post-Olympic update Around the Olympic Park
b) Hackney Marshes to the View Tube
Let's carry on along this exterior circuit of the former Olympic Park, the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park-to be. Long slipped from the headlines, this is a time of great change in these parts, which we locals care about even if you don't. Yesterday I walked the western and northern edges, today the east and south. It gets better.
Temple Mills Lane: This old lane round the bottom of Leyton has been closed for the last five years to enable the construction of the Olympic Park. It now leads to the Athletes Village, or will once the finishing touches have been made to the first tranche of apartments up for sale. Nobody who lived on the site previously will be able to afford them - Clays Lane and the East Village are totally different communities. But it'll be a golden day when traffic's allowed through again, especially for the two bus depots hidden down this temporary cul-de-sac. [photo]
Leyton Mills: With TML shut, the lengthy walking detour runs via the Leyton Mills Retail Park. Access isn't optimised for pedestrians, more for car drivers who want to fill their boot with stuff from Asda, B&Q and Next. The good news is that the footpath between Burger King and KFC is now complete, so families need no longer take their lives in their hands as they head for a bargain bucket.
Leyton: Leyton bustles away, its residents enjoying the improved streetscape outside the station hurried through before the Games. From the rail bridge is one of the best views of the skeleton of the Basketball Arena, now with almost all of its exterior panels removed. Rio didn't want it for 2016 so this recyclable venue is merely coming down, not moving on. [photo]
Drapers Field: Folk in the southwestern corner of Waltham Forest lost their recreation ground before the Games, not for anything high and mighty, but for backroom Operational Support. Racks of toilet rolls and other Athletes Village provisions were stored here, and kickabout 5-a-side has had to wait. At last the temporary warehouse has been razed and the ground repaired, but there's still no sign of pitches, courts or anything recreational. [photo]
East Village: They face each other across Leyton Road, the flats of E15 and the apartments of E20. Estate agents are only excited by the latter [photo]. You too could live where an Estonian shotputter spent a fortnight before heading home empty-handed. Soon there'll be three access roads from the east, but for now the Temple Mills Lane and Chobham Road entrances remain barriered. Behind the metalwork a tranche of new streetnames are going in - nearest to the railway will be Champions Walk, while further in are Medals Way and Cheering Lane. I know, really.
International Way: The not-yet-opened road along the southern edge of the East Village is International Way [photo]. It's appallingly named, in that it leads to the appallingly named Stratford International station, which isn't International at all and where Eurostar has no intention of stopping. If Stratford International were an underground station it'd be the fourth quietest station on the network, with more passengers only than Roding Valley, Grange Hill and Chigwell [photo]. Nevertheless we now have two bus stops outside, recently implanted, for when the 97 is diverted this way [photo]. It'll head down a new dual carriageway called Celebration Avenue, recently driven through the plaza where Olympic athletes held their welcoming ceremonies, now guarded by a couple of security geezers lest anyone gain access too early. [photo]
Westfield Avenue: That's the official name for the road down the western edge of the shopping mall, the road where Olympic spectators congregated before entering the security slalom at the Stratford Gate [photo]. It's become a bleak space, devoid of shops except for the backside of John Lewis [photo], and opening out onto a cleared plaza where the scanning machines used to be [photo]. That space will eventually become The International Quarter, a row of tall office blocks designed to bring a commercial buzz to Stratford, but which will also block off sight of the stadium from Westfield. [photo][photo]
South Park: Montfichet Road remains the best place to stare at the key Olympic venues - that's the stadium, the Orbit and especially the Aquatic Centre [photo]. The wings are now half-removed, starting from the nearest end, which means the high terrace where I sat to watch the synchronised swimming is now lying stacked up on the ground alongside [photo]. A new wall is going up closer to the pool to create the reduced-size watery recreation facility Newham craves. Don't expect to visit this end of the Park for a picnic any time soon.
Stratford High Street: So, what's changed here? The 42-storey Stratford Halo is starting to become fully integrated into the neighbouring flats, including the building that used to be the Yardley Factory but now has a penthouse on top [photo]. The footbridge across the High Street has been removed, all of it apart from the central span which languishes in the former coach park alongside. The Greenway north remains blocked off, and is likely to remain so until Crossrail have finished linking their tunnel to the mainline [photo]. And the fancy restaurant beside the wooden tower at Dane's Yard awaits a flood of patrons who may one day come, but there's no rush yet. [photo]
Pudding Mill Lane: After years of Olympic exclusion, today it's Crossrail restricting pedestrian passage up Pudding Mill Lane [photo]. The replacement DLR station is well underway, its lift towers almost intact beneath the scaffolding [photo]. A new double track viaduct is being constructed, still not quite joined up, but the gap allows construction traffic through more easily. Meanwhile the platforms of the existing station are the best place to stare at the diggers' playground of soil and rubble that has replaced the pristine Olympic warm-up track. This area'll not be part of Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park, so don't expect anything pretty to emerge later. [photo]
View Tube: I'm ending my walk at these lime green containers stacked up on the Greenway [photo]. It would be true to say that crowds aren't coming to the View Tube like they did before the Games [photo]. Indeed I've found that I usually get the entire upstairs viewing platform to myself these days, which is nice, and all the better to squint at what thin strips of parkland can still be seen alongside the river [photo]. The cafe downstairs is rather fuller, a sign that caffeine and cooked breakfasts are a greater draw than remembering last summer. It's a slow rebirth around the Olympic Park, but not long now until they start to let us back in.
post-Olympic update Around the Olympic Park
a) Bow Roundabout to Hackney Marshes
It's about nine months since the Olympics started, seven since the Paralympics ended, and three and a bit until part of the Olympic Park reopens. Every excuse, I thought, for another walk round the outside of the Olympic Park. I did this in July 2012, twice, then again at the end of September. Quite a lot's changed since then, and quite a lot still hasn't. I'll concentrate on the former in what follows...
