The UK has now completed 50 days in lockdown...
...and during that time I haven't ventured more than two miles from home.
What's the maximum distance you've been from home?
Here's a special comments box for your answer. comments
» Just the distance, thanks (with one short supporting sentence if you feel the need)
» Be approximate if you need to (nobody cares how precise you are)
» You could measure the distance online (in miles or km)
This is the furthest place I've been to...
...a maple tree on the edge of Hackney Marshes. It's located at the northern tip of the East Marsh, behind the last of eleven football pitches, bordering lush undergrowth on the banks of the River Lea. It's also relatively busy at the moment, frequented by all those who've chosen to do their daily exercise by walking/jogging around the perimeter of the East Marsh rather than sticking to the centre. I don't usually get as far as the maple, I linger closer to the goalposts, but once or twice I've spotted a clear gap between the athletes and dogwalkers and ambled over. The tree's canopy is already thick with leaves, and the ground beneath scattered with prematurely-fallen seeds. From this shadowy spot the skyscrapers of Stratford City look tiny on the horizon, which may help explain why this is the furthest I've been from home.
But I've been two miles from home in only one direction, and in other directions it's been a lot less than that.
The UK has now completed 50 days in lockdown...
...and during that time I haven't ventured outside this box.
This box is tiny, covering a thin strip of the Lower Lea Valley and nothing else.
This box is two and a half miles long and one mile wide.
This box covers only 0.4% of the area of Greater London.
My existence has never been so constrained.
Initially it wasn't deliberate. I spent the first month of lockdown staying home, going to the supermarket occasionally and walking to the top of the Olympic Park a lot. Then I decided to check the furthest north I'd been, the furthest east, and south, and west, and marked them on a map. Then I drew a box around them and noticed I'd been living my life within an area of two and a half square miles. I've kept within that box ever since.
What size box have you been living in since lockdown started?
Here's a special comments box for your answer. comments
» Just the length and width, thanks (with one short supporting sentence if you feel the need)
» Be approximate if you need to (nobody cares how precise you are)
» If you want to tilt your box, go ahead
» I'm not expecting so many responses to this question
The furthest north I've been is that maple tree on the East Marsh.
The furthest east I've been is the towpath of the Three Mills Wall River overlooking Sugar House Island. The towpath's a bit narrow in places so I've only risked it once. Theview looks like this.
This towpath is a teensy bit further out than the point where the Greenway crosses Stratford High Street, which would otherwise be my furthest east. I haven't been as far as Stratford station during lockdown, where I'd normally be several times a week.
The furthest south I've been is the Widow's Son pub on Devons Road, or at least the pavement outside, where I briefly nipped on Good Friday.
The furthest west I've been is a three-way tie. One spot is Shetland Road, which I wrote about last week, another is the St Mark's Gate entrance to Victoria Park and the third is the former Public Baths on Eastway in Hackney Wick. Somehow I haven't made it as far as the western end of Bow Road in seven weeks - my choice, but still incredible.
I've checked back to the equivalent days last year, when it turns out the boundaries of my UK box were Walsall, Norwich, Great Yarmouth and Brighton. That defines an area of twenty thousand square miles. But I also went to Paris last April, so the actual bounding box has an area of fifty thousand square miles instead. My horizons were twenty thousand times larger in 2019 than they have been in 2020. That's the scale of the travel restrictions this lockdown has imposed.
But I can be more accurate than that. This red line marks the actual outer boundary of everywhere I've been over the last 50 days. It doesn't go right up to the edge of the box, because I haven't been obsessively trawling the perimeter, but it does shrink my personal space down even further. Rather than the 2½ square miles of the bounding box, the area inside the red line is only 1½.
I may step outside these limits one day soon, but I'm fortunate that the one and a half square miles in which I've been living have offered everything I need. A large supermarket, a convenient river valley, a maze of quiet sidestreets and an Olympic Park that just happens to align perfectly north-south. It may be a tiny area but it's still packed with interest, and thankfully I've by no means finished exploring it yet.
I've been busy tracking down the History Trees in the Olympic Park.
There are ten History Trees altogether, each planted alongside a main entrance to the park as part of a legacy art project. Each tree supports a large metal ring in its crown, six metres in diameter and made from either bronze or stainless steel. Engraved on the interior face is a loop of dense text capturing an ephemeral snapshot of the surrounding area. The History Trees were the brainchild of British artists Ackroyd and Harvey, whose website has full background details, including what species each tree is supposed to be.
Some of the trees are quite well hidden, having been placed in locations the artists assumed would be important after the Games. To find all ten you'll need a map, for example the map at the back of the 60 page booklet 'Art In The Park'. I kept a pocket version of the map handed out when the project was launched in 2011, as well as a postcard issued by the artists, and took those with me on a walk round the park's perimeter. It proved a good orienteering challenge.
Let's start at the southwest corner of the park, near the Stadium, and work clockwise.
Western Access Approach (Greenway):Common Ash (Fraxinus excelsior)
This is one of the three History Trees planted before the Games, ready to be seen by spectators after passing through security at the Victoria Gate. It's located just off the western end of the Greenway on a minor path alongside the Old Ford Waste Water Recycling Facility. A decade ago planting an ash tree here seemed like a good idea, although dieback may sadly mean this specimen never reaches full maturity. It looks OK at the moment though, and is supporting the half tonne metal hoop with ease.
Monier Road Approach:London Plane (Platanus x acerfolia)
This tree is located opposite the end of the footbridge crossing the Lea from Fish Island, and was accessible for a few years after the Games. Last year that footbridge was removed, and the road bridge due to replace it is still marooned beside Marshgate Lane awaiting the completion of strengthened abutments. The tree itself is similarly cocooned inside what will one day be the residential neighbourhood of Sweetwater, so unless you're a hardhatted employee of Balfour Beatty you won't be standing underneath this plane tree any time soon.
This is the only tree beside the Lea towpath, so you may have cycled or jogged past it. It's designed to be seen by those crossing the footbridge from Wallis Road (whose warehouses are being sequentially demolished and replaced by flats). But this tree is again the wrong side of a temporary fence, this time shielding a large temporary shed intended to be known as Clarnico Quay. Recently (inexplicably) rebranded Hackney Bridge, this pop-up/start-up "cultural destination" has been royally stuffed by viral shutdown.
