✉ The Frieze Art Fair is packing up and shipping out. For a couple of months 25 sculptures have been scattered around the English Gardens, but this week they're all heading home. Behind a protective barrier a group of workmen in hi-vis are busy dismantling a penguin. This vulture up a tree is a fake. That squirrel lapping water from a porcelain dip is very real. Nobody's yet shifted Bharti Kher's Hindu tableau. If you'd had the idea of displaying several lampposts at various angles, you too could have exhibited here. Elsewhere various rectangles of turf have been carefully replaced, taped off for now, but ultimately undiscernible.
✉ In the middle of the Broad Walk, Sir Cowasjee Jehangir's drinking fountain is a four-sided granite and marble confection. A jogger in an Iron Man t-shirt runs up, climbs the steps as part of his routine to prove he was here, then runs off red-faced. A much smaller more practical fountain stands to one side. A dogwalker approaches, clutching a plastic cup in one hand and a dangling bag of collected unpleasantness in the other. She fills the cup with water and swigs, then refills it and sets it down on the ground for her hound to lap. He's not especially interested, so she finishes it off and dangles away.
✉ On the Cumberland Lawn, two football matches are underway. One involves the under 8s from the local private school, ostensibly practising their ball skills, tapping gently from one fledgling Ronaldo to another. Imagine having your school's sports field here! The other match involves a bunch of older lads playing in claret and blue versus white. They cajole, "well played Neil!" They yell, "***ing pass it!" They throw an exasperated gesture whenever the ball goes wide. They appear to be taking their afternoon kickabout far too seriously. All four of their goalposts are little plastic cones, but one of their corner flags is jumpers.
✉ A walk around the triangular perimeter of London Zoo reveals little, thanks to carefully planted trees, but I do spot a baboon barrelling across the walls of her enclosure, two camels and some chickens. The crocodile of infants walking back to their coach alas doesn't count. Only one stretch of railings, outside the Giraffe House, has a perfect unbroken view. A pink taxi suddenly pulls up alongside the gap, pausing briefly on the way to somewhere else. The driver hops out and opens the back door, directing some loud Cockney banter towards the back seats. None of the elderly foursome inside get out, but they all stare for a minute - achievement unlocked - before being driven away. The giraffes chew on.
✉ The artificial mound of The Hub, with its changing rooms underneath, provides the highest viewing point this side of Primrose Hill. The cafe serves better-than-necessary crisps, and all the types of coffee displayed on the chalkboard. Approaching the staircase comes a gentleman in bright blue trousers carrying a silver-topped cane. I can't work out what language the raucous conversation behind me is being conducted in, but eventually work out it's English. A dog runs onto the cricket square to retrieve a careless ball. Booked Games Only On All Pitches. The chain of trees down the Broad Walk is still mostly green, but on the turn.
✉ The Boathouse Cafe hires out children's pedaloes at £4 for 20 minutes, but nobody's biting. Dad leads his two daughters over to the water's edge and they throw breadcrumbs into the pond. Immediately a swarm of ducks and pigeons descends, forcing the family to retreat rapidly. The local heron flaps over and watched the action, right up close. Across the far side of the pond an old gentleman in a fedora walks by, casually chucking seedy treats from a bag in his pocket. Sharp-eyed, the ravenous flock fly off and regroup, following their benefactor down the lakeside as if he were the Pied Piper.
✉ The roses in Queen Mary's Gardens are only part-wilted, which is impressive considering the time of year. The smell of summer perfume wafts up from some of the pinker specimens. Each bed is home to a different variety, including Blessings, Double Delight and Thelma Barlow. A would-be model is having some professional photos taken on the footbridge, her heels adding at least four inches to her height. Two gardeners kneel in the beds, wellies splayed. A squirrel hops through the autumn crocus. Three enormous black handbags approach; one plain, one studded, one outrageously overblinged. A Medical Assistance Dog In Training emerges from the ladies toilet in a red jacket.
✉ Opposite the wetland area three pipes gush, and a sign names all the Wildfowl of the World you might see on the water, from hooded merganser to chestnut teal. A man older than me is doing push-ups on the back of a bench. In the middle of the lawn, a delivery man in a red tabard lies flat on his back in the sun and engages in a phone conversation about earphones. A London Ambulance cycle responder pushes his yellow bike slowly towards the footbridge, because the next medical emergency is as likely to be here as anywhere else. Ice creams would be £3, but the kiosk closed a while back because it's October and the weather shouldn't be this good.
12 things to do in Saffron Walden (largest town in NW Essex, north of Stansted, nr M11 J9)
1) See Walden Castle. All that remains are the flinty ruins of the 12th century keep, and some basement slabs you used to be allowed to scramble over, but these days expect to have to stare across a locked fence. Couple of minutes tops. 2) Visit Saffron Walden Museum. This is much better, a pioneering repository opened in 1835 when the Saffron Walden Natural History Society ran out of space to store its specimens. It's since branched out into geology, ceramics, costume, ethnography and a considerable amount of local history, including finds from the iron age village found on the site of Stansted Airport's catering block, a Tudor bed and a stuffed Victorian lion called Wallace. Far better than its £2.50 admission might suggest. 3) Follow the Saffron Walden Trail. Pick up a leaflet at the museum, or download a copy here. 4) Admire the pargeting. Several central streets are lined by attractively-timbered buildings and terraces with pastel-painted plasterwork.
5) Drop in on the Fry Art Gallery. Devoted to the works of the Great Bardfield group, this twin-room gallery is tucked away up an alleyway off Church Street. Its collection includes Eric Ravilious, Bernard Cheese and Grayson Perry, but this year's exhibition is entirely devoted to Edward Bawden, whose 100+ illustrations are a delight. Until 28th October, free. 6) Enter St Mary's. The largest parish church in Essex, its spire is visible all over. 7) Shop at the Market. Every week since the 1141 (now Tuesdays and Saturdays). 8) Enjoy Bridge End Gardens. Laid out in 1840, this recreational hideaway is Grade II listed. It was envisaged as a collection of seven interlocking 'rooms', each with its own character, including a formal Dutch Garden with sunken parterre, a bountiful Walled Garden and a Wilderness. The farthest corner contains a proper Hedge Maze, in yew, whose complexity means you might just require the observation tower to help yourself out.
9) Trace the Turf Labyrinth. Not content with having one historic maze, Saffron Walden has another - centuries older - scratched into the Common. It's the largest surviving turf labyrinth in Europe, approximately 30m in diameter and with a single path almost one mile long. I was impressed by its deviousness, whisking oh-so-close to the centre, then stealing sinuously away on a somehow-unbroken path. The next Saffron Walden Maze Festival is pencilled in for August 2019. [mazes leaflet] 10) Commute to Cambridge. This is probably why a lot of people live here, although the nearest station is an annoying drive away. 11) Ride the Audley End Miniature Railway. I did that once, and am still recovering from the staring teddy bears positioned at strategically important points around the woodland circuit. 12) Visit Audley End House. See post below.