Bow Roundabout: All looks much the same as before from the roadside, apart from a new billboard-in-the-sky next to the Bow Flyover. [photo] TfL haven't yet got round to building their Cycle Superhighway extension, and nobody's made any attempt whatsoever to start building hundreds of flats on the two cleared sites to the south of the roundabout. Maybe there's a recession on. [photo]
Crossrail: A short way up the Lea towpath, just before the railway, the river artificially narrows. A few months ago this was a minor feature, a corrugated cofferdam filled with weed. Now it's a major hole, emptied of water and filled with aggregate, connected to the main Crossrail worksite over the wall via scaffolding [photo]. This is the precise spot where superfast trains will dip into tunnel all the way to Paddington, if you can wait five years, which you'll have to. All credit to Crossrail for keeping the towpath open, so far, throughout. [photo]
Greenway: Post-Olympics, rather than 24-hour access, the Greenway past the Olympic Stadium is only unlocked for public use between 7am and 7pm. Some of it's still green, but there's a nasty blank stretch where the Victoria Gate security zone used to be, and no sign as yet of anyone willing to unconcrete it. [photo]
Old Ford Lock: Or still "Fish Island Riviera", as the banner hanging from the side of Forman's salmon smokery has it. Nobody's got round to taking it down, nor removing the stash of hospitality palm trees clustered forlornly by the waterside [photo]. Here too are moored a pair of redundant Water Chariots, including the inaugural Chloe Jean, recently removed from sale "until clarification of ownership has been obtained". Spring 2013 has dawned with no sign of any pleasureboat legacy on the Lower Lea whatsoever, another pre-Olympic pledge lost, another boost to the local economy sunk without trace.
Cafe culture: For more Shoreditch haircuts than you can wave a tablet at, visit the banks of the Lea on a Sunday. They eat brunch on the back terrace at the Counter Cafe, in greater numbers than before, and they sit outside The White Building with beers in hand from the craft brewery within. This area really is changing, as the creative quarter solidifies and edges closer to the magnet of the Olympic Park [photo]. But the latest refreshment outlet is nothing quite so hip. The E20 Eastenders Fishing Trust have opened up a tiny room in a waterways lockup beside Old Ford Lock, from which they're running a angling charity for the disabled and selling drinks. Tea or coffee for a quid, slice of cake 50p, or bread and soup for £2. Nothing highbrow, but for a good cause. [photo]
Olympic Park West: The Olympic backstage area is plainly visible through the security fence, long cleared of hospitality and crates of mineral water, now home to JCBs and scattered building materials. Vans trundle by, fresh gabion walls are being built, and pedestrian "safe routes" slink through the nothingness. You might be looking forward to getting back inside Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park in the summer, but if any green bits survive they're far out of sight. [photo]
Media Centre: The ugly buildings where the world's media hid during the Games are being readied for rebirth as the iCITY 'digital quarter' [photo]. BT Sport and a data centre will be moving in, but don't expect any architects to rent office space inside because they'd have more taste than to work here. The exterior's been cleaned up since last summer, and the pointless last minute car park along the banks of the Lea ripped up to be returned to grass. But nothing's yet manifested within, and the huge multi-storey car park overlooking the Eastway looks more barren than I've seen it at any time in the last year.
Waterden Road: It used to be the main road north, then it became the main pedestrian walkway to the Olympic hockey, and soon it'll be a proper road again. Major work is underway to create a fresh entrance to QEOP next to where the hockey arena now completely isn't, with a forest of traffic lights in place ready for the steady stream of vehicles who want instant access to Westfield [photo]. Shoppers in cars currently follow a twisty path to the shops, but that'll soon change as the top of the Park opens up. The great E20 disconnect is finally nearly over.
Eton Manor Gate: A month after the Games I was well chuffed to discover the slopes at the northern exit to the Olympic Park still bursting with vibrant meadow flowers. Alas, that display won't be repeated this year. Someone's stripped the banked beds of all vegetation, now with only a few dried stalks lying bereft across the artificial soil [photo]. Perhaps this is a key part of the plan to renew the area, or perhaps this is what happens after all the gardeners go home. Whatever, the northern edge of the park is undergoing the fastest most brutal clearance, with the Park's landscaped interior well hidden beyond.
Hackney Marshes: How long does it take to turn a coach park back to football pitches? Longer than I'd have thought. The East Marsh remains a sealed-off expanse of mud, with earth piled up in big heaps ready to spread back on top. They'd better hurry up and get the grass seed planted, else I'd not bet money on the new season kicking off here next autumn.
Margaret Thatcher, who has died at the age of 87, was Britain's Prime Minister. Elected three times, she the country and left a legacy that endures to this day.
Margaret was born in 1925. Her first experience of government was as Secretary of State for under Edward Heath. When he lost the 1974 election she him as leader of the Conservative Party and had her image by a PR team. The 1979 General Election proved , and Margaret to power in the aftermath of James Callaghan's . How well we remember her speech on the steps of 10 Downing Street .
As Prime Minister she the trade unions, council housing and the UK's manufacturing base. Unemployment , and there was soon across the country. But the Falklands campaign and its instantly the nation, and in 1983 she was re-elected with an majority.
In her second term Margaret faced Arthur Scargill and him. She the financial industry and a selection of state-run industries. Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev were close confidantes, and she also managed to keep Europe .
The proved highly unpopular and . In November 1990 her cabinet colleagues finally unseated her, and she left 10 Downing Street for on the backbenches. Her eleven year reign had the nation and she will long be remembered as .
Margaret Thatcher, you may have , but we will you.
In any book of Great Railway Journeys of the World, the pink run from Hammersmith to Barking need not appear. The line's not especially scenic, the Victorian vaults of Baker Street excepted, and the journey's faster by District line instead. Plus the trains are a bit 'meh', having been left to decay somewhat safe in the knowledge that aircon replacements are imminent. So I thought I'd liven up my journey by taking one of the new S7 trains, which is easier said than done because only one or two of these are currently in use. But I had a hunch where to be and when, and hey presto the shiny walk-through train duly presented itself at Hammersmith bang on time.
Hammersmith's three platforms are a bit of a shunt and a shuffle throughout the day. Freshly-arrived trains hang around for only a few minutes before a fresh driver wanders down the steps from the depot, settles into the cab and prepares to vacate. There's just enough time for a cleaner to shuffle through the carriages, and for the odd pigeon to hop aboard and then think better of it. "Go on time!!" screams a driver-facing notice at the front of the platform, to "help finish on book more often" and "improve layover/meal relief times". Our driver departs promptly, heading north in the gap behind a Circle line service, past umpteen trains laid over in the Hammersmith depot. Train T236, all stations to Barking, is on its way.