Waterden Road Approach:Pin Oak (Quercus palustris)
This is the tree I took longest to find. It was planted to mark the approach from the Lea Interchange but had the misfortune to face Northwall Road which, you may remember, has since been sealed off at both ends. A thick copse shields it completely from within the park, so it's only really noticeable to the odd jogger or cyclist, and even then doesn't particularly stand out. A work of art wasted.
Eton Manor Approach:Common lime (Tilia europaea)
This is another pre-2012 tree, planted early for the benefit of those trooping in from the Eton Manor coach park on the East Marsh. It now occupies a dominant position round the back of the Hockey Centre. Because it's possible to stand directly underneath I was able to look up and read some of the historical inscription on the inside of the hoop. It's quite eclectic.
Clay Tobacco Pipes Overgrown Verge Wick Field Common Comfrey Ginger Beer and Ink Bottles Silty Clay Deposits
Electricity Pylon Celery-Leafed Crowsfoots Sawn Cattle Bone Iron Fork With Bone Handle Manufacture of Buttons
All these things were located nearby, or found round here, before Olympic Park transformation began. And this list is barely a tenth of the items around the Eton Manor ring, because the designers used a really narrow typeface and the writing is quite small. Alas this makes it very hard to read the text from ground level, and nigh impossible except in direct sunlight, wasting much of the effort put into inscribing all that history in the first place.
It's a fair distance to this next tree on the far side of the Olympic Village alongside Temple Mill Lane. It's supposed to mark "the main connection from Leyton into the site", but has instead found itself at odds with local building plans forcing the nearest block of flats to curve around it. The neighbourhood of Chobham Manor is still very much under construction, which may help explain why this tree has been the last of the ten to burst into full leaf this spring, having initially looked like it might even be dead.
Olympic Village Approach:Sweet Gum (Liquidambar styraciflua)
Here's another easily spotted tree, located within the main body of the northern half of the park close to the Timber Lodge cafe. This triangle of grass was originally pencilled in for a redwood, but Ackroyd and Harvey appear to have shuffled a few of the intended species during the period between planning and planting, so the gumtree destined for Waterden Road has somehow ended up here.
Stratford City Approach:Dawn Redwood (Metasequoia glyptostroboides)
This is the big one, this is the redwood located at the main entrance to the Olympic Park which everyone striding in from Westfield walks past. Ackroyd and Harvey intended their metasequoia to have an extra-special feature, a bronze inlay on the ground which "momentarily aligns" with the shadow of the ring on July 27th to commemorate the opening date of London 2012 Olympic Games. A lovely touch, and I remember seeing an elliptical inlay on the ground soon after the Games, but subsequent repaving appears to have removed all trace. Even were it still present, the shadows cast by the International Quarter's newly-erupted office blocks would likely snuff it out.
Carpenters Road Underpass Approach:Turkish Oak (Quercus cerris)
This tree's round the back of the Aquatics Centre, specifically at the back of the car park, which is now a lowlier spot than the artists originally intended. I tried staring up at the inscription from underneath but the lettering was again far too shadowy so I only know what it says because Ackroyd and Harvey's website includes an illustrative six-page pdf. Decorated Saucepan, Foraging Bats and Hanson Premix Concrete Batching Plant are amongst the illegible inclusions.
Finally we're back on the Greenway again, this time just to the north of Stratford High Street, at the hardest of the ten History Trees to inspect. It's one of the three originals planted to delight spectators arriving on foot from West Ham, but this footpath into the park was sealed off after the Paralympic Closing Ceremony and has yet to be reopened. The Greenway alongside finally reopened last year, so by looking over the fence you can now see this lone tree amid a blank building plot, but nobody'll be reading its inscription again for years.
“Trees mark the passing of time through their yearly ring growth. The artwork will transform as the seasons change, reflecting the evolving nature of the Olympic Park. The trees embrace metal rings which have been engraved with a record of the site’s history, held in branches for successive decades to come.” (Ackroyd and Harvey, 2011)
In one final artistic twist, the History Trees are accompanied by a series of audio recordings which can be found on the website mappingmymanor.com. These were created by local artist Lucy Harrison who worked with people who lived or worked near to each of the 10 locations, and are designed to be listened to in situ. Unfortunately, being 2011, all the files are mp3s so have to be downloaded in advance and nobody's ever thought to translate them into modern streaming-friendly format. In less than a decade technology has sidelined the digital part of the project, whereas the trees themselves should survive in perpetuity.
Thank you for tasking our minor marketing agency with the upgrade of your national coronavirus strategy.
We brainstormed and thoughtshowered for literally minutes, and have come up with this fantastic public health campaign.
On the left is your original.
On the right is our nuanced update for immediate release.
1. Note the subtle change of colour from red to green. Red is a negative colour associated with warnings and prohibition, which is no longer the message you want to send. Green is a positive colour associated with freedom and wide open spaces, so better reflects the upcoming national mood. Switching from red to green is a subliminal hint that the nation's traffic lights have changed from Stop to Go, and we can all now speed ahead along the reopened economic superhighway.
2. Stay Home was a terrible slogan, flatly contradicting official advice that it was OK to go out as little as possible. We have therefore replaced one of the two words to create a less erroneous phrase, removing ambiguity at a stroke. Every Briton knows what Stay Alert means, so we can guarantee full compliance with new behavioural norms.
Staying Alert will prevent the virus from creeping up on people when they aren't looking.
Staying Alert will raise our collective defences against this invisible foe.
Staying Alert is the patriotic choice for rebuilding a safer Britain.
3. Protect the NHS was a great slogan but is no longer appropriate. Instead we must now Protect the Economy, except this is too long to fit inside the rectangle, and also too overtly mercenary. We have therefore decided to run with Control The Virus instead, in a brazen attempt to transfer ultimate responsibility from government to the individual.
Controlling The Virus is an active strategy with transparently well-defined aims.
Controlling The Virus will show this nasty little bacteria who's who.
Controlling The Virus can only be achieved if we Stay Alert.
4. We haven't changed the final phrase - Save Lives - because tinkering with a successful slogan is counterproductive and liable to lead to confusion and misunderstanding.
Unfortunately we have not had time to trial our new campaign with a focus group, but we did ask Caroline's sister what she thought and she claimed not to get the gist. We therefore recommend running a separate campaign explaining how to control the virus by staying alert for the benefit of those too stupid to work it out for themselves.
It couldn't be more clear.
» Downgrading the confinement message to 'Stay at home as much as possible' satisfies the most rabid curtain-twitchers whilst simultaneously permitting anyone to drive 20 miles for a KFC if they so wish.
» Working from home 'if you can' plays well with middle-class professionals, whilst simultaneously forcing human fodder back to their menial jobs in potentially life-threatening environments.