ENGLISH HERITAGE:Audley End Location: Saffron Walden, Essex CB11 4JF [map] Open: from 10am (house closed Nov-Mar) Admission: £18.10 Website:english-heritage.org.uk/visit/places/audley-end-house-and-gardens Four word summary: stately home and gardens Time to allow: half a day
Before the year's up I wanted to visit English Heritage's three most expensive properties, because by themselves their admission prices exceed the price of annual membership. I did Dover Castle back in March, Stonehenge a fortnight ago, and now I've completed the trio with Audley End. As an actual stately home it's an unusual property on English Heritage's books, possibly the closest EH members get to an National Trust experience, complete with drawing rooms, cream teas and gardens for pottering. [10 photos]
Built to impress by the Earl of Suffolk around 1610, Audley End used to be much larger, stretching symmetrically down to the river. When fortunes changed it got knocked back to an inner court, then rose to prominence again with rooms by Robert Adam and a dash of relandscaping by Capability Brown. Key owners included the wonderfully named Sir John Griffin Griffin, the 3rd Baron Braybrooke and the Ministry of Works. So what we have here is a Jacobean mansion with Georgian extras and a Victorian service wing, set amid Palladian gardens, co-opted for the Polish Special Operations Executive during the war. Should be enough to be getting on with.
The main house is a camera-free zone, which'll make you itch the minute you step into the Great Hall and see the roof. The shields, the portraits, the ancient timbers - you'll just have to remember them rather than share. The Robert Adam reception rooms are on the ground floor, fashionable at the time but a bit lah-di-dah now. Nothing's labelled so the trick is to engage with the volunteer in the room, else you'll simply wander through and wander back.
Upstairs are more private chambers, lofty and over-decorated, including a saloon, an inconveniently located dining room and a library with a first edition of Dr Johnson's two volume dictionary (A-K and L-Z, since you ask). Here too is the luxurious fourposter Lord Howard dearly hoped King George III would sleep in, if only he hadn't fallen ill shortly before the visit and never followed up. The coal gallery is likely unique, a long corridor stashed with bunkers for dispersing coal down into the main house in scuttles. And the top floor houses the recently-reopened nursery, which kids will like, and where I enjoyed looking out of the window.
That bubbly topiary is a 'cloud hedge', planted to screen the servants' quarters from visiting guests. The Service wing comprises a kitchen, dairy, and 'wet' and 'dry' laundry. This is set out as it would have been in 1847, when it was rebuilt after a fire, so all the names and ages of the servants are known, as well as their relative wages. You can wander round willy-nilly, or take an excellent 30 minute guided tour which explains what all the tubs are and how butter was made, and which two servants were the only ones left behind when the rest of the household decamped to London in the spring.
The gardens are splendid, with more formal beds closer to the house and the walled kitchen garden farther flung. To get there requires crossing an ornamental river which turns out to be the upper reaches of the Cam, decoratively rechanneled for stately perambulation. At this time of year leaves are on the turn, the last of summer flowers remain ablaze, and the year's harvest is starting to be arrayed. The gardeners have staged some magnificent displays of apples, of copious varieties, as well as a carpet of gourds and squashes to make any Hallowe'ener wildly jealous.
Cheaper than Dover Castle, more expensive than Stonehenge, that's the wonder of Audley End.
I've very kindly been given a copy of the Ladybird Book of London, originally published in 1961. A faithful reprint is now available, in case searching second-hand shops isn't your thing, but my copy is the real deal (price two shillings and sixpence) and all the better for it. If you'd like to watch a flick-through, here's a one minute video (with unnecessary backing music).
Having read the lot, I was struck by how much of the content remains true 57 years later. A lot of the text is historical, but a fair amount is contemporary, and even most of that is still factually correct. It's testament to the skill of the author, and perhaps an indication that important things don't change as fast as we imagine. So here's my page-by-page guide to...
Page 2: Preface "One good place to get such information is from the Travel Enquiry Office at Piccadlly Circus Underground Station."
Alas this has evolved into one of TfL's Visitor Centres, whose purpose is no longer the imparting of useful information about places of interest (unless staff can upsell you an advance ticket).
Page 4: Trafalgar Square "You can buy special pigeon food from vendors on the Square, and if you are very lucky or clever, the pigeons will perch on your hand to feed, or on your shoulder, or even on your head."
Ken Livingstone revoked the licence for selling pigeon food in Trafalgar Square in 2000. A fine for feeding the pigeons was introduced in 2003. Nowadays most visitors would think a pigeon on the head exceptionally unlucky.
Page 6: Whitehall "Lower down on the right is Downing Street, a quiet little street in which you will see a doorway marked No. 10."
You won't see the doorway, because Downing Street is now barriered off unless you have security clearance. No plebs.
Page 8: Trooping the Colour
All still 100% true. Even the Queen is still the Queen, 57 years on.
Page 10: Buckingham Palace "There is always a crowd between ten-thirty and eleven o'clock in the morning to watch the impressive ceremony of changing the guard in the forecourt."
These days Changing the Guard only takes places on Sundays, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. The New Guard arrives at the Palace at 11am.
Page 12: St James's Palace "Here too, guardsmen are on sentry duty, but they will not mind if we go into the courtyard."
They bloody well will mind now. "It will probably become the London residence of the Prince of Wales when he grows up and has a home of his own."
He was 12 then. He's 69 now (and moved nextdoor to Clarence House in 2004).
Page 14: St James's Park "London is one of the three biggest cities in the world, with a population, in 1952, of eight million three thousand people."
After a significant dip, the population of London is once again very close to its Fifties peak, at eight million eight hundred thousand. In terms of world ranking, however, London is now just outside the Top Twenty, and falling. "If we feel like some refreshment, which might be a good idea, we can go to the Cake House."
The Cake House was replaced by a spiky tent-like refreshment kiosk in 1970, which in turn was replaced by Inn The Park in 2004. The cafe/restaurant is now run by Benugo, and serves a full English for £12.
Page 16: Westminster Abbey
All still true.
Page 18: The Houses of Parliament
Will all be true when Big Ben starts bonging again.
Page 20: The Victoria Embankment "Further down we come to four ships which are permanently moored. They are HMS President, HMS Chrysanthemum, HMS Discovery and HMS Wellington."
Only HQS Wellington remains. HMS President has been moved to Chatham while the Thames Tideway Tunnel is constructed, HMS Chrysanthemum was scrapped in 1988 after being used for a boat chase in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and (also in 1988) Scott's Discovery sailed to Dundee.