The platforms at Goldhawk Road station have yellow highlights on blocks and pillars. A West Indian family of three (plus a pushchair) bundle aboard before the doors close, and plonk themselves down around me. It must be their first ride on an S7 train, and they're a little in awe. "Oh yeah it's right through," they say, "you can see right through!" They would have sat up the front, but the doors up the front don't open at this station, and they're afraid they won't open at the next. Shepherd's Bush Market is the only station on the Underground named after retail, but it's Westfield's giant roof that dominates the horizon. That and the BBC's collection of satellite dishes pointing at the world from what is no longer Television Centre. Farewell.
Our modern train suits the modern station at Wood Lane, where the 'priority seat' on the platform has been angled so that anyone might slip off. We soar over the West Cross Route to Latimer Road, which is brown in the same way that Goldhawk Road is yellow. It's not a good look. Then we nudge up against the Westway at vehicle level, its 1960s builders having worked out that the least offensive way to drive a motorway through North Kensington was to run it on stilts alongside a railway.
Passengers at Ladbroke Grove have an 'Information and assistance' window to help them while they wait, possibly because there are no next train indicators anywhere down this end of the line, or possibly because they're more needy than average. The train slopes down to pillar level beneath the Westway, not gorgeous, and eventually level with the Great Western Railway alongside. Westbourne Park has charmingly striped iron pillars, and a lot of passengers who've not bothered to spread out down the platform so crowd like sheep into the front of the train. By Royal Oak it's Crossrail construction that dominates, with ranks of conveyor belts and a hillock of sludgy clay adding to the station's depressingly quarantined demeanour.
I'll not dwell too long on the run from Paddington to Farringdon because I blogged in depth about the world's first underground railway back in January. It being a Sunday afternoon, this stretch is the only busy bit of the journey. Passengers pile aboard with shopping and suitcases, choosing to stop and stand where they enter rather than walking up to the front of the train where there are invisible seats.
Barbican's still a remarkably open station, with a signal box more suited to some rural halt and two unwanted former Thameslink platforms. At Moorgate those spare platforms are still decorated for the 150th anniversary steam runs, which is nice, if a trifle redundant. A building site overhangs the line at Liverpool Street, beyond which is the first point along the entire journey where it actually matters which line's train you're aboard. Our H&C veers east just as Aldgate hoves into view, rattling past the backs of Metropolitan terminators, then pausing and queuing to slip into Aldgate East instead.
A free run through the East End follows. Whitechapel is no longer where this train terminates, indeed the two central platforms no longer exist except as a Crossrail building site. This is where the demographic aboard our train changes, with the majority of passengers from this point on of Asian descent. It's back into tunnel for Stepney Green, which stops one loudmouth yakking into his phone, and the carriage collectively smiles. Mile End is an easy cross-platform interchange, except the adjacent Central line train doesn't wait for us to pull in, and we don't wait for its successor.
I have to resist alighting at Bow Road, which would be my instinct as a local resident. That means I rarely ride the next stretch to Bromley-by-Bow, which has an excellent view of Canary Wharf and its towers, plus a brief glimpse of the Olympic Stadium lurking behind some flats. Residential uplift pauses as we cross the Lea, including the only undeveloped patch of land on the entire journey just past Three Mills. And then we roll into West Ham, not the ideal station for the football ground either present or future, especially now the Olympic footbridge has been completely dismantled.
We bypass Plaistow's newly-redundant platform 3, its mothballing a blessed relief to non-psychic locals seeking the next westbound train, and rumble on between unexciting estates. Earlier in the journey passengers were carrying designer bags and suitcases, but by Upton Park it's more Wilkinson carriers and unbranded blue. At East Ham three station staff are fussing over a bench, because Sunday afternoons aren't exactly over-stretching round here.
And finally, the long haul into Barking. The tracks split either side of the c2c depot (still with a couple of Christmas decorations up), although H&C trains always run to the north into the terminating platform. We wait at signal FF59 until that's been vacated, then glide slowly in. On this new train many passengers have taken the opportunity to walk all the way up to the front to get off, because even then it's still quite a hike up to the station exit. It's taken almost exactly an hour to get here to Barking, five minutes slower than the District would have done it.
Don't expect to find Michael Portillo on the run to Barking any time soon.
The latter is a storage facility, and only occasionally open. Tours of the The British Postal Museum Store are run on the afternoon of the first Wednesday of the month, for those who can do Wednesday afternoons, but weekend access is much rarer. Yesterday's Open Day, entitled Pillar Box Perfection, was therefore a special opportunity to get inside. Access is by car, close to junction 5 of the M11, or you can walk from Debden station at the far end of the Central line. The Museum Store is housed in a very ordinary-looking grey warehouse by the railway, very close to the building where the Bank of England prints our banknotes.
What a lot of stuff... but then, when you stop and think about all the things the Royal Mail has needed to do over the years, that's perhaps not surprising. First up by the door are a selection of phone boxes, just to get the telephone thing out of the way. The rest of the room is taken up with accoutrements for the delivery of mail, of which there are many. Let's start with Pillar Box Alley.
Britain's first pillar boxes were installed on Jersey in 1853, courtesy of novelist-to-be Anthony Trollope. They soon spread to the mainland, in a variety of styles, most of which can be seen here down 'Pillar Box Alley'. Many are beautiful, especially the early designs, one especially ostentatious version painted green with gold acanthus leaves. Scotland's Suttie box had an ostentatious crown on the top, while the city of Liverpool was granted special dispensation for an especially large box with a chunky lock to improve security. Much of the story of the early years is of gradual design optimisation. It took a while to realise that slots facing upwards caused the mail inside to get wet when it rained. It took a little longer to decide that horizontal slots were harder to steal mail out of than vertical. But before long beauty combined with practicality, and the sentinels of our street corners were set. I hadn't realised before quite how deeply the foundations of certain pillar boxes are buried in the ground. But I guess they need to be, else any old reprobate with a JCB could come along and wrench the box out of the ground and whisk it away. I doubt they'd find much of value in a pillar box today, but the booty haul would once have been quite considerable.