» Free-thinking Britons will appreciate the phrase 'limit contact with other people' as it defines no restrictions whatsoever, so if they fancy meeting up in the park or nipping to the garden centre nothing appears to be stopping them.
» We've decided to add a 'where possible' caveat to the former two metre limit for social distancing, because the police have better things to do than breaking up barbecues or wagging fingers at unruly joggers.
» Finally don't think we've forgotten about the continued importance of remembering to wash your hands regularly, because this is precisely where staying alert and controlling the virus began.
We strongly suggest leaking a small fraction of these plans to the press several days in advance to raise false expectations amongst the general public. Just before a bank holiday weekend with good weather would be ideal, giving super-spreaders maximum opportunity to increase their contacts amongst the wider community. The more confusing these predictions sound, the wider your campaign collateral will be shared on social media. The resulting online fracas is guaranteed to boost the ratings of the Prime Ministerial broadcast in which you announce the actual measures (or alternatively waffle for fifteen minutes without further clarification, your choice).
Perhaps muddy the waters further by introducing a five point scale in which only the top and bottom stages are defined, then confirm we're somewhere between the third and fourth. Calling them Alert Levels, when they have nothing to do with staying alert, we think would be genius.
We very much hope that you will adopt our communication strategy in full, not least because we can no longer pay the rent and need our employees back in the office as soon as possible.
Our new three part slogan allows you to cover your own back should the fudged message lead to a catastrophic further spike in deaths, while still letting you claim total responsibility should outcomes be successful.
Most importantly, if anyone gets infected it'll now be their fault because they didn't control the virus and they didn't stay alert. We believe this is an approach you can personally identify with, Prime Minister.
It lives in the River Lea, but likes to walk around the skyscrapers at the tip of Stratford High Street and look at its reflection in the ground floor windows. It always comes alone. It may be lonely.
It's not always here but I have seen it on several separate occasions. It stares into one empty commercial unit and then moves on to the next, jabbing the glass with its beak and wondering who the other duck is. Elsewhere on the river several pairs of ducks can be seen swimming with their newly hatched offspring in tow, but this loner only has an illusion for company. Better luck next spring, duck.
If you walk round the Olympic Stadium, which takes 10 minutes, you see a lot of this.
The management at West Ham United like to redecorate the stadium's exterior occasionally, and this year they've gone for a 1980 vibe. This is because West Ham won the FA Cup in 1980 and they're very keen to celebrate the anniversary.
That 1980 FA Cup Final was held precisely 40 years ago, on Saturday 10th May.
Statistical deviation: 10th May sounds quite early for a modern Cup Final, so I've done some digging and can confirm that dates have been slipping inexorably later in the year since the competition was founded. From 1872 to 1894 the Cup Final was always in March, or occasionally at the very start of April. From 1895 it shifted permanently into April, and after WW1 was usually held on the last weekend of the month. 1952 saw a nudge into the first week of May. From 1963 onwards the date has been a bit more unpredictable, but generally it was the start of May until 1978, then the middle and in the 21st century usually during the second half. 10th May was quite normal for 1980. This year's cancelled final was pencilled in for the 23rd.
I remember walking past these vinyls in March and thinking "if we're still under lockdown in mid-May, at least I can write about this." And here we are.
I also remember the 1980 Cup Final itself...
My Cup Final morning kicked off with the Banana Splits, which my diary reminds me featured both the Arabian Knights and the Four Musketeers. I didn't hang around to watch Champion The Wonder Horse because I had a grade 5 Theory class to go to, but I was back home again in time for several of Cup Final Grandstand's traditional features. It wasn't a proper Cup Final day unless you'd watched The Road To Wembley, Cup Final Mastermind and Tony Gubba reporting live from outside the team's hotel. In the days before Sky Sports made hours of idle build-up the norm, even something as mundane as Bob Wilson being allowed on the pitch for pre-match interviews offered genuine novelty value.
Small screen nostalgia: Other TV programmes I watched in May 1980 included Tales of the Unexpected, Training Dogs The Woodhouse Way, The Great Egg Race, Think Of A Number, Captain Pugwash, The Red Hand Gang, Ask the Family, Masterspy, Jigsaw, It's A Knockout, Wonder Woman, Citizen Smith and The Adventure Game.
Whoever decorated the exterior of the stadium has gone overboard with players' names, because players' names are an evocative reminder of a sporting golden era. Even I've heard of Brooking, Lampard and Bonds. Claret-blooded West Ham fans will likely go all tingly at the full list.
A cloak of football nostalgia goes down well at a stadium which doesn't have much of its own. West Ham haven't won anything since they moved from E13 to E20, and fans continue to bemoan the lack of proper atmosphere in an arena optimised for athletics. Perhaps more importantly, this emphasis on 1980 should also help the West Ham Store to flog some of their stocks of special 40th anniversary souvenirs. I fear there may be a lot of limited edition wristwatches, squad scarves and replica Admiral shirts left over at the end of this lockdown season.
Several of the vinyls on the outside of the stadium reference the final scoreline, which was One Nil To The Cockney Boys. The only goal came in the 13th minute and was scored by Trevor Brooking. By the end of Cup Final Grandstand, my diary records, that one goal had been repeated 14 times. In good news, extra time was not required so BBC1 was able to show a complete episode of the Pink Panther Show afterwards. In bad news, the team West Ham scored against was my team.
I'd like to apologise for blogging about a Cup Final in which Arsenal were the losing finalists. Unfortunately the only other stadium within lockdown walking distance is Brisbane Road, and Leyton Orient have never won the FA Cup (getting no further than the semi-finals in 1978). However I can at least crow that West Ham haven't won another domestic competition since, whereas Arsenal have won the FA Cup eight times, the League Cup once, topped the First Division twice and the Premier League three times.
The most unexpected thing about West Ham's 1980 Cup Final victory is that it's the last time a team outside the top flight lifted the trophy. If that 40-year-old giant-killing act excites you, Karren Brady would be delighted if you bought a commemorative enamel badge set to celebrate.
