I've just discovered an unexpected drawback relating to the introduction of the London Overground. It cost me £2 more to travel to Watford and back yesterday than it would have done a week ago. Which is not fair. Here's how.
As the proud owner of an annual travelcard, zones 1-3, I get two particularly useful travel perks when I travel to stations in outer London and beyond.
• I only have to buy a ticket from the edge of zone 3, not from the centre of London.
• I get a Gold Card, which allows me to "save 1/3 on a range of single and return National Rail tickets when travelling after 1000 Monday to Friday, or anytime at weekends and on public holidays."
A week ago, both of these conditions applied on all train journeys from London Euston to Watford Junction. I'd only have been charged for a return ticket from the edge of zone 3 to Watford (cost £4.70), and ended up paying 1/3 less than that because of my Gold Card (final cost £3.15).
Now the rule allowing me to buy a ticket from the edge of zone 3 appears to have been dropped. If I travel from Euston to Watford and back I now have to pay for the full journey (cost £7.80), not just between Zone 4 and Watford. And then I pay 1/3 less than that because of my Gold Card (final cost £5.20).
Was £3.15, now £5.20. That's a 65% fare increase. And that's criminal.
It's all because of a change of rules when the fareswent up on 2nd January. Check out the brand new tube map (sigh, it's finally online), and you might be able to read some very small print near Watford. "Watford Junction is outside Transport for London zonal area. Special fares apply." Too right they do. And those special rules no longer seem to allow any contribution from travelcards, thereby significantly raising the cost of travel for those of us with season tickets. Bastards.
As far as I can tell, this new rule only applies to Watford Junction, and to no other station. I can still travel off peak to Bedford with double discounts, or to Cambridge, or to Chelmsford, or to Southend, or to Dover, or to Gatwick, or to Windsor, or to Reading, or to High Wycombe. Just not to Watford Junction.
The arrival of the London Overground is great for Watford residents who can now use Oyster for the first time. But it's a swindle for travelcards holders heading in the opposite direction. So next time I travel to Watford Junction I shall catch the slow train to Watford High Street instead, and walk the last half mile. They're not going to catch me out again.
London's largest bird reserve is the London Wetland Centre, a vast swathe of marshy sogginess located in a bend in the Thames near Hammersmith. It's busy and it's delightful, but it'll cost you eight quid to get in. London's second largest bird reserve is rather different. It's hidden off the Lea Bridge road near Leyton, it's considerably more deserted, and entrance is free. It's the Waterworks Nature Reserve, and I can't believe I've only just noticed it exists.
Back in the late 19th century Victorian engineers built several filter beds in the Lea Valley to purify the capital's drinking water, helping to keep cholera at bay. A century later technology had moved on somewhat, and the beds were abandoned to natural colonisation. They're currently owned by the Lee Valley Regional Park Authority, who six years ago opened a series of bird hides and a visitors centre. Most of the visitors seem to be of the feathered variety, swooping in to swim and flap and feed in the reedy pools. But the occasional human turns up, as I discovered last weekend when I had the place completely and utterly to myself.
I stumbled across the nature reserve by following a footbridge across the road and railway from the allotments I mentioned yesterday. A short walk through an unexpected golf course and there was the visitors centre (and club house), with a car park full of pitchers, putters and drivers. I wandered inside, to general disinterest from the management, and took a look round the interactive exhibits in the large gallery to the rear. I think I was 30 years too old to enjoy the limited information on display, and slightly put off by the mildly hectoring tone throughout. "Children must be accompanied by an adult at all times in this area." "This screen is for adults only." "Why not have a go at weaving a willow basket. Take care not to hurt anyone with the sharp ends". Ignoring the cafe (and golfy shop) I headed back outside to explore the nature reserve proper.
Access is only via a single narrow footbridge, first passing a newly constructed nature garden. There's a small pond ("Danger, deep water!") and a benched seating area("Keep off the chalk ridge!") and a specially-constructed mini willow tunnel. There's a lot of willow about, and the next three filter beds have been almost completely colonised by it. I think you're supposed to be able to walk through one of them on a raised wooden walkway, but that was sealed off with red tape (presumably because of some unseen hazard or perilous risk). Never mind, the best part of the reserve was just round the corner, past a mini-aqueduct. This way to the hides.