The archetypal Victorian box was the Penfold, hexagonal and elegant with a leafy design on top. A number of these survive around the country (including just down the road from Little Holland House in Carshalton Beeches, damn, missed that). Indeed Royal Mail attempts to keep all its historicboxes in situ, so there might be a rare survivor down your street. Most of the boxes we see today have their origin in 1879's "Anonymous" pillar box, so called because the sovereign's name was initially omitted from the front. Pillar Box Alley also includes a pair of boxes featuring Edward VIII's monogram and a bright blue Air Mail depository, right up to modern oval doubles and futuristic rounded stumps. Even better we had the Museum Store's guides to tell us about some of the designs in great detail, but you had to hang around for quite some time to hear the full story. If you're thinking "ooh, pillar boxes, fascinating" you might be interested in joining the Letter Box Study Group, "the acknowledged authority on the history and development of the British roadside letter box", who for £23 a year will keep you updated on the heritage of these fine objects.
Elsewhere...
The little machines they used to sell stamp books out of.
Racks of pigeonholes used for sorting mail into.
Mini postboxes of the kind found embedded in walls.
An elegant leather desk for writing telegrams on.
Two machines used to convert postcodes into patterns of dots on envelopes.
A mobile post office that once ran round rural Wales.
A TV Detector van, once used to scare licence naysayers witless.
And, ooh, a Mail Rail train. If you're not aware, a mini underground railway used to run between Paddington and Whitechapel purely for the transference of mailbags [map]. I was even taken to see it once in the 1970s, as a very special treat, and remember the rattling of the trains as they vanished off through the low tunnel portal. The trains look a little bigger above ground, with chunky locomotives of a sit-on-able size at each end and a few trucks inbetween. Mail Rail closed in 2003 because high-volume cross-London transport was no longer needed, and may one day be opened up as a tourist attraction, but will more likely crumble.
According to the BPMA Twitter feed, just over 150 visitors passed through the doors of the Museum Store today. They're very pleased with those numbers, indeed they received only 249 visitors during the whole of the previous financial year. But Londoners (and Essexites) I'm very disappointed in you. Less than 0.002% of you thought to turn up today, despite advancepublicity, even though rather more of you would have enjoyed it. Alas there isn't yet a publicised date for the next truly open day, but watch out for those Wednesday afternoon tours if you're interested. Or hang on until the newPostal Museum is opened at Mount Pleasant, hopefully in 2016, and make sure you visit that. You might also enjoy reading the Postal Heritage blog, or delving through their comprehensively large collection of Online Exhibitions.
Day out:Bristol Bristol is a lovely city. A riverside city. A university city. A harbourside city. A hillside city. A city that likes to paint its terraced houses in softly blending pastel colours. It can't decide whether it's in Gloucestershire or Somerset, so it's in neither. The centre of town is really pretty, apart from the gaps that the Luftwaffe bombed or the planners rebuilt. It's not Bath, but it has Bath-like elements if you like sweeping crescents. It's a very interesting city to visit, somewhere there's actually enough to do to fill a city break without having to resort to the usual fallbacks like eating and shopping. I filled six hours, which means at some point I'm going to have to go back and do Bristol again. Here are some of the attractions I visited. And here are 30 sunny photos.
» Visit Bristol
CabotTower: In the centre of Bristol is a green lump - Brandon Hill - which is excellent for walking up and staring down from. Even better, there's an observation tower at the summit which can take you another 100 steps into the sky [photo]. The tower was built in honour of John Cabot, the Italian explorer who sailed from Bristol in 1497 and 'discovered' North America. Access up the tower is free, and at your own risk, and try not to lay your hands on the steps because of the pigeons. But the view from the top is the whole of the city, and I had it to myself for five minutes which is a big win in my book. [photo][photo][photo] Bristol Cathedral: Adjacent to College Green, this seat of worship was originally St Augustine's Abbey but after the Reformation was renamed the rather less catchy Cathedral Church of the Holy and Undivided Trinity [photo]. It's mid-medieval Gothic, in the "hall church" style, and with an absence of clerestory windows. They also have a shop and do coffees. Not stupendous enough that they'll charge you to get in, but all the better for that. [photo] Clifton Cathedral: At completely the opposite end of the architectural scale, Bristol's Roman Catholic cathedral is a modern concrete and granite structure which bears more than a passing resemblance to a power station. I was so put off by the exterior that I didn't bother to go inside, which was a mistake because that's properbrutalist.
M-Shed: This is Bristol's newest museum, down by the Floating Harbour, opened in 2011. It used to be the Bristol Industrial Museum, but enough of that, what people want nowadays is interactive displays. These are present in abundance, well realised, with the outcome that I found the place packed with families enjoying an Easter day out. Most of the exhibits have a very local angle, appealing to those who know their Bristol and want to find out more. I liked the Brisuanadon, an imaginary dinosaur with suspension bridge neck, and the lofty dockside cranes out front which still move and lift and spin. [photo] Arnolfini: Bristol's centre of contemporary arts is located in a central waterside warehouse, in the hope that they can entice you inside either to the cafe bar or for the art. I enjoyed a brisk walk round the latest exhibition, called Version Control, a series of multimedia exhibits based on "the re-use or re-visiting of existing works". Don't bother going this weekend, though, the place is flooded out, but that's the perils of being a central waterside warehouse. City Museum and Art Gallery: This place made the headlines in 2009 when they held a Banksy exhibition and the queues ran round the block. All that's left today is an angel in the entrance hall with a pot of pink paint over her head, but the rest of the museum's well worth a look. It's a mix of stuffed animals, old bones, geology, silverware and art, plus a motley lot more besides. It's essentially a museum of everything, like the Natural History Museum crossed with the V&A, or more likely the Horniman crossed with the Dulwich Picture Gallery. Each room or gallery or staircase is something new, just how a treasure house should be. [photo]
But I never quite made it to these... Bristol Zoo Gardens: Proper animals as seen on TV. At-Bristol: A scientific exploratorium in Millennium Square, complete with shiny globe planetarium. [photo][photo] Bristol Aquarium: Proper fishy exhibit, round the back of the Direct Line Insurance building. SS Great Britain: Brunel's great passenger steamship is berthed here, for expensive exploration. [photo] Spike Island: Where the artists are (see also Stokes Croft) The Red Lodge Museum: Closed Tuesdays. Damn. Never visit Bristol on an out-of-season Tuesday. The Georgian House Museum: Closed Tuesdays. Damn. Never visit Bristol on an out-of-season Tuesday. etc etc: So so much more to see...
