Blackfriars gets a full timetable because it runs less than ten times in each direction each day. The Woolwich Ferry and Hilton Docklands shuttle get brief and entirely adequate summaries. But the most important River Bus route, between Woolwich and Embankment, gets an unnecessarily complicated 'summary' which takes up loads of space whilst providing very little useful information. There's no timetable as such, just one big box for each pier, in each direction, containing times of first and last services. Great if you're an early bird or nightcrawler, and bugger all use otherwise. Turn up at North Greenwich pier at 7am, for example, and you know your next boat is in three minutes time. Turn up at 9am, however, and you're on your own. In fact you'll have just missed a boat, and there's a 28 minute wait for the next one. The boxey presentation also conceals how long the boat takes to travel along the Thames. It's sort of possible to work this out by looking at the times of the first boat of the day, but hard to follow and I'm sure most people won't realise it can be done. North Greenwich to the London Eye takes as long as 51 minutes, for example, not that you'd guess. Fast it ain't. And particularly poor given that you could have whizzed from North Greenwich to Waterloo in only 15 minutes on the Jubilee line (and it would have cost you considerably less). Irregular, slow and expensive, but comfortable and scenic, that's the River Bus option.
Whoever designed this Woolwich → Embankment 'timetable' presumably thought they were doing the public a favour. Atomised information in simple chunks, surely that must be good? But no. Acres of space is wasted repeating table headings and summarised service irregularities. One single late night O2 journey is awarded lots of room, even in the opposite direction to that which any concertgoer would take. This is a dumbed-down document with gaping holes, provided because somebody at TfL thinks the public are too stupid to read a proper timetable. And yes, I know a propertimetable exists elsewhere, but there would have been plenty of space to print it here if only somebody had had the nerve.
It's OK, you can come back now.
I bemoan the gradual disappearance of 'proper' timetables in favour of info-lite summaries and personalised downloads. We're not all innumerate, and providing lowest common denominator information merely restricts personal choice. In the case of the River Bus Guide somebody's clearly attempted to aim midway between a simple tube-style foldout map and a complicated scheduling encyclopaedia, and I'd argue they missed. But if it succeeds in enticing more passengers onto our underused Thames, that's surely a very good thing.
I'm duly honoured by each and every one of these blogroll links, so many thanks to you all. But I also notice that the list is 20% shorter than last year (which in turn was 20% shorter than the year before that). Ouch!
I compile this list every year, so I started by checking all 167 blogs on last year's list to see how many of them still linked here. More than one in four have fallen by the wayside and don't appear this year. Most of these are on hiatus (either deliberately, or through month-long neglect) which is a shame. A couple have simply vanished, which is a pity. Some have deleted their blogroll altogether, because blogrolls are so passé aren't they? And a few are still going strong but have removed me from their blogroll, which I guess is the way it goes, and I'm not bitter, honest. Still, at least a few new blogs have come along and added me instead, so I'm not losing out completely. Which is sort of nice. But the ever-shortening list is still rather disappointing overall.
As I've said before, blogging is changing. Fewer people blog these days because alternative platforms exist for digital broadcast. Blogrolls are invisible and irrelevant to anyone subscribed via an RSS feed. And readers are far more likely to click through to a blog via a one-off reference on Twitter/Facebook than via any long-standing blogroll. It's adapt or decline in the new new-media world.
Anyway, I hope this is a fairly complete list, but I bet it isn't. Let me know if I've missed you/anyone off the list, and I'll come back and add you/them later. As for the rest of my readers, maybe you'd like to click on a few of these 142 links to see what you're missing. I can't promise they're all thrilling verbal discourses, but I'm sure you'll discover plenty that are.
Somewhere pretty: The Wallace Collection Even in the heart of central London, some tourist gems lie just far enough off the beaten track that they remain unnoticed by the majority. So it is with the Wallace Collection, a gallery-cum-museum of fine and decorative arts on the edge of Manchester Square. See, you don't even know where Manchester Square is, do you, probably? Its a couple of roads behind Selfridges, beyond Wigmore Street, in an elegant under-trafficked locale. From the front it looks like a typically Georgian grand mansion, as indeed it once was as home to the Marquess of Hertford. But look further and the building stretches back, and back, in more utilitarian brick, having been greatly extended as a place of exhibition and display. Whoever lived in a house like this really (really) liked their art.
Sir Richard Wallace is officially to thank for this magnificent free-to-enter collection, although it was his predecessors who collected most of it and his widow who bequeathed the lot to the nation. A pre-condition that no piece ever be transferred elsewhere has protected the integrity of the collection for future generations, and preserved the wow factor for anyone visiting for the first time. Wow. Within the 25 galleries are many different kinds of creative treasure, not just paintings but more especially intricately-crafted objects. The porcelain is gorgeous, especially the Sèvres in characteristic light blue, plus some irreplaceable German Meissen. There's fine French furniture in many of the rooms, giving the house the air of a lived-in art gallery. Boulle cabinets, gilded mantleclocks and rather a lot of flowery vases, merely for starters. The Wallace is so image-conscious that even the security cameras have a fake gold surround rather than the more usual plastic.