The main area of filter beds is square in shape, divided up into six different radial sectors (a bit like Trivial Pursuit counters). Each has been given over to a slightly different habitat (open water, reedbeds, grassland, willow marsh, etc), providing ideal conditions for a wide variety of bird, insect and plantlife. And each of the six can be viewed from behind a giant wooden screen, which runs the full radius of the site and completely round the central wellhead area. There are hatches to lift at regularly-spaced intervals, allowing visitors to peer out across each bed and observe the waterfowl's comings and goings. I moved from window to window, watched over by a single security camera, and wholly unobstructed by twitchers with huge binoculars, vacuum flasks and lunchboxes. Alas there was just a single heron flapping around, occasionally, plus a few ducks and moorhens who'd chosen not to migrate this winter. My ornithological timing could have been better, which perhaps explained why I appeared to be the only large mammal in attendance. But there was still plenty to see, both environmentally and historically, at this most underappreciated location. by bus: 48, 55, 56
It's now been six months since the Olympic Park was sealed off, and everybody who lived and worked there was turfed out. The outcasts had to go somewhere, of course, and quite a lot of them have ended up one mile further upriver near Leyton. The new sites are tucked in beside a bleak arterial road, in the shadow of a couple of giant gasholders, nowhere with any character whatsoever. Few pedestrians ever walk down Orient Way, but plenty of traffic thunders by (most of it setting off the wholly unnecessary 30mph speed warning sign). A few lonely horses graze in a muddy field nearby, and there's also a great big £400m Eurostarmaintenance depot whacked down in the general nothingness. But I'm sure most of the relocated businesses don't mind swapping old tumbledown warehouses for shiny modern hangars. These giant tiger-striped metal boxes are a million miles away from their former premises, and all paid for out of your taxes too.
And some other Olympic evictees have ended up here too. You may remember the huge fuss kicked up by users of the Manor Garden allotments when it became clear that the Olympic Park would not contain a special area given over to runner beans. A shame really, because those 100-year-old allotments are merely destined to end up beneath a vast temporary footpath - no ultimate sporting destiny awaits. The allotment holders had to be pacified with the promise of new plots elsewhere, which didn't really keep them happy at all, but they got new plots all the same. The replacement allotments are also along Orient Way, in the corner of a well-hidden recreation ground, but accessible only up a far-distant muddy track. It's taken a lengthy planning battle to get the new allotments established, but here they are laid out for the start of the new growing season.
They're, erm, not quite as characterful as the old allotments, are they? The old allotments had charm, and personality, and vegetation. The new allotments are formed from a rectangle of freshly ploughed earth with a concrete path down the middle, divided up into equal-sized patches of empty mud. A tall green metal fence surrounds the perimeter, with tiny saplings planted all around to provide eventual privacy. Standing guard on each plot are identikit green huts, regularly spaced, each waiting for their new owner to arrive and provide a bit of individuality. A few plots show the very first signs of cultivation - a trowel, a chair, a waterbutt - but it'll be a long time before these feel like proper allotments.
Maybe that's OK, because Marsh Lane is just a temporary set-up while Olympic construction occurs. Sometime after 2012 every allotment holder will be relocating once more, this time back to sustainable new premises within the Olympic Park. For the best part of a decade, however, this uninspiring patch of Waltham Forest will have to do. And I doubt that this windswept space beneath the pylons will ever reclaim the sense of community cultivated back at Manor Garden.
Things which aren't what they used to be no. 371: the Postmark
My last Christmas card of 2007 dribbled through my letterbox yesterday morning. Ooh, I thought, I wonder who that's from, and why it's so late, and peered at the postmark. And peered at the postmark. And peered more carefully at the postmark. And gave up peering at the postmark. What is is with postmarks these days? Why are they so rubbish?
Ah, the good old days of proper postmarks. You remember. Those nice concentric circles, with the town or village around the edge and the date and time in the middle. Postmarks that actually pinpointed where and when your letter had been sent. Once upon a time the location was pretty much exact, rubber-stamped by the village postmistress or in the local neighbourhood sorting office. No scratching your head wondering where an envelope had come from, it was clear as anything for all to see, and extremely precise. No uncertainty about whether your letter had taken hours or days to arrive, the speediness of the postal service was always distinct.
And then the not quite so good days of semi-proper postmarks. Still concentric circles, but very much machine-stamped and not quite so local. Just the name of nearest big town now, enough to narrow down who'd probably sent the envelope, but nothing too precise. And sometimes semi-illegible, with half-formed red letters, which was really annoying when you were trying to check the date of postage. At least you had a chance.
And now we have really rubbish postmarks. Vague black stripy things lightly sprinkled across the corner of an envelope. A few squiggles to make sure you cant use the stamp again, and a few cryptic dots with insufficient meaning. Want to know when your envelope was sent? Sorry, you probably can't read it. The dots on my Christmas card might read 23.12, 28.12 or 29.12, but only the top half of the splotchy lines have printed. Want to know where your envelope has come from? Sorry, no can do. My Christmas card was, if I'm reading the squiggles properly, sent from "South East Anglia". That's a huge area which covers about 20 different people in my address book, and only by ripping the seal did I find out exactly who.
