If you're ever in Wandsworth with five hours to spare, why wouldn't you walk to Croydon? The Wandle Trail runs all the way, unlike the river of the same name which flows in precisely the opposite direction. The Wandle's no lost river, it still winds lazily through Sutton and Merton and is blatantly obvious if you know where to look. And knowing where to look is easy if you follow the well-signposted footpath and cycleway along its length [here's the very detailed map/leaflet]. I last walked the Wandle Trail five years ago, so if you want to know what the walk's like I suggest you go and read that [report][35 photos]. But I thought I'd walk it again over the weekend to see what had changed, because no London walk ever quite stays the same. [9 new photos]
Last time I was at the mouth of the Wandle it looked very different, but that was because then was high tide and this was low [photo]. The wooden walkway at the end of the river is no longer new, and the surrounding marshy terraces have had several summers to bed in. Up the creek I was expecting the Young's Brewery to have been torn down by now, given that it last churned out barrels in 2006, but not so. Developers Minerva had their previous planning application turned down so are now developing a new brief with one fewer skyscraping apartment block. They still hope to "unlock a new urban quarter for Wandsworth" (sigh), with flats and offices and a bijou shopping street, but will at least retain the listed brewerybuildings facing the town centre for future generations. Five more years, and this short stretch of Wandle may finally be opened up for public access.
South of Wandsworth's main shopping mall, the river bursts out from beneath HMV and Cineworld to run along the edge of King George's Park. A couple of blue ceramic plaques commemorate mundaneevents which took place along the Wandle Trail - one the playing of Poohsticks, the other the exercising of "friendly dogs Rory and Max" [photo]. At least they're still legible, which is more than can be said for the detailed information boards scattered along the river's length. These recount the Wandle's history and geography in impressive detail, but they've not weathered well and in five more years I'd expect them to be completely weatherbeatenly unreadable. Another casualty of time is the unusual series of numbered waymarker posts [photo]. These sculpted beasts were supposed to run from 1 (in Wandsworth) to 100 (in Carshalton), but fewer than 10% were ever installed. Number 10's in KG park, correctly displaying up and downstream, but also the web address of a site that's now defunct. Log into wandletrail.org today and you'll get updates on hiking in America, not the grand artistic plans once dreamed of for the Wandle. How easily online content slips away, while the metal URL endures.
Only beyond Earlsfield does the path finally get up close to the river, and even then there's usually a screening row of trees and undergrowth between the cycleway and river. This is a strangely post-industrial landscape, all backs of council tips and electricity substations, plus the odd allotment, looming pylon and disgorging outfall. At least it has some character, which is more than can be said for the site of Wimbledon's old Plough Lane stadium. Five years ago all I saw was a blue wall surrounding a would-be construction site, whereas now a complete village of highrise flats cover the grandstands and former pitch [photo]. A highlight of the following stretch is a metal viewing platform built out towards the confluence of the Wandle and Graveney, now with trees and greenery pushing up between the slats [photo]. Here I watched a close-up heron, beak dripping, staring into the concrete culvert for a passing fish to gobble - the river's cleaner now than it ever was. But as for the talking lamppost by the railway line (a Wandle Trail artwork originally set off by a motion detector) alas that's evidently vanished.
Colliers Wood brings a sharp burst of commercialism [photo], with a retail park built across the former grounds of Merton Priory. Its foundations were discovered when Sainsburys built a Savacentre here in the 1980s, and the remains of the Chapter House have been preserved in a concrete basement beneath the feeder road. It's only rarely open, so I was annoyed to discover one of those rare occasions was over the weekend, and I'd walked almost straight past without noticing. For anybody local it's open again next weekend too, as part of the Merton Arts Trail, or you can read Ian's account of this peculiar medieval survivor. Merton Abbey Mills survives rather more intact, as a riverside craft market. There seemed to be more foodie drinkie outlets than last time I was here, plus a burgeoning pottery business in the watermill producing attractive and practical kitchenware.
Moving upstream, past the tramline, comes Morden Hall Park. This is one of the National Trust's few south London outposts, where casual visitors enjoy a mix of landscapes with tea, second hand books and a garden centre. I was pleased to see that the watermill had been restored since my last visit, even if its blades will never turn again [photo]. And even more pleased that the river's flow will be harnessed in a very different way at the old stable block, scheduled for reopening in a month's time, and due to be powered by London's only hydroelectric Archimedes Screw. If I ever write a book entitled "London's 100 most overlooked Lovely Places", Morden Hall Park will get a look in. I also rather enjoyed Ravensbury Park, the next greenspace along, much more than I had last time I was here. As well as some arty geometric bridges [photo] there was a long waterside stroll to enjoy, at last close-up beneath a leafy canopy, like a proper river walk should be. [photo]
I didn't have five hours to spare, I only had three, so this is where I bailed. I could have continued to Hackbridge, Carshalton Ponds and Waddon, but the complete eleven mile Wandle Trail defeated me. I'll save the upstream chunk for later, but I won't leave it five years this time.
I wasn't terribly complimentary about Wandsworth Museum the last time I visited. Quick backstory: Previous museum closed by council in 2007, contents under threat, local people (including two wealthy philanthropists) stepped in, independent trust formed, borough collection saved, new museum opened September 2010. It looked like the model for a new breed of Big Society museum, with volunteers taking over what had previously been municipal services, and setting up shop unfunded. I visited a month after the new museum opened, and was unimpressed by the collection, the labelling and especially the entrance fee. Eight quid to look round two rooms, one of which was more antechamber than gallery, did seem somewhat exorbitant. But my ticket allowed unlimited visits at any time during the following twelve months, so I've been back just before it expired to see if things have changed. And they have.
The volunteer behind the counter seemed surprised to see my laminated Wandsworth Museum pass, as if they hadn't sold any of them for a very long time. I asked what the current admission price was, because it wasn't on show either at the desk or on the website. And what do you know, it's now £4, significantly less than before, as if market forces had kicked in and forced the owners to reduce entry fees to stimulate visitor numbers. Rather more realistic, hopefully... so I ventured inside.
Room 1 hasn't changed much. It still features a potted history of the borough, starting on the right and edging round the wall, with the occasional artefact thrown in for good measure. Rather too occasional still, alas. The entire Norman period is represented by a single sickly-looking sickle, now labelled "iron", which it wasn't last year, but not much to get excited about. Saxon-wise it's a little busier, including a "scramasax" (which I had to look up when I got home), plus further back there's the skull of a woolly rhinoceros who had the good fortune to die beneath Battersea Power Station. A series of display cases contain a few more items, some very borough-specific (bits from the Youngs Brewery, reports on the Putney Debates), others not. I did rather like the 1918 notebook of a Miss Ethel Rough, but only because the handwritten verse inside reminded me of exactly what my grandmother would have written at the time. Moving swiftly on...
Room 2 has changed completely. It's the temporary exhibition gallery, although the first temporary exhibition ("Wandsworth - a history in 100 objects") lasted a year and has only just been replaced. This second exhibition is rather better, if still somewhat limited. Entitled "Separation and Silence" it's an exploration of life in Her Majesty's Prison Wandsworth, which celebrates its 160th birthday this year. Silence was the original policy which saw prisoners forbidden to speak, and Separation the follow-up to prevent communication through signs and gestures. The need for separation explains why the Surrey House of Correction was built with 708 segregated cells, each 13ft long, 7ft wide and 9ft high. You'll see a genuine table and chair in one corner, and an original wooden door, plus an "execution box" containing everything a regional prison needed to hang a condemned criminal (along with matter-of-fact instructions for how to do it). I learnt plenty by reading the walls, which is the hallmark of a good exhibition. Hard labour in a compact Victorian prison often meant turning a pointless handcrank scooping sand, for example, until splitting ropes and sewing mailbags took over. Much of the gallery is given over to a modern needlework project - Fine Cell Work - which keeps today's inmates productively busy. It's impressive stuff, be it bespoke projects for English Heritage or cushions/quilts/tapestries forsale. Life at Wandsworth's definitely moved on since the days when Oscar Wilde sat in his cell contemplating suicide.
And Room 3 is the cafe. I didn't get inside last time because it was packed out with a children's party. Quite the opposite problem this time, alas. The cook sprung to her feet when I entered, in case she might finally have a customer for coffee, cake or chicken carbonara pesto, only to be disappointed when I went over to look at the gift shop instead. They have a good selection of local history books here - all your inner southwest London needs - and none of the usual plastic tat. Plus there's a marvellous old chemist shop interior in the corner, all bottles and panelled wood, which adds a real ambience to the place.