Every time you think you must have visited all the rooms by now, another passageway or wing opens up revealing more. For the effortlessly cultured, an Oval Drawing Room. For the modern barbarian or dagger-obsessive, four entire galleries of European and Oriental Armour. For the creatively awe-struck, a small temporary exhibition of classical bronze statues in the basement (which was far more interesting than I expected). For Marylebone residents who fancy somewhere damned impressive to go fine dining, an extensive courtyard brasserie de luxe beneath a sealed-in glass roof. And right at the back of the house, far huger than any visitor has reason to expect, is Wallace's Great Gallery. Wow again. And because I wasn't quite sure what to expect, I was very pleasantly surprised by a familiar smile on the wall halfway down. That's, you know, the actual Laughing Cavalier isn't it? Also available on postcards or notelets in the shop, but better seen in the painted flesh, on a Marylebone wall, in perpetuity. by tube: Bond Street
Somewhere retail: Church Street Market Westminster has some of the best known retail centres in the London. Oxford Street, Carnaby Street, Regent Street, Bond Street, Marylebone High Street, Whiteleys, Fortnum and Mason, Covent Garden, the list is overwhelming. So I ignored all of that lot and went somewhere far more local, far more real. To Church Street Market. It's well known only to those in the immediate vicinity, which is just off the Edgware Road near the Paddington Green mega-police-station. A typical hybrid London market, where salt of the earth types mix with ethnic traders to serve a cost-conscious clientèle [photo]. The Burlington Arcade this is not. But what I really wanted, on my half-hour visit, was an in-depth socio-cultural investigation into the market's history and future development. And, what do you know, that's exactly what I got.
Part of the London Festival of Architecture (though a woefully under-advertised part) was an installation entitled Anatomy of a Street. Inspired by a similar thoroughfare in Budapest, the organisers took Church Street and aimed to use it as an outdoor gallery. Seven locations up and down the market, each building with an associated slice of audio, and the invitation to wander through the market and view it in another dimension. Which is how I ended up handing over a £10 note as deposit, collecting an authentic 80s Aiwa Walkman from a stack of blue plastic trays, and setting off down the street plugged into a pair of headphones. A very simple idea, both portable and adaptable to a wide range of alternative locations should the project continue.
I stood between the library and the side of a bustling fruit stall and pressed play. After the summative introduction (which you can listen to here), the first of seven interviewees spooled through. One covered Hungary, and then all the voices were local to Church Street. Across to the Neighbourhood Management Centre to hear from a community worker how difficult it is to gentrify a location without wrecking it. Further up-market to understand the importance of the 50p stalls that provide the market's everyday lifeblood. Another track relating the lives of the antiques traders who helps to bring in more well-heeled consumers, not least to the day-glo-topped arcades of Alfie's Antiques Market[photo]. And a quiet rant demanding that the nearby Bakerloo line station (and local bus stops) be renamed after the market to raise its public profile. A cabbie, an immigrant and a renowned developer who lives round the corner, each had their say, providing a different angle on proceedings as I wandered through the Saturday trading action. Throw in some Turkish music for background atmosphere, and my 25 retro-Walkman minutes simply sped by.
The tape helped me to linger and understand the market far better than a simple stroll through the cloth, coconuts and china. I was told by the organisers that they'd be uploading the entire audio presentation to their website sometime early this week, maybe even today, should you be interested in listening to the real stories behind a historic everyday street market. Church Street's no tourist draw, but for many it's a way of life. by tube: Church Street Market Edgware Road
Somewhere random: Jubilee Greenway (section 1) To get a flavour of western Westminster, I took a stroll along London's newest Strategic Walking Route. The first part, that is, not the entire 60km, starting at Buckingham Palace and pausing at Little Venice. I had to printout instructions before I went, because the Jubilee Greenway's virtually invisible on the ground. But I got to enjoy a bit of royalty, a lot of park, some Georgian back-terraces, several hotels and a stretch of canal. I even walked some streets I've never walked before. Here are some highlights (plus a major highlight)...
» Buckingham Palace: It always amuses me that Londoners don't give the Queen's place a second look, but tourists can't seem to drag themselves away. Late each morning, thronging behind the barriers, peering through the bars, trying to catch a glimpse of a few furry soldiers. They wait, and they wait some more, then snap snap flash as the marchpast fleets by. I left them to it. » Hyde Park Corner: I popped into the delightfully amateur information booth at the edge of the park for some information. They didn't have it, but instead a lady in there thrust her mobile phone at me and asked if I could dial 999. Nothing serious, nothing life-threatening, it was just that she didn't understand how to dial a number that wasn't already pre-programmed into her mobile's memory. It took me a minute. And then I left her to it. I wonder whether she got the Royal Parks police or the proper lot. » Hyde Park: Reclining on grass, browning flesh, rows of unclaimed deckchairs, the vibrant summer colours of the formal gardens, kids on scooters, ducks in the shade, toes dipped in the Diana fountain, swans poking their necks under pondweed, ice cream anyone? [Albert memorials photo] » Serpentine Gallery: This year's temporary pavilion was in the middle of being erected over the weekend. It's incredibly red. And then I ventured inside the main gallery to see the Wolfgang Tillmans exhibition. Interesting enough, but I was out again within ten minutes. » Bayswater: A lot of Westminster is residential, and this is one of the better-off quarters. Big houses, lots of flats, and a definite Middle-Eastern flavour too. Plus a big secret...
