Christmas shopping update Time taken: 5 hours Destination: all of Regent Street, all of Oxford Street Celebrity shopper seen: Vic Reeves Number of presents bought: 1 Number of presents still to buy: all the rest Amount of annual leave entitlement wasted: 4%
Conditions in the West End weren't too unbearable yesterday. The pavements weren't too congested, the shops weren't too crowded and the queues at the tills weren't ridiculously long. But that still didn't make my shopping any easier. I prowled the hallowed halls of Selfridges, but found only squirty smellies and labelled luxuries. I scoured high and low in Waterstones and Borders, but found nothing more recent than all the same old books that have been piled high since November. I investigated the absolute bargains in the closing down sale at Dickins and Jones, but was left unmoved by several floors of cut-price women's clothing. I ventured deep inside various well-known high street chain stores, but decided their pre-packed gift sets made less than perfect presents. And I even made it as far as the top floor of Hamleys, but the only thing I left the store with was a light sprinkling of snow from walking down their 'Narnia Staircase'. Abject failure.
I hate Christmas shopping, mainly because I'm not very good at it. I see other people swanning down the street trailing an abundance of bulging carrier bags, but I just can't follow suit myself. It shouldn't be so difficult. After all, the advertising and media industries have been telling me precisely what I ought to be buying since the middle of October. But where others see must-have gift ideas and purchasing possibilities, I just see lots of over-priced products that nobody (surely?) really wants. I just can't match up presents to people because I lack retail empathy. And by the end of yesterday's weary trudge round central London I decided I might eventually end up this Christmas without finding anybody anything worth buying. Where am I going wrong?
I think I worry too much about what I'm giving. I agonise over every purchase I make because I want it to be right, even though I don't usually have a clue what right is. A badly-chosen present reflects badly on the buyer, I reckon, so I take care to ensure that each person I'm buying for will actually like what they receive. I hope that when they unwrap my gift they won't just grunt semi-appreciatively whilst glancing briefly at the contents with a disinterested stare, then later (when I'm not looking) stick it unused in a drawer, hide it in a cardboard box in the garage or donate it to the Oxfam shop down the road. I'd rather buy somebody nothing than buy them thoughtless rubbish. Lofty ambitions, I know, and clearly very wrong.
What I really need to learn is that Christmas isn't so much about what I give, it's about actually giving something in the first place. People would much rather receive rubbish than receive nothing, because buying nothing looks thoughtless (even when it isn't). So I'll be back out on Oxford Street again today, ploughing through all the tat and trinkets in a continued desperate attempt to keep everybody else happy before I run out of shopping days to waste. Maybe I should just buy them all socks and be done with it.
Mid-December sees the start of the party season (or, if you move in media circles, the continuation of the party season). It's at this very special time of year that many rational human beings abandon all thoughts of coherent nutrition and exist instead on a diet of alcohol, vol-aux-vents, salsa dips, canapes and sausage rolls. It sounds like a deadly combination, but you can help to avoid the risk of a premature festive heart attack if you follow these ten simple steps.
1) Don't go to a party on an empty stomach.
If your gut is already full of something bulky like toad-in-the-hole or pizza before you arrive, you won't feel like topping it up with tiny mini versions of the same food.
2) Mingle.
Never sit or stand in the same place for too long at a party, otherwise you run the risk of polishing off that nearby large bowl of olives all by yourself.
3) Go vegetarian.
Vegetarians rarely risk eating the food at parties because they can never be 100% certain whether that breadcrumbed globe contains cheese or chicken - not until it's too late, anyway.
4) Have another drink.
It's strange how shovelling fat-soaked pastries into your mouth feels wholly guilt-free when you're rat-arsed.
5) Always eat five portions of vegetables every day.
Three celery sticks, a carrot baton and a lettuce leaf should be enough. Just don't ruin the effect by dipping them into something oily and calorific.
6) Don't start eating the peanuts.
Peanuts are more addictive than crack cocaine. Just one nibble and you'll be compelled to finish the whole bagful. Keep clear.
7) Think how many third world children could be fed for the cost of that dainty melt-in-the-mouth filo tartlet you're eyeing up lasciviously.
Probably a villageful.
8) Sign up for that January gym membership now.
After all, these nibbles are nothing compared to the munchfest of turkey, pudding and chocolates that you're about to pour down your gullet over the next week.