One of the best reasons to visit Bristol lies two miles to the west of the city centre, where the houses suddenly stop and the land drops away. Here the River Avon has carved a deep gorge through the limestone, 300 feet down, forming a formidable natural barrier. And here Victorian society responded by engineering one of the finest bridges ever built. Mostly pointless, but enduringly lovely. The CliftonSuspensionBridge.
In 1829 a competition was launched to design a bridge to cross the AvonGorge. 22 designers submitted entries, but head judge Thomas Telford rejected all but five of these before declaring that his own blueprint was the winner. Telford's solution was a multi-span suspension bridge, requiring tall towers to be built up from the valley floor, because he didn't believe the 700 foot chasm could be crossed in one go. Isambard Kingdom Brunel thought otherwise and proposed a cheaper single-span affair, which the awarding committee were eventually persuaded to accept. Two abutments were built, one on either bank, but the money ran out before the two towers could be joined across the river. Funding continued to prove a problem, and construction was delayed for so long that Brunel eventually died in 1859 without seeing his scheme completed.
The Institution of Civil Engineers then stepped in, reviving the plans in tribute to Brunel. They recycled chains from London's Hungerford Bridge - an IKB design recently decommissioned - and gradually threaded these across the gorge from one tower to the other. Vertical rods hung from the gaps in the chain provided the support for a roadway, which was deemed safe enough to support horses and pedestrians, and the bridge was finally opened to the public in 1864. Watch out for the 150th anniversary celebrations next December.
The Clifton Suspension Bridge is a mighty impressive sight, whether you pass underneath or approach from the clifftop. Two features combine to amaze - the span and the height - set against the natural beauty of the Avon Gorge. One of the best views is from the Lookout, a small promontory on the eastern side alongside the Avon Gorge Hotel. They own the Clifton Rocks Railway, a defunct funicular, no longer an alternative to the steep zigzag footpath alongside. An even better view is to be found a little further to the north, either from the top of the Camera Obscura or from the grassy slopes atop St Vincent's Cliffs. Now the bridge is below you, with Leigh Woods and then the plains of North Somerset beyond. The gorge's microclimate makes this the ideal habitat for rare flora and fauna, including two species of whitebeam found nowhere else.
But enough of the looking, let's get aboard. A toll booth guards the entrance on the Clifton side where the cables plunge down into the rock. Cars have to pay a toll of 50p, paid in silver coinage only, while the notional 5p charge for pedestrians and cyclists is always waived. Walk through past the barriers where vehicles pause, and past a sign advertising The Samaritans posted at the foot of the tower. I'd probably have felt more secure stepping onto the bridge proper had I not just been reminded this was a favoured suicide spot. A sturdy barrier runs to one side, with no risk of accidental slippage, but open enough to expose pedestrians fully to the elements. Facing ahead all looks 100% safe - it's only if you stop to consider that the road is a thin mid-air strip that you might get all quivery.
Or look down. It is a very long way down, first to the A4 which hugs the edge of the river on its way to terminate at the Bristol Channel. Next comes the Avon itself, still tidal at this stage so the amount of water below is variable. To the south perch the most fortunate houses in Clifton, before the gorge falls away and Bristol's Floating Harbour begins. The northern vista is far less developed, with National Trust woodland on one bank and exposed sheer rock on the other. Or look up. The cables swoop down to the centre of the bridge then rise up again to the tower on the far side. It's a shame that Brunel never got to experience the thrill, but a thrill it truly is.
On the far side is a Visitor Information Centre, which sounds far grander than it really is - a prefab with a small exhibition and sales of souvenirs inside. Not without interest, although it is hoped to replace this with a more permanent building in time for the upcoming sesquicentennial. And beyond that, a few houses, a lot of countryside and the road to Portishead. That'll be by why car traffic on the bridge is light - it links a city to nowhere much, and there's a modern toll-free crossing not far away at river height. And that's excellent news for those of us on two wheels or on foot. A triumph of the Engineering Age, Brunel's posthumous masterpiece, is ours to enjoy. [10 sunny bridge-y photos]
There's something very special about today's date.
All the digits are different.
5/4/2013
And you might not think that was special.
But the last time this happened was years ago.
See if you can work out when. (before checking in the comments box, where some clever clogs will surely have come up with the answer by now)
On Tuesday I went on a grand day out (which I'll tell you about shortly). I woke up and had a cup of tea at 7am, then set off to catch a train to the other side of the country. Here I pootled about for several hours, walking in excess of ten miles, then caught the train back to London. I arrived home at 9pm, put the kettle on and had a cup of tea. At which point I noticed that I hadn't had a drink for 14 hours. I wasn't gasping or thirsty or anything, I just hadn't felt the need for a beverage since breakfast. Not a cuppa, not a can, nor even a small sip of water. And it struck me that this was unusual behaviour.
I hadn't eaten much on my day out either. I'd taken some hot cross buns, and I'd bought a 99 cornet, but nothing that could really be described as liquid. And this waterlessness isn't a one-off. When I took a day trip to Paris a few weeks ago I had no drinks at all between a cup of tea at 5am and another on my return at 10pm. On that occasion I had considered buying a drink in the French capital, but never quite got round to it, and that was fine. There was no peculiar after-effect, no parched throat, no crawling up to the door of a Starbucks panting "Coffee, coffee coffee!" But 17 hours without drinking... it's not normal, is it?
Most people can only go so long without a drink before an urgent need strikes. Indoors they're off to the tap or kettle, outdoors they're busy hunting down the nearest corner shop or cafe. But I don't appear to be most people. Don't get me wrong, I'm a 5-cups-a-day tea drinker most of the time. But when needs must, or when liquids aren't easily to hand, I can go for ages without needing a gulp. I'm not convinced it's something to be proud about, nor even something that's medically wise. But hey, it's a useful skill sometimes.
• The Hammersmith & City line was brought into existence on 30th July 1990 when a former branch of the Metropolitan line was rebranded salmon pink.
• The line is 16 miles long and serves 29 stations. It takes about an hour to ride from one end to the other.
• Originally most trains ran no further east than Whitechapel (none at all on Sundays). Since December 2009, when a new turnback facility opened at West Ham, no trains have terminated at Whitechapel. The terminating platform at Plaistow is pretty much dead these days too - nigh every H&C train runs all the way to Barking.
• Only two bits of track are unique to the H&C - a short curve between Liverpool Street and Aldgate East, and the approach to Platform 3 at Barking.