Wandsworth Museum definitely wasn't worth eight quid last year, but it's a bit more worth four quid this. Don't expect to spend more than thirty minutes in the museum proper - indeed if you exceed twenty you're probably doing well. But there is another treat in the rooms nextdoor. The De Morgan Centre has just reopened after a lengthy hiatus, packed with vibrant Arts and Crafts ceramics and symbolic art. You'll know William De Morgan's work if you've ever seen the heroic plaques at Postman's Park, but the collection here showcases far more impressive examples of his technicolour finery. Again, it's more a museumette than anything huge, and it costs another four quid to get in, but at least it doubles up what there is to see on site. Eight quid for two museums - definitely an improvement on eight quid for one.
Shaving valuable minutes? Really? Let's put that to the test.
Obviously, whether valuable minutes get shaved depends on where you're travelling from and to. I'm going to assume you want to travel from the ExCel Exhibition Centre to the Dome, because these are by far the largest visitor attractions on each side of the river. I'm also going to assume you're on foot, not on a bike. How long would it take to travel from the western end of ExCel to the entrance to the O2? I've been out with a stopwatch wandering the area and riding trains, and this map summarises my findings.
Grey: Jubilee Blue: DLR Red: cablecar Green: walking (all times in minutes)
Currently, if you want to get from ExCel to the Dome, you do this: a)walk from ExCel to Custom House DLR (across the walkway and down to the platform) = 2½ mins b)wait for westbound DLR train = X minutes (total so far: 2½+X) c)DLR from Custom House to Canning Town (3 mins) and down to the Jubilee line platform (½ min) (total so far: 6+X) d)wait for southbound Jubilee train = Y minutes (total so far: 6+X+Y) e)Jubilee line from Custom House to North Greenwich (2 mins) and up to the surface (2 mins) (total so far: 10+X+Y) f)walk from North Greenwich to the Dome (across Peninsula Square) = 2 mins (total: 12+X+Y minutes)
Time: Although the journey can be done in as little as 12 minutes, I did it yesterday in 15. I was lucky because I had quick changes (2 minutes at Custom House and 1 minute at Canning Town), but I'd have taken longer if connections had been poor. Most of the week X is a wait of anything up to 5 minutes, and Y anything up to 4, which would suggest a typical maximum travel time of 12+5+4=21 minutes. Cost: I have a travelcard, so this cost me nothing (on Pay As you Go it would have cost £1.30) View: rubbish
In future, if you want to get from ExCel to the Dome, you could do this: a)walk from ExCel to Royal Docks cablecar station (down a tedious boulevard between hotels) = 5½ mins b)enter the cablecar station (no idea how this will work, so a notional time here) = ½ min (total so far: 6) c)cablecar journey across the Thames ("serene and joyful") = 5 mins (total so far: 11) d)walk from Greenwich Peninsula cablecar station to the entrance to the Dome = 4 mins (total: 15)
Time: 15 minutes, which is exactly what I did it in yesterday. No valuable minutes shaved off. Cost: yet to be decided (but likely to be at least £2.50) View: "truly spectacular"
Comparison: The cablecar isn't a huge timesaver. It's 12-21 minutes from ExCel to the Dome by DLR/tube, and 15 minutes by cablecar. You might shave valuable minutes on the Emirates Dangleway or you might not. The view will be better, but it'll cost you more.
But: These are the timings if you're at the western end of the ExCel exhibition centre. If you're at the eastern end, then it's at least a ten minute walk to the cablecar, so you should definitely take the DLR from Prince Regent, then the Jubilee.
And yet: Other journeys are available. For example, I can guarantee that the cablecar will be the quickest option if you want to travel from the Spar shop by the hotel south of Royal Victoria station to the car park near the shut-down David Beckham Football Academy.
Conclusion: The cablecar is for tourists, because it has a nice view, not because it joins anywhere important fast.
a cable car system shamelessly named after your airline company (the Emirates Air Line)
the station at one end cumbersomely named after your airline company (Emirates Greenwich Peninsula)
the station at the other end clumsily named after your airline company (Emirates Royal Docks)
the cable car system, and its sponsored name, and the two stations, and their sponsored names, plastered all over millions of copies of the tube map until 2022
a red line on the tube map, in your official corporate colour, joining one sponsored station to the other sponsored station (in a garish, extremely distracting way)
a new roundel, wider than usual, in corporate red, slapped on the gondolas and the stations and the maps and any other promotional material you can get away with
enough money to fund the construction of the cable car out of private funds (which leaves umpteen millions to be paid by the public out of TfL's rail budget)
If it's ready for the Olympics (big if), the cablecar will be a convenient additional transport option between two major Games venues. Even if it's not ready for the Olympics, the cablecar will be a popular tourist attraction. Whether it's ready for the Olympics or not, the cablecar will provide additional cross-river resilience if ever the Jubilee line or Blackwall Tunnel are closed. Whenever it's ready, the cablecar will be bugger all use for commuters, saving incredibly few of them very little time.
Two million passengers a year? That isn't much. It's only 5500 passengers a day - the equivalent of two hours peak-time capacity. It seems that nobody expects this cablecar to be packed, nor even busy. That'll be because it goes from not-quite The O2 to not-quite the Excel exhibition centre, which isn't a journey 99.99% of London's population ever needs to make. For comparison, the Woolwich Ferry carries two and a half million passengers a year, in three clapped-out ferries running not terribly often.
No, the Emirates Air Line is an unnecessary shiny thing, conjured up by a Mayor who likes building unnecessary shiny things because they make it look like he's doing something. A big red tower by the Olympic Stadium - unnecessary, shiny, ticketed. A new red bus with a rear platform - unnecessary, shiny, expensive. Barclay-blue cycle lanes across the city - unnecessary, shiny, sponsored. A floating airport in the Thames estuary - unnecessary, shiny, dead. And now a suspended advert for a foreign airline as a tourist's plaything linking nowhere useful - unnecessary, shiny, irrelevant. Of all the things £60m could have been spent on, why this?
No, this is a vanity project, a social irrelevance, pimping transport infrastructure to the highest bidder, on the the day Boris prostituted the tube map. Four more years, anyone?
On a sunny Saturday afternoon precisely 50 years ago, in a parish church half a mile outside London, my Mum and Dad got married. It was a very typical Sixties wedding, by all accounts. The bride was radiant in white, the groom wore a smart but unfamiliar suit, and friends and relations came together to spend the entire day smiling. Photographs of the event show aunts and uncles looking impossibly young, cousins looking unbelievably cute and fashions looking frighteningly dated. A special day for all concerned, so I'm told, and the start of something very special.
I don't remember my parents' 10th wedding anniversary, because I was only six at the time. That's the age where your parents buy the greetings card themselves, then get you to scrawl your name inside, lick the envelope down and give it back to them. I'd have spent the day at school, then probably come home all full of myself rather than celebratory for them. There would have been food, a bit more special than usual perhaps, then I'd have gone to bed early and they'd have had the evening to themselves. Ten years down, and already much to be thankful for.
I do remember my parents' 20th wedding anniversary. I was now of an age where "sorting out the gifts and card" was my responsibility, but I left it all a bit late. I ummed and ahhed my way round Watford town centre the day before and ended up buying two large mugs (one brambly, one apple-y) from Timothy Whites. But that left me with insufficient money to buy a card, so desperate measures had to be taken. The following morning my brother and I delivered fresh mugs of coffee to the parental bedside, which saved wrapping them, along with a homemade card I'd cobbled together the night before. What they made of my cheap construction with its "dangly twenties" I hate to think, but they were far too polite to be openly unimpressed.
My parents' silver wedding fell while my brother and I were at university. They took the opportunity to go away together to Norfolk, destination of their original honeymoon, but this time to a rather nice Broadland cottage rather than an austere prefab on the coast. There being no mobile phones in those days, I never got to say "congratulations" on the day, and could only keep my fingers crossed that my proper shop-bought card had reached their remote letterbox on time. I wonder now if it was that trip which spurred them to move to Norfolk permanently, although it took from silver to pearl to make it happen.