Page 22: A trip on the Thames "Someone on the launch will probably point out the interesting places as we go along, such as... the Shot-Tower"
The Lambeth Shot Tower, east of Waterloo Bridge, was erected in 1826 and survived the Festival of Britain, but was demolished in 1962 to make way for the Queen Elizabeth Hall.
Page 24: The Tower of London "We must go to see... the Crown Jewels in the Wakefield Tower"
The Wakefield Tower was used to display the Crown Jewels from 1868 to 1967, after which they were moved to a new Jewel House in the west wing of the Waterloo Barracks, which was itself replaced in 1994 (and upgraded in 2012).
Page 26: Tower Hill and Tower Bridge "Tower Bridge is the last one over the Thames before the sea"
Since 1991 the Queen Elizabeth II Bridge at the Dartford Crossing has been the last bridge on the Thames.
Page 28: The City Page 30: The Guildhall Page 32: St Paul's Cathedral
All still true.
Page 34: Greenwich "Across the road is the exquisite Queen's House, now part of the National Maritime Museum. It is full of perfect models of ships of every period, and there are charts, nautical instruments, and the Nelson Gallery."
Since 2001 the Queen's House has been where the NMM hangs its art. Intricate models of ships are no longer held in such high regard, but there are a fair few in the new Sea Things gallery.
Page 36: The British Museum "There are three main divisions: Archaeology, the Library, and the Collection of Prints and Drawings."
"The great domed Reading Room is used by scholars, for there they can study ancient manuscripts and books not to be found elsewhere in the world."
"In the Manuscript Saloon we can see Magna Carta, the log book of HMS Victory and Captain Scott's Antarctic Diary."
The Library ceased to be part of the British Museum in 1973, moving to a new British Library building on Euston Road in 1997. Magna Carta and Scott's diary are on show, but not currently Nelson's log book.
Page 38: The Science Museum "Downstairs is the Children's Gallery with models, scenes and pictures, and a very clear explanation of everything."
Downstairs is now The Garden, an interactive gallery for children aged 3-6, plus the legendary The Secret Life of the Home (very recently closed for 'improvements'). "In the main hall there is a splendid array of engines, such as the Rocket (1829)" Rocket moved out earlier this year, and is currently at the Science and Industry Museum in Manchester (before moving permanently to the National Railway Museum in York next year). "In the Natural History Museum you can even see the skeleton of a dinosaur, a prehistoric monster as big as a motor bus."
There are plenty of dinosaurs, but the big one moved out last year and is currently on tour at Ulster Museum.
Page 40: The Zoo "All the wild animals are there: lions and tigers, elephants and giraffes, sea-lions and penguins, hippos and rhinos, polar bears and brown bears, parrots and monkeys."
Elephants, sea-lions, rhinos and brown bears are now to be found at Whipsnade. Polar bears roamed the Mappin Terraces until 1985. "Children can have animal rides, and who does not like riding on an elephant?"
Rides are no longer offered. A Meet The Animals Experience costs £54. "It costs extra to go to the Aquarium, but it is well worthwhile."
The Aquarium is now included in the £29.75 admission price.
Page 42: Madame Tussaud's and the Planetarium "We can see famous scenes from history, such as the execution of Mary Queen of Scots, historical groups such as King Henry VIII and his wives, and well known people of today."
These days Madame Tussauds (no apostrophe) is virtually all "well known people of today", and dead royalty is not favoured. "Next door is one of London's newest buildings, the Planetarium. We go into a round hall with a big dome, and sit in comfortable seats tilted backwards. The show lasts an hour..."
The Planetarium closed in 2006 and was rebranded the Star Dome - more sci-fi than sci-fact. Since 2010 it has housed the Marvel Super Heroes 4D attraction, more's the pity.
Page 44: Kew Gardens "We must be sure to see the flagstaff which was made from a single spar of Douglas spruce, and stands two hundred and fourteen feet in height."
In 1959 this was the tallest flagpole in the world, but weather-related decay (and woodpeckers) caused it to become unsafe, and it was takendown in 2007.
Page 46: Hampton Court Palace
All still true.
Page 48: London Airport "We can go into a public enclosure at the airport and watch airliners of all types arriving and taking-off, from and to every part of the world."
The much-loved rooftop terrace atop the Queens Building closed in the 1970s, as a security measure, and the viewing platform between Terminals 1 and 2 closed in 2003. "The authorities of the airport are pleased to see us, and they have arranged everything for our pleasure and interest. For children they have pony rides and a miniature railway. There is even a sandpit for the very young."
Perhaps nowhere else has changed so much in half a century as London Heathrow Airport.
Page 50: Piccadilly Circus "One very important feature of London, and one which foreigners always admire, is the London Policeman. Remember he is your friend; if you want any help, or if you should get lost, never hesitate, ask a policeman. He will never fail you."
The occasional fallibility of the Metropolitan Police is well chronicled. Women police officers (part of the Met since 1919) are now equally recognised. Londoners seeking help are more likely to ask an app than a Police Officer.
It's not much to see. Ruined walls and deep grassy ditches in a remote field above the Kentish marshes. But what's important isn't what's here now, but what was here originally, and what it signified, and that's hu-uge. [5 photos]
Go back 2000 years and the Isle of Thanet was an island, separated from the mainland by the Wantsum Channel. On the landward side was a small peninsula along one edge of a natural harbour, the ideal spot for a large fleet of invading ships to tie up. Nobody's quite sure where Julius Caesar landed in 55BC, nor the more successful Claudius in AD 43. But Richborough and the gentling sloping coast of East Kent are strong candidates, and the area soon became a bridgehead for conquest and colonisation.
The Romans called it Rutupiae, and made it their chief empire-facing port. Shops and granaries were established, along with barracks for a sizeable garrison, after which a prosperous border town grew up which at its height housed over 4000 people. But by the 3rd century things were in decline, extra defensive ditches were dug and additional rectangular fortifications thrown up, ultimately to no avail. Much later the harbour silted up, the river Stour eroded much of the evidence, and today it's hard to comprehend how fundamental these fields once were.
The remains of Rutupiae can be found just over a mile north of Sandwich, another town which used to be much more important than it is now. Walking from one to the other is no fun, following a narrow lane beset by agricultural vehicles. At one point a path breaks off alongside what remains of the river, but it's a lacklustre track littered with mediocre houseboats and a suspicious number of parked-up vans, and I almost preferred walking in the road. Most visitors drive, as both cars in the car park proved.