Somewhere especially random: 23-24 Leinster Gardens This can't come as news to any of you, it's probably the most famous bit of obscure tube trivia around. But there are two houses in a Bayswater sidestreet which aren't really houses at all, and all to keep the neighbours happy. When the Metropolitan railway was built in the 1860s, via the cut and cover method, several buildings along the route had to be demolished. Most were replaced but a few stretches of open tunnel were needed so that the engines could vent their steam at selected spots. One such gap was here on the line between Bayswater and Paddington, although residents of leafy Leinster Gardens weren't best pleased at a gap being knocked in their elegant façade. So some five-feet-thick false frontage was constructed, almost perfectly matching the rest of the street, and two fake addresses took their place between numbers 22 and 25. [photo]
Even though I knew what I was looking for, I still walked straight past and had to double back to double check. Oh they're good, apart from a few blatant clues that all here is not what it seems [photo]. The windows don't open, they're painted grey, leaving a lifeless impression across several panes on five storeys. And the front doors, there's no way to make those open, neither are there any letterboxes either because nobody lives inside. I was particularly fooled because one of the dummy houses had scaffolding outside, and there were workmen lifting up obviously genuine construction materials to a flat on an upper floor. Closer inspection revealed that the building works were nextdoor, and the neighbours had been sensible enough to erect their scaffolding in front of a house whose residents couldn't complain.
But for the the ultimate proof there's nothing here, you have to head for the street round the back. To Porchester Terrace, where Victorian residents weren't quite so forceful in their demands. Here the railway thunders undisguised beneath a low-ish brick wall, and the fake facade of Leinster Gardens is clearlyseen. Six girders keep the neighbouring houses apart, and Circle line passengers pass safely between the two. They've been Transforming the Tube for nearly 150 years now, and residents of W2 are evidently well pleased.
» Paddington: For a supposedly tourist-friendly walking route, the Jubilee Greenway doesn't take the most gorgeous way through town. But I guess it's got to get from the park to the canal somehow, and round the ugly edge of the station will have to do. » Little Venice: Ah that's better. This waterway junction retains a lot of period charm, and there's a nice floating cafe if the urge to nibble strikes. From here the Jubilee Greenway follows the Regent's Canal towpath for the next seven miles, which I presume will save the organisers money by reusing existing resources. But I broke off at Lisson Grove for...
Somewhere sporty: Lord's Blimey, that's both of London's major cricket grounds covered on this blog in under a week, who'd have thought? This one's older, even taking into consideration it's actually the third Lord's Cricket Ground over the years. The first lies under council housing on the Lisson Grove estate, and the second had to shift when the Regent's Canal ploughed through in the early 19th century. The Marylebone Cricket Club played their first match on their latest ground in 1814 (beating Hertfordshire by an innings and 27 runs), and the first Test match came along 80 years later. Lord's may only busy for a few days a year, and the owners could surely make a huge amount more money if they sold the land for building, but still the MCC rolls on.
I arrived on a busy day. England v Australia, fifth and final one day match, and the ground packed out by keen cricketeers. Those unable to get inside appeared to have taken up residence at the Lord's Tavern, a not-very-old pub on the southern perimeter, and were watching the action from a few yards away on a big TV. From inside the ground came a sudden brief cheer, loud and sharp in a way that a football yell isn't. This turned out (I discovered later) to be the local crowd's reaction to "Smith c Anderson b Broad 15". A similar cheer, slightly noisier, greeted "Hussey c Anderson b Broad 79" a couple of minutes later. And then it was lunch, or whatever the end of an innings is called in a fixed over game, and the grandstands rapidly emptied of people. They streamed down the steps and around the perimeter passageway, heading to whatever bar or restaurant or urinal most took their fancy. A few passed out of the ground through the Grace Gate to grab a beer or food elsewhere, although it was hard to be sure precisely whereabouts nearby they might be going [photo]. Panama hats appeared to be very popular, especially amongst gentlemen of a certain age, and frequently coupled with a blazer for good measure. But the crowd was relatively mixed, if clearly skewed towards the middle and upper classes. When they finally got back to their seats it was to watch England lose by 42 runs, but to win the series. I'm sure the final cheer was both heartfelt and polite. by tube: St John's Wood
For most tourists, Westminster is London. They take pictures of Buckingham Palace and Big Ben, they go shopping in Oxford Street and Covent Garden, they sit around in Piccadilly Circus and Hyde Park, they dine in Soho or Leicester Square, and then they go back to their hotel in Park Lane or Paddington and sleep it all off. And yes, Westminster's important, a city no less, and almost as ancient as the City downriver. But the borough also sprawls into less well-known corners like Pimlico and Maida Vale, and less affluent pockets like Westbourne Green and Lisson Grove. I had a day to cover the lot, so here's my cherry-picking attempt at six representative snippets.
Somewhere famous: Westminster Hall OK, so Westminster Hall isn't as famous as the Palace nextdoor, or even the clock tower by the river, but it sits at the very heart of British democracy. It was commissioned by William Rufus, and has somehow survived every riot, fire and bombing that nine centuries of existence could throw at it. Indeed in 1941 when German incendiaries threatened to destroy either the Commons or the Hall, the first politician on the scene had no hesitation in sacrificing the MPs chamber in favour of this medieval masterpiece. It's also relatively straightforward to get inside, even if you only picked a piece of paper out of a jamjar a couple of hours earlier. Here's how to do it.
Option 1 is to take a full tour of the Lords and Commons. If you ask your MP nicely, he or she will get you in for free. Or you can pay £14, either to Ticketmaster or to the nice cashiers hidden in booths on the the opposite side of the road by the Jewel Tower. Parliament's open for tours during most of the three month summer recess, and now open on Saturdays too (starting yesterday). But I chose not to do that because I've been round before [been there done that]. Instead I used my in-depth knowledge of Olympic events to charm the Palace staff and get into the Hall for nothing. They didn't want to let me in, the place was very busy with proper tourists, but when I mentioned the free "Parliament and the Games" exhibition they relented. They whipped out a special yellow Houses of Parliament ticket, and down the ramp I went.