As for the 30th anniversary, that was a Monday, so we all celebrated together the day before. Mum drew the short straw by having to cook Sunday lunch, and then served up my favourite meal (roast beef, lemon meringue pie) rather than hers. After the washing up we watched the last ever episode of Dallas - more to my Mum's taste, that, so Dad escaped and dug things up in the garden. This was the week I finally bought somewhere of my own to live, so my special parental gift was to box up all my stuff and leave them an entire extra empty room to live in. And on the day itself, yes, they both went out for a slap up meal at the Harvester clone down the road, and raised a glass to thirty years as one.
We pulled out all the stops for their 40th. Three generations flew across to Guernsey for a ruby wedding long weekend, which should have been great, but didn't go well. On the first day the hotel served up the worst meal we've ever experienced - forgetting we'd booked, relocating us to the conservatory along with "Joyce's birthday party", forgetting to bring drinks, serving up the wrong food (slowly), then trying to kick us out so some Saga holidaymakers could do a quiz. My Mum was very annoyed, very calmly, which was very her. Then on the anniversary itself it rained for most of the day, so we abandoned the beach and sought refuge at the local sports centre. I had to leave early to fly back in time for work, but my plane was delayed for three hours by a storm so I ended up sitting a mile away at the airport while the rest of the family suffered an anniversary meal in the proper hotel restaurant. An absolute fiasco of a weekend, all told, rescued only by the sheer joy of spending it together.
Today ought to be my parents' golden wedding, but it isn't. One of them's made it this far, but one didn't quite, so the great 50th anniversary never happened. If nothing else it's saved me from having to organise a surprise party - the sort of thing where you pretend you're taking them out for a quiet meal but have instead invited every living relative and all their friends to hide in the village hall with the lights off surrounded by several plates of sandwiches and a specially-decorated cake. But wouldn't that have been lovely, to celebrate half a century of coupled coexistence with a mass gathering of people who recognise how rare and special that is. It didn't quite happen, but I wish it had, and I give thanks that it so nearly did. Maybe not today, but fifty years ago for sure, together they struck gold.
Yes there's a recession on. But if you don't care, because you're financially cushioned, why not buy your own tube roundel? A proper tube roundel, just like they have at stations. Authentic, colourfast, weather-proof - screen printed in red and blue on a vitreous enamelled panel. Handmade in 4 weeks flat by TfL's official signage contractor on the Isle of Wight. It'll only set you back £895 for a one metre square. Or, if you're less rich, £795 for the 675mm × 675mm size. A bargain, I'm sure you'd agree, and would look lovely hanging in your spare bedroom or brightening up the summerhouse. But only a limited number of station names are available, so if your favourite's not on this list then bad luck.
Available tube roundel names: Underground, Mind the gap, London, Arsenal, Angel, Bank, Barking, Brixton, Cockfosters, Covent Garden, Earl's Court, Euston, King's Cross, Leicester Square, London Bridge, Marble Arch, Mornington Crescent, Paddington, Piccadilly Circus, Tufnell Park, Victoria, Waterloo, West Ham.
Those first three aren't genuine station names,you'll notice, because TfL's commercial arm aren't purists. They have an eye for names that will sell, be that major landmarks, football teams or (giggle, smirk) Cockfosters. But why on earth is Tufnell Park on that list, when more obvious moneyspinners like Knightsbridge and St Paul's aren't?
And it's not just tube roundels. How do you fancy your very own street sign? Three options are available - first the City of Westminster, then Theatreland, or else the City of London. And they're cheaper too, at either £595 or £695, which is great news if you're a little harder up.
Available City of Westminster street names: Abbey Road NW8, Baker Street W1, Carnaby Street W1, Covent Garden WC2, Downing Street SW1, Oxford Street W1 Available Theatreland street names: Aldwych WC2, Drury Lane WC2, Haymarket SW1, Strand WC2 Available City of London street names: Bankside SE1, Bloomsbury Square WC2, Brick Lane E1, Change Alley EC3, Cheapside EC2, Clerkenwell Green EC1, Cornhill EC3, Fetter Lane EC4, Fleet Street ECY, Hoxton Square N1, Kings Road SW3, Lambeth Walk SE11, Leadenhall Street EC3, Little Britain EC1, London Wall EC2, Love Lane EC2, Middle Temple Lane EC4, Notting Hill Gate W11, Portobello Road W11
Although, I don't know if you've noticed, but several of the streets in that last list aren't in the City of London at all. Bankside is in Southwark, Bloomsbury Square is in Camden, Brick Lane is in Tower Hamlets, Clerkenwell Green is in Islington, Hoxton Square is in Hackney, and three of the others (you know which) are in Kensington and Chelsea. It's not clear from the graphics on the website whether you get "City of London" plastered across the top of your street sign, or the correct name of the actual borough. Whichever, they're none of them produced to the proper design for the borough in which they're located. But what did you want for over half a grand? Authenticity?
If your preferred street name isn't on the designated list, don't despair. TfL are willing to commission a bespoke version of a London street sign for a small service charge of £150. You have to fill in a request form online first, and there's no guarantee they'll be willing to produce your chosen design. But you might get yourself a Crooked Usage N3, or Shoot Up Hill NW2,or Cumming Street N2, or Back Passage EC1, if they play ball. A street name with sentimental meaning, or else a cheap smirk, could be yours for just £745. If you've still got some annual bonus left to blow, it's worth a thought. And it's not just signs from London that are available.
Available heritage railway station names: York (North Eastern), Leeds (North Eastern), Paddington (Western), Oxford (Western), Euston (Midlands), Liverpool Street (Great Eastern), Cambridge (Great Eastern), Edinburgh (Scottish), Glasgow (Scottish), Victoria (Southern), St Pancras (Great Northern), Kings Cross (Great Northern)
These old-style railway names cost £650 (large) or £495 (small), although the 'small' is only about the half the size of a sheet of A4 paper, so perhaps that's not best value for money. Again the official list is limited but a bespoke option is available, so you could have Quainton Road or Mytholmroyd or Adlestrop or Luton Airport Parkway for a mere £800. I think it's an obvious Christmas present idea for the sign-obsessed geek in your life. Or you could buy an annual Zone 2 travelcard for the same money, but where's the wantonly impractical extravagance in that?
Somewhere random: A walk along the Thames For a glimpse of lower Hammersmithand Fulham I thought I'd walk along the entire southern border of the borough, marked by the north bank of the Thames. That's all the way from just past Chelsea to almost Chiswick, via the two neighbourhoods the borough is named after. It's less than three miles direct, but the meandering river (and a few obstructive landowners) meant I had to walk more than five. It's not the most exciting stretch of the Thames, to be honest, but it has its moments. [six photos]
The eastern boundary of Hammersmith and Fulham is the lost river of Counter's Creek. The last few hundred yards are still visible as a tidal inlet, running between the old Lots Road power station and the luxury apartments of Chelsea Village [photo]. The Village is a concentrated enclave of wealthy souls packed into wharfside stacks, only a few of whom are fortunate enough to have a river view. The new Imperial Wharf development nextdoor isn't quite so exclusive, and the artificially turfed garden by the river is open to all in case an October heatwave should break out [photo]. But prospective homeowners should watch out for the racket caused by helicopters landing at Battersea across the water. And lovers of fine architecture should probably choose to live somewhere else. I scanned the entire waterfront here attempting to spot a building more than 30 years old and, bar a couple of church spires across the river, I failed. This is the Thames as real estate, devoid of soul.
The riverside continues uneventfully as far as Sainsbury's, then heads inland to avoid one remaining patch of wharfy warehouseness. Past Wandsworth Bridge and a tucked in Curry's, then a detour round a goods yard, and see what I mean about this not being the most exciting stretch of the Thames? Inland there are lovely terraced streets, but the river's edge was industrial land until relatively recently so never had the golden Edwardian touch. And then high society intrudes. The Hurlingham Club own a massive 42 acres beside the river, carefully walled off to prevent the hoi polloi from entering. Inside there's polo, croquet and tennis, plus a genuinely top class collection of facilities you won't find in the adjacent council park. For those of us without a membership card it's a long slog round the edge, eventually locating the main entrance where 4×4s and sportscars wait to be waved in by security.