• focus turns to how and when to reopen what
• contact tracing app to be trialled on IoW
• Govt misses testing target again
• Italy starts to ease lockdown
• Govt paying almost a quarter of workers' wages
• privacy concerns about new contact tracing app
• UK now has Europe's highest death total
• lead epidemiologist resigns over lockdown affair
• Germany reopens shops (masks compulsory)
• "It's time to reopen business" (Trump)
• PM hints lockdown could be eased from Monday
• newspapers widely leak next week's announcement
• PM urges caution ahead of lockdown announcement
• PPE gowns from Turkey are unusable
• VE Day anniversary commemorations under lockdown
• Wales to allow exercise more than once a day
• US unemployment rate rises to 15%
• 14-day quarantine proposed for air passengers
• Govt announces £2bn for walking and cycling
• garden centres can reopen next week
Worldwide deaths: 240,000 → 280,000 Worldwide cases: 3,400,000 → 4,000,000 UK deaths: 28,131 → 31,587 UK cases: 182,260 → 215,260 FTSE: up 3% (5763 → 5935)
I hope you had a wonderful Bank Holiday Friday yesterday.
We don't get them very often. (other than at Easter, when we get them every year)
(and at Christmas, when we get them two years in seven)
(and at New Year, when we get them one year in seven)
(and for the Royal Wedding in 2011, which was a one-off)
(in fact 18% of the bank holidays so far this century have been Fridays)
(but this is the first ever Bank Holiday Friday in May)
It's only the fourth time we've had a VE Day public holiday. (the first two were 8th and 9th May 1945)
(the third was in 1995, when the normal bank holiday on 1st May was shifted to the following Monday)
The bank holiday weather was absolutely perfect. (almost as warm as the weather on VE Day 1945, if you remember)
(whereas the VE Day bank holiday in 1995 was cloudy, and much cooler than the heatwave the day before)
(the chief difference being we were allowed outside to enjoy that one properly)
I went out to see the Red Arrowsfly over. (although they were following the Thames, so they were quite small from Bow)
(and they hadn't turned their red and blue smoke on yet, because that's only for central London)
(but, yay, Red Arrows!)
(nobody in my local community had decorated their house red white and blue)
(during my daily exercise I didn't see a scrap of bunting anywhere)
(I saw 'Thank You NHS' banners, but nothing even vaguely patriotic)
At 11am we were supposed to stand on our doorstep for the two minutes silence. (I share my doorstep with about 50 other people, so none of us went outside)
(I stayed in and watched the silence on the BBC, rather than virtue-signalling in public)
(the lady on the balcony above mine carried on talking on her phone all the way through)
At 3pm we were supposed to raise a toast to Winston Churchill. (I forgot to switch to BBC1, so totally missed Winston's speech)
(also I don't have any bottles of bubbly in the flat)
(actually I have two, but I didn't want to open one for a single glass)
Then we were supposed to head to our front garden with a picnic. (I don't have a front garden, only a patch of pavement)
(what with social distancing, I didn't think a picnic on the pavement would be very popular)
(it seems the people who devised these celebrations have made some sweeping assumptions)
At 4pm we were supposed to have tea and scones (or coffee and cake). (I don't have any scones, so I wasn't allowed tea)
(I don't like coffee, so I wasn't allowed cake)
At 6pm we were supposed to have dinner and raise a glass to our neighbours. (I hadn't been to the supermarket since these plans were announced so I didn't have any picnic food)
(I can't believe they wanted us to sit in our front gardens for three hours)
(and anyway I don't have a front garden, so raising a glass to my neighbours indoors would have been futile)
At 9pm we were supposed to sing We'll Meet Again with the rest of the nation. (from where I was sitting, none of the rest of the nation joined in)
(maybe the people who live near me don't know any of the words)
(I didn't join in either, because I don't let people dictate how I commemorate)
Maybe the next VE Day bank holiday will go more smoothly. (assuming these continue to happen every 25 years, the next one should be in 2045)
(May 8th 2045 will be a Monday, so creating a bank holiday should be easy)
(although I'll be 80 by then, and nobody who took part in WW2 will still be alive)
(which is perhaps all the better reason for remembering, with thanks)
I don't normally repost from the archives, but on the 75th anniversary of VE Day and at this time of global crisis, this one feels worth repeating. It's from 2017, and I haven't changed a word.
Sunday, February 12, 2017
When was the best year to be born? Or is it still to come?
Sorry, my mind wanders to these things when global and homegrown events suggest the future might not be as bright as we'd all hoped.
So what I thought I'd do is imagine a typical UK citizen born in 1850, and every twenty years thereafter, and consider the quality of the decades they lived through. Which year of birth will win out?
Below is a table showing the lifespan of a person born on 1st January 1850. Average life expectancy at birth in 1850 was 41, which is why I've underlined the 1890s. But I'm assuming this imaginary person gets to live ten years longer than that, because it's nice to be an optimist.
born
1850
0-9
10-19
20-29
30-39
40-49
50-59
1850s
1860s
1870s
1880s
1890s
1900s
For a typical 1850-born citizen, assuming they survived infancy, life got inexorably better the older they became. Industrialisation and the spread of Empire brought increased prosperity, and improvements in science enhanced the nation's health and living conditions. That won't have been everyone's experience, I know, but generally speaking an 1850 birth beats every previous year.
born
1870
0-9
10-19
20-29
30-39
40-49
50-59
1870s
1880s
1890s
1900s
1910s
1920s
An 1870 birth should have been better, indeed twenty years better, in terms of technological and social progress. Life expectancy had now increased to 43, so the average 1870-born child died in 1913. But for those who lived through to the following year the Great War brought a tragic downturn, even if they were no longer young enough to be conscripted. I've used orange to suggest that the 1910s was a challenging decade to live through, and a slightly brighter shade of green for improvements in the decade beyond.
born
1890
0-9
10-19
20-29
30-39
40-49
50-59
1890s
1900s
1910s
1920s
1930s
1940s
Despite advances in society, and an increase in life expectancy to 46, anyone born in 1890 ended up having it tough. In their mid-twenties when World War 1 started, this was the generation sent off to fight in the trenches, and those who survived into their 50s then had to endure the Home Front of World War 2 too. With two red sections in their life to face up to, 1890 was by no means the luckiest time to be born.
born
1910
0-9
10-19
20-29
30-39
40-49
50-59
60-69
1910s
1920s
1930s
1940s
1950s
1960s
1970s
A child conceived at the end of the Edwardian era may not have noticed the setbacks of their wartime childhood, and may have flourished in the enlightenment of the Twenties and Thirties. But aged 29 when World War 2 broke out, and unavoidably involved in the 20th century's ghastliest war, a heavy price was paid. Thankfully for those who made it through, on average to 1963, life got inexorably better.