Make sure you collect the audio trail from the English Heritage visitor desk, otherwise you'll be wandering round the site without much sense of what you're looking at. This leads you through Richborough's history in chronological order, always standing beside something relevant, greatly reducing the risk of you thinking everything you can see was part of the initial settlement. Two of the ditches turn out to be three centuries older than the others. The ruined rectangular walls aren't original, but a last ditch attempt to repel rebellious Celts. That stone here might have been a Saxon font, and these foundations were once a pub. Don't rely on the handful of information boards to guide you, because they've seen better days and what you're supposed to be reading is cracking off.
The one truly amazing relic doesn't look like much - a raised platform of flint in the shape of a cross. It's all that remains of a 25m-high arch the Romans built to stake their claim on Britannia, a lofty classical portal in a barbarian land. It would have been visible to ships approaching from the continent, for a little extra wow, and later in its life was used as a watchtower. Symbolically it was built to mark the start of the key Roman road which headed off inland towards Canterbury, London and ultimately Chester. Yes, Watling Street began right here, and countless legions would have set off from the middle of this field.
Officially this English Heritage site is called Richborough Roman Fort and Amphitheatre, not that you'd realise the amphitheatre existed unless you were particularly awake. The amphitheatre's now a gentle grassy bowl the other side of the road, up a slope, across a meadow, marked by a sign that merely says 'footpath' rather than hinting where it leads. I only found instructions for crossing to the amphitheatre in a folder on a table in the small museum in the visitor centre, and I bet most visitors depart without ever making its acquaintance. Thankfully they're not missing much.
What I found truly evocative about Richborough was how the site bears witness to a civilisation lost. The Romans once dominated our land, these acres the hub of their supply chain, bustling with military might and continental trade. They must have thought they had it made. And yet their power waned, their buildings fell, and changes in sea level hid much of the evidence, until Richborough became little more than a trace on the marshes. It'd be all too easy for us to go the same way, our society ultimately destabilised by complacency, disorder and/or climate change, and we should never forget the warnings of the past.
Have you ever wondered how much stuff TfL has?
Do you run a pub quiz, and need some quantitative data?
The figures you need are embedded in graphics in committee papers for a meeting next week.
To save you downloading all 200 pages, I've grabbed a few modal snippets below.
n.b. The proper word for all this stuff is 'assets'.
n.b. I've cropped and shuffled a few bits to squeeze them in.
n.b. The original's on page 167.
Underground
4 passenger conveyors
16 depots
184 lifts
272 stations
350km of tunnel
430 escalators
500km of drains
600 trains
996 CCTV cameras
1000 points & crossing units
1000km of track
1716 ticket gates
16000 bridges & structures
Buses
34 bus stations
2500 bus countdown signals
8500 buses
12000 bus shelters
19000 bus stops
Surface
6km of tunnel
100km of drains
138 variable message signs
430km of vehicle restraint systems
853 CCTV cameras
1100km of footways
1800 bridges and structures
2500km of highways
6000 traffic lights
11300 cycle hire bicycles
19250 cycle docking points
40000 street lights
40000 trees
45000 drainage gullies
In particular, I worry about people who wear ID cards on lanyards in the street.
I always hated wearing a lanyard. They're an encumbrance. They dangle round your neck and get in the way. They emblazon your identity in front of all and sundry. They tend to have the name of the organisation which provided them plastered all over the fabric. They're like a uniform, because you only wear one when you have to. And I never wanted to have to wear one, because the benefits were all for someone else.
I got my first workplace ID card in 2001. The office entrance had electronic gates to swipe through, then there were further readers beside doors into secure areas, so a card was obviously necessary. But I didn't get a lanyard. I'm not even sure if lanyards were a thing back then.
The ID card came with a plastic holder and a metal clip for attaching it to an item of clothing like a pocket or a belthole. You could choose to hang it fairly unobtrusively if you wanted. But you had to unclip it every time you wanted to swipe through a door or gate, so it wasn't entirely practical.
Everyone was supposed to wear their ID card at all times to enable us to spot intruders, but not everybody did. We all knew each other anyway, and assumed anyone who shouldn't be in the building would have been stopped by the gates at the entrance. As soon as I noticed nobody was policing the wearing of ID cards, mine ended up in my pocket most of the time, and nobody complained.
I got my first lanyard in 2007, as a kind and thoughtful gift from work. Here, they said, this wonderful device will allow you to swipe through doors and gates more easily. Just lean over and wave your lanyard, and you won't have to do any of that annoying unclipping any more. Later they gave us a springy lanyard which extended, so even leaning over was no longer required.
I never used my lanyard, I carried on using my plastic clip. The lanyard solved a problem I didn't have, because my ID card wasn't attached to my clothing, because I was an insubordinate employee. Most importantly I didn't want my name flapping round my neck everywhere I went, especially with that awful photo of me alongside.
I think I decided lanyards were stupid when I realised there was only a 50/50 chance a person's name was actually visible. Half the time the holder flipped round and the name/photo combination faced your chest, which meant you could have been anyone. Any keen intruder could have ensured their lanyard always faced the wrong way, and wandered around the building with impunity.
Everyone was supposed to wear their lanyard/ID combo at all times, and now it was much more obvious if you didn't. Compliant employees were plainly visible with a bright strip of branded fabric around their neck. The rest of us walked around without, but still weren't challenged, except in occasional emails from top management. So my ID card remained in my pocket where I had access to it at all times, my lanyard lay unused in my desk, and all was fine.
I no longer have a job, or an ID card, or a lanyard. But I see a lot more lanyards than I ever used to, out and about in the street, around the necks of people I really shouldn't know the names of.
Becky Penhallick and Tajram Ahuja walked past me on the way to lunch. She's a systems analyst, he's in marketing support, because it said so round their necks. I know the company they work for too, because the lanyard branding was a dead giveaway. The pair of them were unwittingly revealing unique tracking data as they headed off in search of food, because their employer makes them wear a lanyard and they never think to take it off.
Toby Blacknall and Esme Leech were on their way home from school. Their uniform didn't include an identifying crest, but the lanyard round their neck told me which academy they're from, as well as who they are, should I be interested. There's no telling who might be interested. It was only the 50/50 dangle of their classmates' lanyards which prevented their identity from being similarly exposed.
We never wore lanyards when I was in school. A teacher took a register twice a day, and that was it. But times change, and risks heighten, and schools resemble fortresses more than they ever needed to before. It makes sense that only adults with ID can gain entry, but somehow that now stretches to technological confirmation of pupil attendance, and suddenly it's lanyards for all.
What staggers me isn't the fact that lanyards are deemed necessary, but that office staff and schoolchildren continue to wear them in public. I'd whip mine off the minute I walked out the door, because they ought to be a solely internal tool. But more and more people seem perfectly happy to display their identity all the time, flapping randomly around their neck, as if personal privacy is no longer an important part of daily life.