Postmarks now look like they've been printed by a cheap 1980s dot matrix printer nearing the end of its ribbon, rather than a nice firm rubber stamp wielded by a postmistress. A few scrappy marks for the benefit of the Royal Mail, and most definitely not for the benefit of the customer. Who cares if we can read the postmark on an envelope so long as a machine can. Who cares if we can't tell how long a letter's been in the post, so long as they eventually manage to deliver it? Modern postmarks are about being efficient, not informative. And they're most definitely not what they used to be.
Select-a-resolution(with useful web-hints) I will lose all that weight I put on over Christmas: You probably won't, you know. But it might be wortha try. I will drink less alcohol: Shock yourself by calculating how many units you consume - bet it's more than you think. (his/hers) I will save the planet: Not by yourself you won't. But Londoners can send off to Ken for a free Planet Repairs Toolkit. I will not waste my money on bottled water: Go on, be brave - tap water tastes just fine, honest. I will use locally-sourced green organisations: Try searching the London Greenmap, you might find some on there. I really will give up smoking this year: Yeah, right, we believe you, you weak-willed brown-stained wimp. I will start going to the gym: But they're all full of once-a-year wasters like you at this time of year. Just stay fat instead. I will reduce my carbon footprint: £1 p&p gets you a free pack of Top Trumps cards full of carbon-saving tips and hints. I will have sex more often: When you're 70 you won't get the chance, so make the most of rampant shagging while you can. I will spend more time with family and friends: What are you doing wasting your time online reading this? Get back to real life right now...
2008 anniversary quiz
Here are 13 events celebrating an anniversary in 2008. How many can you identify? All answered in the comments box (and, now, all clickable).
a)Jan 1933 (75 years): elevation to power of a failed artist b)Feb 1958 (50 years): accidental death of eight babes c)Apr 1958 (50 years): a nuclear stroll to Berkshire d)May 1908 (100 years): left his mother shaken but not stirred e)Jun 1908 (100 years): official opening beneath the Thames f)Jun 1908 (100 years): destroyer of Siberian forests g)Jul 1908 (100 years): five rings at White City h)Aug 1958 (50 years): Wanna be starting something? i)Sept 1758 (250 years): The Admiral of Burnham Thorpe j)Oct 1908 (100 years): a tale of amphibious driving k)Dec 1508 (500 years): genius lies back and paints ceiling l)Dec 1808 (200 years): Fate knocked (three Gs and an E flat) m)Dec 1958 (50 years): pioneering bypass operation
You may, one New Year, be tempted to come to London to see the midnight fireworks. Don't bother. However much Mayor Ken may trumpet the excellence of the spectacle, however much Visit London may plead with you to attend, don't waste your time. Stay at home, party with friends and watch it all on the telly instead. Because that was the biggest pile of pants I've ever not seen.
Q. What time should I arrive for the fireworks? Experience in previous years suggests that you be at your chosen vantage point by 23:00, to avoid any last-minute rush. Note that Westminster tube station will close at 21:00, so don't leave it until the last minute, as you may be disappointed. Other nearby stations may close temporarily if they become overcrowded.
If I can get to Temple station by 22:30, I thought, that should work nicely. But no. I was forced to abandon my train at Blackfriars, along with a platform-full of drunken revellers, because the three subsequent stations were closed due to overcrowding. It took ages to escape from the platform, and then I had to negotiate the madding crowds on the Embankment. This was not easy, not least because several idiots had chosen to bring pushchairs to the event and were trying to shove their sleeping offspring through the barely penetrable throng. Never mind, it wasn't quite 11pm and I was closing fast on Waterloo Bridge.
As I watched, a temporary metal gate beneath the bridge suddenly clanged shut, blocking access to the remainder of the Embankment. The good half of the Embankment, immediately opposite the Eye, was now inaccessible. "Sorry, we're not letting anybody through any more," growled a security guard. "Not until the event is over. But there's still a decent view of the fireworks back the way you've just come. Anywhere between here and Blackfriars should do." So I turned round and headed back through a mob of people still pushing forwards, unaware that the road ahead had been closed off. There were no re-direction signs, no public announcements, no clues that they were completely wasting their time. It was like watching lab rats scurrying blindly towards an experimental dead end.
I took up position just along from Temple station, close to the river's edge. I knew that this would be a good place to watch the fireworks because the London Eye was clearly visible, and the spot was marked as an official viewing area on my official map in my official leaflet. Great, there was now 'only' an hour to wait. It turned out to be quite a wet hour, and I was worried that my view might be obscured by umbrellas wielded by wimpy boys with gelled hair. Thankfully the deluge stopped with minutes to spare. I was also stuck directly behind several 6-foot-plus blokes, one of whom had the temerity to wear a woolly hat with a floppy bit on top (a bit like the teat on the tip of a condom) which blocked my view even further. Still, at least I had a better view than the ten rows of people behind me, including the Polish youth jamming his rucksack into my side as he attempted to steady his video camera in readiness for the imminent extravaganza. Eagerly the crowd counted down the final 60 seconds of 2007.