• Most of the trains on the Hammersmith and City line have 6 carriages and were built in either 1969 or 1977 (then refurbished in the early 1990s). By the end of this year they should all have been replaced by 7-carriage air-conditioned S Stock trains.
• Three underground lines run from Hammersmith to the City of London. The Hammersmith and City line starts at Hammersmith and passes through three City stations. The Circle line starts at Hammersmith and passes through eight City stations. The District line passes through Hammersmith and passes through four City stations. Contrarily, the line from Hammersmith that passes through fewest stations in the City is called the Hammersmith & City line.
• The Hammersmith and City line's official colour is Pantone 197
• The Hammersmith & City line contains London's newest Underground station (Wood Lane) and also the last Underground station to change its name (Shepherd's Bush → Shepherd's Bush Market)
• [Your fact here] (because this is a dull line, innit?)
• The Hammersmith & City line includes the oldest stretch of underground railway in the world, opened 150 years ago....
... but I blogged about Paddington → Farringdon in detail back in January, so I'll not be going back there this month. Instead I intend to concentrate on the two ends of the route - from Hammersmith to Paddington, and from Liverpool Street to Barking. Sorry, it's not going to be a vintage month.
You may have done a bit of DIY this weekend, doing up your house, adding a few design tweaks of your own. But you probably haven't created something quite as astonishing as craftsman Frank Dickinson, artist and designer. He created Little Holland House from scratch, both structure and interior - "a house with beautiful things inside, a house solid looking and not showy". And a century on it still stands, up an unlikely suburban backstreet, occasionally open to the public. Don't expect where you live to be awarded the same honour.
Frank was born in Paddington in 1874, but sought to move away from the slums to start a better life. Inspired by John Ruskin he came to Carshalton, bought a plot of land amid the cornfields and started to build. He didn't have a lot of cash so drew up the plans himself, created the furniture himself and employed the bare minimum of labourers to assist. Frank and his bride Florence moved in on their wedding night in 1904, then spent the honeymoon sanding window frames and staining the floors, as you do. Over the next few decades they added further furniture and features and made Little Holland House into a home, a place for gatherings and festivities. And they lived here together for six decades until 1961, when Frank died, leaving Florence alone until she was forced to move out in 1972. That's when the London Borough of Sutton stepped in, recognising they had something special on their patch, and duly opened up the house (occasionally) to visitors.
Beeches Avenue has built up somewhat since 1902, no longer a quiet lane poking out into fields. Walking down from Carshalton Beeches station past a bakery and several pleasantly ordinary houses, you do wonder if you can possibly be in the right place for a visitor attraction. It's not even the most attractive house in the street, indeed number 40 looks slightly ordinary... apart from an exceptional carved gate, and a bespoke letter box... and they're clues enough.
You have to ring the bell to get in, where a self-portrait of the great man hangs on the door to the downstairs toilet. From here it's only a few steps to the living room, and that's when the scale of Frank's project hits you. Downstairs is finely decorated throughout, as befits the home of a Ruskinite with an eye for beauty. Almost everything's by Frank, from the coal-box by the fire to the herringbone parquet floor - ideal for dancing on. There are Doulton tiles from the factory where Frank used to work, and inscribed joists over the opening to the sitting room. Wooden and chunky would describe a lot of the furniture, which is mostly in pine, although the chairs (and the cake stand) are walnut. As a budding artist all the paintings are Frank's own too, including the triptych over the fireplace depicting the dignity of the working man. A small landing a few steps up the stairs provided a mini-stage for in-house entertainment, while the gramophone is still poised to play The Blue Danube.
Upstairs the master bedroom is a lovely space, from the carved inscription on the bedstead to Florence's embroidered curtains. Most striking is the painted frieze in green and blue around the top of the walls, illustrating lines from Longfellow's poem The Spanish Student. I can almost imagine 1970s Habitat selling this on a peel-off strip, although Frank's design is a little too tasteful for that. In the boxroom are further accoutrements, from an oak dressing table to the couple's Singer sewing machine, plus one of Frank's paintings that almost made the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition in 1946. A further bedroom is locked and marked 'private', while the bathroom has just a couple too many modern tweaks to be entirely Frank's...
...because the house is still lived in. The downstairs kitchen is the biggest clue, the cupboards and work surfaces stacked with healthy wholesome food that can't possibly be 1960s vintage. The council have arranged for someone to live here full time to help sustain and maintain the property, and that's who'll greet you at the door, and maybe try to sell you a souvenir from a temporary table in the living room. They don't have to open up very often, just the afternoon of the first Sunday of the month, plus bank holiday Sundays and Mondays. That's how I got inside last weekend, and how you could get inside next. It's free, and by the looks of things the visitors book could do with a lot more names in it. You'll spend longer getting here than you will looking around, but never mind that. Frank's gem of a property deserves more awe and attention, and maybe you'll gather some ideas for doing up your own place too.
WALK LONDON The London Loop[section 7]
Ewell to Banstead Downs (3½ miles)
Section 7 of the London Loop runs along the southwestern edge of the capital between Surrey and Sutton, out in the golf course and double garage zone. It's not a classic, to be honest, with too much along residential streets and not enough green. But it's also the shortest leg of the London Loop, ideally combined with one of the adjacent sections to create a better walk. I plumped for the single option, saving the neighbouring stretches for a sunnier day.
Round-London walks are generally described clockwise, in all of the guidebooks and the accompanying material. So you have to be slightly brave to walk one anti-clockwise, relying solely on maps and signposts and not the list of written instructions. I was slightly brave, and promptly got lost twice negotiating the streets of Ewell. This Surrey town should probably be in London, all geographical things being equal, but its residents are no doubt very pleased it's not. The Loop takes you first (or last, depending) into the grounds of Bourne Hall Park. These ornamental gardens used to be the grounds of an 18th century mansion, of which only some ponds and the "Dog Gate" survive. Instead the council have landed a flying saucer on the lawns, a 1970s model containing a library, meeting rooms and the local museum. It's a bold architectural statement for a suburban borough, although closed on Bank Holiday Mondays so I couldn't go inside.