The organisations that make us wear ID do it partly to protect us, but mostly to protect them. They sell the need to display our names and roles as a means to keep us safe, and as a key part of everyday routine, but we forget their jurisdiction ends once we're back in the outside world.
As a society we seem increasingly comfortable in compromising our identity in public without giving it a second thought. A rectangle of plastic designed for safeguarding in fact ends up exposing us to additional potential risk.
So take your lanyard off when you leave the building, for security's sake, and stop letting it all hang out.
Another Autumn, another commission in Tate Modern's Turbine Hall.
So, what have we got thistime?
A big black floor and a room that makes you cry.
2018's artist is Tania Bruguera, and her theme is migration.
I mention this because if you hadn't been told, you'd never have guessed.
Most of the Turbine Hall's floor has been covered with glossy black tiles, for reasons which are not explained in the room, on the website, or in any review I've yet read. But one large rectangle, down at the far end where all the strange stuff usually materialises, is a different shade of black and intriguingly interactive. Take your shoes off before you step on.
This bit of floor is heat sensitive, and standing on it makes it turn white, so you can have fun leaving footprints that gently fade over time. Other parts of the body are available, so sitting down leaves a larger impression, and rolling over onto your front a completely different outline... but careful not to unintentionally reveal too much! Essentially what we have here is an adults' playground, which has been at the heart of several successful Turbine Hall commissions over the years, although this isn't one of the best.
But where's the migration bit? Well, if sufficient people come together and sprawl appropriately, the image of a Syrian refugee is revealed across the floor. Apparently it'd take about 300 people working collectively to achieve this, which is supposed to be the moral message behind the work, and maybe one weekend enough visitors will conspire to make it happen. But midweek, with a few mums on the mat and a group of schoolgirls running amok, not a chance. You couldn't even tell there was an image underneath to reveal - it simply looked like a floor that turns white.
Meanwhile, the room that makes you cry is down the side on the left, and fairly small. A pungent aroma hits your eyes and nose as you walk in, pumped out from vents in makeshift walls. It reminded me of Vicks vaporub, or being made to sit under a towel and inhale from a bowl of mentholated water by my Mum when I had a cold. It didn't make me cry, even though I hung around for a while. Apparently glasses and contact lenses lessen the effect, while being tall increases agitation as your face is closer to the vents. The walls of the room are blank, so even if you do start to weep, it's not clear what you're symbolically weeping at.
The title of Tania's work is an ever changing number, which is supposed to represent "the number of people who migrated from one country to another last year added to the current number of migrant deaths recorded so far this year". It's a variable, so doesn't appear on any walls or posters. The precise number is currently hovering around 10,143,175, and is supposed to be revealed by a stamp on your arm when you enter the pungent room. Unfortunately the member of Tate staff by the door didn't seem to be approaching anyone going in, or coming out, hence no stamping was occurring except on request. Again, nobody would have known what was going on unless they'd read the blurb in advance.
As for the "unsettling low frequency sound" visitors are expected to endure, I completely blanked that after about ten seconds. Tania's only deft stroke is that the Boiler House has been renamed Natalie Bell House for the duration of the installation. Natalie's a local SE1 community activist, part of the group who helped the aforementioned Syrian refugee on his arrival in this country (he's now studying biomedical science and working for the NHS). Naming the main Tate building after a voluntary worker is a clever nod, in sharp contrast to the new extension which has been named after a billionaire philanthropist.
To conclude, Tania's overall conceit falls flat because most visitors will completely miss the underlying message. But what she has created is a floor that changes colour from black to white, so if that floats your boat, you have five months to act like a big kid again.
Much more fun is The Clock, a film by Christian Marclay, currently being screened on level 2. This genius work of art is a 24 hour compilation of clips from other films in which timepieces appear, with each clip scheduled to play at the time depicted. If the grandfather clock in the period drama shows twenty past ten, that scene is spliced into the film to play at 10.20. Robert Powell dangles off Big Ben at 11:43 precisely, while Harold Lloyd's Manhattan clockface antics pop up at quarter to two. It took years to research and cut together, and the end result is an utterly absorbing montage where any era or activity could pop up next.
Sometimes the clock is the centrepiece of the scene, at other times merely a background detail as the camera pans past. Watches feature heavily, be they worn by a clipped hero in black and white or a sultry vixen in full colour. Recurring themes include large clocks on public buildings, trains departing stations and synchronised criminal activity. The film peaks somewhat on the hour, where clips must have been plentiful, and becomes a fraction less specific at, say, 8.33 or 2.54. Scenes sometimes extend to about a minute but are generally more brief, so you never ever get to find out what happens next.
One fun activity is watching to see when and where in each clip the clock or time reference will appear. Sometimes it never does - a character merely flicks their wrist to look at their watch, time unspecified. In other clock-free lulls a brief montage of time-related clips may appear, for example a sequence on "lunchtime" around one o'clock or a collection of afternoon naps nearer three. If you're a film buff you'll love trying to spot the famous movie before it cuts away (When Harry Met Sally! Spiderman! Columbo?!), but a lot of lesser known excerpts and slices of world cinema are interspersed throughout.
I've wanted to watch much more of The Clock since I fortuitously caught 2½ hours at the Queen Elizabeth Hall in 2011. This time I managed 2, starting with the chimes of 1pm, slouched on one of the 50 sofas in the Tate's impromptu cinema. It being midweek there were no queues outside, but expect space to be more precious at the weekend, and to have to wait your turn. Once you are inside you can stay as long as you like, the excellent thing about this film being that nobody ever needs to get their phone out to check what time it is.
Tate Modern opens at 10am, and closes at either six or ten, so the portion of the overall work you have the opportunity to see is limited. But there will be three overnight 24-hour screenings on 6 October, 3 November and 1 December, so long as you can keep your bladder under control to ensure you don't lose your seat. You have until 20th January to enjoy The Clock, and I hope you'll love it as much as I do.
Route RV1: Covent Garden to Tower Gateway Location: Central London Length of journey: 4 miles, 35 minutes
When TfL launched their much-leaked central London bus consultation last week, one of the three routes proposed for withdrawal was the RV1. Introduced in 2002, it links various destinations on the South Bank with Covent Garden and the Tower, and is the only London route to be designated RV for 'Riverside'. But long-term road works around London Bridge station made it less attractive, passenger numbers slumped, and in February the RV1's frequency was unceremoniously halved. A six-month review was then undertaken, whose outcomes have been published in a 12 page report, resulting in the recommendation that the RV1 is withdrawn. I've been for a ride to see how things are, and will intercut my reportage with quotes from the route's official death sentence.
Following an initial review, the frequency of the service reduced on Saturday 10 February 2018 from every 10 minutes to every 20 minutes on all days of the week.
