And finally in this series, the West End's lost river. That'll be the Tyburn, a long-departed stream which used to run through some of the most tourist-friendly spots on the planet. The Queen lives on it, Big Ben overshadows it, and shoppers on Oxford Street regularly wade across it. Even better, its valley remains readily visible most of the way down, even through Marylebone and Mayfair, should you ever fancy tracking it down. I've had a go.
The River Tyburn started its journey from the uplands of Hampstead, as did its streamy neighbours the Fleet and the Westbourne. All three ran sort-of parallel down to the Thames, with the Tyburn sandwiched inbetween the other two. It trickled south through St John's Wood, keeping to the west of the heights of Primrose Hill, and then into what is now Regent's Park. The boating lake here is the river's most obvious legacy, but one of the bridges over the Regent's Canal hides a similar secret. The Tyburn slipped out of the park past Baker Street station and on into Marylebone, where meandering Marylebone Lane still mimics the river's former course. Oxford Street is crossed close to Bond Street station (look for the very obvious dip in the road when you're out Christmas shopping). Then on into the heart of Mayfair (via Brook Street, obviously), curving around Berkeley Square to cross Piccadilly and into Green Park. The original stream crossed the front of Buckingham Palace before swinging east through St James's Park (home to another no-coincidence water feature) and splitting in two. These final rivulets once surrounded Thorney Island, a dry-spot in the marsh upon which Westminster Abbey and the Palace of Westminster were built. Drainage hereabouts later forced the diversion of the river south, with a fresh course running down to Pimlico. One river, three possible endings, all now long gone.
There are several theories as to the derivation of the name Tyburn. The 'burn' bit is fairly straightforward, being derived from 'bourne' which means stream. But the first part of the name is probably linked to that split in the lower river. It could therefore come from 'Teo' (meaning 'two') or 'Tie' (meaning 'enclosing'). The first of these is given credence by King Edgar's royal charter, dated 951AD, which names the stream Teo-burna. Alternatively the entire name may mean 'boundary stream', or else might be a contraction of 'the Aye bourne', whoever or whatever 'Aye' was. Take your pick.
Other places named after the Tyburn: • Oxford Street: Until the 1780s, known as Tyburn Road • Tyburn: A small medieval village at the western end of Tyburn Road (population in 1086, eight families) • Tyburn Tree: Site of London's most notorious place of execution, in Tyburn, close to where Marble Arch now stands. • Tyburn Brook: A completely different lost river, a tributary of the Westbourne, which flowed from the gallows southwest into Hyde Park • Marylebone: Parish whose was church originally known as 'St Mary's church by the bourne'.
The river Tyburn's fate was decreed by its location. Early settlers were drawn to its delta, at Westminster, to form London's second nucleus. Its lower marshes were drained in Tudor times to create fertile land for farming and hunting. Then, as the city started to extend into Mayfair and Marylebone, the river had to be driven underground to provide sanitary living conditions for new residential quarters. Full burial came in the mid 19th century with the construction of an underground conduit, the King's Scholars' Pond Sewer (named after a pool used by Westminster School's top pupils for fishing and bathing). It's straighter and wider than the old river - for much of its length an elliptical brick tunnel - and still in use for foul-smelling run-off to this day.
Businessman James Bowdidge recently proposed that the Tyburn be restored to the surface, forcibly if necessary, by knocking down all the buildings in its path north of Piccadilly. An most peculiar motive for a property developer, it has to be said, but James is also the honorary secretary of the Tyburn Angling Society so claimed his priories were mostly fish-related. Assuming his plans to be tongue-in-cheek, or at best impractical, your best chance of spotting the Tyburn continues to be searching for clues on the surface.
While you were looking elsewhere yesterday, the 2012 planners sneaked out some bad news. Some very bad news, about travelling around London during the Olympics. They'd rather you didn't. It's going to be hell out there, what with hundreds of thousands of tourists blundering around the capital's transport network. The message to Londoners is clear - you should make life easier for global spectators by staying away. Work from home, get on your bike, leave the country for a fortnight.... but whatever you do don't try to get on a train.
A whole suite of documents has been released, well over a year ahead, to support UK businesses in their contingency planning. The advice hints strongly that public transport will be stuffed, that roads may become impassable, and that bosses probably ought to start planning now in order to minimise the Games' impact on day-to-day operations. There are action plans to download, strategies on flexible working to consider, and precise geographical predictions on how bad things could get round your way. It's these location-specific details which will worry the hell out of many Londoners. Fortunate, then, that almost nobody's noticed yet.
There will be a number of very busy areas, junctions and routes across London during the Olympic and Paralympic Games, known as ‘travel hotspots’. In particular, these will include areas around major interchange stations, such as King’s Cross St. Pancras, London Bridge and Bank, and routes that link central London with venues.
A set of 22 maps has been provided, allowing businesses and residents to download detailed information on how the games will impact on surrounding roads and the local public transport network. It's your first chance to pinpoint just how bad it's going to be where you live, or where you work. And be warned, it's not just places round the corner from an arena that are liable to be gridlocked.
Take the map named "Bow", for example, which covers the area between Bow Road and Canary Wharf. Three "road junction hotspots" are marked, two on the East India Dock Road and one on Poplar High Street. Unbelievably the Bow flyover roundabout is not marked as a road junction hotspot, which I can only assume is an oversight, or because police will be guarding it so carefully that public vehicles won't be allowed near. Then there are two "public transport hotspots". These may just scare you...
Canary Wharf (Jubilee): There could be significant additional delays of over an hour in accessing train services at this station. Busiest dates: 30 July and 31 August. Canary Wharf (DLR): There could be significant additional delays of over an hour in accessing train services at this station. Most affected on weekdays 8am–8pm. Busiest dates: 30 July and 4 August. Mile End: There could be significant additional delays of over an hour in accessing train services at this station. Most affected on weekdays noon–3pm, 4–7pm and 10pm–midnight. Busiest dates: 29 July and 1 August. Avoid interchange at this station.