9) Imagine that the mysterious breadcrumbed parcel you're about to put into your mouth is in fact from the set of I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here and contains either fish eyes or kangaroo gonads.
Works every time.
10) Become an anti-social recluse.
If you never get invited to parties in the first place, your waistline should be perfectly safe.
Platform 12 at Stratford station is a lonely place. Not quite as lonely, admittedly, as the tumbledown boarded-up buildings on platform 11 opposite, but pretty bleak all the same. It lies tucked away out of sight to the north of the station at the end of a twisting whitewashed subway, up which almost nobody ever ventures, and a world away from the station's busy mainline and Underground platforms. Earlier in the year this forgotten platform saw just two trains a day - one inbound from Cheshunt at about 8am and the other outbound just before 6pm. This was one of Network Rail's ghost services, of absolutely no use whatsoever to regular travellers but still sufficient to keep the line open. But as of last week, with the introduction of the newwinter timetable, platform 12 now host to a full regular rail service to Stansted Airport. It's only one train every hour, which is a bit feeble for a cross London service, but it's still a great improvement on one single journey in each direction each day. Between Stratford and Tottenham Hale the new service runs along three miles of track last used for regular passenger services in 1992. This part of the route meanders along the more remote stretches of the Lea Valley, including the edge of the proposed Olympic site, with no intermediate stations or major centres of population for nearly five miles along the way. Not surprisingly the trains aren't exactly packed at the moment, but there's still plenty to see out of the window... as I discovered when I rode the ghost train at the weekend.
• Stratford International: Peer north through the buddleia as the train pulls out of Stratford station and all you can see is a vast expanse of flattened building site. In the near distance surrounded by mud is a giant glass box, its windows covered by a swirling Olympic ribbon. In 18 months time this giant glass box will be Stratford Internationalstation, sparkling jewel of the East London rail network and gateway to the continent via the new Channel TunnelRail Link. Look carefully as the train heads north and you can see down into the new station box, a vast cavern carved deep out of the earth, and maybe catch a glimpse of several parallel rail tracks and one of the new platforms. Give it a few more years and the surrounding wasteland will be transformed into a Stratford City, a major regional development centre complete with shops, businesses and housing. It's hard to believe, rumbling past, that this nowhere will soon be a really important somewhere.
• EastwayCycleCircuit: Just before the railway plunges beneath the A12, look up to the left and you might catch sight of a silhouetted mountain biker zipping across an artificial hillock. Beyond this embankment lies East London's finest cross country cycling circuit, now doomed to be demolished and replaced by the Olympic Village and a hockey stadium. Perversely a new velodrome will then be built a few hundred yards away on land to the north of the A12, although this cycling facility ought to be permanent once the Olympics have finished. • New Spitalfields Market: Most Londoners know SpitalfieldsMarket as that quaint building in Shoreditch where they sell stripy knitwear, mystic tat and veggie noodly-type snacks. But for three centuries Spitalfields was London's main fruit and vegetable market, until in 1991 all business moved out to new custom-built warehouses in Leyton. The new Lea valley rail service chugs right alongside, allowing you to view the exterior of this vast market building (pictured) and maybe peer in through aluminium shutters to see where London's barrowboys now ply their trade.
• Hackney Marshes: A curving meander brings the wooded banks of the River Lea right up beside the train. The extensive marshes to the west were only reclaimed from the river sixty years ago, filled in by lorryloads of Second World War rubble. Nowadays Hackney Marshes are most famous for their record-breaking set of 87 football pitches, packed out each week with a succession of amateur Sunday league matches. A real East London institution (but, alas, partially threatened by future Olympic plans).
• WalthamstowMarshes: An almost-untouched swathe of common grassland, used by local people for the grazing of cattle since at least medieval times. Only the railway intrudes across the marshes, leaving the remainder of the area as a refuge for wildlife, walkers and cyclists. A blue plaque on one of the railway arches commemorates a British aviation first - "Under these arches Alliott Verdon Roe assembled his Avro No1 triplane. In July 1909 he made the first all-British powered flight from Walthamstow Marsh". Unfortunately I got to experience the silent desolation of the marshes for a full 50 minutes thanks to an unexpected points breakdown at the junction ahead (where the Stratford line joins the existing line out of Liverpool Street). Our driver may have been helpful, informative and even sociable as we waited for signalmen to shift the rails to let us pass, but I suspect I could have reached Stansted considerably faster by coach.