Security has been tightened somewhat since the last time I was here. In 2005 a stern lady in a black portakabin poked me with her electronic wand and gave me a very thorough patdown. In 2010 tourists get the hi-tech uber-airport option. You're dripfed through a revolving door, then made to stand on a rubbed-out square while an austere electronic gizmo takes your photograph. This is instantly printed out to create your identity badge, which you hang round your neck, so that even if the guards don't know your name they own your face. Then it's luggage through the X-ray machine, yourself through the scanner-arch, and pray you don't beep else you'll suddenly become especially interesting to all the umpteen police on duty. Parliament, that champion of civil liberties, has no qualms in over-defending itself against incoming lunatics.
But then you're in, and Westminster Hall is just round the corner past New Palace Yard. As cradles of democracy go, you'd be forgiven for not realising the room's importance. On tour days this is the waiting room, so there are 5 queueing bays to join at the end of the hall, plus a place to hang around for all the scores of people who've arrived early. It's also the exit hall, where the Blue Badge guides take leave of their guests, so there are folk streaming back the other way towards the Jubilee cafe and the exit. Do they stop and look upwards at the statues inlaid in the window niches? Do they gasp in awe at the largest hammerbeamroof in Europe? Do they pause to read the plaques marking the spots where Churchill and the Queen Mother's coffins laid in state? Well, a few of them do, but the majority are simply keen to get on to the next bit of the trail as swiftly as possible. When you go, linger longer.
There's usually an exhibition in Westminster Hall, and (as I hinted) the current display focuses on Parliament's connections to the Olympic Games. There are plenty of links, possibly more than you might imagine, and not just Westminster passes the laws that make them happen. A number of MPs are former Olympians, including Menzies Campbell and of course Sebastian Coe. Seb's 1980 running shoes are on display, as well as Ming's blazer and several items from the two previous times the UK hosted the Games. There's the letter we wrote to the IOC offering to host the 1940 Games, back when a two-page typewritten missive sufficed as a bid document. Then there's a 1908 programme, and the menu card from an official Edwardian sporting dinner. And a torch, because there has to be a torch. Plus of course plenty of information (and models, lots of lovely plasticmodels of stadia and stuff) for the upcoming Games in 2012. The exhibition's not huge, designed mostly as a promotional snifter for Palace-bound tourists passing through. But it is an excellent excuse to go and visit a medieval democratic treasure you really should have visited by now. [open daily 10am - 5pm until Aug 28th, not Sundays] by tube: Westminster
Somewhere historic: Westminster Cathedral Yes, everybody goes to Westminster Abbey, so I went to its ecumenical half-sister. Westminster Cathedral is the most important Roman Catholic church in the country, assuming you don't count all the really old Roman Catholic churches (like Westminster Abbey) which Henry VIII forced to switch sides in the 16th century. The building officially celebrated its 100th birthday last week, so it's a mere youngster by comparison. The exterior's striking, when viewed through a gap in the shops along Victoria Street, with a thin Byzantine tower rising high above the red/white striped brick façade. It's even more striking inside, especially to Anglicans used to more traditional stone Gothic edifices. A long nave leads down to a high High Altar, the roof supported by great marble columns. More than 100 different types of marble were used in the building's construction, and it shows. There are several chapels to either side, many arched with with intricatemosaicceilings, and a steady stream of votive candles burning in front of each. The fourteen Stations of the Cross, they're by the sculptor Eric Gill, while that's a big bronze Jesus suspended on the giant crucifix over the sanctuary. Look above your head, however, and the main ceiling is remarkably plain. A quartet of dark domes, and a series of brick arches which reminded me somewhat of the underside of a Victorian railway viaduct. Nevertheless the spirituality of the space is self-evident, and tourists are thankfully in the minority outnumbered by those who've come to pray, reflect or worship.
For one other special treat, make your way to the gift shop. A fiver paid, you can pass through to the lift where a trained operator will whisk you seven storeys up to the top of the tower. They're quite large storeys, apparently, because the viewing platform is a full 90 metres above the ground. It's four sided too, with excellent opportunities to stare (and take unobstructed photos) across all corners of Westminster and beyond. To the southeast the cathedral's four copper domes rise like a row of squat emerald nipples [photo], with the chimneys of Pimlico and Vauxhall beyond [photo]. I especially rated the view to the southwest because the sightlines to Battersea and the Thames are clear and there are no horrible new buildings right up close [photo]. Looking northwest, the smooth curves of Cardinal Place [photo] are somewhat diminished by a grim tower block and several nasty blocky constructions [photo]. To the north the unmistakeable green line of the Mall cuts horizontally beneath the skyline [photo]. But it's the eastern vista that's the most disappointing. St Paul's, the Eye, the Abbey and the Gherkin, they're all sort of visible, but glimpsed through a forest of blandly upstanding Civil Service architecture [photo]. Only the rarity of this 360° panorama justifies the five quid, although viewed as a donation to the cathedral coffers it's worth every penny. by tube: Victoria
My last four visits were all from the South, leaving Bexley as the sole remaining representative from the London-under-Thames. Even including those north of the river, there aren't many boroughs left now. The remaining eight divide equally into a northwestern strip and an eastern chunk, which somehow seems a terribly unlikely distribution to be left with. But these few still form a hugely diverse set of boroughs. There's the densely-packed centre of town, there's the multi-faceted inner suburbs, and then there's the attraction-lite outskirts where nothing much happens. It being midsummer, I'm hoping to end up somewhere green further out, but knowing my jamjar it'll probably dump me somewhere built-up closer in.