"Significant additional delays of over an hour" suggests a crowding/queueing nightmare, and not just at venue-chucking-out time. Seriously, over an hour to get on a train? It'll be quicker to walk, even as far as central London. And this is at two stations more than a mile away from any Olympic venue. The same document also warns of "overcrowding expected at All Saints, Bow Road, Bromley-by-Bow, Bow Church, Devons Road, West India Quay, Westferry, Poplar, Blackwall and Langdon Park stations, due to lines being busy." Normal service this is not.
Stations to avoid during the Olympics Closed: Pudding Mill Lane No boarding: West Silvertown, Pontoon Dock, Woolwich Arsenal Significant additional delays of over an hour: Stratford Regional, West Ham, North Greenwich, Charlton, Mile End, Canary Wharf, Bank, West Brompton Significant additional delays of up to an hour: Stratford International, Earl's Court, Green Park, Victoria, Baker Street, Bond Street, Marble Arch, Waterloo, St Pancras International, Liverpool Street, Maze Hill, Westcombe Park, King George V, Woolwich Dockyard
Railway lines to avoid during the Olympics Significant additional delays of over an hour: Central, DLR, Jubilee Significant additional delays of up to an hour: North Kent line, Northern (Bank), Waterloo & City, Overground Additional delays of over 30 minutes: Hammersmith & City, Northern (Charing Cross), Piccadilly Additional delays of up to 15 minutes: Bakerloo, Circle, District, Metropolitan, Victoria, Tramlink
This is a significant release of bad news, right down to warning Londoners precisely where not to be at, say, two o'clock in the afternoon on 1st August 2012. It's so dire that it reminds me of the nerve gas spill in Close Encounters of the Third Kind (a fictitious disaster designed to displace all local residents while the government moved in and organised something massive). Or maybe this is nothing more than a list of worst case scenarios - an example of what'll happen if London 2012 can't persuade businesses and workers to change their habits. Whatever, Olympic planners must be absolutely petrified of public transport gridlock if they feel we all need 20 months advance warning. Unfortunate, then, that almost nobody's noticed yet.
Your 2011 diary was undoubtedly printed too early, so here's a useful print-and-stick guide to the ridiculous number of bank holidays piled up at the end of April...
There comes a day, usually around November, when handkerchiefs become a necessity. The sort of day when, even if you start off with a clean handkerchief in your pocket, it soon becomes evident to anyone watching that you urgently need a fresh one. It's at such times that the question has to be asked - where do handkerchiefs hide?
I had sudden need of handkerchiefs over the weekend. A proper handkerchief, that is, not a flimsy paper one-blow disposable. First I used the handkerchief in my pocket. Then I rifled through the pocket of another pair of trousers, and found a second. Then I extracted the handkerchief from my work trousers, and used that. And then I ran out.
I must have more handkerchiefs than that, I thought. There was that Christmas when someone gave me a really dull, yet surprisingly practical, set of six - they must be somewhere. And the rest, my historical accumulation, where had they gone? Still tucked into old pockets, I assumed, hidden deep in various pairs of trousers I never wear any more. But no, not there either. Nor in some cupboard drawer. Not anywhere. I appeared to have survived until now on only three handkerchiefs, repeatedly re-laundered, and now I'd been caught short.
So I thought I'd go shopping after work for handkerchiefs. There being no shops in my part of Bow which might sell any, I headed instead to Stratford, the major retail centre hereabouts. And I hunted, and I hunted. Most major shopping centres have a department store or BHS or M&S (or the like) where handkerchiefs are definitely sold. Not Stratford. Or perhaps a market, with nasal-friendly cotton goods on a stall. Not Stratford. Erm, surely somewhere here sells proper handkerchiefs.
I would obviously have gone to Woolworths, had this been more than two years ago, but alas that option no longer exists. I tried Wilkinson, purveyors of cheap bulk goods. No, they only had stacks of Kleenex. I tried Poundstretcher, which is like Woolworths but for less affluent people. No, their assistant simply smiled at me when I asked. Surely somewhere in this godforsaken town must sell something as simple as handkerchiefs? My dribbly nose couldn't wait until Westfield arrives.
Eventually I ventured into Peacocks, the "value fashion retailer", and hunted through the racks of gents winterwear. I spotted some eventually at the back of the store, a pack of five, in amongst an unlikely display of shiny hats and pointy shoes. This section purveyed the sort of merchandise that aspiring JLS wannabes would snap up, and had the none-too inspiring brand name of 'Urban Spirit'. But hey, needs must. Four quid.
Two of my new handkerchiefs are plain, and I'm going to use those first. The other three have a jaunty geometric pattern, a bit like someone chopped up a tablecloth into small squares (because presumably that's what hip X Factor rejects sport these days). I'll use those only when I get desperate... which should be around three o'clock this afternoon. Then I bet they go missing too, soon enough, lost in some bottomless pocket or dark corner of the linen basket. Or wherever handkerchiefs hide.
It's been three months since I last moaned about the emails that pluggers and marketing types send me, invariably suggesting that I mention something specific on this blog. I must have left it too long, because they've started contacting me more often recently. Sorry folks, it still ain't happening. So below are some of their latest desperate requests for publicity, but with all the brand names heartlessly deleted. I do hope it's damned frustrating for all those concerned.
Hey, I hope you are well and ready for the weekend? I just wanted to drop you a quick email to invite you to a launch party we have on next week at <posh hotel> which I thought you may like to come too? It's for the launch of <Wii game with £80 pricetag> which is the home fitness programme that <world famous footballer> has just signed his name to as global ambassador.
But <world famous footballer> isn't coming to your party, is he? You could only get <ancient Page 3 model> and <ITV microceleb>. So that's a no, Noel.
Hello from <collective discount website offering daily deals on fluff you wouldn't buy otherwise>! My name is Bill and I’m the marketing executive here at <collective discount website etc>. I am interested in speaking to someone at your company about advertising on your website. I think there is a lot of potential for a successful partnership between our companies and I would like to be able to discuss this further with you.