Stratford Shopping Centre is littered with cheap baubles and artificial garlands
The tinny sound of Slade echoes through a shop doorway
Deck the malls with plastic holly
This year's must-have bargains are box-shaped (batteries are not included)
Bulky bags dangle low from sovereign-ringed hands
Everybody's buying dreams for Christmas
Toddlers queue to see Santa's hideaway beneath a magic fibreglass windmill
A council clown twists balloon headgear in pink and yellow
Wide eyes gaze in awe and wonder
Market traders hawk two quid towels, loose satsumas and stacks of pirate DVDs
Shuffling pensioners queue for a gossip and a warm mince pie
Fat fleeces fill the aisles
Mum tries to keep her brood occupied while Dad sneaks unnoticed into Argos
Hoodied couples squander their dole money on one another, with love
Everybody's in a shopping daze
Local residents may not believe in Christ, but they believe in Christmas
Poor families are afflicted with consumption
Stratford's stocking up
I spent much of last night slaving over a hot inkjet, printing off scores of Christmas cards ready to go in the post this morning. I had a mild scare when my printer refused point-blank to print in colour, although closer inspection revealed that the 'new' cartridge I'd just installed had a use-by date of August 2003 and had therefore self-destructed or clogged-up or something. A fresh replacement cartridge (expires 2007) solved the problem, but that means I've now spent at least three times as much money on ink as I have on stamps, card and envelopes. I sometimes liken printer companies to organised drug dealers, luring us in by selling us an implausibly cheap reproductive device, then fleecing us at regular intervals as we struggle to feed our machine's insatiable ink habit. Anyway, cards printed.
I spent much of last night copying addresses onto envelopes ready to go in the post this morning. As I slogged through the list it dawned on me that I'd not sent anything to the great majority of these addresses since the same time last year. It was particularly grim to realise just how few people from my past I'm still in communication with. I have just one contact to show for over a decade of schooling, a mere five from my time at university and only one from the large group of people I worked with during the first job I ever had. It's amazing how so many people who were once at the very heart of my life are now forgotten footnotes, lost somewhere out there in an anonymous corner of Britain at an unknown address doing unknown things. And as for my current work colleagues, all 30 of whom are getting a card this year, I wonder how few will still be on my Christmas list in ten years time. Anyway, envelopes written.
I spent much of this morning trudging up to the local sorting office to post my cards, and to collect a package which couldn't be delivered yesterday while I was at work. It's possible to fit either 72 CDs or 20 books in my letterbox (I just checked) but, once Amazon have slapped a great big slab of protective cardboard packaging around them, my postman can't even get one CD and one book through the slot. Never mind, it was a lovely, crisp morning for a walk, and my envelopes dropped into the big red pillar box with a deeply satisflying clunk. So, cards posted.
When I got home I found that three more cards had just arrived. One contained a brief potted summary of what had been going on in the sender's family's lives over the last twelve months (Sarah's joined the police, Julie plans to go to Ghana and Nicola's working in an orphanage) and then, rather pointedly, asked me what I'd been up to. But too late, because their card went into the postbox half an hour earlier, so they'll have to wait another 52 weeks for my reply (assuming I remember). And the other two cards both contained brief "we really must get together soon" messages, just as they have done for the last few years, with the usual absolutely tiny probability of either of us actually deciding to make it happen. It's a strange thing, sending small pieces of folded cardboard every Christmas to people we'd not otherwise speak to, just to maintain the illusion of continuing communication. Sometimes I think that if it weren't for Christmas, I'd have lost contact with almost everybody I ever knew. And, even though most of that contact is a sham anyway, I'm glad we all still at least try. So, Happy Christmas, whoever you were.