Bong! Boom! The first fireworks of 2008 exploded from the rim of the London Eye. Oooh! Aaah! Hmmm!?! Where had the fireworks gone? A cloud of billowing black smoke had rapidly obscured our view, so utterly and so completely that only the sound of distant explosions told us that the display was still continuing. It was a bit like being in London during the Blitz - all smoke and bangs and blackout. The impenetrable darkness continued, minute after agonising minute, with only the occasional high-flying rocket trail visible above the glowing cloud. The crowd and I stood unmoved in muted disappointment. Even the Polish guy stopped filming after the first five minutes. Were we really going to see absolutely nothing at all? All that hassle to get here, all that standing around, and all for eleven minutes of invisibility. The organisers had forgotten to mention one very important additional key fact - never stand downwind of a firework display.
Bollocks. The hundred thousand of us standing on Waterloo Bridge or on the eastern half of the Embankment had a good view of the London Eye yet saw virtually no fireworks whatsoever. We'd been herded by officialdom into a viewing space which turned out to be worse than useless. Our journey to central London had been a complete waste of time, money and energy. We saw nothing. And to top off a miserable night we still had to face the nightmare journey home, creeping slowly along packed streets trying in vain to find a sideroad up which the police might eventually allow us to escape. No fun. No fun at all.
Best Fireworks In London The event, organised by the Mayor of London and Visit London, promises to be one of the best fireworks displays in Europe.
I think not. Not from where we were standing anyway. I only discovered what I'd missed when I got home and watched the whole smoky event on video (and, even then, I've seen better). So please, don't bother coming to London to see the 2009 fireworks next year. Celebrate well away from the centre of the capital, and spend your money somewhere more welcoming instead. And then, just maybe, there'll be room for me to squeeze into the proper viewing area in your place...
Most reviews of the year concentrate on events which happened during the last 12 months. Disasters, triumphs, deaths, victories and other items of general important-ness. But at the end of another turbulent year I'd prefer to reflect on some of the things which didn't happen, even though people thought they might. And I'm not taking about uncovering the fate of possibly-abducted three year old girls, or General Elections that failed to materialise. I'm talking about much more important non-events than that.
During 2007 life on Earth was not wiped out by a passing meteorite. No amateur astronomer suddenly spotted a huge previously-unseen lump of rock hurtling through space on an incoming trajectory. No world leader was forced to go on television and announce the imminent end of global civilisation. No blazing fireball was increasingly evident in the evening sky, no riots broke out as society broke down, and nobody had to decide who to cuddle/snog/shag during the final five minutes of human consciousness. We didn't go the way of the dinosaurs. Not in 2007. • Near Earth Objects; The Torino Scale; list of past impacts; Apophis 2029
During 2007 bird flu failed to decimate the world's population. No evil virus mutated inside the bloodstream of an East Asian chicken, before accidentally transmitting itself to a small child during a freak papercut accident. No unstoppable epidemic spread across the globe unhindered by inadequate air travel safety regulations. No ambulances driven by gas-masked medics clogged the streets of Britain carting away the dead bodies of much-loved relatives inside zipped-up plastic bags. The human race didn't fall foul of pandemic viral evolution. Not in 2007. • Avian influenza; be prepared; UK contingency plan; WHO pandemic alert
During 2007 the atmosphere was not stripped away by rampant global warming. No melting icecaps caused irreversible continental innundation and the permanent cessation of the Gulf Stream. No rising sea levels destroyed coastal cities and inhibited worldwide agricultural production. No deadly radiation slipped through the wafer-thin ozone layer creating lifeless parched landscapes and causing permanent epidermal scarring. No unpredictable hurricanes swept across the face of the planet drowning every unfortunate town and village beneath their path. We're not all living underwater yet. Not in 2007. • climate change; UK climate impact; Bali 2007; American uncertainty
During 2007 the UK was not beset by a string of terrorist atrocities. No evil suicide bombers ran amok in our major cities causing death and destruction on an unprecedented scale. No religious zealots caused planes to crash or trains to explode, nor even managed to cause a mild detonation using bleach and peroxide in an obscure Midlands suburb. Either our security forces are extremely talented in weeding out potential killers or else our home-grown terrorists have been a bit rubbish. The forces of darkness don't appear to be converting threats into actions in quite the numbers our government might like to suggest. Not in 2007. • UK Resilience; London Prepared; defending civil liberties; current threat level
And you're still here. 2007 may not have been your best year, but you've made it through to New Year's Eve in one piece. You may have suffered major disappointments or failed at something you were hoping desperately to achieve. You may have been on the receiving end of bad news or learned something you'd rather not know about your health. You may even have lost loved ones who were very dear to you. But you're still here. And, on a global scale, that's a bit of a triumph. May 2008 be similarly uneventful.