Putney Bridge sees a brief return to busy-ness, before the path dips through a subway to emerge in Bishop's Park [photo]. This is where spectators watch the start of the Boat Race, and also where Patrick Troughton's vicar walks in The Omen before being impaled by the lightning conductor toppling from the top of his nearby church. All Saints' is also the only church where I've ever been a page boy, several years before the impaling, although I'm glad camcorders hadn't been invented at the time because I fear I was a rather precocious three year-old. Next up, Fulham Palace (been there, blogged that). Next up, Craven Cottage (ditto). And then a low-rise residential promenade, good for strolling, facing out towards the much greener London Wetland Centre and the Harrods Furniture repository. Halfway up is the ever-bustling Crabtree Tavern, where the public school alumnus count is high, then the Riverside Studios, which are famously arty. But the most interesting bit's past Hammersmith Bridge, where old pubs intermix with gardens and elegant townhouses. One in particular...
Somewhere pretty: Kelmscott House[photo] William Morris, the esteemed designer, was born in Random Borough 21, bought his first house in Random Borough 29, and opened a wallpaper press in Random Borough 1. So it's only right that I've finally ended up at his last home, in Random Borough 31. William moved here in 1878 from another Thameside property, far upstream in Gloucestershire, downsizing from Kelmscott Manor to Kelmscott House. This was already a house with an impressive history - the world's first electric telegraph had been built in the garden sixty years earlier. Morris added tapestry to his many talents while he was here, and weaving, and dabbled in social democratic politics, until 1896 when he dabbled no more. His house is now in public ownership, apart from the basement and the former coachhouse which have become a (sort of) museum. They're owned by the William Morris Society, who keep a collection of artefacts (and run their offices) from within. Access is on Thursday and Saturday afternoons only, so I timed my visit carefully and slipped in. I'd just missed a lecture on Sanderson, the design company who bought up Morris's business, so there were plenty of serious WM devotees still lingering around, chatting in the lower library or washing up in the rear kitchen. There wasn't much to see, but I think I now finally understand some of the huge complexity of triple-application wood-carved stamp-template production. And William'swallpapers are gorgeous, as I fear I've told you several times by now. by tube: Ravenscourt Park by bus: 27, 190, 267, 391, H91
A last half mile of Hammersmith (and Fulham) finished off my Thames-side walk. The highlight was a flotilla of blue-sailed yachts riding the rising tide at the London Corinthian Sailing Club[photo], watched by a sun-baked crowd downing pints sitting on the river wall. The lowlight was succumbing to the lure of an ice cream van on Upper Mall, only to be told that my freshly-dripping 99 cost £2.50. And the missed opportunity was 7 Hammersmith Terrace, with one of the last preserved Arts and Crafts interiors in the country, which closed for the winter season last week and won't reopen until April. Forgive me if I return some day and wax lyrical about the wallpaper. by train/tube: Imperial Wharf / Putney Bridge / Stamford Brook
Random borough (31): Hammersmith & Fulham(part 2½) Sorry, this one's a cheat. The Earl's Court Exhibition Centre may be partly in Hammersmith & Fulham, but the tube station's a few hundred yards away in Kensington & Chelsea. Never mind, just this once, because TODAY IS THE 100th ANNIVERSARY OF ESCALATORS ON THE LONDON UNDERGROUND. Please stand on the right, and walk on the left.
Somewhere cheating: Earl's Court station's escalators The first escalators on the London Underground were installed at Earl's Court station in 1911. They were tested in September, but first rolled for public use on Wednesday 4th October. Previously, if you wanted to change between the District and Piccadilly lines, you had to use the stairs or take the lift. But this important interchange had been specially selected for the first railway-based appearance of the motorised people-mover we all take for granted today. There had been a pioneering attempt at a "double spiralcontinuous moving track" escalator at Holloway Road five years earlier, but that prototype never really got off the ground. Diagonally speaking, Earl's Court was where it all began, starting 100 years ago today.
There were two wooden escalators, in parallel, constructed by the Otis Elevator Company of New York. They climbed at an angle of 26½°, raising passengers a total of 38 feet from the lower Piccadilly to just below the District. A row of decorative uplighters ran up the centre between the two, and a big sign had to be erected at the bottom warning riders not to sit on the handrails. When stopped there were 57 steps to climb; when running the ascent took 25 seconds. The steps were oak, because oak was fireproof, while the balustrades were a rather lovely slice of teak. And these weren't quite the escalators we know now, with safety combs at the end, but instead had a 'shunt' landing at the top which forced passengers to step off sideways. No, I can't quite picture that either, I'm merely duplicating the descriptive text from somewhere else.
Had you been at Earl's Court 100 years ago you'd probably have been very nervous of the new mechanical apparatus. Underground managers recognised this, and hired one of the most famous pub quiz answers in tube history. His name was Bumper Harris, a one-legged railway employee, and he was paid to ride the escalators up and down all day to show passengers how safe they were. Inspired marketing, you might think. Except that some people saw a man with an artificial limb and worried that he might have been horribly injured by the escalator mechanism itself, so shied off and took the lift instead. Not to worry, Earl's Court's escalators were a big hit with most other passengers - indeed some visited the station purely for the opportunity to change lines in a manner that had never been possible before.
These were "Type A" escalators, of which 22 were eventually installed across the network (mostly on the Bakerloo line). All ran at 26½°, unlike subsequent escalator shafts which ran at 30° to get passengers to the surface fractionally faster. The last Otis Type A continued in use on the Central line at Liverpool Street until 1953 when it was finally replaced. Meanwhile the terminating "comb", which stops your feet being swished into the mechanism, had first arrived in 1924 (at Clapham Common, if you must know). Cleated wooden escalators survived until the King's Cross disaster of 1987, and now there's only one, at Greenford (one of two stations on the London Underground where escalators take passengers up from street level to the platform) (the other, as of last year, being Stratford) (which also reputedly has the tube's shortest escalators, a mere 4m in height). But I digress. If deep-level escalator trivia appeals, then Clive's twopages should satisfy. The tube's five longest escalators: Angel (27.4m), Leicester Square (24.6m), Holborn (23.4m), Green Park (22.7m), London Bridge (21.9m)
It is of course the done thing to celebrate 100th anniversaries early, so I've already been to Earl's Court for my celebratory ride. Two things struck me as nigh identical to 1911. One was theshaftitself - a bit narrow perhaps, but still rising at 26½°. And the other was Bumper Harris. OK, not exactly the great man himself, but it seems TfL still employ staff to ensure that the Earl's Court escalator is safe. One on duty at the bottom, another at the top, in case rush hour passenger numbers between District and Piccadilly get too great and throughflow has to be restricted. But the Otis Type A is long gone, after a century that's seen escalator usage climb from the unique to the commonplace.
My heart leapt a little when I saw TfL had issued a press release yesterday about escalators. Even better, about safety on escalators, with the news that specially-trained Guide Dogs will now be allowed to ride London's escalators without being carried. Surely they've announced this with the October 4th anniversary in mind, I thought, because cute dogs and one-legged historical characters are a PR match made in heaven. Not so. The copy mentions "disabled people" and "antiquated byelaws" but nothing of Bumper Harris or the Earl's Court centenary. Instead the press release is dated 3rd October and the new regulations come into effect on 5th October, with the actual 100th birthday falling limply inbetween. Positive and forward-looking, to be sure, but a wholly missed opportunity to celebrate the tube's pioneering heritage. Something to muse on this morning, a century on, as you ascend gracefully from the bowels to the surface.
Somewhere historic: Fulham Palace You wait ten years to visit a place, and then when you finally do turn up there's a wedding on. Or maybe that's just me. I've been avoiding Fulham Palace ever since I realised H&F would emerge from my jamjar one day, but perhaps I should have bitten the bullet and visited earlier. No offence to the bride and groom, they picked the best October day in living memory to get wed, and a gorgeous location to boot. But the fine-tuning of their reception meant much of the building was closed, no entry, and the weather meant the exterior was crawling with naked flesh. I can't imagine what the previous tenants would have made of it all.
Fulham Palace has been the property of the Bishop of London since the early 8th century. For most of that period it was his summer home - somewhere safe to retreat away from the sticky heart of town, but in Tudor times it became his main residence. The site was very close to the Thames but well protected from flooding, being surrounded by one of the largest domestic moats in the country. Still takes half an hour to walk round, according to the official guide, but the medieval ditch has long since been drained and filled in. Oh, and the bishop doesn't live here any more. In 1973 the new incumbent decided the building was too old and too big, so made the decision to move somewhere smaller and cheaper close to St Paul's Cathedral. That left Fulham Palace in the hands of the local council, and they've pretty much looked after it ever since.