Silver discs(December 1980)
A monthly look back at the top singles of 25 years ago
The not-quite-Christmas Top 10 (16th December 1980) 1) (↑20) John Lennon - Just Like Starting Over: One week after Lennon's untimely death, his latest single rose twenty places to top the chart (which is still one of the biggest ever leaps to reach the number 1 position). Joined in the Top 10 the following week by both Happy Christmas War Is Over and Imagine. The nation expressed its grief in sales of vinyl. "It's been too long since we took the time, no-one's to blame, I know time flies so quickly. But when I see you darlin', it's like we both are falling in love again, it'll be just like starting over " 2) (→) St Winifred's School Choir - There's No One Quite Like Grandma: Was there ever a more sickly-sweet chart-topper? Performed by a choir of pink angels in sensible school blouses and short trousers, bought by their peer group as a thought-free festive gift, and adored by a doting generation of grandmothers who probably didn't even own a gramophone on which to play it. A rare outbreak of emotional distaste saw this record topple John Lennon from the Christmas number 1 slot the following week. And I still cringe when I hear that girl singing. "And one day when we're older, we'll look back and say, there's no one quite like Grandma, she has helped us on our way" 3) (→) Jona Lewie - Stop The Cavalry: Surely one of the finest Christmas records ever made (which would have made number 1 in the New Year had it not been for John Lennon's murder). A bouncy breathy melody with a haunting brass band backing and some subtle anti-war lyrics sprinkled on top for good measure. Absolutely enchanting, and still hasn't lost its sparkle 25 years later. "Bang goes another bomb on another town, while the Czar and Jim have tea. If I get home, live to tell the tale, I'll run for all presidencies. If I get elected I'll stop, I will stop the cavalry" 4) (↓3) Abba - Super Trouper: The last of Abba's nine chart-toppers, and the only Number 1 song ever written about a) Glasgow, and b) a 1956 followspot stagelamp. 5) (↑4) Police - De Do Do Do De Da Da Da: Some deep meaningful words there from the pen of philosopher Sting. 6) (↓2) Madness - Embarrassment: If you ever thought this was a cheery chirpy cockney record, think again. No, think mixed-race pregnancy and narrow-minded family prejudice instead. 7) (↓2) Boomtown Rats - Banana Republic: If you ever thought this was a jaunty bubbly reggae record, think again. No, think "Bob Geldof really pissed off by petty Irish bureaucracy" instead. 8) (↓2) Spandau Ballet - To Cut A Long Story Short: I mentioned last month how much I adored this record. In December the rest of the country caught up with me. 9) (↑1) Stray Cats - Runaway Boys: Do you remember this as an uplifting rockabilly street anthem, or do you just remember lead singer Brian Setzer's unfeasibly large quiff? 10) (↑6) Adam And The Ants - Antmusic: Stuart Goddard's signature tune spent its first week in the Top 10 (so unplug the jukebox and do us all a favour).
20 other hits from 25 years ago: Do You Feel My Love (Eddy Grant), Flash (Queen), Lady (Kenny Rogers), Lies (Status Quo), Celebration (Kool And The Gang), Rock'n'Roll Ain't Noise Pollution (AC/DC), Rabbit (Chas'n'Dave), Love On The Rocks (Neil Diamond), Don't Walk Away (ELO), Over The Rainbow (Matchbox), Lonely Together (Barry Manilow), Never Mind The Presents (Barron Knights), December Will Be Magic (Kate Bush), Too Nice To Talk To (Beat), Blue Moon (Showaddywaddy), Looking For Clues (Robert Palmer), Do Nothing (Specials), This Wreckage (Gary Numan), It's Hard To Be Humble (Mac Davies), Lorraine (Bad Manners) ...which hit's your favourite?
diamond geezer's three hundred thousandth visitor just dropped by. If you're reading this then it wasn't you. But I thought I'd take this milestone opportunity to say hello to some of my regular readers. Hello. In particular I'd like to say hello to my regular readers who access this site from work and really ought to be doing something productive instead.
Hello to you all. Go on, identify yourselves in the comments box, I dare you. And my apologies to those of you who I've missed out because your IT departments use less obviously recognisable server addresses (unless, of course, that's a good thing). Back to work now!
Final Bow Road update: There was something very strange about Bow Road station yesterday morning - it looked normal. The station hasn't looked normal since February of last year when Metronet dumped four portakabins on the pavement outside the station and surrounded them by a big blue metal wall. The portakbins disappeared two months ago (following official completion of the station upgrade) but the blue wall lingered on, continuing to block the pavement whilst concealing various items of leftover maintenance equipment. And then yesterday, without warning, the blue wall was gone. Suddenly the view of the front of the station was clear, clean and unsullied, just as it always used to be (but a view which somehow I'd completely forgotten). I felt an irresistible urge to walk on the bit of pavement I'd been denied access to for nearly two years, just because I could. It was good, finally, to see normality return.