I ought to be flattered that you think this blog's run by a company, whereas instead this admission simply makes you look pig-ignorant. Go on...
We have a range of high performance API sourced banners, which I think would go brilliantly with your site.
You think wrong, Bill. I have taste, so I won't be corrupting my sidebar with your evil slow-loading Flash adverts.
Hello Diamond Geezer, Do you have an iPhone or a friend with an iPhone? I recently launched an iPhone app called <iCatchyname>, which is for when you’re in the pub, it’s closing time and you don’t want to go home.
Not only do I not have an iPhone, I don't have a 24 hour social life either. Badly mistargeted, Emma.
Hi I am a link analyst working for <search engine optimisation company> on behalf of <minor London university>. I have noticed that <minor London university> is referred to on this post. I would like to make a change to this if possible and add the word London after <minor London university> and link the 3 anchor words to the homepage. Please contact me to discuss further.
No Anecia, I will not be re-editing my archive to suit your selfish greedy ends, obviously.
Hi London Geezer, I came about your blog in the last few weeks and love it. What on earth is happening with the already high London transport prices. Well done for pointing that out - I have not heard about it on any of the news and it's amazing how everyone is keeping quite about it. I wanted to tell you about a new service which we just launched...
Don't push the personal approach too hard, Zabetta, it only makes you sound stupid.
Please see below story on the flashmob at <London location> organised by <multinational organisation> today. If you'd like high res images, please give me a shout. We also have video from the day here if you want to stream.
I let out a little sob every time I see another blogger shamelessly recycling this crud.
Hey, Please find attached the images from today’s photocall. They are also up on the PA picture wire.
A very special hello to four of the account executives at <spamming PR agency>, who between them managed to send me ten emails over the space of a fortnight despite the fact I kept writing back asking them to stop. It'd be good not to hear from you, folks.
So my message remains the same. If you're a social marketing guru who hasn't taken the hint yet, please stop sending me sycophantic promotional emails. It only makes you look desperate. Many thanks.
Last night I decided to clear out my kitchen cupboard. This meant poking around at the very back, behind the tins of baked beans, jars of jam and packets of cup-a-soup. And here I discovered a netherworld of previous purchases, a comestible archive, a stack of stuff well past its best-before-date. And I thought, I should chuck this lot out. But I didn't, apart from a couple of squeezy bottles it would have been inadvisable to keep. I'm sure that most of it's perfectly edible, whatever the official deadline says. Here's a list of the worst offenders...
The oldest foodstuff in my freezer • Young's Admiral's Pie (340g) [July 2007] - Mmm, fishy slush under a layer of mashed potato, lightly frozen, beneath a coating of ice crystals. Purchased in readiness for that day when I'd get home hungry, find the fridge bare and want a meal I could microwave in ten minutes. That day has never arrived. There's also a rather chemical-looking lemon sponge pudding, whose sell-by-date is "18 May", but that could be any 21st century year.
The oldest foodstuffs in my fridge • Bernard Massard - Brut [2000 vintage] - Given to me by my letting agent as a housewarming gift the day I moved into my flat. I'm still waiting for an excuse to open it, and/or company to share it with. • Limited edition 'Believe' Mars bar [18 02 07] - Issued in that heady summer of 2006 when England were absolutely definitely going to walk away with the World Cup, honest. I keep it as a totemic keepsake of misplaced optimism. • Creme Eggs × 2 [July 2010] - Because new season Creme Eggs are still five weeks away, and a man's got to survive until Christmas somehow.
The ten oldest foodstuffs in my kitchen cupboard • Microwaveable Apple and Cinnamon Sponge Pudding (320g) [Nov 2002] - From the days when 'microwaveable' was a) still novel b) a selling point. • Typhoo 'Millennium Blend' [Feb 2003] - A pack of 20 silver-wrapped teabags, issued to ride the millennial bandwagon, with a disappointingly ordinary taste so I still have four left. • Fray Bentos Steak and Mushroom Pie (425g) [May 2003] - I can't face slicing the big tin open, because the contents never quite look edible, even after cooking. • Mixed herbs (58g) [June 2003] - Bought for me by a friend in the misguided belief that I might use it to 'season' my food. They'll learn (but only if they ever come to dinner again). • Cadbury's Original Drinking Chocolate (250g) [Oct 2003] - Mmm, milky chocciness. Now that I've remembered this exists, I give it two weeks before I've gulped down the lot. • Sliced carrots in water (no added sugar) (180g) [Jan 2005] - If nothing else, old tins show just how far graphic design's moved on in the last decade. • Jif Lemon [Sep 05] [Oct 00] - OK, I've chucked the old lemon away, on the basis it must be nasty, cloudy and acidic inside that yellow plastic by now. But the newer one survives until next Pancake Day. • Nescafé Gold Blend (50g) [June 2006] - I keep this tiny jar for when builders/workmen/visitors come round and ask for a coffee, because it would be socially gauche not to have any. Still 90% full. • Heinz Tomato Ketchup (855g) [July 2006] - Don't worry, this one's empty, but I've kept it as a reminded of the glory days when ketchup still used to come in proper bottles and not cheapskate thin squeezy bottles. • Evian Natural Mineral Water (2l) [31 03 2007] - I never drink the stuff, it's a complete waste of money. But I've got this bottle stashed away for the day my taps run dry. Or Armageddon, whichever comes sooner.
Lessons learned 1) I must remember to stop buying new food when I already have perfectly serviceable old food. 2) Tinned food's not big and it's not clever, but one day you'll be damned glad you've got some. 3) If you're an old school blogger looking for an idea to write about, go look in your kitchen cupboards.
WALK LONDON Thames Path (extension) Woolwich to Erith(6½ miles)
Woolwich Converted barracks, gates swing shut, apartments still available. Museum café, a squaddie pops out, moves a chair. Fog is lifting. Metal sculpturefolk stand around, no Clipper in sight. Riverwall curves downstream, the Thames laps. Apartments become more remote, less desirable, more affordable. Passing by: ladies weighed down by carrier bags; two pushchairs; a dogwalker in purple curlers. City Airport roars, business class screams overhead, planestupid sticker on lamppost.