born
1930
0-9
10-19
20-29
30-39
40-49
50-59
60-69
70-79
1930s
1940s
1950s
1960s
1970s
1980s
1990s
2000s
Those born in 1930 missed WW1 and were too young to be called up for WW2, but will have endured the many trials of a wartime childhood. Rationing won't have made their young adulthood easy, but improvements in living standards then came thick and fast, with retirement better than any had known before, and average life expectancy tipping over sixty years of age.
born
1950
0-9
10-19
20-29
30-39
40-49
50-59
60-69
70-79
1950s
1960s
1970s
1980s
1990s
2000s
2010s
2020s
At last, for the first time since 1850, we see a lifetime unblemished by global war. It turns out that 1950 has been a great year to be born, with life made increasingly comfortable as advances in science and technology took hold. I hesitate to mention that the average life expectancy for a 1950 birth is 68 years, but rest assured that if you're a 67 year-old and you're reading this, official statistics suggest you've an even chance of reaching the end of the 2020s. All we don't know at this stage is what the 2020s are going to be like...
born
1970
0-9
10-19
20-29
30-39
40-49
50-59
60-69
70-79
80-89
1970s
1980s
1990s
2000s
2010s
2020s
2030s
2040s
2050s
By default a 1970s birth should be better than a 1950s birth, indeed this generation's generally done better than its parents. But look at how much of this row is grey, and hence as yet undecided. By the mid 2040s, which is the decade current life expectancy suggests, there'll have been 30 further years we so far know nothing about. These could be brilliant, with steady steps towards a comfortable technological utopia, or they could be more restrictive and precarious, bringing an unexpected downgrade from green to orange.
born
1990
0-9
10-19
20-29
30-39
40-49
50-59
60-69
70-79
80-89
1990s
2000s
2010s
2020s
2030s
2040s
2050s
2060s
2070s
Hello to those of you born in 1990, or thereabouts. The society in which you live is better than any have previously known, even if you're not feeling the economic benefits those born earlier enjoyed. On average you still have over half a century of life ahead of you, so long as nothing ghastly happens in the meantime, like that climate change they warn about, or the robots taking over, or some idiot in a bunker with a button. By rights your future should be an even brighter shade of green, but will it be... and can we avoid red?
born
2010
0-9
10-19
20-29
30-39
40-49
50-59
60-69
70-79
80-89
90-99
2010s
2020s
2030s
2040s
2050s
2060s
2070s
2080s
2090s
2100s
Which brings us to the latest generation, still under ten years of age, and projected to live through to the last years of the 21st century. These children still have everything to look forward to, for decades to come, the colour of their timeline almost entirely undecided. The rest of us ought to be jealous of every amazing thing they'll see, but it's also possible it was better to have been around before depression, repression and turbulence become commonplace.
It is of course too early to judge the best year to be born, and that year should still be far, far into the future. But if politicians and society get it wrong, then we may look back on our current decade as a golden age of prosperity and freedom for all, assuming we're even around to look back at all. Let's do our best to make sure 1950 doesn't turn out to have been the optimal start of the best possible life, and work to make all our grey years green.
Service frequencies have been tweaked several times.
e.g. last week... 10 mins: Upminster - Kensington (Olympia) 12 mins: Edgware Road - Wimbledon 13 mins: Ealing Broadway - Tower Hill 17 mins: High Street Kensington - Richmond
Ham & City
15 mins: entire line
Frequency unchanged over the last seven weeks.
Usual frequency is every 10 minutes.
Jubilee
6 mins: entire line
Frequency has increased, but remains variable.
Started out every 10 mins, has been 8.
Metropolitan
15 mins: Baker Street - Watford 15 mins: Aldgate - Uxbridge 30 mins: Baker Street - Amersham/Chesham
Seems to have settled after several operational tweaks.
Northern
8 mins: Morden - High Barnet via Bank 8 mins: Kennington - Edgware via Charing Cross 15 mins: Finchley Central - Mill Hill East
Before this week, mostly every 10 mins.
Mill Hill East branch running at normal frequency.
Piccadilly
15 mins: Cockfosters - Heathrow Airport 20 mins: Acton Town - Rayners Lane
Fairly consistent in recent weeks.
Heathrow T4 due to close from this weekend.
Victoria
6 mins: entire line
Started out every 8 mins, now 6, occasionally 4.
Wat & City
No service
No service for the last seven weeks.
Overground
All services every 30 minutes except... 15 mins: Dalston Junction - Clapham Junction 60 mins: Liverpool St - Enfield Town/Cheshunt
NLL combined frequency - every 15 mins.
ELL combined frequency - 8 trains an hour.
Romford - Upminster running at normal frequency.
DLR
10 mins: all lines
Frequency unchanged over the last seven weeks.
TfL Rail
10 mins: Liverpool Street - Shenfield 30 mins: Paddington - Heathrow/Reading
Frequency unchanged over the last seven weeks.
Liverpool St - Shenfield running at normal frequency.
Had a tiny virus not intruded, today would have been election day for the Mayor of London and London Assembly.
It was also once pencilled in as the day David Cameron would ask the country for a third term, but that's probably too many parallel universes away for rational consideration.
Several weeks of campaigning and propaganda would now be over, and we'd all have been trooping down to the polling station or hoping our postal votes arrived in time. All the pre-lockdown opinion polls suggested Sadiq Khan was on course for a comfortable victory and would be set up at City Hall for a further four years. Instead the election has been duly postponed until Thursday 6th May 2021, which means Sadiq gets an extra 52 weeks in power free of charge and his opponents can only sit and watch.
2000
Ken (39%) v Steven (27%)
2004
Ken (37%) v Steven (29%)
2008
Boris (43%) v Ken (37%)
2012
Boris (44%) v Ken (40%)
2016
Sadiq (44%) v Zac (35%)
2021
???
Sadiq Khan announced he'd be standing for re-election two years ago, setting aside any Parliamentary ambitions for the time being. Like Ken and Boris before him, he hopes being a two-term Mayor will cement his reputation. If he doesn't win the postponed election it'll be a huge shock.