That blue wall was the very last piece of the Bow Road building site to be removed, almost exactly 22 months after it had been the very first structure to be erected. I reckon 22 months (which is 96 weeks) (which is 673 days) is a frighteningly long time to waste giving a insignificant tube station an overambitious facelift, particularly when the great majority of that renovation work was concentrated in a single six month period. If nothing else, this almost-never-ending saga has demonstrated Metronet's scarily incompetent project management skills, and I'm certain that £3½million of public money could have been far more efficiently spent. Worst of all, with the modernisation project now genuinely at an end, this means that the current state of my local station is as good as we passengers are ever going to get. The artistically-criminal blue paint on the ironwork above the platforms is here to stay. The technologically advanced electronic 'next train' indicators will continue to tell us little more than their analogue predecessors, only less quickly. The vinyl panels glued to the platform walls will forever shield the station's decaying heritage brickwork from public view. And the ubiquitous Big Brother surveillance system will continue to record passengers on both platforms picking their noses from a choice of 50 different camera angles, at great expense. Thank goodness Metronet and their contractors have finally, ultimately, at long last, eventually, buggered off. Thanks for nothing.
REUTERSDocklands HQ Tuesday 11:00 GMT Went to Canary Wharf yesterday morning STOP Was only going to buy a birthday card STOP Noticed police mysteriously setting out traffic cones STOP Spotted mini-crowd of City types gathering behind barriers STOP Discovered Queen to arrive shortly STOP HM coming to open Reuters' new Docklands HQ STOP Took up position behind semi-populated crash barrier STOP Policewoman raised finger to signal one minute to go STOP Motorcycle outrider swept round corner STOP Cavalcade of three royal vehicles followed STOP Big car with droopy flag pulled up outside Reuters STOP Well-dressed man popped out of front of car to open rear door STOP Her Majesty alighted resplendent in red hat and dark red coat STOP Liz guided rapidly up steps at front of building STOP Probably smiled but was too far away to see STOP Queen led inside to officially open building and do corporate things STOP Crowd dispersed STOP FILEREPORT
It's not every day you unexpectedly bump into a member of the Royal Family. When I was ten I happened to be on one of the Channel Islands at the same time as the Queen Mother, and discovered one morning that her royal tour was due to pass the guest house where my family was staying. I was very excited, at least until her official car swept straight past offering no view whatsoever, at which point I became really quite distraught. Later that day whilst waiting at the airport I think I caught sight of her royal legs stood behind the royal helicopter, a minor glimpse which almost made up for my previous disappointment. But not quite. Yesterday's royal encounter was, at long last, rather more tangible.
I'd like to apologise for not being able to describe the Queen's outfit in more detail. As a man, "red hat and dark red coat" is the best description that I can manage. I know that the sole purpose of royal journalism is to describe the monarch's wardrobe in glowing language ("a frothy veil of Torchon lace", "radiant in yellow taffeta and silk", "a dazzling chic tangerine ensemble") but sorry, I can't do it. Maybe her hat was a bit furry (or was it feathery), and that coat was definitely thick and warm but I couldn't tell you whether it was tweed, woollen or velvet. Nobody ever got a job working for the Daily Mail or Evening Standard with an underdeveloped haute couture gene like mine, that's for sure.
It was, however, instructional to watch what happened when the Queen finally appeared. For some of the office workers stood shivering by the kerbside this was clearly a very special event, a unique chance to glimpse the woman whose genes have been ruling this country for centuries. These people stood eagerly, expectantly, craning their necks to make the most of every last second of this rare experience. Many of the police officers present also turned from facing the crowd at the crucial moment to catch their own glimpse of Her Majesty. Presumably this was rather more fun than being stuck in an office with their usual paperwork even if, stood facing in the wrong direction, their chance of foiling any potential terrorist outrage was slight.