I turn up randomly at the Covent Garden bus stop, and discover I have 18 minutes to wait. Damn. I'm not put off, but I observe at least six people who are, include a mother who decides to walk her children to their next engagement rather than hanging around for the slowcoach bus. A back door into the Novello Theatre is open, so I wonder if any of the actors from Mamma Mia will emerge while I wait, but all that's on show is a man on a stepladder fixing some electrics and some horrible yellow wallpaper.
The first stop in Covent Garden is about 350 metres from alternative southbound stops on the Strand or Lancaster Place. This would include crossing the road at the Strand/Lancaster Place junction. About 90 customers a day board at the first stop going south.
It's hometime at the primary school one block up the road, and the RV1 is proving a popular means for parents, carers and grandparents to take their charges home. I am treated to a display of scooter riding, impromptu hopscotch and the ritual stuffing of after-school junk food. By the time the driver puts down his Metro and opens the doors, there are 13 of us waiting, including ten on the school run, two 'real' passengers and me. According to TfL's figures, our single busload contains over 10% of this stop's daily total. The RV1 departs Covent Garden more than 50 times a day.
RV1 usage has fallen from about 25,000 customer boardings per week in March 2016 to about 17,000 per week during the summer of 2017. Following the frequency reduction in February 2018 usage initially fell to about 11,000 per week and has stabilised to about 12,000 to 13,000 per week.
We round the great arc of Aldwych and double back to the really busy bus stops outside Somerset House where, alas, nobody is interested in getting on. The view downstream from Waterloo Bridge is arresting, with several glass splinters rising into the sky and the dome of St Paul's illuminated as if by a celestial spotlight. The southbound stop on the bridge is still closed because of makeshift barriers installed last summer to prevent cars mounting the pavement. The 'temporary' replacement stop further down is empty.
The main detrimental impact of the withdrawal of route RV1 will be on customers travelling between the Covent Garden/Aldwych and South Bank areas. These customers will be required to change between stops in the Waterloo area. For some customers this could involve up to a five minute walk, including crossing roads, to interchange with route 381.
Although over a dozen bus routes cross Waterloo Bridge, the RV1 is the only bus which turns left. It does this by turning right at the IMAX roundabout, pausing alongside Waterloo station, then diverting off round South Bank backroads behind the London Eye. No other London bus does this, and this time next year, no bus will.
The RV1 has a looped routeing in the Waterloo area to get between Waterloo Bridge south side and the Royal Festival Hall. Buses take up to seven minutes to travel between them, particularly eastbound, even though the stops are very close, albeit on different levels. Therefore there will be little impact to overall journey times by changing and making this interchange.
Our driver has to honk two stationary taxis, then awkwardly overtake, to squeeze through onto Belvedere Road. We have entered a world of tour buses and jaywalking daytrippers, very few of whom are interested in the RV1.
On weekdays the stops by the Royal Festival Hall (Q and S) are used by about 60 customers boarding per day, and those stops by the Oxo Tower (SH and SG) by about 30 customers boarding per day.
Two fresh passengers are waiting round the back of the Royal Festival Hall - that's 3% of the total TfL say board here every day. One of them is wearing a blue "Please offer me a seat" badge, her difficulties evident as she manoeuvres down the cabin. She's only going two stops, but for her the existence of this bus must be a godsend. She'll have an extra 200m to 'walk' when the RV1 is scrapped.
The main concentrations of ridership on the RV1 are between Waterloo and City Hall with 58 per cent of passengers travelling between various stops on that stretch.
We lose our first four passengers at the OXO Tower, and six more at the Kings Reach Building on Stamford Street. Most of these are the school runners who boarded back at Covent Garden, proving how useful this bus can be when you study in Westminster but live in Southwark. There are now only four of us on board, including one new passenger, as we get caught up at the traffic lights on Blackfriars Road for almost five minutes. The driver flaps his doors at some late-arriving pushchairs, but none of their parents are interested, and on we roll.
Eastbound in the evening peak the busiest point is on Southwark Street by Southwark Bridge Road where there is an average load of about 20 customers per bus. This is in comparison to the capacity of the bus which is about 50 customers.
The RV1 no longer deviates to serve Tate Modern directly, and hasn't for many a year. An obvious tourist boards the bus, along with two rucksacked offspring, and stays aboard for the full length of Southwark Street. It turns out she was looking for Borough Market, but this never appears on the display. By the time she spots artisan foodie bustle out of the window it is too late to alight, and the driver refuses her request to make an exception. At London Bridge we are four.
Withdrawing route RV1 would result in approximately 600 customers per day having to change buses, about 40 per cent of the current usage of the route. The main direct journeys that would be broken would be between the London Bridge Station / Tooley Street area and the Tower of London area. The proposal to extend route 343 northwards over Tower Bridge to Aldgate Bus Station would retain these links. The 343 runs every 8 to 10 minutes compared to the RV1’s 20 minute frequency.
Half an hour after setting out, we've reached the back of More London, whose watery trench was recently filled in because public realm is a lot more risk-averse these days. Wahey, passengers numbers have doubled to eight, the additional patronage being mostly tourists. Our driver finally manages to overtake the 343 he's been trying to overtake for the last three stops, just before we turn into the jam on Tower Bridge Road.
The total cost of operating the RV1 is about £3.3 million per year. Fares revenue is about £650,000 per year, meaning there is a subsidy of £2.6 million a year for the route, about £3.23 for each customer journey. The route has a cost recovery ratio of 20 per cent; for reference the CRR of the network as a whole is about 74 per cent, and for route 381 is 63 per cent.
Our bus suddenly becomes popular for the last hop over Tower Bridge. Two other bus routes go the same way, but they can't have been along recently. A schoolboy pleads with the driver that he's "forgotten his pass", lingers by the door during an impasse, then makes a break for it when two lucky latecomers slide through. There are now a dozen of us on board. The view from midriver is again splendid, looking down over cruise boats and a gunship in the Pool of London.
Customer usage on route RV1 has stabilised since the frequency reduction in February 2018, however it has not improved and is still running at historically low levels. The route has poor cost recovery and is largely paralleled by other services. It does provide some unique links within central London to and from the South Bank but numbers making these journeys are just a few hundreds per day.
According to the on-board display, the next stop is Tower of London. One passenger dings to be let out, but in vain. The Tower of London bus stop was closed fifteen months ago, again for barrier-related security reasons, and still nobody at TfL Bus HQ has tweaked the electronics on board to reflect the new reality. Looks like we're all staying on board until the final stop.
It is recommended that the RV1 is withdrawn.
Most of us alight outside Tower Gateway station, but one pair of tourists haven't understood the phrase "this bus terminates here" and sit tight until the driver ushers them off at the bus stand two minutes later. By my calculations this RV1 journey has carried 32 passengers, plus me, which is 2% of the average daily ridership. Most could have travelled another way and saved TfL some money, but this would have involved waiting longer and/or a change of buses. The loss of the RV1 hints at the future considerably more passengers should expect to face as TfL slim, shave and streamline their network.