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...
10 things to maybe do this weekend 1) Head down to Millwall Dock tonight for Oxymer, this year's watery spectacular as part of the Greenwich & Docklands International Festival [last year's performance was absolutely fantastic] [except I went along last night and was hugely disappointed by this year's attempt - minimal pyrotechnics, disjoint pageantry, inexplicable plot, and the crowd sat around at the end wondering if it had finished] 2)The Big Dance kicks off this weekend all over London [if you enjoy outdoor dance, Canary Wharf is absolutely the place to be this afternoon] 3)A Landmark for Aldgate is planned to be temporarily erected on a traffic island in 2012. See the shortlisted designs at St Botolph's Church[and vote for your favourite] [I bet you pick the same one as me] 4) Head to Fortune Green, NW6, this weekend for the West Hampstead Jester Festival[anybody ever been?] 5) It's the annual Open Day at Kensal Green Cemetery today, which is an amazing place [get there early for a tour, or a trip down the catacombs] 6) At Rivington Place is an exhibition called Whose Map is it?, in which "International artists subvert the socio-political structures and cultural hierarchies that traditionally inform mapmaking" [who writes these things?] 7) If you've ever wanted to Walk the South Downs Way, Andrew tells you how [although it'll probably take longer than a weekend] 8) First Saturday of the month? London Sewing Machine Museum! [in Tooting] 9) There's a 2012 exhibition entitled Parliament and the Games at Westminster Hall until the end of August [it always amazes me how many Londoners haven't been inside ye ancient Westminster Hall] [yes of course it's free] 10) Watch the excellent St Etienne film What have you done today, Mervyn Day? on a big screen, in Walthamstow Town Centre, on a Monday, at 5pm [that was sounding so do-able, until the last few bits of information]
The London Festival of Architecture hit my bit of town last weekend. Up and down High Street 2012, from Aldgate to Stratford, a series of building-worthy events and installations to celebrate the East End's architectural creativity. And one of those events was really close to home, in the unlikely locale of Stroudley Walk, E3.
If you don't live around here, all you need to know is that Stroudley Walk is post-war-grim. A windswept piazza lined by bottom-of-the-heap retail units. A boarded-up pub in the shadow of a squat tower block, and a chippie I'm not convinced sells cod any more. An echoing void with space enough for a complete market, where only one single stall-trader sets up shop. It's nowhere to linger, unless you've got some cheap alcohol and the entire day to spare. Socially speaking, Stroudley Walk's an architectural disaster.
Enter the University of Innsbruck. As part of the The International Student Architecture Festival, they asked architecture students to create some challenging artistic installations up and down High Street 2012. An innovative slatted staircase in Whitechapel, for one, and some guerilla gardening (in rubber gloves) along the Lea towpath north of the Bow Flyover [photo][photo]. Stroudley Walk got Walk The Line, which was essentially the opportunity to slap a bright blue line across the pavement and see what happened. Simple and cheap, but would any of the locals react?
The blue line went down a week ago. The students painted glue all the way along Bromley High Street, then painstakingly walked along and stuck a thick strip of blue tape over the top. At the junction with Bow Road they draped a roll of blue cloth along the railings of the gents conveniences, and tied the top end to Mr Gladstone's right hand. All in all surprisingly effective [photo]. And then they went back to their lodgings for the evening.
The following day much of the line had degraded. The glue wasn't designed to be permanent, and passing footfall had dislodged several sections and left others flapping. The blue cloth had been moved so it didn't impede passing pushchairs heading to the pelican crossing. And in Stroudley Walk itself, the entire blue line had been ripped up and thrown into the square's recycling bins. The culprit could have been pesky kids, but I prefer to believe that some well-meaning cleaner assumed the line was vandalism not art, and dutifully removed the lot.
Over the weekend Mr Gladstone's ribbon was unceremoniously chopped, leaving no line to walk, only a short strip of fabric dangling in mid-air. But the students had a better idea for a more durable line elsewhere. They used blue paint this time, and progressed along Stroudley Walk putting out branches to various features along the way. A 'postcard' branch to the post office, a 'market' branch to the fruit & veg stall, that sort of thing, adding a little complexity to the project. But the local populace were unmoved. They walked straight through the area as normal, especially the adults, even the kids, I suspect because nobody quite understood what was going on.
But the students had one last trick to encourage audience interaction. They'd brought along several simple 'added extras', all painted the same shade of vibrant blue, and dumped them liberally all over the square. A blue bookcase, with free books to take away. Four blue deckchairs under a blue umbrella. A blue dining table, plus seating. A blue noughts and crosses board with blue counters. Two billowing blue curtains with a gap inbetween labelled 'theater'. A square of blue chipboard (with a hole in it) dropped over a bollard to create a makeshift table. And lots of stumpy wooden trunks, painted blue, clustered to create areas of temporary seating. Success.