Tripcock Point The river bends at Margaret Ness. Willow, buddleia, mud. A bright red tower, lamp on top, guiding non-existent boats. Damp grassy footpath, cobbled banks, Willy's Wall. Fenced off mounds, "Danger No Admittance", awaiting the Thames Gateway Bridge that will never come. Diggers rumble, gulls forage. Toothless cyclist grins, policeman skulks on the upper path. Views of Beckton sewage works, Barking flood barrier, estuarine greyness.
Thamesmead Flats loom, the shopping centre's tower pokes higher. Wholly unexpected viewing platform, what's to see? Piles of containers and Creekmouth cranes. Too many seats, leafy puddles, splintered benches. Three upright lances, defunct wind chimes, 70s street art? Pumping station, concrete culvert emerges, plastic bags afloat. Solo angler, flask and jacket, woolly hat. Thamesmead's balconies go on and on: kiddie trikes in storage; hibernating barbecues; empty deckchairs.
Cross Ness Path turns to gravel, another red lighthouse. South London, the northern tip of. Patch of dewy grass. Across the Thames: a field of paintpot-white tanks; Ford Dagenham; a wind turbine with upper blade part-vanished in the mist. Edge of Thamesmead, its estates peter out, the binmen are calling. Golf course, probably not for the locals, nobody on the driving range. Metal arch, end of the Ridgeway, sewertop walk to Plumstead. Blue above, grey below, the horizon so narrow.
Crossness Victorian brick, temple to sewage, all hail Bazalgette. Somewhere within: beam engines; painted ironwork; steam! No access, tall fence. CCTV sentinels loom. Pair of rat-faced fisherboys, R&B blaring. Vats of human waste, stink-free, best not thought about. Sci-fi-tastic building alongside, tall and silvery, the Crossness Sludge Incinerator. Chimney with a bulging neck, swooshing switchback roof, puffs of steam emerge. Sliver of nature reserve, seabirds speckle the river.
Belvedere Power station under construction, another silver swoosh, another tall chimney. London's waste arriving soon for burning, 72 megawatts. Workmen making finishing touches, do NOT touch the live cables. Refurbished pier, awaiting tugs and barges, bright orange cranes at the ready. Industrial riverside continues: warehouses; lock-up units; blaring radios. Pier, pier, wharf, pier, slipway, oil works. Nobody lives here, many (still) work here. Segregation, isolation, hanging on.
Erith Civilisation approaches, but slowly. Overhead conveyors, grass-topped jetties, chemical silos. Spiderwebs cling to unwary ramblers, silvery threads across the path like tripwires. Retired couple lunching on the river wall, thermos of soup, cheery "hi". Across the river Coldharbour Point, undeveloped wasteheaps, JCBs the only sign of life. Back to town, flats, more flats, a downbeat path. Blonde harridans sip cider, staffie at heel. William Cory Promenade, Erithpier, nip back through the flood wall.
I wrote a long post about Crossrail last night. Sorry, it's not here.
The designs for eight new Central London Crossrail stations were launched yesterday at an exhibition off Tottenham Court Road. Boris went along to the Building Centre and stood in front of a series of illustrations, and the media dutifully reported what he said. So I thought I'd write a post about it. It took me ages, several hours, and I was nearly at the end when I accidentally pressed some mysterious combination of keys and deleted the lot. Blogger always saves drafts of posts as you type, so it ought to be impossible to lose everything, but apparently I discovered the magic keypress which kills it all. I hunted around, I clicked 'back' on my browser, I tried everything, but the entire 1000 words or so had completely disappeared. Bloody bastard Blogger shortcuts.
I'd researched this post specially. In particular I'd been along to the exhibition after work yesterday to take a look. The display wasn't as big as I was expecting, merely a wall full of sketchy artists impressions (which somehow managed to be both informative and unhelpful at the same time). I wrote some particularly illuminating sentences about the exhibition, including how totally uninspiring Farringdon station will look, but my crafted words have disappeared and I can't quite remember how I phrased everything.
I took some photos too, like this shot of the Centre's scale model of London, now with Crossrail threading though the skyscrapers. There was a cutaway of a station too, with a long descending escalator and a plastic platform in a tube, but that photo didn't come out so well. I seamlessly linked those photos into the text I was writing, while I still had some text that is, which now I don't.
There was one particular sentence about how all the stations look like airport terminals buried underground, which isn't necessarily a good thing. I had a particular laugh at the verbose drivel some of the architects had written about their beloved designs. Bond Street, for example, "will use the concept of a colonnaded pavilion which enables internal spaces to be perceived from various parts of the station and which will provide framing for the movement of people while assisting passenger flows and intuitive way-finding." I'm not the only one writing inadequate rubbish today.
And I'd composed an entire paragraph about how incredibly long Crossrail stations will be, often with two entrances linked to adjacent underground stations. The platforms are going to be 260m long, that was the crux of it, which explains how Bond Street Crossrail station will have an exit as far away as Oxford Circus. Get your walking shoes on, people of London. Except I phrased it better than that, and there were better examples.
I bemoaned the fact that, despite having been to the exhibition, I still couldn't picture how the most of the new stations will actually look because the drawings were too woolly. I had a whinge about the newly-revamped Crossrail website, which has lots of textual detail about the eight new central stations but very few useful illustrations and hardly any useful maps or plans. And I linked everything together in a hopefully interesting and informative way. All gone, lost, wiped.
Hell, I even popped in to the official Crossrail Visitor Information Centre at Centre Point too. It's only open Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I have to say it's not exactly buzzing with visitors even then. The staff summarily ignored me all the time I was looking round, which suggests the three of them don't exactly have the most difficult job in the world. They can count themselves lucky my original post has disappeared, because I wasn't quite so polite about them in that.