THE UNLOST RIVERS OF LONDON Kyd Brook Locksbottom → Petts Wood → Chislehurst (4 miles)
[Kyd Brook → Quaggy → Ravensbourne → Thames]
First things first, the Kyd Brook doesn't flow through Kidbrooke. But its waters do get there eventually, as the river changes its title to become the fantastically-named Quaggy, one of several tributaries which eventually merge to form the mighty Ravensbourne through Lewisham and Deptford. But if it's fantastic names you want, stay with me, because we're going to Locksbottom and Tugmutton Common, in far-flung Bromley.
The Ravensbourne (proper) rises in Keston, but the source of the Kyd Brook is about a mile to the east, not far from Farnborough. Specifically there are two sources, both on private land beyond the A21, and the ensuing streams flow separately for the first mile and a half despite being not very far apart. One's called the Kyd Brook and the other the East Kyd Brook (which is baffling because geography dictates it ought to be the West). Let me take them in turn, starting with the stream which appears above ground first.
The ponds where the Kyd Brook begins are the private preserve of whoever owns Lakesview, a residential fortress with massive gates and a garden large enough to require four green wastebins. The river's invisible too, culverted beneath the main road, then crossing the bottoms of gardens on a 1930s housing estate. A dip in Starts Hill Road provides the first convincing evidence of fluvial erosion, then some allotments get in the way, and finally the stream emerges from a pipe in the corner of Tugmutton Common.
Originally called Leg of Mutton Common, because of its shape, 'Tugmutton' is obviously a lot more fun. In the 19th century this was a popular winter base for a large group of gypsies, who failed to endear themselves to the local population, who grouped together to enclose the site and see them off. Their descendants are a friendlier bunch, meeting twice a month on Wednesdays for a spot of litter picking and light maintenance, ending up with coffee and biscuits. The Kyd Brook hugs the eastern edge of the common, in a ditch barely half a metre wide, then follows a short dead-end path into another housing estate.
Pondfield Avenue is a street name which strongly hints at what was here before the houses came. The postwar detached chalets hereabouts are low-key desirable, with parked cars one notch classier than you'd expect, and a surprising number of personalised numberplates out front. Find the right cut-through and you emerge in Crofton, near the Scout Hall and the village sign, at a crossing point which'll be familiar to anyone who's walked London Loop section 3. And here's the river again, popping up behind a brick screen and wiggling up the edge of Crofton Woods.
A tarmac path tracks the Kyd Brook all the way, initially in earthen channel, now at least a metre wide. It's not rained so much lately so the flow is attractively low, rippling over exposed roots and flat pebbly beds. Occasionally footbridges or stepping stones connect to the streets beyond, allowing direct access for joggers and dogwalkers to the extensive thick woodland. At one point the stream slips just behind the fence, creating a water feature at the bottom of all the gardens on Heath Side. Ponies graze. Schoolchildren shriek. The cul-de-sac at the far end is called Kydbrook Close, and indeed it is.
Meanwhile, back in Locksbottom, the East Kyd Brook also rises unseen on wooded slopes. A dip in the A21 is the first physical sign, beside a pub called Ye Olde Whyte Lyon, which started out as the White Lion before someone anachronistically mangled every word in its name. The dip is also why this area was once known as Lock's Bottom, where Bromley sited its workhouse, which eventually metamorphosed into the Princess Royal University Hospital. The stream now hides beneath Sainsbury's car park instead, before skirting the other side of Tugmutton Common.
This time we're going on a proper walk through Crofton Woods, 150 acres of dense ancient woodland, which is far more of a treat. The East Kyd Brook first pops up in what looks like one corner of an old walled garden, then meanders up the centre of the woods like a proper river should. It's a little wider and less tamed, but still with a scattering of rounded pebbles forming the bed. Gnarled roots break through the earth above each twist and turn, the banks darkly shaded, the shallow waters currently a placid ribbon. Ten of the best minutes of the walk, this.
At the northern edge the stream emerges onto Petts Wood Recreation Ground, again hugging one side in a crinkly ditch. It looks like the footpath continues over the footbridge behind the playground, but this promising trail narrows and peters out at one final bend, useful only for overenthusiastic kickers who need to get their ball back. Here we find another metal screen, designed to filter out larger chunks of debris before the river heads back into culvert... and just ahead is Kydbrook Close, which means it must be time for the two tributaries to merge somewhere underground.
The conjoined Kyd Brook spends the next mile underneath the suburb of Petts Wood, running roughly parallel with Tudor Way and Crossway. The town's houses are finer than most, all shining semis and leaded lights, dating back to a developers' landgrab in 1927. The National Trust responded by buying up 300 acres to he north of the railway to preserve the unblemished landscape, which is where we're heading next. Grab a free NT map from the dispenser just beyond the subway - a truly excellent production - and you can learn all about it.
The Kyd Brook has now re-emerged, crossing gardens on Hazelmere Road, before veering sharply to follow the railway embankment via a screened artificial channel. Only when it cuts underneath do we regain proper view, and see how much wider the river has become while we weren't looking. It's almost paddlable, not that I'm convinced I'd risk it. The footpath here is briefly part of London Loop section 2, but this time eschewing the leafy delights of Petts Wood for the open fields of the Hawkwood Estate. The National Trust saved this valley too, and retain it as haymeadow and pasture, with the Kyd Brook flowing bucolicly down the middle. The other ten of the best minutes of the walk, this.
Livestock I spotted included sheep and cattle, and a startled Siamese cat whose afternoon siesta was disturbed by me unexpectedly tramping by. I followed the line of oak trees beside the stream, along an all-weather path kindly laid a few years ago by the Chislehurst Society, and smiled my way ahead. Now is not the time to enjoy the bluebell carpet in Pond Wood, but I've made a note. Although the landscape could be described as normal for outer Bromley, I did have to keep reminding myself I was still in Greater London.
To escape Hawkwood at the far end, either divert onto Gosshill Road at the footbridge, or stick with the stream for a few more untainted minutes. It's now a few metres wide, briefly at least, although at depths entirely unsuitable for the playing of Poohsticks. And then you've no choice but to head up the hill alongside one last field, emerging at the foot of a wealthy cul-de-sac of commuter palaces. It's no distance from here to Chislehurst station, which is where I'll leave things for now. Downstream of Chislehurst the Kyd Brook becomes the Quaggy, and that'd be a whole new post (or two), no kydding.