Shaun Bailey was chosen as the Conservative challenger in September 2018, and hasn't made much of an impact on the contest since. His big theme is defeating crime, an area where he believes the current Mayor is vulnerable, but he's had less to say in other areas. Extending his run-up from 20 months to 32 isn't likely to help. [website]
Siobhan Benita is the Lib Dem candidate, and the only person to get a leaflet through my letterbox before the election was postponed. Her priorities are a "safer", "greener" and "kinder" London, reflecting a broadly upbeat centre-ground portfolio. She first ran for Mayor in 2012 as an independent. [website]
Siân Berry planned to run again for the Green Party. She also ran in 2008 and 2016, doubling her support to 6%. Amazingly Siân would have been the third main candidate with the initials SB, indeed all four have first names that begin with S. [website]
The race should have been enlivened by wildcard Rory Stewart, former Tory leadership candidate, in need of a new challenge after being sidelined in a realigned party. He hoped to capitalise on his everyman persona, even inviting himself round to random Londoners to stay the night, and had plans for a 'Just Build It' housing programme and a London Youth Corps. But Rory threw in the towel yesterday, his independent campaign unable to sustain itself through an extra 12 months, so the 2021 election is back to being a one-horse race. [website]
It's hard to second guess what the big issues in the 2021 Mayoral election might be, indeed probably unwise to try, other than to assume that finances will be more stretched. But the Mayor's powers will remain fairly limited, outside transport, policing and high level planning, so nudging the capital's economy back to good health may prove challenging.
I suspect all that can prevent Sadiq winning the election on Thursday 6th May 2021 is if things get so bad they have to postpone it again.
Tourism and travel already feel like they belong to a different age, and are unlikely to return to normal any time soon. But I've found a new way to get my fix, which is to visit far-flung places echoed in my own immediate neighbourhood.
Even if I can't go to Iceland, I can always go to Iceland Road.
There are at least 100 streets within half a mile of my home. Most are named after people, and several more after objects or things, but I've focused my attention on streets named after places. There aren't many, and once I disregard those named after placesI'vealreadyvisited only seven remain. This brief itinerary means I was able to complete my global E3 safari in fifty minutes flat. It's the future of staycation tourism, I tell you.
Rainhill Way E3
Rainhill Way, alongside Bow Church station, has been subjected to a considerable Tower Hamlets transformation. Much of the Crossways estate where Dizzee Rascal grew up has been rebuilt, and its three 70s tower blocks have been refurbished in an attempt to appeal to non-council residents. Rainhill Way's broad boulevard looks nothing like the kickabout backwater I remember at the turn of the century, which in turn looks nothing like the locomotive repair works and sidings that preceded them. It's that railway connection which explains the name.
I have never been to Rainhill. It's located near St Helens on Merseyside, and is the site of the famous Rainhill Trials at which George Stephenson's Rocket wiped the floor with its locomotive opposition. If I were to visit I could look round the museum in a railway coach at the back of Rainhill Library, or follow the Millennium Trail to discover Smithy Cottage, the weeping cross and the skew bridge, or try to track down the house in which Sporty Spice grew up. Rocket's bicentenary in 2029 will likely be the best time to visit. In the meantime Rainhill Way offers no railway ambience whatsoever, as even the DLR now burrows underneath.
Malmesbury Road E3
Malmesbury Road runs alongside the Great Eastern mainline, so you've likely seen it while looking out of a train between Liverpool Street and Stratford. On the opposite side it's fronted by flats of the kind Tower Hamlets once built in great numbers, and has been realigned somewhat since the days when all of this was dense Victorian terrace. Tucked into one of the modern indentations is a PDSA veterinary centre which used to feature in the TV series Animal Hospital, back when Rolf Harris was a family-friendly presenter, while further along is an insignificant shopping parade of the most miserable genre.
I have never been to Malmesbury, nor driven through. It's located in Wiltshire on the road between Chippenham and Cirencester, not far from J17 of the M4. With its strategic location on a high ground between two river Avons, it was one of the most important towns in Saxon England. Top of the sightseeing list is undoubtedly the medieval abbey which is also the burial place of King Æthelstan (927-939). The town's museum is named after the local monarch and normally opens daily to show off its "wide ranging collection". Malmesbury is also home, for now, to the HQ of the Dyson engineering company. In the meantime Malmesbury Way offers no Cotswold ambience whatsoever.
Wrexham Road E3
Wrexham Road runs along the flank of Bow Bus Garage before being submerged at its eastern end beneath the A12 dual carriageway. One side's a bit modern but the other is full-on estate-agent-friendly terraced houses. These were built just before WW1 by Poplar Borough Council, whereas neighbouring Baldock Road was built just after (as a '1920' plaque on the wall confirms). I've been to Baldock, or at least stopped off at a petrol station before they put the bypass in, so Baldock Road's not on my list.
But I have never been to Wrexham. When we're talking about the largest town in north Wales, this is clearly a serious omission. It'd be hard to miss the belltower of St Giles, the country's largest church, but my chief tourist target ought to be Wrexham County Borough Museum. The building dates back to 1857 when it was a barracks for the local Royal Denbighshire Militia, and today is the proud home of Early Bronze Age 'Brymbo Man'. Once I've also ticked off Erddig House, an NT property on the outskirts, I fear this may have exhausted most of what Wrexham has to offer. In the meantime Wrexham Road offers no Welsh ambience whatsoever.
Cardigan Road E3
Cardigan Road is another residential hybrid, one side pitch-perfect terrace and the other modern flats. Some very modern apartments were added recently on the site of Bow's old Safeway, and the entrance to Tesco's new car park attracts many a lazy shopper. Cardigan Road forms one rung of a ladder connecting Roman Road and Tredegar Road, but I've been to Rome so I'm disregarding that, and my imaginary bus passed through Tredegar when I made a virtual trip to Cardiff in March so I don't fancy going again.
I have never been to Cardigan. Again it's in Wales, this time on the west coast fronting the bay of the same name at the mouth of the river Teifi. For many centuries it was an important port, so there are several historic buildings to see around the Town Trail including John Ruskin's Gothic Guildhall. This being Wales there is of course a castle, admission £6, although these days it's more of a Georgian mansion having been used as a private home for many years. Its proud boast is that Wales' first Eisteddfod was held here, although other towns also make this claim. In the meantime Cardigan Road offers no poetic ambience whatsoever.
Shetland Road E3
Shetland Road is another of the rungs off Tredegar Road, and offers nothing to excite an architect. It used to be called Sutherland Road before postwar development severed the northern end with blocks of flats, destroying the original street pattern and leaving this stumpy remnant. I haven't been to Sutherland either.
I have never been to the Shetland Isles. I ought to because they're brilliant, but they're also further away than Berlin so not exactly easy to get to. The wildlife is spectacular, and the walking, not to mention the pre-history and the fish. I'd love to see the lighthouse at Sumburgh Head, and those two museums the Norwegians dignitaries opened, plus if I went during Up Helly Aa I might also get the opportunity to see the aurora borealis. But getting there direct isn't simple, or cheap, so I fear Lerwick will be off my wishlist for some considerable time. In the meantime Shetland Road is piss poor consolation.