But a large proportion of the crowd appeared to be present simply because this was an event, not because this was a royal event. They just happened to be in the area, and they just happened to have their multi-function mobile in their pocket, and this was too good an opportunity to miss. As Her Majesty made the short walk up the steps from her car these amateur photographers stood with cameras aloft and snapped blindly, more interested in their tiny viewscreen than in looking at the real Queen stood before them. They weren't there to see Her Majesty for themselves, they were just there to capture a digital image of the day's events which would prove to friends and acquaintances their close proximity to a genuine celebrity. "Look, here's a grainy digital image of the Queen. I know it's tiny but please be impressed." It's a shame, but sometimes I think we spend so long attempting to record important events that we never actually experience them. You'd never catch me doing that <cough>
Buncefield - a public health advisory • Don't go to Hemel Hempstead (not that you were planning to anyway) • Do keep all doors and windows firmly closed (assuming you have any doors and windows left, that is) • Don't buy a house within 500m of a large oil terminal (because you'll end up living in a sports centre while lowlife loot your home) • Don't store all your oil in giant tanks (because just one spark and they'll burn for days) • Don't put all your giant oil tanks really close together (because just one spark and they'll burn for weeks) • Don't bother taking photos of impressive cloud formations (because everybody else alreadyhas) • Do shut up about how the blast woke you up at 6am (because the rest of us heard nothing and slept through it, OK?) • Don't worry about global warming (because that big black cloud keeps the sun out and keeps temperatures down) • Don't breathe in (because that smoke might be toxic, or carcinogenic, or something) • Don't try leaving your house (because the nightmarish terror of an unseen health menace might be too much for you) • Don't bother cleaning your car (because it'll be covered in soot within hours) • Don't panic-buy petrol (not even now we've planted that irrational idea in your head) • Do sell your car (because if there were fewer on the road there wouldn't have been so much petrol in that depot in the first place) • Do please stop panicking (because breathing in car exhaust fumes will probably kill Britain far quicker)
...and, speaking of Smoke... The seventh edition of London's loveliest fanzine is now in the shops. It may have taken Matt and Jude six months to assemble this new volume of their capital tribute, and this issue may be a little less factual and rather more discursive than previous, but Smoke Seven has definitely been worth the wait. Literary, artistic and photographic gems in the latest issue include stuff about park benches, the Nightingale Estate, snooker halls, rundown subways, Brixton, lost pubs, the Beech Street Tunnel, city farms, Camden Market and assorted 'London peculiar'. I'll even forgive the editors the following Routemaster-related outburst (but only because there's a number 38 on the front cover, and rather a lot more inside):
SAD sufferers rejoice! Contrary to what you might expect, the earliest sunset of the year doesn't occur on the shortest day of the year. In London at least, the earliest sunset of the year occurs today. Honest.
Tomorrow's sunset in London really will be later than sunset this afternoon, even if only by a few seconds. Check out a list of sunset times for London and you'll see that the time of sunset gets gradually earlier each day until today, and then gradually later again. Conversely the time of sunrise gets gradually later each day until New Year's Eve, and then gradually earlier again. Halfway between these dates comes the shortest day, December 21st (a day on which, spookily, both sunrise and sunset are getting later).
Date
Sunrise
Sunset
Date
Sunrise
Sunset
Dec 6
07:50
15:52
Dec 25
08:05
15:56
Dec 9
07:54
15:52
Dec 28
08:06
15:58
Dec 12
07:57
15:51
Dec 31
08:06
16:01
Dec 15
08:00
15:52
Jan 3
08:06
16:04
Dec 18
08:02
15:53
Jan 6
08:05
16:08
Dec 21
08:04
15:54
And why does this happen? The short reason is because the meridian (the time at which the Sun is highest in the sky) changes subtly each day, with the most rapid changes occurring in December. For example, the time at which the sun crosses the meridian changes by a full ten minutes between 16th December (sun highest at 11:56) and 6th January (sun highest at 12:06).
The long reason for these changes is a combination of the Earth's orbit being an ellipse, not a circle, and the Earth being tilted at an angle of 23½º to its orbit around the Sun. These two independent functions combine to create something called the equation of time, and it's this that causes 'noon' in the sky to differ from noon on a clock. • more on the equation of time(very straightforward) • more on the equation of time(fairly straightforward) • more on the equation of time(a bit more scientific) • more on the equation of time(scarily mathematical, but very pretty) • more on the equation of time(daily differences for London)
The date of the earliest sunset varies from place to place, according to how far from the equator that place is. London's earliest sunset may be today, but Edinburgh's is not until Thursday, Madrid's was last Friday and Sri Lanka's was as long as three weeks ago.
The time of the earliest sunset also varies considerably. On the equator sunset never gets any earlier than 17:47, local time. This earliest time gets earlier as you move further north - for example 17:19 at 20ºN, 16:34 at 40ºN and 14:53 at 60ºN. And above the Arctic Circle (66½ºN) there are of course winter days when the Sun never rises at all.