So look, I spent my evening walking the streets of London doing some original on-the-spot research, then coming home later than usual and pouring my thoughts out into this web browser. I thought you might appreciate the effort, and I was quite proud of what I'd almost churned out. And then at ten to midnight, whilst polishing the last few sentences for added nuance, I managed to delete an entire evening's work. I was not best pleased.
I stared at the blank rectangle for a while and considered trying to recreate my extinct masterpiece. If I stayed up until 2am, maybe 3, I could probably reassemble something which read sort-of similarly. I was sorely tempted. Except it wouldn't have been quite as good, I realised that, so I decided against. Instead, sorry, you've got this incoherent moan written in a fraction of the time, conveying only a flavour of the information I meant to bring to you today.
So that's six hours of my life I'll never get back, and with nothing decent to show for my troubles. Maybe I'll learn one day that there are better ways to spend an evening than waffling at length online. But, more likely, Crossrail'll be along first.
London Reconnections has proper details and photos of the eight newly-launched Crossrail station designs. » Paddington(just what Paddington needs, another underground station) » Bond Street(with an eastern exit in Hanover Square, which will suddenly get a lot busier) » Tottenham Court Road(the entire Olympic Park will be completed in less time than will TCR) » Farringdon(did I mention how uninspiringly dull I thought this station looked?) » Liverpool Street(meanwhile the other end of the train will be at Moorgate station) » Whitechapel (they're building some fancy pedestrian concourse above the Overground platforms) » Canary Wharf(this one's well underway already, and should look impressively shiplike) » Custom House(the only one of these eight stations with platforms above ground)
I booked an important work meeting, one we have to hold every year. A small meeting, one where not many people are involved. A spacious meeting, because the not many of us still need a big room. And a fairly distant meeting, because it's not happening until February. I booked it. All by myself. Easy.
Booking this particular meeting used to cause problems. Indeed, booking any meeting used to cause problems, because I couldn't do it myself. We used to have a system whereby only certain people in the company were meeting bookers, and if you wanted to book a meeting you could only do it by asking them. It might sound great to have people to do things for you at work, but those bookings didn't always work out smoothly. Like so....
Me: I'd like to book a meeting in the last week of February, please. Them: Sorry, they haven't released February yet.
Me (a few weeks later): I'd like to book a meeting in the last week of February, please. Them: Sorry, they haven't released February yet.
Me (a few weeks later): I'd like to book a meeting in the last week of February, please. Them: Sorry, the last week of February's full already.
Or like so...
Me: I'd like to book a meeting in the last week of February, please. Them: Certainly, I'll do that for you. Send me the details. Me: Thanks. Let me explain everything now, and then I'll send you all the details in an email. Them: Excellent. Consider it booked.
Me (in the last week of February): Erm, I'm in the meeting room. The desks are set out wrong, none of the refreshments have arrived, and reception aren't expecting any of the guests. Them: Sorry. Are there any other meetings you'd like me to book?
But now it's all change. Work has a new automated online meeting booking system, which means I can log in and book things myself rather than having to pass the job on to someone else. I can check dates months in advance, and even book a meeting next October if I want to. I can look around and pick the best available room on the best available day, rather than having to make do with whichever godforsaken basement cellar some minion picks for me. And I can get all the details correct, like booking the right food at the right time, rather than playing Chinese whispers and then being frustrated when the vegetarian meal fails to show. The system's excellent, and it makes arranging meetings a heck of a lot easier.
But it's not good for everyone. What I can now do in two minutes used to take someone else considerably longer. Indeed I can now book a meeting quicker that it used to take to explain to someone else what meeting I wanted them to book (let alone the extra time it took them to actually book it). And because I'm doing all the groundwork, that someone else isn't needed any more. The company used to have several people whose role included booking meetings, and now it only has one - to oversee the system. Jobs have been lost, departments have been slimmed down, and all thanks to the wonders of a crafty bit of software.
For those of us who remain, our working lives are now a little easier. But for those whom technology has replaced, their working lives are no more. Support roles are suddenly sidelined, and hard-earned skills no longer required. Taxpayers, governments and shareholders may cheer when organisations strive to keep costs down, but those savings come at a human price. It'll be the IT helpdesk next, or the entire finance processing team, or maybe you and me.
Slowly, inexorably, Britain's workforce is being replaced by something cheaper. Increased efficiencies bring greater savings, but they also mean fewer available jobs. Better hope you're indispensable, or unemployment ultimately beckons. But it was lovely working with you, while it lasted.
His Royal Highness Prince William of Wales and Miss Catherine Middleton are still engaged to be married(update)
The Prince of Wales continues to be delighted by the engagement of his eldest son to the daughter of some Home Counties millionaires.
But look, let's get something straight. Royal weddings are usually extravagant lavish affairs where a bunch of privileged aristocrats splash their cash around. Gold coaches, sparkly tiaras, the full works. Not this time. Because the country simply can't afford it.
This will be an austerity wedding. We recognise that a large proportion of the British population are really up against it, and even more of them will be on the scrapheap by the time of Willie's nuptials next summer. It would therefore be wholeheartedly insensitive of us to wave our bling around as usual. So rest assured, this time we won't. Even the engagement ring is recycled, just to show we're serious.
Normally a royal wedding would take place at either Westminster Abbey or St Paul's Cathedral. But they both charge a fortune in fees, so the Prime Minister's insisted we go somewhere cheaper. Somewhere a bit smaller too, so that your TV screens aren't filled with row upon row of the landed gentry in morning dress. A rigorous shortlist has been drawn up - narrowed down so far to the Methodist Chapel in Neasden, the Lord Redeemer Evangelical Temple in Peckham or a Scout Hall in Putney. It's for the best.
Please note that no date for the wedding has yet been chosen. Clarence House is still in negotiations with Sky Sports for exclusive wedding rights, and they don't want to clash with a rescheduled Chelsea at home. But one thing we do know - the ceremony will be held on a Saturday. Charles & Di may have got married midweek, but the PM is very clear that Britain's struggling economy can't afford an extra bank holiday. We're all in this together, he said, so let's knuckle down and have no unnecessary time off.