The Centre of Ewell is skipped, mostly, for a diversion up an ancient sidestreet. This boasts a church tower without an attached church, and a school that's pretending to be a castle. There's better to come on the other side of the Ewell bypass, assuming you get across alive. On the slopes ahead are the remains of Henry VIII's Banqueting House - now little more than a raisedbrickfootprint with trees growing on top, but formerly a grandstand for the royal hunting party. Don't expect great things, but there's more here than you'll see further up the path at Nonsuch Park. A trio of obelisks marks the site of Henry's palace, planned to exceed Hampton Court but demolished a century later to pay off a mistress's gambling debts. I've blogged about Nonsuch Palace before... which is just as well, because the Loop manages to miss this historic site by 100 metres.
The path from the Banqueting House to the Palace is the nicest on the walk. It meanders through woodland, though only briefly, and the woods aren't much to see when spring has yet to take hold. Indeed there's probably a nice woodland footpath like this somewhere near you, it's just that the rest of the walk doesn't quite match up. Nonsuch Park is a splendid open space, landscaped and sprawling, much frequented by locals with canines in tow. But the Loop hogs the avenue down one side, then turns off before the end to head south. Here two parallel tracks head off through the trees - these the sole remains of an interwar development that was never completed. This entire area was scheduled to become yet another housing estate, until Hitler and then the Green Belt intervened. The broad expanse of Warren Farm, up next, therefore survives to give inhabitants of the next housing estate somewhere to walk their dogs.
It's the next housing estate we're going to explore next, and then the next, and then the next. This isn't the Loop's finest hour, unless you like trudging along a mile and a half of residential streets. It's especially galling at one point to see open fields ahead, but the designated route has to divert up yet another road because there's no public right of way. The local residences are pleasant, even aspirational, starting off with houses where Reggie Perrin might have lived and moving up to detached villas that are much more CJ. Some have fine front gardens with clumps of crocuses attempting to burst forth, but a considerable number have paved over the lot to accommodate more than the average household's quota of cars. Learner drivers appear to be endemic around here, and to be fair the broad avenues are ideal for beginners, but at least one private road has felt it necessary to put up a big sign warning them off.
And then, at last, some proper green. Admittedly it's only a golf course, with greens that are immaculately mown, but that's welcome relief from pavement bashing. The path cuts diagonally across the fairway, which you'd think might be dangerous, except it seems nobody plays golf on freezing bank holidays. Not a single player was out on the course, the lazy souls, so there was no need for the path to restrict itself to the neighbouring thickets. A signpost signalled the start of section 6, which looked appealing, but I'm saving that, remember. Instead I headed a short distance to Banstead station, thankfully timed to meet the hourly train on this backwater single-track branch line. There are better ways to spend an Easter Monday - indeed anyone selecting Loop section 7 to fill a day off probably has some serious social problems. But that's another section ticked off. I'm almost halfway round now, I'll get there in the end.
We're very proud to be taking over today as England's go-to medical operations agency.
NHS plc will bring the same dedication to service you've grown to love from the old NHS, but with a greater emphasis on choice and customer quality.
We want NHS plc to become your one-stop wellness destination, your provider of choice. That's why today sees the launch of clinical commissioning groups in local management clusters, to baseline a paradigm shift going forward.
The old National Health Service has had a good innings since it was introduced more than 60 years ago. But it was a product for a different generation - wasteful, ill-structured, over-compassionate. So we're introducing a top-down restructure that will reformulate the NHS from the roots up.
Our strategic aim is to drive down operating costs through supply based consolidation whilst leveraging group spend to provide robust, scalable services. According to our market research, that's what you want too.
Put simply, our new market-based approach prioritises delivery over outcomes, efficiency over waste, and excellence over need. That means patients will get what they deserve more quickly, and the country will squander less of its valuable resources in the process. No right-minded citizen could disagree.
We can no longer afford to dole out non-essential treatments to those who contribute nothing to society. Why should the workshy jump the queue in A&E? Why should the obese be prescribed unnecessary treatments? Why should the disabled take millions out of a system without paying sufficient back? Today's changes to the system are the first steps towards prioritising care for those who deserve it. It's only fair.
Don't worry, the basics of free healthcare will continue for all. If you're injured or dying, of course we'll fix you. If you have chronic need, our contractors will be there. But for less life-critical conditions and for optional enhancements, additional charges may apply. Rest assured, our consultants will rest at nothing to bring you the healthcare your investment deserves.
To incentivise engagement, and to reward thrift, we'll be offering lifetime NHS subscriptions based on small monthly contributions. If you'd like to top-up by paying a little extra, that'd be great. If your National Insurance is up to date, all well and good. But for those on benefits who pay nothing into the system, expect to wait a little longer and to get a little less.
This bold healthcare solution acts by bringing on board our friends and partners in the private sector. Many of these companies already clean your streets, staff your call centres and service your town halls. Their involvement is absolutely nothing to be concerned about. Only by embracing competition can we rescue NHS employees from a life of waste in the public sector. By shifting staff onto looser contracts, and with a ruthless focus on target-setting, even greater savings can be reinvested where it really matters.
Think of this not as a change but a behavioural nudge. If you need us, we'll be here. Even better, we'll promise a full money-back guarantee if you die in our care, which is something the old NHS never offered.
Transformation is never easy. But in this case it's been a damned sight easier than we'd ever have hoped. Thank you for your compliance.
Smallprint
1. You can now make a first contribution to your new Personal Health Account by signing up here.
2. If you're able to put aside a small amount each week, you'll find future treatment becomes easier.
3. You may find that your local hospital closes. Don't worry, this is to improve overall standards of care.
4. Universal Credit vouchers may not be spent on Emergency Healthcare Top-Ups.
5. We're making a payment exception for our armed forces. They deserve free premium care for life, obviously.
6. Those on benefits no longer have the right to a hospital room of their own, not unless they pay more.
7. This is absolutely not a backdoor privatisation. However, we will be offering enhanced treatment to shareholders.
8. From today, subscribers can dial 911 to obtain access to a faster emergency callout.
9. You may not notice the changes we're making until you next need our services. That's all well and good, because we want to embed efficient new practices beneath the surface with a minimum of fuss.
10. Think of this more as long-term treatment than invasive surgery. But there's no going back, not after today.
post-Olympic update
East Village: They face each other across Leyton Road, the flats of E15 and the apartments of E20. Estate agents are only excited by the latter [photo]. You too could live where an Estonian shotputter spent a fortnight before heading home empty-handed. Soon there'll be three access roads from the east, but for now the Temple Mills Lane and Chobham Road entrances remain barriered. Behind the metalwork a tranche of new streetnames are going in - nearest to the railway will be Champions Walk, while further in are Medals Way and Cheering Lane. I know, really.