You can explore the wonderful world of global sunset and sunrise times on the two sites below (both fairly straight-forward, don't panic): • Sunrise/Sunset World Reckoner(ooh that's clever) • Sunrise/Sunset calculator
(Southern hemisphere readers please ignore the above, and just enjoy your lovely long summer days instead)
Space Cadets (C4) is the new TV show in which nine gullible members of the public have been tricked into believing they're in Russia training to be sent into space, but are in fact looking stupid for the cameras in a disused airbase outside Ipswich. It's a ghastly and inhumane idea, gratingly hosted by Johnny Vaughan, which is presumably why so few viewers are watching. But it's also a brilliant concept, packed with original ideas, and the whole fabrication has been expertly executed. Take, for example, the trainee cosmonauts' lecture about Minsky, the first monkey in space. All shameless lies from start to finish, backed up by a stuffed helmeted animal in a display case, and yet delivered with such panache that one of the contestants had to leave the room in tears. I adored the performance, but was equally disheartened by the reaction. Maybe it should come as no surprise that a large proportion of the population can be hoodwinked into believing absolutely anything, even when they're being fed blatant untruths ("this galaxy here is called the Hazelnut Cluster"), but this show confirms the disappointing truth. It's a pity, though, that Channel 4 producers have wasted so much creativity and effort (and money) on this under-appreciated and ultimately forgettable hoax. Maybe the audience will pick up tomorrow when the lucky few are 'blasted into space' for five days (aboard a giant simulator in an electronically-equipped aircraft hangar) but I wouldn't hold your breath. Thankfully the contestants don't need to.
World Cup 2006: In six months time you won't be able to move for World Cup mania, media hype, unbridled patriotism and misplaced optimism. Oh, and some football. So, to save valuable blogging time next summer, here's my guide to what's bound to happen in Germany as the England team progresses through the competition.
Option 1
Option 2
Jun 10 (Frankfurt): England thrash Paraguay into submission
Jun 10 (Frankfurt): England score last minute winner against Paraguay
Jun 15 (Nuremberg): England destroy underdogs Trinidad & Tobago
Jun 15 (Nuremberg): England narrowly beat plucky Trinidad & Tobago
Jun 20 (Cologne): England finally beat Sweden after 37 years
Jun 20 (Cologne): Sweden beat England into second place into group B
Jun 25 (Stuttgart): After trailing Poland for most of the match, Joe Cole scores a late equaliser and England scrape through after a nail-biting penalty shootout
Jun 24 (Munich): A lucky goal involving a highly debatable offside decision helps England knock arch enemy Germany out of the competition (ha!)
Jun 26 (Stuttgart): England fan accidentally kills three local children in lager spillage accident - uproar ensues
Jun 29 (Berlin): Wayne Rooney photographed in red light district wearing pair of comedy breasts
Jul 1 (Gelsenkirchen): Holland wipe the floor with England, embarrassingly
Jun 30 (Berlin): Argentina wipe the floor with England, embarrassingly
July 1 - July 9: Damn. Maybe next time.
[If you want to have a go yourself, BBC Sport have an interactive predictor here]
Christmas shopping update
Olympic train
• New Spitalfields Market: Most Londoners know Spitalfields Market as that quaint building in Shoreditch where they sell stripy knitwear, mystic tat and veggie noodly-type snacks. But for three centuries Spitalfields was London's main fruit and vegetable market, until in 1991 all business moved out to new custom-built warehouses in Leyton. The new Lea valley rail service chugs right alongside, allowing you to view the exterior of this vast market building (pictured) and maybe peer in through aluminium shutters to see where London's barrowboys now ply their trade.
Silver discs (December 1980)
1) (↑20) John Lennon - Just Like Starting Over: One week after Lennon's untimely death, his latest single rose twenty places to top the chart (which is still one of the biggest ever leaps to reach the number 1 position). Joined in the Top 10 the following week by both Happy Christmas War Is Over and Imagine. The nation expressed its grief in sales of vinyl.
Final Bow Road update: There was something very strange about Bow Road station yesterday morning - it looked normal. The station hasn't looked normal since February of last year when Metronet dumped four portakabins on the pavement outside the station and surrounded them by a big blue metal wall. The portakbins disappeared two months ago (following official completion of the station upgrade) but the blue wall lingered on, continuing to block the pavement whilst concealing various items of leftover maintenance equipment. And then yesterday, without warning, the blue wall was gone. Suddenly the view of the front of the station was clear, clean and unsullied, just as it always used to be (but a view which somehow I'd completely forgotten). I felt an irresistible urge to walk on the bit of pavement I'd been denied access to for nearly two years, just because I could. It was good, finally, to see normality return.