There's been much speculation in the media about Kate's wedding dress. Our original plans were to commission a bespoke mille-feuille creation from one of Mayfair's top designers. But we recognise how bad that might look when the rest of the country is buying outfits from charity shops, so instead we've linked up with Blue Peter who are going to run a competition. Some precocious eight year-old will probably triumph, and then we'll ask a Women's Institute from Norfolk to knock up the winning dress design using only recycled materials.
There'll be a choir, obviously, but not the usual angelic cherubs in starched ruffs. Instead we've negotiated with Simon Cowell and he's going to manufacture a supergroup to sing lazy ballads during the signing of the register. Auditions will begin in the New Year, after which there'll be a weekly ITV show in which potential choristers are rejected one by one until only the most download-friendly remain. Profits from telephone voting are expected to be high enough to pay for the entire wedding without any additional public subsidy.
The Coalition Government are very keen that Wills and Kate's be seen as the first "Big Society" wedding. The procession will pass along streets swept by students on day release from debtors prison. The guard of honour will be provided by redundant squaddies who used to work on aircraft carriers. The royal coach will be pulled by the long-term unemployed, bussed down overnight from Cumbernauld. Even the Queen's hat will be a repeat. By the time the ring's been slipped onto Princess Kate's finger, you'll believe the royals are belt-tightening just as much as the rest of the country.
But not for long. Following the marriage, the guests will head off for a slap-up six-course banquet out of sight of the world's media. Then it's honeymoon time for the happy couple on a luxury yacht in the Caribbean, before returning home to a privileged life of polo, jewellery and servants. That's the aristocratic tradition, that's how it's always been, and that's how it always will be.
People of Britain, be of good cheer. The upcoming Royal Wedding is a splash of colour on the hard road we all have to travel. Start planning your street parties, sewing your bunting and buying your commemorative teatowels today. And remember, however bad it gets for you next year, for us the fairytale continues.
Last time I was in a second-hand bookshop I spent £2 on a copy of "London for Everyman" by William Kent - a guide for visitors to the capital, attempting to help them to fill their time wisely. The original came out in 1930 but I've got the 1947 "Post-Blitz" edition in which the author laments many sad losses. Amongst the landmarks not yet reopened after the war was the London Museum, then located in Lancaster House on the Mall, and long since relocated to the Barbican. But several other famous museums and attractions are listed, along with their 1947 opening times and entrance fees. I thought I'd compare admission prices then with admission prices now, just to see how things have changed in the last two-thirds of a century. Quite a lot, as it turns out...
If things carry on at this rate, then by 2073 a trip on the Waterloo & City line will cost £1100, and a visit to Kew Gardens will set you back over £40000. Better start saving now.
Three new free exhibitions, within walking distance...
Evolving English British Library: 12 November 2010 - 3 April 2011 It's the obvious exhibition for a library to put on. A retrospective on the English language, from ye olde to txt, and the perfect excuse to get lots of vintage books out of the archive. Some are so ye olde that you think no, surely they can't have an example of that, but they do. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle from 793, the first page of Beowulf (Hwæt!) and the 13th century choral work "Sumer IsIcumen In" - all of those in room 1. A useful reminder that our world-conquering language isn't much more than a millennium old, and is actually an imported hotchpotch from (sssh) Europe. And English continues to evolve. The main gallery contains various examples of the language on a very broad variety of themes, from regional accents to advertising, and from slang to swearing. Yes, Lady Chatterley's Lover really did have the power to ****ing shock fifty years ago (I wonder whether the British Library's copy always falls open at that page). Other texts range from a Shakespeare first folio to a Rupert annual, plus the obscure novel which first brought us the opening line "It was a dark and stormy night...". A variety of media are used to get the message across - in the case of dropped aitches that's a Punch cartoon and a clip from My Fair Lady. Or, to take the example of Received Pronunciation, you can read the BBC Guide to it, listen to a spoken example of it, or jig along to Sophie Ellis Bextor singing it. I found this an engaging yet thought-provoking exhibition, shining a light into the fascinating world of linguistics. Make sure your eyesight's up to reading small text in dim light, because there's a lot of that. It's probably best to try to visit when it's not too busy else your view of the most interesting exhibits (or use of headphones, or sight of screens) may be blocked by especially tenacious visitors. And bring some spare cash, because the gift shop's unexpectedly tempting, and it would only be right to take away some English to read. » Peter liked it, M@ liked it too
High Society Wellcome Collection: 11 November 2010 - 27 February 2011 Well, what else would you call an exhibition about the cultural history of mind-altering drugs? The curators at the Wellcome Collection have dug into their extensive archive and pulled out a selection of narcotic curiosities - all in the interests of science, you understand, and not because any of you out there might actually partake in this kind of thing. A Starbucks cup and a crack pipe, for example, hint at the gulf between what's acceptably addictive and what's vehemently criminal. The exhibition's set in a historical and geographical context, whereby opium shifts from perfectly natural (over there) to commercially profitable (over here), and finally to legally unacceptable (all over). Times change, public morals shift. The medical angle of drug-taking is presented, including documentary evidence from self-experimentation, as well as the more social aspects of getting completely twatted with mates. Don't worry, everything's presented non-judgementally - although I did sense that a fair proportion of the weekend's audience might have been more partisan. I enjoyed the scattering of artworks throughout, including a psychedelic film powered by lowering the needle onto a vinyl record (which had some of the younger visitors totally bemused). Again, you'll want to come here on a quieter day if you're going to stare properly at the exhibits and not at lots of people standing very close to them. But well done Wellcome, another mind-expanding experience. » Visit London liked it (obviously)
Cook's Camden The Building Centre: 27 October - 8 December 2010 Meanwhile, down the road in Store Street, I visited one of New London Architecture's regular exhibitions of something London-building-related. This time the theme is social housing in Camden, which is appropriate given that Camden's the borough where the exhibition's taking place. More specifically the focus is on the work of council architect Sydney Cook, the man behind an outburst of social housing in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Unusually for those times Sydney didn't believe in high rises, so designed some impressivelydown-to-earthmodernisthousing for local folk to inhabit. I'd heard of some, even visited, for example Branch Hill on the exclusive slopes of Hampstead. But with others, like the Alexandra Estate, I was left thinking that's amazing, I think I've seen it in films, how come I've never been? More than 20 developments feature in the exhibition, including black and white photos, original plans and background information. One overall map links the whole lot geographically but, other than that, if you're interested in finding out more you're on your own. There are no leaflets or handouts to take away - the NLA don't seem to do takeaways any more. And there's merely minimal information on the website, so there's no easy way to go out and locate some of the more interesting properties afterwards. Shame, but if you're of an architectural bent then a proper physical visit to the exhibition might be for you. » Blueprint magazine liked it
They used to interrupt Swap Shop for it. I never forgave them for interrupting Swap Shop for it. I wanted to carry on watching Keith Chegwin and Noel Edmonds, but instead the BBC cut away to bring us all the pomp and ceremony of the Lord Mayor's Show. Every year, Saturday morning kids TV was displaced by a lot of tedious floats and some old men in coaches. The BBC still broadcast The Lord Mayor's Show every year, which must bore folk in Northern England rigid, although now it only curtails Saturday Kitchen Live so that's fine by me. I'm older and more tolerant now, so this year I went along to watch the parade for real. But oh yes, from somewhere very special - atop St Paul's Cathedral.