The building's an amazing hotchpotch of architectural styles. One quadrangle is redbrick Tudor, which is the area the wedding party hogged on Saturday. It doesn't look over-stunning from outside, but the fountain court within is rather lovelier (I assume, I only squinted through a door, but it looked it) [photo]. The second quadrangle is Georgian, and the wedding party nabbed that too. It's much less amazing - it was used by the servants for all those menial tasks servants needed to do (plus it scrubs up well with paper decorations and a few wine waiters). And then there's a Victorian chapel tacked onto the side, because they were never precious about period compatibility, these bishops. Personally I preferred the gatehouse. It's only small but boasts proper barley sugar chimneys, plus it's much to small to be hijacked for matrimonial purposes. [photo]
Round the back there's a cafe, museum and shop, in that order. The rear lawn was packed on Saturday with sprawled-out sun-worshipping locals [photo], and the only facility they wanted was food and drink. I doubt that the £4 tomato and basil soup was a big seller, but they probably had more luck shifting limeade and organic baby foods to the sweaty masses. Very few people passed the counter to reach the museum, where a patient volunteer waited to nod visitors in the direction of the displays. There aren't many, but there are a few cases of ecclesiastical ephemera, lots of information boards and a scale model, which the volunteer enthusiastically explained. Only I ventured as far as the shop. It's the Palace's old library, so there are further exhibits here, plus a rather nice selection of books and historically themed "stuff". I suspect the bloke behind the counter was disappointed when I didn't buy anything (nearly, actually), before attempting to negotiate my way back past the drinks queue and onto the lawn.
At least there was the Walled Garden to enjoy. It lives up to its name, with a high brick wall around an acre of land, and only three gated gaps to gain entry. Except they were all sealed off while the garden inside is renovated, so I never saw the ancient vinery, nor the famous wisteria, nor the knot garden, nor very much really. Hundreds of other visitors didn't care, they were only here for the rare opportunity to tan on one of Fulham's few greenspaces (plus the reappearance of the summer-only outdoor BBQ). I shall have to come back, after Bishop's Park is fully restored and on a day when nobody's getting wed. But definitely in less than ten years this time. by tube: Putney Bridge by bus: 74, 220, 430
Somewhere sporty: Stamford Loftus Cottage It's ridiculous really. Many London boroughs lack any sporting venue of importance, whereas Hammersmith and Fulham has them in spades. There's the site of the 1908 Olympics, remember, which ought to be enough all by itself. There's Queen's Club, which serves up a tennis tournament immediately before Wimbledon each year, fenced off in its own exclusive enclave south of Barons Court. There's the Hurlingham Club where London plays polo, assuming London is well-to-do and posh enough. And then there are three, count them three, Premier League football clubs. An astonishing 15% of the entire league, and 60% of London's contribution, are all from this long thin borough. Alas only two were playing here this weekend, both in a hotly-contested derby, except that was on Sunday so all I saw was three very empty stadia. • Stamford Bridge (left): You'd expect Chelsea's home ground to be in Kensington and Chelsea, but no. It was built on what used to be the western banks of a lost river, hence it's a few yards into Hammersmith and Fulham. Even the name, Stamford Bridge, refers to the former passing of Counter's Creek. Come on, I've told you all this before, I shouldn't need to repeat it. It's an ugly ground from the outside, as are so many other modern inward-facing stadia, dotted around the edge with cafes, shops, bars, clubs and even a hotel. On Saturday the security guards didn't have many visitors to keep an eye on, just a few faithful fans wandering in to view the museum or buy a replica shirt. Slipping in round the back I spotted a blonde woman in a ridiculous feathery purple hat, accompanied by various well-to-do besuited males (more likely The Board than the players). On Sunday the Blues travelled to Bolton and thrashed them five one, and no doubt a few of you cheered. • Loftus Road (bottom right): The home ground of Queen's Park Rangers is a much less showy affair, tucked away in the middle of an estate on the old White City site. It's not big, with a maximum capacity less than 20,000, indeed there's not much room for expansion if the club ever takes root in the big league. From the road it looks like a grey office with a blue warehouse attached, the former home to the almost-tasteful Players' Entrance, the latter incorporating the club superstore. On Saturday, all terribly, ghostly quiet. On Sunday the Hoops travelled to neighbouring Fulham, and they'd probably prefer I don't repeat the score here. • Craven Cottage (top right): Fulham's ground hugs the Thames near Putney Bridge. The main stand on the landward side is more than a century old, and listed, which makes a mighty pleasant contrast to Chelsea and QPR's more mundane architecture. It's named after star player Johnny Haynes, who also has his own statue out front. I was most disappointed not to catch a glimpse of the more famous statue unveiled earlier in the year, that to Michael Jackson, which club chairman Mohamed Al Fayed seems to think is inspirationally fantastic, and which most sane people think is awful. It's outside the stadium, but it must be somewhere behind the gated perimeter wall, so on Saturday I couldn't pass artistic judgement myself. On Sunday the Whites entertained QPR at home and thrashed them six nil. Nothing craven about that performance. by tube: Fulham Broadway / White City / Putney Bridge
It's not a big borough, this - a narrow strip six miles long and two miles wide. The southern boundary is the Thames, wiggling from Hammersmith round to Fulham (as you might expect). It's more multicultural up top, around Shepherd's Bush, and much more aspirational nearer the river, where terraces and semis sell for millions of pounds. And there are some mighty famous places here, so I sought some of those out and some of the lesser delights too. Starting up north, where the Olympics were.
Somewhere famous: BBC Television Centre Ever since 1960, most of the BBC's television output has been created in White City. From the big concrete doughnut on Wood Lane, famously question-mark-shaped from above, with a grand fountain in the central courtyard. But not for much longer. There are plans afoot for the BBC to sell up, some time before the end of 2013, and a golden era of broadcasting will be at an end. You can go on tours, although you have to book rather sooner than "on the same morning after you you pick a piece of paper out of a jamjar". Those who'd booked earlier wandered up to the visitors entrance while I was there, then strode in through security past the first thirty lined up for Strictly. There's keen for you, eight hours before transmission [photo]. I have been on the tour before so I've seen what's in there. As well as the fountain (ooh, Roy Castle) there's a ring of studios (ooh, Fawlty Towers) leading out to a U-shaped road where they deliver all the sets and stuff. The original reception's impressively of its time, including a John Piper mural, while upstairs are offices for folk without whom BBC1 wouldn't run. Plus, somewhere out the back, the patch of land where the Blue Peter Garden used to be, until they packaged it and trucked it up to Salford. If you don't get on this tour quick, there isn't going to be much left to see.
There's already nothing to see at Lime Grove. Here were the studios the BBC used before Television Centre opened, tucked away on an ordinary street parallel to the railway behind Shepherd's Bush Market. They'd been film studios previously, courtesy of the Gaumont-British Picture Corporation, but in the 1950s they started churning out black-and-white 405-line programmes, including Andy Pandy, Panorama and This is Your Life. Doctor Who's entire early canon originated here, and all those Grandstands you watched as a child, plus Nationwide and Breakfast Time and I could go on like this all day. What's left now? Absolutely bugger all. When the BBC sold up in 1991 the entire site was demolished (and the rubble reputedly used to help widen the M25). And now there's an entirely non-descript housing estate on the site, nothing big, only a frontispiece of terraced tedium and a couple of cul-de sacs behind. The only nod to Lime Grove's past is in the names - Gaumont Terrace and Gainsborough Court - and even then there's no mention of anything BBC. Almost every other building in the street has more character than these 1990s upstarts, which is a pity given the intense creativity exhibited on the site where they stand.
The one establishment that will survive into the future is the complex of buildings in the BBC Media Village (October 6th update: oops, no, that's doomed too in future BBC cutback plans). This first appeared just before Lime Grove disappeared, on the site where previously had been the White City Stadium (and the 1908 Olympics). It doesn't look like much of your licence fee was wasted on hiring a great architect. The main office block is an over-complex silver stack, of the sort of design you might expect to find in central Milton Keynes [photo]. Up the side is the slightly newer Broadcast Centre, alongside a semi-public courtyard with Starbucks and a Post Office incorporated [photo]. The One Show is broadcast from here (it would so have been a Lime Grove show before), just beyond a line in the ground marking the 1908 marathon finish [photo]. Peer in through the Media Centre windows and you can see the desks belonging to the fledgling Youview crew, while the Stig still peers from an upper window round the back overlooking the Westway. It's hard to imagine any current TV viewer developing an emotional attachment with any of the buildings here, indeed they'll probably demolish all this lot one day without a tear being shed.