That blue wall was the very last piece of the Bow Road building site to be removed, almost exactly 22 months after it had been the very first structure to be erected. I reckon 22 months (which is 96 weeks) (which is 673 days) is a frighteningly long time to waste giving a insignificant tube station an overambitious facelift, particularly when the great majority of that renovation work was concentrated in a single six month period. If nothing else, this almost-never-ending saga has demonstrated Metronet's scarily incompetent project management skills, and I'm certain that £3½million of public money could have been far more efficiently spent. Worst of all, with the modernisation project now genuinely at an end, this means that the current state of my local station is as good as we passengers are ever going to get. The artistically-criminal blue paint on the ironwork above the platforms is here to stay. The technologically advanced electronic 'next train' indicators will continue to tell us little more than their analogue predecessors, only less quickly. The vinyl panels glued to the platform walls will forever shield the station's decaying heritage brickwork from public view. And the ubiquitous Big Brother surveillance system will continue to record passengers on both platforms picking their noses from a choice of 50 different camera angles, at great expense. Thank goodness Metronet and their contractors have finally, ultimately, at long last, eventually, buggered off. Thanks for nothing.
Went to Canary Wharf yesterday morning STOP Was only going to buy a birthday card STOP Noticed police mysteriously setting out traffic cones STOP Spotted mini-crowd of City types gathering behind barriers STOP Discovered Queen to arrive shortly STOP HM coming to open Reuters' new Docklands HQ STOP Took up position behind semi-populated crash barrier STOP Policewoman raised finger to signal one minute to go STOP Motorcycle outrider swept round corner STOP Cavalcade of three royal vehicles followed STOP Big car with droopy flag pulled up outside Reuters STOP Well-dressed man popped out of front of car to open rear door STOP Her Majesty alighted resplendent in red hat and dark red coat STOP Liz guided rapidly up steps at front of building STOP Probably smiled but was too far away to see STOP Queen led inside to officially open building and do corporate things STOP Crowd dispersed STOP FILE REPORT
...and, speaking of Smoke... The seventh edition of London's loveliest fanzine is now in the shops. It may have taken Matt and Jude six months to assemble this new volume of their capital tribute, and this issue may be a little less factual and rather more discursive than previous, but Smoke Seven has definitely been worth the wait. Literary, artistic and photographic gems in the latest issue include stuff about park benches, the Nightingale Estate, snooker halls, rundown subways, Brixton, lost pubs, the Beech Street Tunnel, city farms, Camden Market and assorted 'London peculiar'. I'll even forgive the editors the following Routemaster-related outburst (but only because there's a number 38 on the front cover, and rather a lot more inside):
"I can’t help feeling that those who want to preserve them (a) rarely go on them and (b) are the same people who insist their local 'classic caff' continues serving them cups of watery Nescafe for 50p, even if the owner then has to work a 16-hour shift just to cover the rent while his adoring clientele jump in taxis and head off to 40K jobs in the media, writing features on classic caffs and Routemasters for the colour supplements."Smoke #7, just £2.50 from all good retailers (and from some bad retailers, and by mail order).World Cup 2006: In six months time you won't be able to move for World Cup mania, media hype, unbridled patriotism and misplaced optimism. Oh, and some football. So, to save valuable blogging time next summer, here's my guide to what's bound to happen in Germany as the England team progresses through the competition.
red giant
• 
Went to Canary Wharf yesterday morning STOP Was only going to buy a birthday card STOP Noticed police mysteriously setting out traffic cones STOP Spotted mini-crowd of City types gathering behind barriers STOP Discovered Queen to arrive shortly STOP HM coming to open Reuters' new Docklands HQ STOP Took up position behind semi-populated crash barrier STOP Policewoman raised finger to signal one minute to go STOP Motorcycle outrider swept round corner STOP Cavalcade of three royal vehicles followed STOP Big car with droopy flag pulled up outside Reuters STOP Well-dressed man popped out of front of car to open rear door STOP Her Majesty alighted resplendent in red hat and dark red coat STOP Liz guided rapidly up steps at front of building STOP Probably smiled but was too far away to see STOP Queen led inside to officially open building and do corporate things STOP Crowd dispersed STOP 