Local residents paused, and stopped, and lingered. A bunch of teenagers sat around on the blue tree trunks and chatted. The lady from the dry cleaners rested on some blue wood while she had a fag. Merry lager-drinkers settled at the blue table to lap up beer and sunshine. The theatre remained empty, from what I saw, because that was probably culturally over-adventurous for round here. But it was great to see the area temporarily transformed into "a place accommodating social interaction." It's taken a bunch of Austrian students to point out that Stroudley Walk lacks a beating heart, and that communal renaissance could be kickstarted by something as simple as a few cheap benches and a bit of imagination.
Aldwych station reopened this week. You haven't been yet, have you? TfL go to all the effort of opening up a station that's not been accessible since 1994, and you stay away. I know it's not been open at a weekend yet, and that some of you live so far away that even a 7pm closing time is impractical. But really, call yourself a tubegeek? You could have taken time off work, you could have flown in from abroad, you could have made an effort. In fact I'm thinking of barring you from reading this blog until you at least try. I am so very disappointed.
Aldwych station reopened this week. Not the front entrance on the Strand where the photo machine used to be, but the main entrance round the corner in Surrey Street. The way in should be obvious - it's the doorway with "Entrance" written above the top in lovely big tiles. And you'll be coming out of the side marked "Exit", which is great, because it means you'll have to walk through the lifts partway round. Aldwych has the last remaining 1907 Otis lift on the tube network, and a threatened £3m bill for the lift's replacement finally saw the station closed to save money. Come on, you should know this stuff off by heart. Go away right now and catch up on the historyofAldwychtube station before you shame me more.
Aldwych station reopened this week. It's not so that you can catch a train, nor even so that you can go down to the disusedplatforms for a nerd orgasm. Instead it's so that TfL can show you an exhibition about how they're Transforming the Tube. Millions of pounds are being thrown at the crumbling network to try to boost capacity, access and reliability, and TfL are rather proud of how it's going. This isn't the most exciting subject for an exhibition, truth be told, so they've been cunning by hosting it somewhere you'll never be able to resist visiting. Then, once you're inside, you'll be so smitten by the fantasticness of the upgrade project that you'll never moan about taking a rail replacement bus again. I bet that's the plan.
Please, don't loiter looking at the heritage green tiling round the ticket office window. Don't wander up the steps past the video screen because all you'll find is the secondary ticket office and a row full of empty telephone cubicles. The gentlemen's toilet has nothing to reveal about future upgrade plans, so don't waste your time in there. And as for the lift, its cables are severed, it's going nowhere, so why linger to admire its immaculate slatted woodwork. You're here to look at the 2010 information, not the 1907 station, just you remember that.
Somebody at TfL HQ has been very busy printing out lots of key information on big colourful boards for your education and delight. A mix of words and graphics is displayed, including illustrations showing how things ought to look once the tube's transformation is complete. Many projects are already complete, there's news on those, while several more have yet to be achieved. One map shows the ancientness of tube signalling across the network, which perfectly explains why upgrading the oldest stuff will take so long. Other boards detail improvements at major interchange stations and on each individual line. Victoria's getting a mega-refit, for example, and there's going to be a massive 65% increase in capacity on the Circle and Hammersmith & City lines. That sort of thing. Have faith, the exhibition pleads, because getting around London's going to be a lot better eventually.
Should you get bored of reading all the words on the boards, there are some interactive electronic terminals where you can read all those words on a screen instead. And when you've read them all twice, there's a glossy 24-page brochure to take away which contains all the same words again in portable form. TfL really want you to know this stuff, not because there's a test at the end, but because it'll make you happier long term. Next time you're trying to cross London at the weekend, and three different Planned Closures scupper your journey, they hope you'll remember Aldwych. You got the rare chance to visit a station that nobody upgraded, a branch line that funding forgot. And that's how the entire network could end up without a decade of painful investment. You've got eight days to get down here and learn your lesson.
And it's on these very same clifftops that the Battle of Britain Memorial has been constructed. On the chalk above Folkestone, close to the village of Capel-le-Ferne, a permanent tribute to the sacrifice of The Few. You're probably expecting a marble wall inscribed with the names of dead pilots, and yes there's one of those, but it's not the main focus of the memorial [photo]. Instead a major earthwork has been constructed, consisting of a horseshoe shaped ridge and two smaller circular mounds. At the heart of this central space sits the statue of a young pilot, staring respectfully out to sea [photo]. And leading outwards from this inner hub are three paved convex paths, stretching out from the centre to resemble a giant three-bladed propeller [photo]. It's hard to take in from the ground, or even from the top of the ridge, because this is a memorial optimised for viewing from the air [aerial map]. Clever that, if not quite as obvious as it could be for earthbound visitors.
There's a special 70th anniversary commemoration at the Battle of Britain Memorial tomorrow, where brass bands and RAF top brass will both be in evidence. A service of remembrance will be held, wreaths will be laid, and the visitor centre will do a roaring trade in cups of tea. And a genuine Spitfire and Hurricane will fly overhead, twice, in memory of the dogfights which filled the Channel skies with death during the summer of 1940. It took a month for the main battle to head inland, with the Germans intent first on destroying airfields and signalling stations, then later the citizens of undefended cities and towns. It could all have gone so incredibly wrong for Britain, had the unthinkable happened, und unsere Zukunft würde sehr unterschiedlich gewesen sein. But those remembered here, atop the grassy chalk cliffs of Kent, helped to turn the tide in freedom's favour. This weekend, and in perpetuity, they will be remembered.