Four of the most important conversations I had during 2007
1) On the Robert Elms Show (BBC Radio London, 12/01/07) Mr Elms: Hello me old china, welcome to my show cor blimey. Tell us about this 2012 Olympic Marathon route then. Me: [puts on best Estuary accent] Well, every Olympic Marathon has to end up at the Olympic Stadium, so that means running up the A11. Mr Elms: Hehe lol. And then where does it go? Me: There's this wasteland up the River Lea where the stadium's going. Mr Elms: Hehe lol. I'm sorry, that's all we have time for. Me: But that was barely five minutes. I had tons more to say. Mr Elms: Sorry, your media career just peaked. And now we've got Joan from Streatham on the line to talk about fish.
2) At the boss's desk (in the office, 05/02/07) The boss: I've got to read out this announcement word for word. There's going to be a restructure. Me: Oh god, not another one. The boss: We're splitting the team up into bits and recombining some bits elsewhere, because a consultant said it made sense. Me: Oh god, oh god. The boss: And, even though I don't yet know it, I'm going to get made redundant as a result. Me: Oh god. But I bet they revert everything back to normal by the end of the year. The new boss: Nearly normal... and yet utterly different.
3) In the hospital ward (Royal London, 23/05/07) Pharmacist: Hello, I'm the nice lady who brings round the tablets every three hours. What medicines are you on? Me: Erm, I'm not on any medicines at all. The nice ambulanceman only just wheeled me in. Pharmacist: But everybody else in this ward is on huge handfuls of smarties eight times a day. Me: I've never actually swallowed a tablet in my life. Pharmacist: Well make the most of today, because from tomorrow you'll be gobbling down my goodies for the rest of your life. Me: Blimey, imagine how much worse it would be if I was actually ill.
4) Outside the usual pub (West End, 16/11/07) BestMate: So, the Americans just turned down my visa. Me: But, but, but, you've been living over there for nearly five years. BestMate: I know, but I can't go back now, they won't let me. So I'm going to have to move back to London permanently. Me: Oh bugger, that's a shame. Where shall we go out tomorrow night?
The five albums I enjoyed most during 2007 1) Except that, erm, it turns out that I only bought five albums during the whole of 2007 2) And it would be wrong to rank those five, because four of them don't really deserve their place 3) In fact there's only one I'm still listening to, and the rest are gathering dust on a shelf 4) I don't know where music and I fell out, but I really don't consume tunes like I used to 5) I blame downloads, and the X Factor, and the unexpected onset of middle aged disinterest [sigh]
The seven links you clicked on the most during 2007 1)Twitter, which I used to keep you up-to-date while I was spending a long weekend in Skegness and a week in Northumberland(and which I still use, intermittently, to get things off my chest to an audience of friends, acquaintances and stalkers) 2) The dead clever London Pedestrian Routemap Map, which shows how walking routes link together key central London locations (a prototype, alas not since updated) 3) The exceptionally hideousJanuary 2008 tube map(still only available on a wall at Langdon Park DLR station) 4) The November tube map, the one with added London Overground, the one which looks like it's being strangled by an ugly tangerine octopus 5)Ollie's photo of the Moo card I hid somewhere in East London as part of the inaugural DG East London Treasure Hunt(really, it's not that exciting a photo) 6) The non-existent product details of the non-existent Z740xi mobile phone which I used back in January to blog "live" from an imaginary London-wide disaster (ah, golden days) 7) The Diamond Geezer Readers Network, which allegedly exists on Facebook (although I'm not a member and never will be, so I've never seen it) [erm, that was your 7th most-clicked link of 2007 but it doesn't work, apparently, this does]
London Journeys: To the centre of Hampton Court Maze
Hampton Court Maze has been baffling visitors for more than three centuries. It was laid out in the palace gardens in 1690, one of four mazes planted for the enjoyment of King William III and his court. The original hornbeam hedges have long since been replanted in yew, but the same half mile of paths survive to this day. The key to the maze's longevity is its forward-looking design. This is no simple one-track medieval labyrinth. This is a proper puzzle with seductive junctions, frustrating loops and deceptive dead ends. Fancy testing yourself?[1]
[1] "The aim of the Hampton Court Maze", reads the information board outside the entrance, "is to get to the centre." Just in case you though otherwise. Cough up £3.50 (or wave your Palace entrance ticket) and venture inside. It's not a difficult start. The dead end immediately to your right has been blocked off to form a storage area and an exit passage, so veer left and trek around the western perimeter. It's easy to be over-confident at this point, striding ahead as yet unchallenged. But the first junction - a narrow gap carved through the hedge - introduces initial indecision. Take your pick. Through the gap and left? [2] Through the gap and right? [3] Or continue along the original path? [3]
[2] This looks promising. A long twisty-turny-path between high green walls, with what looks like a hidden right turn at the end. Damn, no, it's a dead end. OK, time to save face. Turn round slowly and head back, grinning innocently at the steady stream of equally misguided tourists shuffling to a similar fate. Should any of them ask whether this is a dead end or not, just smile and lie. Then pray you don't meet them again further along in your travels. Try that first junction again. Straight ahead? [3] Or through the gap and straight ahead? [3]
[3] That's right, it doesn't matter which of these two paths you take, you still end up at the same second junction. This is one of those cunningly-designed loops where you could keep walking round and round in circles for ever. But don't. It's just a short distance ahead to the next fork in the path. Hmm, isn't it foolproof to keep your hand on the left-hand hedge? [4] Or maybe it's the right-hand hedge? [5]