For now Television Centre bustles on. They can't destroy it all, the main building's Grade 2 listed, but it'll most likely be repurposed (probably into flats, it's always flats). All the big satellite dishes will come down [photo], the studios will go dark, and the BBC will earn lots of money which they can plough back into programmes. At least one patch of potential building land will survive. The BBC gave away seven acres back in the 1960s which became Hammersmith Park - a protected oasis with a delightful Japanese Garden. The pond and cascades and rock garden are the last remaining feature of the old White City - part of an international exhibition held here in 1910, and recently restored to celebrate their centenary. Stood here on the packhorse bridge, just a brick's throw from Petra's final resting place, BBC Television Centre looks nothing more than an ugly office fortress [photo]. But this is our Workshop of Dreams, our Palace of Imagination, still On Air until the last red light blinks off. by tube: White City by bus: 95, 220, 272, 283
Somewhere retail: Shepherd's Bush Three very different places to shops, close to the grassy triangle of Shepherd's Bush Green... • Westfield: [photo] It's been here three years now, this Australian-funded shopping monster, covering a vast acreage on the site of a former railway depot. While East London's been fussing about its freshly-opened twin in Stratford, West London's continued to frequent its established bespoke mall. It wasn't over-crowded when I arrived, but then I arrived early. The cupcake concession was silent, the car exhibition on the ground floor barely buzzing, and the three ladies hoping to reel in punters for beauty treatment had few fish to hook. Much more pleasant than my recent trip to Stratford City, if nothing else because the aisles are broader and there's a far wider choice of routes to get around. Not everything's healthy - I saw my first 'Closing Down' signs here in a window for a men's clothing company. Wandering inside this air-conditioned bubble it was impossible to tell that temperatures outside were record-breakingly high - a fact obvious only along the external southern terrace where a long row of restaurants were setting out sun-facing tables ready for the lunchtime rush. And in the southwest corner, where few shoppers will accidentally stumble upon it, I found the Westfield-funded Shepherd's Bush Library. The building looks large until you realise most of it's actually Jamie's Italian Kitchen, leaving space for a relatively small number of bookshelves, but plenty of room for computers, laptops and a "film and music zone". The library of the future is optimised to "study, surf and relax", with a comprehensive selection of refreshment and shopping facilities located conveniently outside. • West12: [photo] How the hell has this place survived? It's hardly home to "some of the most exciting retail, leisure and entertainment in west London" as the council website lays claim. This used to be the only mall in Shepherd's Bush, a major draw for anyone with cash to spend, and then Westfield crash-landed across the road. All the high-end brands, such as they were, fled early, allowing to West12 to reposition itself further downmarket. You won't find Poundland, Primark and Wetherspoons in Westfield, nor a pool hall and a doctor's surgery, but that's still what many locals require. Three things keep a full range of punters coming in, one the anchor Morrisons in the far corner, another the multi-screen cinema out the back, the other the Fitness First on the upper level. The gym in particular attracts the kind of clientèle that otherwise would be entirely lost, and they might just stop for a phone upgrade or bottle of perfume on the way out. And yes, there really is a shop upstairs giving away free second-hand books, which feels most strange in a mall that once supported a Waterstones (or maybe it explains perfectly why they left). Quiet it may be, but West 12's unexpected survival suggests that Stratford's threatened shopping centre may still carve its own niche securely into the future. • Shepherd's Bush Market: [photo] Some markets are rubbish, selling cheap crap, unbranded cleaning products and suspect luxuries. This is not such a market, this is much more characterful. It curves in a narrow strip beneath a railway viaduct, with tube stations at either end, one of which has even been renamed. At the southern end is a greengrocer selling "mangoe" and "potts". In the middle is "West London's largest DIY Foam Centre". And up north Bobby sells "Ladies Underwear, Nightdresses, Negliges, Dressing Gowns, Boudoir Caps, etc", whatever etcetera might be. There's a distinct ethnic flavour throughout, be that Asian or Afro-Caribbean, but no one genre dominates. Most of the railway arches have been used to create additional retail space, some with shopfronts that could easily be out of the 1980s, and none the worse for that. Nip in here for shoes, or halal butchery, or whatever fabric you might want to turn into whatever style of dress you might need to wear. And don't forget the additional aisle beyond the viaduct, with stalls crammed in like some eastern bazaar, not that mobiles and knitwear are quite so exotic. This corner of Shepherd's Bush will never set London's tourist world alight, but it's a far more interesting market to browse than many better known. by tube: Wood Lane, Shepherd's Bush, Shepherd's Bush Market, Goldhawk Road
My round-London random journey is nearing its end. But which of the three remaining boroughs will I end up traipsing around today? Even with such a limited selection to pick from, they're still a very varied bunch. Will I be off to densely-packed HammersmithandFulham, confined to a narrow strip between affluence and the suburbs? Will I be off to cuts-tastic Barnet, before they withdraw funding from any more attractions I might want to visit? Or do I finally draw the special prize of Barking & Dagenham, for which I've been patiently steeling myself since day one? Given today's record-breakingly warm sunny weather I'm hoping for somewhere green and pleasant (i.e. Barnet), but my jamjar rarely obliges.
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...
Return to Westfield: To best judge the impact of a retail crash-landing, it's best to return after the initial hoo-hah has worn off. Two and a bit weeks should be enough, I thought. So back I came, six o'clock Friday evening, and the place was as busy as ever. Not quite as busy as the opening days, thank heavens, but still more crowded than any mall has a right to be during pre-weekend shopping hours. There were crowds in the aisles, crowds on the escalators, even crowds in a few of the shops. A trio of pink-lipped girls, several carrier bags hanging from each arm. Two young mates, heading somewhere hi-tech to test their skill on the electronic games display. Mum and her three kids, off to the Food Court for an end of week carbohydrate treat. A smart Essex-style couple, white-shirted and high heeled respectively, in search of fashion brands they don't have at home. There's definitely a social feel about the place - it's about spending time together rather than nipping in quick and making your escape. And it's definitely a place for the young. I did a quick survey of 100 people I passed walking along the central atrium, and by my estimate 94 of them were younger than me. Only a handful of those were schoolkids more intent on larking about than purchase, the majority were youthful friends, couples and families.
Athough this was my sixth visit, I still managed to stumble upon an entire section of mall I hadn't spotted on the previous five. I finally found the new HMV tucked in near the cinema, slightly bigger than its ancestor in pre-Westfield Stratford, but hugely busier. What a difference quarter of a mile and a fortnight makes. And the Food Court is humongous, offering up hundreds of tables in the hope that at least one cuisine will lure you in. It's a strange conceit for my local area, given that Stratford previously boasted little more than a Caribbean restaurant and a Pizza Express. I fear it's a commercial mistake that the entire Westfield complex boasts only one pub - The Cow. Even then it's a not a proper pub but a "pub and eating house", more attuned to burger and chips than serving up a fast pint. Last night The Cow was rammed with late summer drinkers flooding out into the sun-soaked piazza for a beer and a fag, with staff more overwhelmed than those in any of the eateries alongside. Westfield's philosophy is that sit-down dining beats stand-up drinking, which may be great for keeping punters in situ but clearly isn't always what a social visitor wants.
The mall's owners must be delighted with initial customer throughflow, but the congestion has me worried for the future. Come next summer's Games, it's estimated that 70% of spectators will arrive at the Olympic Park via Westfield. And yet Westfield's barely coping with peak-hours shopping, let alone hordes of first-time visitors trying to reach the stadium. If a substantial number of ticketholders wander into the covered mall rather than passing along the outer street there'll be gridlock. Indeed, given the sheer number of impenetrable retail barriers around here, I'm expecting gridlock whatever. If only Westfield's passageways had been designed to be a few metres wider, the entire mall could have been so much easier to negotiate. And then there's the railway line isolating the site from the rest of East London, where a single inadequate footbridge is the only public right of way across the tracks. Even though Stratford station's been massively enlarged in readiness for 2012, September's shoppers have proved that this expansion still isn't enough. During the evening rush hour station management have been forced to hire umpteen hi-vis customer service operatives ("keep left please!" "keep left please!") to stand around and marshal passengers down the stairs and through the subways. If Westfield's creating merry hell here today, then imagine how much worse it'll be next summer when sport meets retail. Shoppers plus games-goers, surely a recipe for snarled-up queue-jam chaos.