The new map's very simple. It looks like a single line on a tube map, with circles representing the piers, but look closer and there are four different coloured services depicted here. Two are brief cross-river shuttles, one west of Canary Wharf, the other the Woolwich Ferry. But the other two are much longer sinuous services, one starting from Putney and the other from Woolwich with a brief overlap in Central London. Piers north of the river have their name printed above the line, while piers south of the river are printed below. It's all very simple, and clear, and effective.
Even in the heart of central London, some tourist gems lie just far enough off the beaten track that they remain unnoticed by the majority. So it is with the Wallace Collection, a gallery-cum-museum of fine and decorative arts on the edge of Manchester Square. See, you don't even know where Manchester Square is, do you, probably? Its a couple of roads behind Selfridges, beyond Wigmore Street, in an elegant under-trafficked locale. From the front it looks like a typically Georgian grand mansion, as indeed it once was as home to the Marquess of Hertford. But look further and the building stretches back, and back, in more utilitarian brick, having been greatly extended as a place of exhibition and display. Whoever lived in a house like this really (really) liked their art.
Part of the London Festival of Architecture (though a woefully under-advertised part) was an installation entitled Anatomy of a Street. Inspired by a similar thoroughfare in Budapest, the organisers took Church Street and aimed to use it as an outdoor gallery. Seven locations up and down the market, each building with an associated slice of audio, and the invitation to wander through the market and view it in another dimension. Which is how I ended up handing over a £10 note as deposit, collecting an authentic 80s Aiwa Walkman from a stack of blue plastic trays, and setting off down the street plugged into a pair of headphones. A very simple idea, both portable and adaptable to a wide range of alternative locations should the project continue.
I stood between the library and the side of a bustling fruit stall and pressed play. After the summative introduction (which you can listen to here), the first of seven interviewees spooled through. One covered Hungary, and then all the voices were local to Church Street. Across to the Neighbourhood Management Centre to hear from a community worker how difficult it is to gentrify a location without wrecking it. Further up-market to understand the importance of the 50p stalls that provide the market's everyday lifeblood. Another track relating the lives of the antiques traders who helps to bring in more well-heeled consumers, not least to the day-glo-topped arcades of Alfie's Antiques Market [photo]. And a quiet rant demanding that the nearby Bakerloo line station (and local bus stops) be renamed after the market to raise its public profile. A cabbie, an immigrant and a renowned developer who lives round the corner, each had their say, providing a different angle on proceedings as I wandered through the Saturday trading action. Throw in some Turkish music for background atmosphere, and my 25 retro-Walkman minutes simply sped by.
Somewhere random: Jubilee Greenway (section 1)
» Buckingham Palace: It always amuses me that Londoners don't give the Queen's place a second look, but tourists can't seem to drag themselves away. Late each morning, thronging behind the barriers, peering through the bars, trying to catch a glimpse of a few furry soldiers. They wait, and they wait some more, then snap snap flash as the marchpast fleets by. I left them to it.
This can't come as news to any of you, it's probably the most famous bit of obscure tube trivia around. But there are two houses in a Bayswater sidestreet which aren't really houses at all, and all to keep the neighbours happy. When the Metropolitan railway was built in the 1860s, via the cut and cover method, several buildings along the route had to be demolished. Most were replaced but a few stretches of open tunnel were needed so that the engines could vent their steam at selected spots. One such gap was here on the line between Bayswater and Paddington, although residents of leafy Leinster Gardens weren't best pleased at a gap being knocked in their elegant façade. So some five-feet-thick false frontage was constructed, almost perfectly matching the rest of the street, and two fake addresses took their place between numbers 22 and 25. [photo]
Blimey, that's both of London's major cricket grounds covered on this blog in under a week, who'd have thought? This one's older, even taking into consideration it's actually the third Lord's Cricket Ground over the years. The first lies under council housing on the Lisson Grove estate, and the second had to shift when the Regent's Canal ploughed through in the early 19th century. The Marylebone Cricket Club played their first match on their latest ground in 1814 (beating Hertfordshire by an innings and 27 runs), and the first Test match came along 80 years later. Lord's may only busy for a few days a year, and the owners could surely make a huge amount more money if they sold the land for building, but still the MCC rolls on.
For most tourists, Westminster is London. They take pictures of Buckingham Palace and Big Ben, they go shopping in Oxford Street and Covent Garden, they sit around in Piccadilly Circus and Hyde Park, they dine in Soho or Leicester Square, and then they go back to their hotel in Park Lane or Paddington and sleep it all off. And yes, Westminster's important, a city no less, and almost as ancient as the City downriver. But the borough also sprawls into less well-known corners like Pimlico and Maida Vale, and less affluent pockets like Westbourne Green and Lisson Grove. I had a day to cover the lot, so here's my cherry-picking attempt at six representative snippets.
OK, so Westminster Hall isn't as famous as the Palace nextdoor, or even the clock tower by the river, but it sits at the very heart of British democracy. It was commissioned by William Rufus, and has somehow survived every riot, fire and bombing that nine centuries of existence could throw at it. Indeed in 1941 when German incendiaries threatened to destroy either the Commons or the Hall, the first politician on the scene had no hesitation in sacrificing the MPs chamber in favour of this medieval masterpiece. It's also relatively straightforward to get inside, even if you only picked a piece of paper out of a jamjar a couple of hours earlier. Here's how to do it.