[4] On into the heart of the maze, bend after bend after bend. But rounding the fifth and final corner reveals - damn - an impenetrable green barrier. You've been unlucky here. Contrary to what you might expect there are only three dead ends inside Hampton Court Maze, and you've just wandered down the longest of them. If it's any consolation, King William III probably made exactly the same mistake. Retrace your steps to the previous junction and take the other path [5]
[5] This long path skirts around the central clearing, where jubilant finishers can be glimpsed oh-so tantalisingly close on the other side of the hedge. But no premature short-cut through the foliage is possible - the maze's iron-railing skeleton makes certain of that. Although you can pass through the hedge at the next junction, where 20th century gardeners have cut an elegant archway to link two of the original pathways. Are you tempted through? [left 6, right 8] Or will you ignore the arch and carry on round the bend? [6]
[6] Two of the paths from the arch follow opposite ends of a single hedge, recombining at another junction on the maze's perimeter. A motion sensor is hidden here, one of several installed a couple of years ago as part of a permanent "sound installation". Your passing might trigger genteel laughter, or some softly spoken quotation, or the clang of tiny cymbals - a randomly-generated sound at every location. Rest assured that the overall effect is enchanting rather than intrusive. And that any swearing you might hear is real-life frustration, not art. Head north, away from the arch [7] Or go back [5]
[7] When Harris took a stroll around Hampton Court Maze in Three Men in a Boat, it was probably within this eastern section that he and the baying crowd got horribly lost. There's one pathway in particular where, no matter which wall you try to follow, the maze will always bring you back to the same spot. Bring along a penny bun and drop it in the right spot, and this truth is easily proved. But Jerome K Jerome was undoubtedly exaggerating the maze's difficulty for comic effect - eternal entrapment is an entirely improbable outcome. Back west? [6] Down south? [8] Or away to the east? [9]
[8] If you've brought a toddler with you, they're probably gurgling merrily by now. You'd better run after them before they totter headlong down the next leafy canyon and disappear round yet another corner. Back west? [6] Up north? [7] Or away to the east? [9]
[9] At this point your sense of direction will be screaming that you must, surely, be going the wrong way. The centre of the maze is far behind you, and you really ought to be heading back. So when a new path appears leading even further away from the centre, you'd be forgiven for ignoring it, wouldn't you? Take it [10] Ignore it [7] or [8]
[10] A single decision stands between you and salvation. One of the two paths ahead looks like the correct route but is in fact a dead end. And the other looks like a dead end but is in fact the correct route. You know which way to go [11]
[11] Look, the mazekeepers really do have a big green stepladder, over there on the other side of the hedge. Presumably they clamber up and bark directions during periods of labyrinthine crisis, such as when a school party is in danger of missing their coach home. But no assistance is needed from this point on. A small green sign is now visible ahead, blatantly announcing that the "centre" is just around the corner. They've had to erect it here in case disoriented punters stop at the gate labelled "fast exit" immediately beforehand, and pass out through the turnstile without ever reaching their goal. It would be a crying shame to miss out. On to the centre! [12]
[12] Is this the central courtyard, or is this a concrete patio knocked together by some Channel 4 lifestyle programme? Bland wooden trelliswork holds back a ring of replanted hornbeam. To left and right, where two tall trees once cast a welcome shadow, sit clumps of squat stools awaiting weary backsides. And, in the very centre of the centre, an upturned conic pedestal bears the legend "We found the Maze Centre at Hampton Court Palace 2007" (with the final "7" daubed on in thick temporary paint). You might want to ask those two foreign students over there to take your photograph, before they ask you. Smile - you’ve just solved a classic 17th century puzzle. Bet you want to go back and solve it again [1]
Originally butchered by over-zealous sub-editors in Time Out Magazine London [12 September 2007]
• With chips • Curry, obviously • Lightly fried in a pesto sauce with diced shallots • Take the leftovers back to the supermarket and demand a refund • Mince it up to create vol-aux-vents for your New Year's Eve buffet • Drive up to Norfolk and post it through Bernard Matthews letterbox • Leave it outside your local police station inside a plastic bag labelled "Extreme Danger - Bird Flu" • Throw it out for the seagulls • Whatever the meat is on page 47 of Nigella's latest, try using turkey instead • Dip a chunk in cocoa, hide in a box of chocolates, and watch auntie's face when she tries one • Hide it in your neighbour's recycling bin and see how long it takes them to work out where the smell's coming from • Wrap in tinfoil and post to starving people overseas • Fondue • Dig a hole in your back garden and bury the lot • Make some turkey sandwiches and leave them on the bus • Cut into snowflake shapes, spray with varnish and hang on the tree as decorations • Stick the rest at the back of the freezer and get it out for Easter • Why not just buy a smaller turkey next year? • Or go vegan - they never have this problem with nut roasts • [I'm sure you can come up with a 20th]
1 Now when Christmas was nigh in Mayfair of Westminster in the days of Nigella the Great, behold, there came fur-coated ladies from the shires to OldBond Street, 2 saying, Where are they who are selling Bling and the shoes? for we have seen their adverts in the glossies, and have driven our 4×4s to worship him.