To get into St Paul's normally costs £12.50, but on Lord Mayor's Show Day they hide the cash tills away, remove the barriers and allow the public inside for free. I got there early enough that the nave was still almost empty, and the spot directly beneath the dome still blessedly vacant [photo]. More to the point, I got there when the queue to climb up to the galleries was non-existent, which it certainly wasn't later in the day when I came down. St Paul's has one of the gentlest spiral staircases in London, although that means there are 257 steps up to the Whispering Gallery and they go on seemingly forever. Oh my word, the Whispering Gallery. I'm sure the last time I was here I suffered no ill effects at all, but this time I walked out onto the upper ring and wobbled. With the dome above and a 30m drop below, I felt strangely suspended and had to hang on tight for no rational reason whatsoever. Sitting back on the perimeter bench was OK, eventually, but there was no way I wanted to walk a couple of steps to the railing and peer down. At least sat here I got the perfect opportunity to experience the gallery's unique acoustics. The steward on the opposite side of the dome politely demanded that one overkeen visitor stop taking photos, and oh yes I heard his remonstration loud and clear. I gave myself five minutes to acclimatise to the height, and almost managed, but was still pathetically relieved when it was time to climb 119 steps higher.
The Stone Gallery is the walkway around the base of St Paul's great dome. Visitors weren't allowed any higher on Saturday, but that was fine because the Golden Gallery would have been too lofty for looking down onto immediately adjacent streets. There was a bit of a wait for the parade to kick off, which gave those of us up here the opportunity to stare out across more distant parts of London. West towards Westminster and the Eye [photo], south (along the Millennium Bridge) towards the Tate [photo][photo], and southwest towards the ever-ascending Shard [photo]. I don't think some Londoners are yet aware quite how dominant this spiky glass pyramid is going to be. The City's main skyscraper cluster was clearly visible to the east [photo], immediately beyond the jarring ultramodern lump that is One New Change [photo]. It's got a new sixth-floor roof terrace which is due to open on Thursday, but don't go up there next year expecting to watch the Lord Mayor's Show because you'll be too far back to see anything. [photo]
The parade eventually emerged from behind Top Shop, having just left Mansion House where the new mayor had waved everyone off. There was a military band at the helm - one of several dotted throughout proceedings - along with miniature representatives of the Worshipful Company of Paviors. They got pole position because new Mayor Michael Bear works in the construction industry, only they prefer to call themselves Paviors round here. Soon after came the Lightmongers and the Chartered Surveyors, who were additional non-medieval guildsmen enjoying their day out in posh clothes. I had to look up all this afterwards, of course, because it was impossible to read anything useful on the floats from this high up.
Blimey, doesn't the parade goon? Just when you think there can't be another lorry or bunch of guardsmen coming round the corner, both appear. Indeed the entire procession would be hugely shorter were it not for members of Her Majesty's armed forces who parade by in all their assorted variations. There were even tanks on the streets of the City yesterday, and crowds applauding them, which in certain other countries would surely mean a military junta had seized control. As for participating civilian units [photo] the Variety Club were out and about, as was the City's only primary school, plus a bizarre float celebrating the 150th anniversary of a homeopathic company complete with dancing medicines. Several organisations featured teddy bears in their presentation, for hopefully obvious reason. And the award for most blatant ear-grinding advert went to the folk at the shopping mall over the road, who'd paid some girlie band to sing well-known songs and change as many of the lyrics as possible to "One New Change". I would have been sick, but sadly I'd have missed.
Eventually, just around the time that I was getting very cold indeed, the final sequences of coaches approached [photo]. These were the City Company bigwigs, the aldermen, clerks and sheriffs, enjoying their day out being waved at by all and sundry [photo]. Smaller crowds than usual this year, I thought, indeed the grandstands outside the cathedral were barely half full. And finally the Lord Mayor himself, bedecked in feathery black tricorn hat, although all I could was his tiny gold coach passing by surrounded by footmen [photo][photo]. This passed out of sight beyond the south transept and pulled up unseen at the front of the cathedral - where (so I'm told) Mayor Bear was blessed by the Dean. At this point St Paul's bells rang out, which I have to say sounded especially impressive to those of us standing above them [photo]. They continued to peal as the gold coach set off down Ludgate Hill, watched by further crowds from rooftops and down in the street [photo]. And finally the parade disappeared up Fleet Street [photo] - a year of luncheons and diplomatic missions ahead for the new incumbent.