But then you're in, and Westminster Hall is just round the corner past New Palace Yard. As cradles of democracy go, you'd be forgiven for not realising the room's importance. On tour days this is the waiting room, so there are 5 queueing bays to join at the end of the hall, plus a place to hang around for all the scores of people who've arrived early. It's also the exit hall, where the Blue Badge guides take leave of their guests, so there are folk streaming back the other way towards the Jubilee cafe and the exit. Do they stop and look upwards at the statues inlaid in the window niches? Do they gasp in awe at the largest hammerbeam roof in Europe? Do they pause to read the plaques marking the spots where Churchill and the Queen Mother's coffins laid in state? Well, a few of them do, but the majority are simply keen to get on to the next bit of the trail as swiftly as possible. When you go, linger longer.
There's usually an exhibition in Westminster Hall, and (as I hinted) the current display focuses on Parliament's connections to the Olympic Games. There are plenty of links, possibly more than you might imagine, and not just Westminster passes the laws that make them happen. A number of MPs are former Olympians, including Menzies Campbell and of course Sebastian Coe. Seb's 1980 running shoes are on display, as well as Ming's blazer and several items from the two previous times the UK hosted the Games. There's the letter we wrote to the IOC offering to host the 1940 Games, back when a two-page typewritten missive sufficed as a bid document. Then there's a 1908 programme, and the menu card from an official Edwardian sporting dinner. And a torch, because there has to be a torch. Plus of course plenty of information (and models, lots of lovely plastic models of stadia and stuff) for the upcoming Games in 2012. The exhibition's not huge, designed mostly as a promotional snifter for Palace-bound tourists passing through. But it is an excellent excuse to go and visit a medieval democratic treasure you really should have visited by now. [open daily 10am - 5pm until Aug 28th, not Sundays]
Yes, everybody goes to Westminster Abbey, so I went to its ecumenical half-sister. Westminster Cathedral is the most important Roman Catholic church in the country, assuming you don't count all the really old Roman Catholic churches (like Westminster Abbey) which Henry VIII forced to switch sides in the 16th century. The building officially celebrated its 100th birthday last week, so it's a mere youngster by comparison. The exterior's striking, when viewed through a gap in the shops along Victoria Street, with a thin Byzantine tower rising high above the red/white striped brick façade. It's even more striking inside, especially to Anglicans used to more traditional stone Gothic edifices. A long nave leads down to a high High Altar, the roof supported by great marble columns. More than 100 different types of marble were used in the building's construction, and it shows. There are several chapels to either side, many arched with with intricate mosaic ceilings, and a steady stream of votive candles burning in front of each. The fourteen Stations of the Cross, they're by the sculptor Eric Gill, while that's a big bronze Jesus suspended on the giant crucifix over the sanctuary. Look above your head, however, and the main ceiling is remarkably plain. A quartet of dark domes, and a series of brick arches which reminded me somewhat of the underside of a Victorian railway viaduct. Nevertheless the spirituality of the space is self-evident, and tourists are thankfully in the minority outnumbered by those who've come to pray, reflect or worship.
Random borough (26): Time once again 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 eight 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, Richmond or Kingston, because they're the twenty-five (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already.
Enter the University of Innsbruck. As part of the The International Student Architecture Festival, they asked architecture students to create some challenging artistic installations up and down High Street 2012. An innovative slatted staircase in Whitechapel, for one, and some guerilla gardening (in rubber gloves) along the Lea towpath north of the Bow Flyover [photo] [photo]. Stroudley Walk got Walk The Line, which was essentially the opportunity to slap a bright blue line across the pavement and see what happened. Simple and cheap, but would any of the locals react?
The following day much of the line had degraded. The glue wasn't designed to be permanent, and passing footfall had dislodged several sections and left others flapping. The blue cloth had been moved so it didn't impede passing pushchairs heading to the pelican crossing. And in Stroudley Walk itself, the entire blue line had been ripped up and thrown into the square's recycling bins. The culprit could have been pesky kids, but I prefer to believe that some well-meaning cleaner assumed the line was vandalism not art, and dutifully removed the lot.
But the students had one last trick to encourage audience interaction. They'd brought along several simple 'added extras', all painted the same shade of vibrant blue, and dumped them liberally all over the square. A blue bookcase, with free books to take away. Four blue deckchairs under a blue umbrella. A blue dining table, plus seating. A blue noughts and crosses board with blue counters. Two billowing blue curtains with a gap inbetween labelled 'theater'. A square of blue chipboard (with a hole in it) dropped over a bollard to create a makeshift table. And lots of stumpy wooden trunks, painted blue, clustered to create areas of temporary seating. Success.
Aldwych station reopened this week. Not the front entrance on the Strand where the photo machine used to be, but the main entrance round the corner in Surrey Street. The way in should be obvious - it's the doorway with "Entrance" written above the top in lovely big tiles. And you'll be coming out of the side marked "Exit", which is great, because it means you'll have to walk through the lifts partway round. Aldwych has the last remaining 1907 Otis lift on the tube network, and a threatened £3m bill for the lift's replacement finally saw the station closed to save money. Come on, you should know this stuff off by heart. Go away right now and catch up on the history of Aldwych tube station before you shame me more.
Please, don't loiter looking at the heritage green tiling round the ticket office window. Don't wander up the steps past the video screen because all you'll find is the secondary ticket office and a row full of empty telephone cubicles. The gentlemen's toilet has nothing to reveal about future upgrade plans, so don't waste your time in there. And as for the lift, its cables are severed, it's going nowhere, so why linger to admire its immaculate slatted woodwork. You're here to look at the 2010 information, not the 1907 station, just you remember that.