If you're ever in Wandsworth with five hours to spare, why wouldn't you walk to Croydon? The Wandle Trail runs all the way, unlike the river of the same name which flows in precisely the opposite direction. The Wandle's no lost river, it still winds lazily through Sutton and Merton and is blatantly obvious if you know where to look. And knowing where to look is easy if you follow the well-signposted footpath and cycleway along its length [here's the very detailed map/leaflet]. I last walked the Wandle Trail five years ago, so if you want to know what the walk's like I suggest you go and read that [report] [35 photos]. But I thought I'd walk it again over the weekend to see what had changed, because no London walk ever quite stays the same. [9 new photos]
South of Wandsworth's main shopping mall, the river bursts out from beneath HMV and Cineworld to run along the edge of King George's Park. A couple of blue ceramic plaques commemorate mundane events which took place along the Wandle Trail - one the playing of Poohsticks, the other the exercising of "friendly dogs Rory and Max" [photo]. At least they're still legible, which is more than can be said for the detailed information boards scattered along the river's length. These recount the Wandle's history and geography in impressive detail, but they've not weathered well and in five more years I'd expect them to be completely weatherbeatenly unreadable. Another casualty of time is the unusual series of numbered waymarker posts [photo]. These sculpted beasts were supposed to run from 1 (in Wandsworth) to 100 (in Carshalton), but fewer than 10% were ever installed. Number 10's in KG park, correctly displaying up and downstream, but also the web address of a site that's now defunct. Log into wandletrail.org today and you'll get updates on hiking in America, not the grand artistic plans once dreamed of for the Wandle. How easily online content slips away, while the metal URL endures.
Moving upstream, past the tramline, comes Morden Hall Park. This is one of the National Trust's few south London outposts, where casual visitors enjoy a mix of landscapes with tea, second hand books and a garden centre. I was pleased to see that the watermill had been restored since my last visit, even if its blades will never turn again [photo]. And even more pleased that the river's flow will be harnessed in a very different way at the old stable block, scheduled for reopening in a month's time, and due to be powered by London's only hydroelectric Archimedes Screw. If I ever write a book entitled "London's 100 most overlooked Lovely Places", Morden Hall Park will get a look in. I also rather enjoyed Ravensbury Park, the next greenspace along, much more than I had last time I was here. As well as some arty geometric bridges [photo] there was a long waterside stroll to enjoy, at last close-up beneath a leafy canopy, like a proper river walk should be. [photo]
I wasn't terribly complimentary about Wandsworth Museum the last time I visited.
Room 2 has changed completely. It's the temporary exhibition gallery, although the first temporary exhibition ("Wandsworth - a history in 100 objects") lasted a year and has only just been replaced. This second exhibition is rather better, if still somewhat limited. Entitled "Separation and Silence" it's an exploration of life in Her Majesty's Prison Wandsworth, which celebrates its 160th birthday this year. Silence was the original policy which saw prisoners forbidden to speak, and Separation the follow-up to prevent communication through signs and gestures. The need for separation explains why the Surrey House of Correction was built with 708 segregated cells, each 13ft long, 7ft wide and 9ft high. You'll see a genuine table and chair in one corner, and an original wooden door, plus an "execution box" containing everything a regional prison needed to hang a condemned criminal (along with matter-of-fact instructions for how to do it). I learnt plenty by reading the walls, which is the hallmark of a good exhibition. Hard labour in a compact Victorian prison often meant turning a pointless handcrank scooping sand, for example, until splitting ropes and sewing mailbags took over. Much of the gallery is given over to a modern needlework project - Fine Cell Work - which keeps today's inmates productively busy. It's impressive stuff, be it bespoke projects for English Heritage or cushions/quilts/tapestries for sale. Life at Wandsworth's definitely moved on since the days when Oscar Wilde sat in his cell contemplating suicide.
And Room 3 is the cafe. I didn't get inside last time because it was packed out with a children's party. Quite the opposite problem this time, alas. The cook sprung to her feet when I entered, in case she might finally have a customer for coffee, cake or chicken carbonara pesto, only to be disappointed when I went over to look at the gift shop instead. They have a good selection of local history books here - all your inner southwest London needs - and none of the usual plastic tat. Plus there's a marvellous old chemist shop interior in the corner, all bottles and panelled wood, which adds a real ambience to the place.
On a sunny Saturday afternoon precisely 50 years ago, in a parish church half a mile outside London, my Mum and Dad got married. It was a very typical Sixties wedding, by all accounts. The bride was radiant in white, the groom wore a smart but unfamiliar suit, and friends and relations came together to spend the entire day smiling. Photographs of the event show aunts and uncles looking impossibly young, cousins looking unbelievably cute and fashions looking frighteningly dated. A special day for all concerned, so I'm told, and the start of something very special.
The eastern boundary of Hammersmith and Fulham is the lost river of Counter's Creek. The last few hundred yards are still visible as a tidal inlet, running between the old Lots Road power station and the luxury apartments of Chelsea Village [photo]. The Village is a concentrated enclave of wealthy souls packed into wharfside stacks, only a few of whom are fortunate enough to have a river view. The new Imperial Wharf development nextdoor isn't quite so exclusive, and the artificially turfed garden by the river is open to all in case an October heatwave should break out [photo]. But prospective homeowners should watch out for the racket caused by helicopters landing at Battersea across the water. And lovers of fine architecture should probably choose to live somewhere else. I scanned the entire waterfront here attempting to spot a building more than 30 years old and, bar a couple of church spires across the river, I failed. This is the Thames as real estate, devoid of soul.
William Morris, the esteemed designer, was born in Random Borough 21, bought his first house in Random Borough 29, and opened a wallpaper press in Random Borough 1. So it's only right that I've finally ended up at his last home, in Random Borough 31. William moved here in 1878 from another Thameside property, far upstream in Gloucestershire, downsizing from Kelmscott Manor to Kelmscott House. This was already a house with an impressive history - the world's first electric telegraph had been built in the garden sixty years earlier. Morris added tapestry to his many talents while he was here, and weaving, and dabbled in social democratic politics, until 1896 when he dabbled no more. His house is now in public ownership, apart from the basement and the former coachhouse which have become a (sort of) museum. They're owned by the William Morris Society, who keep a collection of artefacts (and run their offices) from within. Access is on Thursday and Saturday afternoons only, so I timed my visit carefully and slipped in. I'd just missed a lecture on Sanderson, the design company who bought up Morris's business, so there were plenty of serious WM devotees still lingering around, chatting in the lower library or washing up in the rear kitchen. There wasn't much to see, but I think I now finally understand some of the huge complexity of triple-application wood-carved stamp-template production. And William's wallpapers are gorgeous, as I fear I've told you several times by now.
There were two wooden escalators, in parallel, constructed by the Otis Elevator Company of New York. They climbed at an angle of 26½°, raising passengers a total of 38 feet from the lower Piccadilly to just below the District. A row of decorative uplighters ran up the centre between the two, and a big sign had to be erected at the bottom warning riders not to sit on the handrails. When stopped there were 57 steps to climb; when running the ascent took 25 seconds. The steps were oak, because oak was fireproof, while the balustrades were a rather lovely slice of teak. And these weren't quite the escalators we know now, with safety combs at the end, but instead had a 'shunt' landing at the top which forced passengers to step off sideways. No, I can't quite picture that either, I'm merely duplicating the descriptive text from somewhere else.
It is of course the done thing to celebrate 100th anniversaries early, so I've already been to Earl's Court for my celebratory ride. Two things struck me as nigh identical to 1911. One was the shaft itself - a bit narrow perhaps, but still rising at 26½°. And the other was Bumper Harris. OK, not exactly the great man himself, but it seems TfL still employ staff to ensure that the Earl's Court escalator is safe. One on duty at the bottom, another at the top, in case rush hour passenger numbers between District and Piccadilly get too great and throughflow has to be restricted. But the Otis Type A is long gone, after a century that's seen escalator usage climb from the unique to the commonplace.