I was surprised how few folk there were up the top of St Paul's looking down, especially given that access was free. Maybe 50 of us before the parade began, but with numbers dropping off significantly as the hour went by. I think I was the only person to watch the lot, perhaps because the chilling wind scared most off, or perhaps because watching an endless stream of bandsmen, decorated buses and giant adverts isn't actually that thrilling. If you're interested, you know where to go next year. And if not, Nigella Kitchen will return next week.
One of the problems with writing about the tube for a week, is that lots of other non-tube things happen and you can't write about them. Because that's what proper bloggers do. They spot news stories appearing on mainstream news websites, which they link to in case you haven't noticed them, and then they tell you what they think. My deepest apologies that I haven't been able to do this recently. So I thought I'd better spend today catching up. I'll be a proper blogger yet.
Monday: I noticed a story on the Evening Standard website which I thought I'd bring to your attention. Apparently there are plans to build a cable car over the Thames between North Greenwich and the Royal Docks. Well, sheesh, who needs that? I mean, I know a lot of people go to the O2 and a lot of people go to ExCel, but how many people are going to want to travel from almost near one to almost near the other? I think it's all a cunning ploy to lure tourists to part of London which most of them would never dream of visiting otherwise. What do you think?
Tuesday: I noticed a story on the BBC website which I thought I'd bring to your attention. Apparently there are plans for Tower Hamlets council to take legal action over the re-routing of the 2012 marathon away from the East End. Well, sheesh, who needs that? I mean, I know shifting the entire race into the centre of town for tedious logistical reasons was the act of bunch of brand-obsessed fuckwits who don't give a toss about local communities. But taking the Olympic bigwigs to court, that's just throwing your toys out of the pram, and elected politicians should know better. What do you think?
Wednesday: I noticed a story on the BBC website which I thought I'd bring to your attention. Apparently there are plans to extend the area covered by Boris's cycle hire scheme into Tower Hamlets. Well, sheesh, who needs that? I mean, it'll be great for cycling wannabes within a small patch of East London, but what's the other 90% of London supposed to do? With the scheme due to launch in spring 2012, I think it's all nothing but a cheap ploy to get Boris re-elected. What do you think?
Thursday: I noticed a story on the Evening Standard website which I thought I'd bring to your attention. Apparently there are plans to build a new kind of Routemaster bus with swooshy windows and curvy edges, and the first physical replica has just been delivered. Well, sheesh, who needs that? I mean, I know people used to love the old hop-on hop-off workhorse, but this is an expensive vanity project that London can ill afford. With the first five buses due to launch in early 2012, I think it's all nothing but a cunning ploy to get Boris re-elected. What do you think?
Friday: I noticed a story on the BBC website which I thought I'd bring to your attention. Apparently there are plans to extend theNorthern line from Kennington to a new megabucks development at Battersea Power Station. Well, sheesh, who needs that? I mean, I know we shouldn't knock the possibility of new tube stations, but this looks suspiciously like a property developer offering to build a line to nowhere useful (except to themselves). The entire power station's already semi-surrounded by railway lines, and yet they want to build a new one? I think it's all nothing but speculative privateering. What do you think?
And finally in this series, the West End's lost river. That'll be the Tyburn, a long-departed stream which used to run through some of the most tourist-friendly spots on the planet. The Queen lives on it, Big Ben overshadows it, and shoppers on Oxford Street regularly wade across it. Even better, its valley remains readily visible most of the way down, even through Marylebone and Mayfair, should you ever fancy tracking it down. I've had a go.
Olympic update
A whole suite of documents has been released, well over a year ahead, to support UK businesses in their contingency planning. The advice hints strongly that public transport will be stuffed, that roads may become impassable, and that bosses probably ought to start planning now in order to minimise the Games' impact on day-to-day operations. There are action plans to download, strategies on flexible working to consider, and precise geographical predictions on how bad things could get round your way. It's these location-specific details which will worry the hell out of many Londoners. Fortunate, then, that almost nobody's noticed yet.
There will be a number of very busy areas, junctions and routes across London during the Olympic and Paralympic Games, known as ‘travel hotspots’. In particular, these will include areas around major interchange stations, such as King’s Cross St. Pancras, London Bridge and Bank, and routes that link central London with venues.A set of 22 maps has been provided, allowing businesses and residents to download detailed information on how the games will impact on surrounding roads and the local public transport network. It's your first chance to pinpoint just how bad it's going to be where you live, or where you work. And be warned, it's not just places round the corner from an arena that are liable to be gridlocked.Camden (13): Belsize, Camden Town, Chalk Farm, Heath, Highgate, Holborn, Kentish Town, Kilburn, Queens Crescent, Regent's Park, St Pancras, Swiss Cottage, West Hamsptead.
Lewisham (13): Lewisham; Blackheath Village, Catford, Crofton Park, Deptford, Downham, Forest Hill, Grove Park, Manor House, New Cross, Sydenham, Torridon Road, Wavelengths.
WALK LONDON
Tripcock Point
I took some photos too, like this shot of the Centre's scale model of London, now with Crossrail threading though the skyscrapers. There was a cutaway of a station too, with a long descending escalator and a plastic platform in a tube, but that photo didn't come out so well. I seamlessly linked those photos into the text I was writing, while I still had some text that is, which now I don't.
Clarence House - Royal Wedding Announcement number 2
The Stone Gallery is the walkway around the base of St Paul's great dome. Visitors weren't allowed any higher on Saturday, but that was fine because the Golden Gallery would have been too lofty for looking down onto immediately adjacent streets. There was a bit of a wait for the parade to kick off, which gave those of us up here the opportunity to stare out across more distant parts of London. West towards Westminster and the Eye [photo], south (along the Millennium Bridge) towards the Tate [photo] [photo], and southwest towards the ever-ascending Shard [photo]. I don't think some Londoners are yet aware quite how dominant this spiky glass pyramid is going to be. The City's main skyscraper cluster was clearly visible to the east [photo], immediately beyond the jarring ultramodern lump that is One New Change [photo]. It's got a new sixth-floor roof terrace which is due to open on Thursday, but don't go up there next year expecting to watch the Lord Mayor's Show because you'll be too far back to see anything. [photo]