3 When Ken the Mayor had heard these things, he was troubled, and all London with him. 4 And when he had gathered all the chief policemen and councillors of the people together, he demanded of them where this shopping madness should be borne. 5 And they said unto him, In Mayfair of Westminster: for thus it is written by the Evening Standard, 6 And thou Mayfair, in the land of Congestion Charge, art not the least among the wealth of aristocracy: for out of thee shall come luxury purchases, that shall tempt my people decadently.
7 Then Prince Boris, when he had privily called the fur-coated ladies, inquired of them diligently what time the pre-Christmas sales appeared. 8 And he sent them to Mayfair, and said, Go and search diligently for the shiniest jewellery and designer-iest handbags; and when ye have found them, bring me word again, that I may come and spend my fortune also.
9 When they had heard the floppy-fringed one, they departed; and, lo, the deluxe brand awareness, which they saw in the West End, went before them, till it came and stood over where the exclusive retail destination was. 10 When they saw the shops, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy. 11 And when they were come into the boutiques, they saw the fabulous riches with Dolce and Gabbana, and fell down, and worshipped them: and when they had purchased their treasures, they presented unto themselves gifts; gold, and fine fragrance, and accessories.
12 And being warned by Boris in a dream that they should not return to Ken, they hailed a taxi and departed into their own country another way.
1 And there were in the same country East Enders abiding in the estates, keeping watch over their budgets by night. 2 And, lo, the economic decline of the country came upon them, and the taxation of the Chancellor shone round about them; and they were sore afraid.
3 And the market inspector said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all immigrants and indigenous Cockneys. 4 For unto you is sold this day in the market of ChrispStreet a Special Offer, which is Three For Two. 5 And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the bargains wrapped in a blue plastic bag, lying on a trestle table.
6 And suddenly there was with the inspector a multitude of the heavenly stallholders trading goods, and saying, 7 Glorious plastic toys are the cheapest, and on racks t-shirts, fake trainers toward men.
8 And it came to pass, as the stallholders were gone away from them into Fred's Cafe, the residents said one to another, Let us now go even unto the pawnbrokers, and sell our things which have come to pass, to pay for that which the Christmas adverts hath made known unto us. 9 And they came home with haste, and found three Uncles and Grandma, and the kids lying on a sofa. 10 And after they had seen Christmas, they made savings which were required of them concerning the New Year.
11 And all they that heard it wondered at these things.
London Overground update
Back in the late 19th century Victorian engineers built several filter beds in the Lea Valley to purify the capital's drinking water, helping to keep cholera at bay. A century later technology had moved on somewhat, and the beds were abandoned to natural colonisation. They're currently owned by the Lee Valley Regional Park Authority, who six years ago opened a series of bird hides and a visitors centre. Most of the visitors seem to be of the feathered variety, swooping in to swim and flap and feed in the reedy pools. But the occasional human turns up, as I discovered last weekend when I had the place completely and utterly to myself.
Olympic update
It's now been six months since the Olympic Park was sealed off, and everybody who lived and worked there was turfed out. The outcasts had to go somewhere, of course, and quite a lot of them have ended up one mile further upriver near Leyton. The new sites are tucked in beside a bleak arterial road, in the shadow of a couple of giant gasholders, nowhere with any character whatsoever. Few pedestrians ever walk down Orient Way, but plenty of traffic thunders by (most of it setting off the wholly unnecessary 30mph speed warning sign). A few lonely horses graze in a muddy field nearby, and there's also a great big £400m Eurostar maintenance depot whacked down in the general nothingness. But I'm sure most of the relocated businesses don't mind swapping old tumbledown warehouses for shiny modern hangars. These giant tiger-striped metal boxes are a million miles away from their former premises, and all paid for out of your taxes too.