Sat 1: When the train arrived at Newhaven Harbour station, I pressed the button on the rear carriage and the door didn't open. The door into the next carriage didn't open either, and I feared I was going to be left behind. The guard yelled down the platform that I should use his door, so I ran up and climbed aboard. His excuse was that "the book" said only the front four carriages fitted into the platform. Sun 2: I went to the Angel Canal Festival but it was really busy, because that's what happens when you hold a festival on a towpath.
Mon 3: I went back and bought an 'Apple Crunch' signature cone from Bears Ice Cream in Starch Green. They sliced the apple specially before sprinkling everything with salted caramel and cinnamon, and it was delicious. A passer-by enquired where I'd bought it, then jumped onto a number 94 bus through the middle doors without paying and smiled back at me. Tue 4: I'm never sure if the council are actually going to turn up and collect my recycling bags off the pavement, but they did, so that's good. Wed 5: The pharmacy had my tablets, which was a relief, because I no longer quite understand how their automatic renewal/reordering procedure works, and usually end up standing there looking like an idiot. Thu 6: Wow aren't the Malvern Hills amazing? I don't think I'd seen them properly before, but there they were from the train, this big sticky-up ridge in the middle of nowhere. I bet they're amazing to climb on a good day, and I have added them to my longlist of UK places I must visit before my legs give out. Fri 7: Tesco had Lemon Drizzle KitKats on special offer, nine for £1, so I bought more than one packet. This is why I still prefer buying in person rather than online, because otherwise you miss these bargains and end up paying full price for the usual Wagon Wheels or mint chocolate Clubs. Sat 8: The Crystal Palace Subway is properly amazing, isn't it? The vaulted brick pillars under the A212 are stunning, even if they are an iniquitous remnant of unequal provision, provided solely for first class travellers exiting the former station. By visiting late on the Open Day there were no queues, hence better opportunities to take people-free symmetrical photos. Sun 9: I don't normally sit in the Costa outside Harrow-on-the-Hill station watching other people drink tea, but today I made an exception.
Mon 10: I decided this would be the ideal time to catch up on a couple of programmes I recorded over Christmas while I was away in Norfolk, if only to release some disc space for when I do the same thing this Christmas. That M. R. James knows how to unnerve. Tue 11: My hard drive, on which I rely for the storage of 10+ years of irreplaceable photos, has started intermittently disconnecting itself from my laptop, which isn't ideal. How often we only realise the importance of additional back-ups after the horse has bolted. Wed 12: Although it looks like there's a pavement alongside the A13 behind Poplar station, it doesn't lead anywhere and peters out at a No Pedestrians sign before the tunnel, and you have to walk all the way back to Blackwall. Thu 13: My eldest nephew has somehow managed to reserve a flat in a new development in London, even though he hasn't seen it yet, so today my brother and I particularly enjoyed being shown round by the saleslady, and admiring his surfaces and especially his views, then sending him lots of photos afterwards. I hope the trains don't keep him awake at night. Fri 14: I have new neighbours. It's always a toss-up every time a new lot move in whether they're "go outside to smoke on the balcony" types, and I fear this lot may be the full-on weed contingent. Sat 15: It turns out that the Royal Society of Sculptors' HQ at Dora House in Kensington isn't particularly worth crossing London for. Sun 16: Some days only a good walk across Hampstead Heath will do, from the kiteflyers on Parliament Hill across the grassy humps and through the woods to the heights of Kenwood, then exploring the undervisited reaches of Sandy Heath before a spin round Golders Hill Park.
Mon 17: That fish and chip shop on Roman Road I said I'd go back and sample still has a sign outside saying "Back in 2 weeks", so I assume they've closed permanently. I went back to the Saucy Kipper instead, and theirs is still deliciously tip-top. Tue 18: Today on the footpath round the North Greenwich peninsula; a lot of hoardings, a muddy beach covered with gulls, wobbly bikes, a splendidly empty section along the dockside, and sheesh haven't they reopened that section of path past Enderby Wharf yet? Wed 19: I wish everyone didn't keep stealing trolleys from Tesco, because there are never any out front when I need one. This time I'd scarcely packed everything away at the till when a lady approached and offered a quid for mine. Thu 20: Some years getting the Gold Card discount added to my Oyster is really simple, and other years everyone shakes their head and says "no, we can't do that here, go away". This year's attempt proved almost, but not quite, at the easy end of the scale. Fri 21: If you walk really quickly across Walthamstow Marshes, it is possible to reach the bandstand before the rain chucks it down. Nice rainbow. Sat 22: So there was one Open House venue I visited but never told you about, not because it wasn't amazing, but because there's only so many consecutive days you can blog about London buildings before hundreds of your readers drift away. Sun 23: I took off my waterproof jacket on the top deck of a number 77 bus and forgot to pick it up, and only realised halfway down the road ten minutes later. Gaaah. I did all the stuff you're supposed to do, contacting the garage with full details, but they got back to me later and said "sorry, we looked, but no". It wasn't the world's most expensive jacket, but if you found it without handing it in, I hope it doesn't fit.
Mon 24: My youngest nephew has also reserved a property, but his is in Lancashire not London, so it's much larger than my eldest nephew's new flat and costs a quarter as much, so he wins. Tue 25: The four new galleries at the National Maritime Museum are good, my favourites being the Pacific Encounters and Polar Worlds galleries, which successfully manage to balance derring-do with the morality of Britons sailing overseas and exploiting everything. I was less impressed by the inaugural exhibition at the Science Gallery London, SE1, which didn't hook me for long. Wed 26: I took a farewell trip on the (current) Woolwich Ferry, whose boats are due to be scrapped at the end of this week. I bet the new boats won't include anywhere as grimly atmospheric as the labyrinthine passenger deck, which I always picture full of dockworkers and headscarved women sailing home in November fog. Thu 27: I stopped off at the Amesbury Heritage Centre, whose collection of mesolithic remains is second to none, and got told an awful lot about local airfields, but I fear I interrupted the volunteers sitting down to cottage pie for lunch. Fri 28: BestMate invited me round for dinner so we could catch up on that Netflix show neither of us subscribe to, but is readily available via alternative channels. Sat 29: Blimey, Cannizaro Park is gorgeous, a proper unexpected walled treasure accessed off the southern end of Wimbledon Common. I managed to avoid the wedding reception crowds at the big house, poked my nose inside the aviary, explored the shrubby slopes and found a seat in the Italian Garden to do the crossword while the sun blazed down. Ah, summer seems so long ago now. Sun 30: The Olympic Park remains busy at weekends, from top to bottom. The ghost road immediately to the north of the Velodrome has become a gathering point for moped crews doing wheelies. A barge and a narrowboat moored up near White Post Lane over the summer offering brunch, tea, canoeing and trampolining for kids. The lawn by the Orbit has been relaid, just in time to be ripped up and turned into a university. Where did that cold wind whip up from?