Fulham Palace has been the property of the Bishop of London since the early 8th century. For most of that period it was his summer home - somewhere safe to retreat away from the sticky heart of town, but in Tudor times it became his main residence. The site was very close to the Thames but well protected from flooding, being surrounded by one of the largest domestic moats in the country. Still takes half an hour to walk round, according to the official guide, but the medieval ditch has long since been drained and filled in. Oh, and the bishop doesn't live here any more. In 1973 the new incumbent decided the building was too old and too big, so made the decision to move somewhere smaller and cheaper close to St Paul's Cathedral. That left Fulham Palace in the hands of the local council, and they've pretty much looked after it ever since.
Round the back there's a cafe, museum and shop, in that order. The rear lawn was packed on Saturday with sprawled-out sun-worshipping locals [photo], and the only facility they wanted was food and drink. I doubt that the £4 tomato and basil soup was a big seller, but they probably had more luck shifting limeade and organic baby foods to the sweaty masses. Very few people passed the counter to reach the museum, where a patient volunteer waited to nod visitors in the direction of the displays. There aren't many, but there are a few cases of ecclesiastical ephemera, lots of information boards and a scale model, which the volunteer enthusiastically explained. Only I ventured as far as the shop. It's the Palace's old library, so there are further exhibits here, plus a rather nice selection of books and historically themed "stuff". I suspect the bloke behind the counter was disappointed when I didn't buy anything (nearly, actually), before attempting to negotiate my way back past the drinks queue and onto the lawn.
Ever since 1960, most of the BBC's television output has been created in White City. From the big concrete doughnut on Wood Lane, famously question-mark-shaped from above, with a grand fountain in the central courtyard. But not for much longer. There are plans afoot for the BBC to sell up, some time before the end of 2013, and a golden era of broadcasting will be at an end. You can go on tours, although you have to book rather sooner than "on the same morning after you you pick a piece of paper out of a jamjar". Those who'd booked earlier wandered up to the visitors entrance while I was there, then strode in through security past the first thirty lined up for Strictly. There's keen for you, eight hours before transmission [photo]. I have been on the tour before so I've seen what's in there. As well as the fountain (ooh, Roy Castle) there's a ring of studios (ooh, Fawlty Towers) leading out to a U-shaped road where they deliver all the sets and stuff. The original reception's impressively of its time, including a John Piper mural, while upstairs are offices for folk without whom BBC1 wouldn't run. Plus, somewhere out the back, the patch of land where the Blue Peter Garden used to be, until they packaged it and trucked it up to Salford. If you don't get on this tour quick, there isn't going to be much left to see.
There's already nothing to see at Lime Grove. Here were the studios the BBC used before Television Centre opened, tucked away on an ordinary street parallel to the railway behind Shepherd's Bush Market. They'd been film studios previously, courtesy of the Gaumont-British Picture Corporation, but in the 1950s they started churning out black-and-white 405-line programmes, including Andy Pandy, Panorama and This is Your Life. Doctor Who's entire early canon originated here, and all those Grandstands you watched as a child, plus Nationwide and Breakfast Time and I could go on like this all day. What's left now? Absolutely bugger all. When the BBC sold up in 1991 the entire site was demolished (and the rubble reputedly used to help widen the M25). And now there's an entirely non-descript housing estate on the site, nothing big, only a frontispiece of terraced tedium and a couple of cul-de sacs behind. The only nod to Lime Grove's past is in the names - Gaumont Terrace and Gainsborough Court - and even then there's no mention of anything BBC. Almost every other building in the street has more character than these 1990s upstarts, which is a pity given the intense creativity exhibited on the site where they stand.
The one establishment that will survive into the future is the complex of buildings in the BBC Media Village (October 6th update: oops, no, that's doomed too in future BBC cutback plans). This first appeared just before Lime Grove disappeared, on the site where previously had been the White City Stadium (and the 1908 Olympics). It doesn't look like much of your licence fee was wasted on hiring a great architect. The main office block is an over-complex silver stack, of the sort of design you might expect to find in central Milton Keynes [photo]. Up the side is the slightly newer Broadcast Centre, alongside a semi-public courtyard with Starbucks and a Post Office incorporated [photo]. The One Show is broadcast from here (it would so have been a Lime Grove show before), just beyond a line in the ground marking the 1908 marathon finish [photo]. Peer in through the Media Centre windows and you can see the desks belonging to the fledgling Youview crew, while the Stig still peers from an upper window round the back overlooking the Westway. It's hard to imagine any current TV viewer developing an emotional attachment with any of the buildings here, indeed they'll probably demolish all this lot one day without a tear being shed.
• Westfield: [photo] It's been here three years now, this Australian-funded shopping monster, covering a vast acreage on the site of a former railway depot. While East London's been fussing about its freshly-opened twin in Stratford, West London's continued to frequent its established bespoke mall. It wasn't over-crowded when I arrived, but then I arrived early. The cupcake concession was silent, the car exhibition on the ground floor barely buzzing, and the three ladies hoping to reel in punters for beauty treatment had few fish to hook. Much more pleasant than my recent trip to Stratford City, if nothing else because the aisles are broader and there's a far wider choice of routes to get around. Not everything's healthy - I saw my first 'Closing Down' signs here in a window for a men's clothing company. Wandering inside this air-conditioned bubble it was impossible to tell that temperatures outside were record-breakingly high - a fact obvious only along the external southern terrace where a long row of restaurants were setting out sun-facing tables ready for the lunchtime rush. And in the southwest corner, where few shoppers will accidentally stumble upon it, I found the Westfield-funded Shepherd's Bush Library. The building looks large until you realise most of it's actually Jamie's Italian Kitchen, leaving space for a relatively small number of bookshelves, but plenty of room for computers, laptops and a "film and music zone". The library of the future is optimised to "study, surf and relax", with a comprehensive selection of refreshment and shopping facilities located conveniently outside.
Random borough (31): Time for me to take yet another random trip to one of London's 33 boroughs. As I write I have no idea which one of the three remaining borough names will be revealed when I unfold the slip of paper I'm about to pick from my nearly-empty "special jamjar". 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, Kingston, Westminster, Newham, Camden, Bexley or Havering because they're the thirty (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already.
Return to Westfield: To best judge the impact of a retail crash-landing, it's best to return after the initial hoo-hah has worn off. Two and a bit weeks should be enough, I thought. So back I came, six o'clock Friday evening, and the place was as busy as ever. Not quite as busy as the opening days, thank heavens, but still more crowded than any mall has a right to be during pre-weekend shopping hours. There were crowds in the aisles, crowds on the escalators, even crowds in a few of the shops. A trio of pink-lipped girls, several carrier bags hanging from each arm. Two young mates, heading somewhere hi-tech to test their skill on the electronic games display. Mum and her three kids, off to the Food Court for an end of week carbohydrate treat. A smart Essex-style couple, white-shirted and high heeled respectively, in search of fashion brands they don't have at home. There's definitely a social feel about the place - it's about spending time together rather than nipping in quick and making your escape. And it's definitely a place for the young. I did a quick survey of 100 people I passed walking along the central atrium, and by my estimate 94 of them were younger than me. Only a handful of those were schoolkids more intent on larking about than purchase, the majority were youthful friends, couples and families.
Westfield stratford is amazing. I'm in love with this place #happy #LoveItAthough this was my sixth visit, I still managed to stumble upon an entire section of mall I hadn't spotted on the previous five. I finally found the new HMV tucked in near the cinema, slightly bigger than its ancestor in pre-Westfield Stratford, but hugely busier. What a difference quarter of a mile and a fortnight makes. And the Food Court is humongous, offering up hundreds of tables in the hope that at least one cuisine will lure you in. It's a strange conceit for my local area, given that Stratford previously boasted little more than a Caribbean restaurant and a Pizza Express. I fear it's a commercial mistake that the entire Westfield complex boasts only one pub - The Cow. Even then it's a not a proper pub but a "pub and eating house", more attuned to burger and chips than serving up a fast pint. Last night The Cow was rammed with late summer drinkers flooding out into the sun-soaked piazza for a beer and a fag, with staff more overwhelmed than those in any of the eateries alongside. Westfield's philosophy is that sit-down dining beats stand-up drinking, which may be great for keeping punters in situ but clearly isn't always what a social visitor wants.
If you're ever in Wandsworth with five hours to spare, why wouldn't you walk to Croydon? The 