They're, erm, not quite as characterful as the old allotments, are they? The old allotments had charm, and personality, and vegetation. The new allotments are formed from a rectangle of freshly ploughed earth with a concrete path down the middle, divided up into equal-sized patches of empty mud. A tall green metal fence surrounds the perimeter, with tiny saplings planted all around to provide eventual privacy. Standing guard on each plot are identikit green huts, regularly spaced, each waiting for their new owner to arrive and provide a bit of individuality. A few plots show the very first signs of cultivation - a trowel, a chair, a waterbutt - but it'll be a long time before these feel like proper allotments.
2008 anniversary quiz
I took up position just along from Temple station, close to the river's edge. I knew that this would be a good place to watch the fireworks because the London Eye was clearly visible, and the spot was marked as an official viewing area on my official map in my official leaflet. Great, there was now 'only' an hour to wait. It turned out to be quite a wet hour, and I was worried that my view might be obscured by umbrellas wielded by wimpy boys with gelled hair. Thankfully the deluge stopped with minutes to spare. I was also stuck directly behind several 6-foot-plus blokes, one of whom had the temerity to wear a woolly hat with a floppy bit on top (a bit like the teat on the tip of a condom) which blocked my view even further. Still, at least I had a better view than the ten rows of people behind me, including the Polish youth jamming his rucksack into my side as he attempted to steady his video camera in readiness for the imminent extravaganza. Eagerly the crowd counted down the final 60 seconds of 2007.
Bong! Boom! The first fireworks of 2008 exploded from the rim of the London Eye. Oooh! Aaah! Hmmm!?! Where had the fireworks gone? A cloud of billowing black smoke had rapidly obscured our view, so utterly and so completely that only the sound of distant explosions told us that the display was still continuing. It was a bit like being in London during the Blitz - all smoke and bangs and blackout. The impenetrable darkness continued, minute after agonising minute, with only the occasional high-flying rocket trail visible above the glowing cloud. The crowd and I stood unmoved in muted disappointment. Even the Polish guy stopped filming after the first five minutes. Were we really going to see absolutely nothing at all? All that hassle to get here, all that standing around, and all for eleven minutes of invisibility. The organisers had forgotten to mention one very important additional key fact - never stand downwind of a firework display.
Q. Where can I go to watch the fireworks?Bollocks. The hundred thousand of us standing on Waterloo Bridge or on the eastern half of the Embankment had a good view of the London Eye yet saw virtually no fireworks whatsoever. We'd been herded by officialdom into a viewing space which turned out to be worse than useless. Our journey to central London had been a complete waste of time, money and energy. We saw nothing. And to top off a miserable night we still had to face the nightmare journey home, creeping slowly along packed streets trying in vain to find a sideroad up which the police might eventually allow us to escape. No fun. No fun at all.[1] "The aim of the Hampton Court Maze", reads the information board outside the entrance, "is to get to the centre." Just in case you though otherwise. Cough up £3.50 (or wave your Palace entrance ticket) and venture inside. It's not a difficult start. The dead end immediately to your right has been blocked off to form a storage area and an exit passage, so veer left and trek around the western perimeter. It's easy to be over-confident at this point, striding ahead as yet unchallenged. But the first junction - a narrow gap carved through the hedge - introduces initial indecision. Take your pick.
[5] This long path skirts around the central clearing, where jubilant finishers can be glimpsed oh-so tantalisingly close on the other side of the hedge. But no premature short-cut through the foliage is possible - the maze's iron-railing skeleton makes certain of that. Although you can pass through the hedge at the next junction, where 20th century gardeners have cut an elegant archway to link two of the original pathways.
[8] If you've brought a toddler with you, they're probably gurgling merrily by now. You'd better run after them before they totter headlong down the next leafy canyon and disappear round yet another corner.
[12] Is this the central courtyard, or is this a concrete patio knocked together by some Channel 4 lifestyle programme? Bland wooden trelliswork holds back a ring of replanted hornbeam. To left and right, where two tall trees once cast a welcome shadow, sit clumps of squat stools awaiting weary backsides. And, in the very centre of the centre, an upturned conic pedestal bears the legend "We found the Maze Centre at Hampton Court Palace 2007" (with the final "7" daubed on in thick temporary paint). You might want to ask those two foreign students over there to take your photograph, before they ask you. Smile - you’ve just solved a classic 17th century puzzle.
1 Now when Christmas was nigh in Mayfair of Westminster in the days of Nigella the Great, behold, there came fur-coated ladies from the shires to Old Bond Street,
9 When they had heard the floppy-fringed one, they departed; and, lo, the deluxe brand awareness, which they saw in the West End, went before them, till it came and stood over where the exclusive retail destination was.
1 And there were in the same country East Enders abiding in the estates, keeping watch over their budgets by night.
6 And suddenly there was with the inspector a multitude of the heavenly stallholders trading goods, and saying,