Douro Street E3
Douro Street is a sidestreet off Fairfield Road, just to the north of Bow Quarter. It's still got its cobbles, and estate agents would once again enthuse over the characterful Victorian terrace down one side. But this is Bow (East) so the opposite flank is all flats, these being of early 21st century vintage with red-lined balconies. Today Douro Street is a dead end, bollarded off from the rump of Old Ford Road that wasn't swallowed by the A12. Aspirational residents in adjacent streets can only look jealously on.
I have never been to the Douro valley. This major watercourse crosses northern Spain and ends up flowing between Portuguese vineyards on its way to the Atlantic. The big city on the coast is Porto, a major port since Roman times replete with historic enclaves, baroque cathedrals and rather good footballers. It also offers heritage tramways and a totally modern concert hall, if that's your thing. BestMate has long been encouraging me to visit Portugal, although not specifically the Douro Valley. His response to a preview of today's post was "I really like Porto, but we really need to get you to Lisbon", so in the meantime Douro Road will have to suffice.
Washington Close E3
Washington Close is squeezed into a curve in the Blackwall Tunnel Approach Road, a forgotten cul-de-sac approximately opposite the big Tesco. It was built in the 1970s when the arterial was added, and bluntly barricaded behind a brick wall in an attempt to keep down the noise. Before that the road here was Washington Street, one of a triumvirate of presidential backroads (of which Jefferson is now completely consumed). Of all the roads in today's post, I find Washington Close the least alluring.
I have never been to Washington. The Tyne and Wear version isn't the most interesting of new towns and the 'F' Pit colliery museum is rarely open. As for Washington DC I've never made the effort to experience Capitol Hill and the White House, indeed the States lost much of its tourist allure when the current incumbent took office. Given that transatlantic travel is going to be way down the bucket list as the aviation industry struggles to come to terms with social distancing, I'm not expecting to be flying to America any time soon. In the meantime Washington Close may have no ambience whatsoever, but at least I can walk to it.
If you don't like reading posts about coronavirus,
here's a post about The Archers(with 39 comments),
here's a post about aggregate hubs(with 27 comments)
and here's a post about railway stations(with 22 comments).
Don't read the next one.
Your outlook on the current pandemic is likely related to various factors, one of which is susceptibility.
A
Low risk of serious symptoms
B
Medium risk of serious symptoms
C
High risk of serious symptoms
If you're young you're unlikely to suffer too badly even if you do catch the virus. if you're elderly, or have underlying health conditions, this may very much not be the case. Crucially, in the absence of a vaccine these probabilities aren't going to be changing any time soon. Anyone in the red box is likely to be feeling more nervous than someone in the green, even as the overall number of cases comes down.
I think I'm in the yellow zone. At 55 I'm in the foothills of age-related risk, so the virus probably won't kill me but could still be damned unpleasant. I also note that the Prime Minister is the same age as me and he nearly succumbed, but he's also a few stone heavier, and basically you can't second guess this kind of thing. But being in the yellow box still focuses my lockdown outlook, and I've definitely adjusted my life accordingly.
Most of those in the green box are also behaving cautiously and responsibly, staying home to save the lives of others, but it must also be comforting to know that the virus isn't specifically targeting you. Meanwhile those in the red box will be trying to minimise social contact, even shielding themselves away, well aware of the potential consequences of a single unlucky encounter. As the country starts to consider easing out of lockdown, I expect the green to emerge before the red.
You'll be an A, a B or a C.
But that's by no means the only factor in play, for example there's also financial stability.
1
Financially
stable
2
Financially
precarious
3
Financially
adrift
It's a lot easier to endure the ongoing economic hiatus if you have a steady income or sufficient wealth. It's much harder if the pandemic has kicked away the source of your income, or risks destabilising what you already have. It's harder still if you never had any money in the first place... or have unexpectedly found yourself in that position.
This time I'm fortunate enough to be in the green box. Unless something wholly unexpected happens, with ruinous consequences, I can sit back and ride this one out. Yes, I realise how incredibly fortunate this is. I know plenty of other people who've been knocked into yellow by the sudden disappearance of an income stream they hoped they could rely on but can no longer take for granted. With no end to this economic downturn in sight, the UK's new 'precariat' can only grow larger.
It'd be informative to consider susceptibility and stability together.
Risk of symptoms along the bottom, financial cushion up the side.
s
t
a
b
i
l
i
t
y
3
2
1
A
B
C
s u s c e p t i b i l i t y
The sweet spot is bottom left, for those who don't really have to worry about hospitalisation or money. Where you don't want to be is top right, where money and health are both big issues. But it seems the virus is balancing the playing field a different way.
Those with the lowest risk from infection, the young, also tend to be those with the most insecure jobs, the highest rent and the fewest savings. Meanwhile those with the most regular income, especially those on pensions, are much more likely to be at greater risk from infection. Across Britain A3 and C1 will be a lot more commonplace than A1 or C3. Neither end of society is getting off lightly.
I feel very fortunate to be only B1, rather than C something or something 2 or 3.
Numerous other contributory factors could also be taken into account, but arguably the most important of these is personal situation.
i
Autonomous
ii
Co‑dependent
iii
Vulnerable
Some of us live alone, or with another capable adult, so are able to control our living conditions. Many more can only dream of such simplicity, having children to care for or another adult who depends on them. Others find themselves forced to mix at close quarters amongst the wider community, for example those in shared accommodation or care homes, or key workers on the cutting edge.
If you're in the green box, your lockdown challenge may be no more than logging into work each day, or simply filling time. If you're bored, you're having it easy. Meanwhile millions in the yellow box are battling on, juggling work with home-schooling or supporting someone who can't support themselves. Lockdown has only made their lives harder, or at least no easier.
In the red box we find those least able to control their own circumstances, hence most vulnerable to the pandemic. Those working for the NHS, or forced to venture onto crowded public transport, or living communally in large groups, are amongst those included here. For those of us living in developed countries it's worth remembering that the majority of the world's population is probably in red.
With three factors now under consideration, what we need is a 3-dimensional model.
Sorry, I've had to draw it for myself so it's not brilliant. I'm the green cube at the bottom - B1i.
The optimum cube is bottom left (A1i), the young solvent independent household. The central cube (B2ii) might represent a furloughed family with teenage children. Care homes are top front (C1iii), their residents having few money worries but plenty of other issues. As for the deadliest cube top right (C3iii), some of our older, poorer key workers may find themselves here.