South Park: Montfichet Road remains the best place to stare at the key Olympic venues - that's the stadium, the Orbit and especially the Aquatic Centre [photo]. The wings are now half-removed, starting from the nearest end, which means the high terrace where I sat to watch the synchronised swimming is now lying stacked up on the ground alongside [photo]. A new wall is going up closer to the pool to create the reduced-size watery recreation facility Newham craves. Don't expect to visit this end of the Park for a picnic any time soon.
Bow Roundabout: All looks much the same as before from the roadside, apart from a new billboard-in-the-sky next to the Bow Flyover. [photo] TfL haven't yet got round to building their Cycle Superhighway extension, and nobody's made any attempt whatsoever to start building hundreds of flats on the two cleared sites to the south of the roundabout. Maybe there's a recession on. [photo]
Cafe culture: For more Shoreditch haircuts than you can wave a tablet at, visit the banks of the Lea on a Sunday. They eat brunch on the back terrace at the Counter Cafe, in greater numbers than before, and they sit outside The White Building with beers in hand from the craft brewery within. This area really is changing, as the creative quarter solidifies and edges closer to the magnet of the Olympic Park [photo]. But the latest refreshment outlet is nothing quite so hip. The E20 Eastenders Fishing Trust have opened up a tiny room in a waterways lockup beside Old Ford Lock, from which they're running a angling charity for the disabled and selling drinks. Tea or coffee for a quid, slice of cake 50p, or bread and soup for £2. Nothing highbrow, but for a good cause. [photo]
Waterden Road: It used to be the main road north, then it became the main pedestrian walkway to the Olympic hockey, and soon it'll be a proper road again. Major work is underway to create a fresh entrance to QEOP next to where the hockey arena now completely isn't, with a forest of traffic lights in place ready for the steady stream of vehicles who want instant access to Westfield [photo]. Shoppers in cars currently follow a twisty path to the shops, but that'll soon change as the top of the Park opens up. The great E20 disconnect is finally nearly over.
Hammersmith's three platforms are a bit of a shunt and a shuffle throughout the day. Freshly-arrived trains hang around for only a few minutes before a fresh driver wanders down the steps from the depot, settles into the cab and prepares to vacate. There's just enough time for a cleaner to shuffle through the carriages, and for the odd pigeon to hop aboard and then think better of it. "Go on time!!" screams a driver-facing notice at the front of the platform, to "help finish on book more often" and "improve layover/meal relief times". Our driver departs promptly, heading north in the gap behind a Circle line service, past umpteen trains laid over in the Hammersmith depot. Train T236, all stations to Barking, is on its way.
I'll not dwell too long on the run from Paddington to Farringdon because I blogged in depth about the world's first underground railway back in January. It being a Sunday afternoon, this stretch is the only busy bit of the journey. Passengers pile aboard with shopping and suitcases, choosing to stop and stand where they enter rather than walking up to the front of the train where there are invisible seats.
We bypass Plaistow's newly-redundant platform 3, its mothballing a blessed relief to non-psychic locals seeking the next westbound train, and rumble on between unexciting estates. Earlier in the journey passengers were carrying designer bags and suitcases, but by Upton Park it's more Wilkinson carriers and unbranded blue. At East Ham three station staff are fussing over a bench, because Sunday afternoons aren't exactly over-stretching round here.
What a lot of stuff... but then, when you stop and think about all the things the Royal Mail has needed to do over the years, that's perhaps not surprising. First up by the door are a selection of phone boxes, just to get the telephone thing out of the way. The rest of the room is taken up with accoutrements for the delivery of mail, of which there are many. Let's start with Pillar Box Alley.
Cabot Tower: In the centre of Bristol is a green lump - Brandon Hill - which is excellent for walking up and staring down from. Even better, there's an observation tower at the summit which can take you another 100 steps into the sky [photo]. The tower was built in honour of John Cabot, the Italian explorer who sailed from Bristol in 1497 and 'discovered' North America. Access up the tower is free, and at your own risk, and try not to lay your hands on the steps because of the pigeons. But the view from the top is the whole of the city, and I had it to myself for five minutes which is a big win in my book. [photo] [photo] [photo]
M-Shed: This is Bristol's newest museum, down by the Floating Harbour, opened in 2011. It used to be the Bristol Industrial Museum, but enough of that, what people want nowadays is interactive displays. These are present in abundance, well realised, with the outcome that I found the place packed with families enjoying an Easter day out. Most of the exhibits have a very local angle, appealing to those who know their Bristol and want to find out more. I liked the Brisuanadon, an imaginary dinosaur with suspension bridge neck, and the lofty dockside cranes out front which still move and lift and spin. [photo]
One of the best reasons to visit Bristol lies two miles to the west of the city centre, where the houses suddenly stop and the land drops away. Here the River Avon has carved a deep gorge through the limestone, 300 feet down, forming a formidable natural barrier. And here Victorian society responded by engineering one of the finest bridges ever built. Mostly pointless, but enduringly lovely. The Clifton Suspension Bridge.
The Institution of Civil Engineers then stepped in, reviving the plans in tribute to Brunel. They recycled chains from London's Hungerford Bridge - an IKB design recently decommissioned - and gradually threaded these across the gorge from one tower to the other. Vertical rods hung from the gaps in the chain provided the support for a roadway, which was deemed safe enough to support horses and pedestrians, and the bridge was finally opened to the public in 1864. Watch out for the 150th anniversary celebrations next December.
Or look down. It is a very long way down, first to the A4 which hugs the edge of the river on its way to terminate at the Bristol Channel. Next comes the Avon itself, still tidal at this stage so the amount of water below is variable. To the south perch the most fortunate houses in Clifton, before the gorge falls away and Bristol's Floating Harbour begins. The northern vista is far less developed, with National Trust woodland on one bank and exposed sheer rock on the other. Or look up. The cables swoop down to the centre of the bridge then rise up again to the tower on the far side. It's a shame that Brunel never got to experience the thrill, but a thrill it truly is.
HAMMERSMITH & CITY: Ten line facts