If your cube is near the bottom left-hand corner, you're likely less to be concerned about the current situation than those whose cube is on the top face, rear face or right-hand-facing face. Anxiety is not evenly spread across this grid.
And although all this ought to be obvious, it's very easy to forget that others live in very different situations to ourselves, and this might be affecting our opinions on how lockdown should be eased. Those in the 'C' slice fearful of reopening society may not be thinking about those in the '3' slice who need the economy running asap... and vice versa. Those of us in the 'i' slice sitting comfortably in our own homes doing bugger all may have forgotten quite how many people are stacked in the two layers above us keeping the country up and running.
Most importantly, the politicians making the big decisions need to remember that we may all be in this together, but we're not all together in this equally.
Which stations are closest to the Greater London boundary?
This is a question I've long wanted to answer but never have, in part because it's hard to answer accurately, but mainly because I'd have felt the need to visit them and that would have been a hassle. Thankfully the current lockdown removes the possibility of travelling anywhere, so I'm publishing the following list completely guilt-free.
I've calculated distances by measuring from the station building... or more likely the end of a platform... to the closest point on the Greater London boundary. Practically speaking I superimposed a kml file onto an aerial view using Google Maps, then tested out all the most likely suspects. This has enabled me to make two 'closest' lists, one for stations just inside London and one for stations just outside. [Google map]
The 10 London stations closest to the Greater London boundary
1)Knockholt(20m) No London station is nearer to not being in London than Knockholt, a lonely outpost at the southeastern tip of the capital. Technically it serves the Kent village of Knockholt, but it doesn't serve it very well because that's two miles away across a golf course and some country lanes. This, and the lack of a TfL bus service, may help explain why Knockholt is the capital's 20th least used station. The Greater London boundary follows London Road which passes along the front of the station. The eastern tip of the London-bound platform is just 20m away from where Kent starts, on the other side of the old bridge.
2)Belmont(80m) Belmont's on the Epsom Downs line, the first station south of Sutton. It's no great shakes - a halt with a single track, a single platform and a small shelter. Not only is it devoid of anything solidly architectural, it's also quiet enough to make it London's 12th least used station. Across Brighton Road is a bus turning point, in London, and beyond that the edge of Banstead Downs, in Surrey. Almost no distance at all.
3)Worcester Park(100m)
On the other side of Sutton we find Worcester Park, its station located to the north of Central Road. Surrey starts a short distance down the line, on the other side of the bridge, so you need to be at the southern end of the platform to get as close as possible.
4)Hadley Wood(220m)
Way up north in Enfield, on the East Coast mainline, Hadley Wood is an unusual open-air station sandwiched between two tunnels. Hertfordshire ends inside the northern tunnel, so standing at the extreme end of the platform is the place to be.
5)Hainault(280m)
Here's the first tube station on the list, located at the loopy end of the Central line. The station was built before the current boundary of Greater London was ever dreamed of, so it's a bit of a coincidence that Essex begins on the other side of Hainault depot, specifically on the Limes Farm estate.
6)Woodmansterne(310m)
Like Knockholt, Woodmansterne is a London station named after a village located outside the capital. It's on the Tattenham Corner line, almost on the edge of Croydon, just two streets away from some woods in Surrey.
7)Crayford(490m)
Crayford pretty much merges into Dartford these days, the official boundary going almost unnoticed. Kent lies about half a kilometre away from the far end of platform 2, which is approximately the length of Heathview Avenue.
8)Cheam(500m)
Meanwhile, back in Sutton, the western end of the platforms at Cheam station are exactly half a kilometre from Nonsuch High School for Girls in Surrey.
9)Malden Manor(550m)
Southwest London is over-represented in this Top 10, likely because it has more peripheral suburban stations than any other corner of London. Of the four stations on the Chessington branch, Malden Manor is marginally the closest to Epsom & Ewell.
10)Northwood(610m)
Northwood on the Metropolitan rounds off this list, amid a Metro-land suburb which merges seamlessly into southwest Herts. If you're interested, 11th and 12th places are taken by Surbiton and Uxbridge.
The 10 stations closest to Greater London
1)Roding Valley(3m) The least used station on the London Underground is also the closest station not in London. The boundary runs along the southern edge of the station, and is at its closest along the fence seen here to the left of my photo. Step out from the Woodford-bound platform and Station Approach is in Redbridge. Step out from the Hainault-bound platform and that's very much in Essex.
2)Grange Hill(10m)
Unexpectedly, the second-closest station is two stops down the line. The Central line runs almost direct across the M11, whereas the Greater London boundary wiggles inwards so that residents of Chigwell can pay their council tax to Essex instead. The boundary runs immediately alongside Grange Hill's southbound platform, and I suspect the closest spot to London is at the back of the gents toilets.
3)Banstead(40m) On the opposite side of London, also fractionally outside, lies Banstead station. It's a bit grim, especially the stairwelll, and not a very pleasant walk from the Surrey town of the same name. The far end of the single platform is barely any distance away from Cuddington in Sutton (which I visited earlier in the year). With Belmont appearing at number 2 in the other list, the Epsom Downs line boasts two of the very closest stations to the Greater London border.
4)Whyteleafe(50m)
Whyteleafe's on the Caterham line and marginally in Surrey. The northern end of the London-bound platform is just one street away from the southern edge of the borough of Croydon.
5)Hampton Court(110m)
Although Hampton Court is in London its namesake station is on the opposite side of the Thames, with the Surrey boundary running approximately mid-river.
6)Kempton Park(160m)
On the Shepperton line, serving the racecourse of the same name, the platforms at Kempton Park are a grandstand away from the Greater London boundary.
7)Waltham Cross(180m)
The platforms at Waltham Cross stretch halfway from the station entrance to the London/Hertfordshire border, which here is marked by the edge of the M25 motorway.
8)Swanley(220m)
Swanley may be in Kent, but its platforms are only a short distance from the gravel pits on the London side of the A20 bypass.
9)Stoneleigh(240m)
The railway line south from Worcester Park is all borderline Surrey, but the last suburban street in Sutton is surprisingly close to the end of Stoneleigh's platforms.
10)Upper Warlingham(350m)
This station's only a very short walk from Whyteleafe, which was at number four, but on an entirely separate line. Upper Warlingham gives Surrey its sixth appearance in this Top 10. Denham would have been 11th, if you were wondering where northwest London had got to.
