1 And in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God unto Nazareth to have a chat to a virgin, and the virgin's name was Mary. 2 And the angel came unto her and said, "Fear not, for thou shalt conceive in thy womb and bring forth a Son, and shalt call His name JESUS." 3 Then said Mary unto the angel, "Oh, for heavens sake. I'm a responsible eco-protester and I've made a conscious decision not to bring a child into the world. An extra mouth will burn up valuable resources that the Earth can ill afford. Think of all the carbon dioxide He'll breathe out, and all the fossil fuels He'll burn, and all the nappies He'll soil, and all the mobile phone chargers He'll leave on stand-by. Not to mention all the offspring He'll probably beget. I'm being impregnated against my will, and it's our planet that will suffer. Tell God I'd rather not, there's a good angel." 4 And the angel answered and said unto her, "Tough."
5 And it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree that all local hospitals should be shut down. And the accountants saw that it was good. 6 "Bugger," said Joseph. "My espoused wife is great with child, but the nearest birthing facility is 70 miles away. And public transport is so very unreliable these days, and all the cheap fares were snapped up month ago. Verily my eco-conscience doesn't permit me to take the car. Where's that ass?" 7 So they went up from Galilee on the back of a donkey - which is not ideal for a girl in Mary's condition - unto the City of David which is called Bethlehem.
8 And so it was that while they were there, the days were accomplished that Mary should be delivered. But it turned out that the hospital was full, having exceeded its annual budgetary target, so she might as well have stayed at home and given birth in the garage. 9 And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in ethnic import swaddling clothes from the Oxfam shop, and laid Him in a manger. 10 And Mary said "Here I am surrounded by animals and straw, and not an epidural in sight. This must be as environmentally-friendly a birth as anyone could ever have, not that the wider world has noticed. It's a damned shame that the media aren't here to promote this ultra-green lifestyle to other pregnant women. But I guess my story will just have to remain untold."
11 And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And they were doing a bit of knitting, like shepherds do, yea even their teatowel headgear was sustainably generated. 12 And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid. 13 "We are sore afraid," they said. "Have you any idea how much energy you're wasting with all this ostentatious glory-shining? You could at least tone it down a bit using a low-energy halo." 14 And the angel said unto them, "Fear not, for behold this halo is a low output, flicker free, non-stroboscopic Compact Fluorescent Integrated Glow-Ring. For God phased out all the filament haloes in the heavenly firmament long ago." 15 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, and LED-based illumination toward men!" 16 “For unto you is born this day a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you: Ye shall find the Babe round the back of a pub wearing His Mum's cast-offs. Take Him some cute knitted bootees as a gift, won't you?" 17 And it came to pass, when the angels were gone away, the shepherds said one to another, "Bunch of megalomaniac weirdoes. We’re going nowhere."
18 Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem, there came three air passengers from the East to Jerusalem saying, "Where is He that is born King of the Jews? For we have flown Star Alliance (first class) and have come to worship Him. Sorry we're a bit late, there was this ash cloud." 19 When Herod the king had heard these things he was troubled. "If our little town gets too popular with tourists we may need to build a third runway, possibly in the middle of the Sea of Galilee, and imagine all the noise and air pollution that would cause." 20 And he sent them to Bethlehem and said, "Go and search diligently for the young child, and when ye have found Him, bring me word again, that I may come and murder Him, oops, I wasn't supposed to say that bit out loud." 21 When they had heard the king, they departed via a connecting flight; and lo, a vapour trail went behind them until it spread over where the young Child lay. 22 And when they had exited the terminal, they got a taxi to see the young Child with Mary His mother. And she was appalled at the unnecessary length of their travels, and demanded that they offset their carbon forthwith. 23 So they presented duty free treasures of sustainable gold and locally-sourced frankincense and 100% organic myrrh, which pleased Mary no end. 24 And then they departed into their own country, by public transport, naturally.
I hate Christmas shopping. I don't have the genes for it.
Every year I spend the days before Christmas traipsing round the shops attempting to buy stuff that people might actually like. I tour the capital, from the South Bank to Oxford Street and from museum shop to department store, in search of something, anything, which might possibly be appreciated. I ought to know the people I'm buying for well enough, but I still find myself standing in front of displays of potential purchases in paralysed uncertainty. Will my choice light up their eyes with joy and gratitude when they unwrap it? Will they smile politely and say thankyou, then nip it down to the charity shop in the New Year? Or is there a crucial reason why they don't already own one of these, which is that it's crap?
I know my problem. I'm hopeless at converting money into value. A twenty pound note I understand, but swap that for material goods and I'm lost. I can't tell whether the intended recipient will think they've received something priceless, or something worthless. Have I passed the gift-buying empathy test, or would I have been better off wrapping an empty box? I never know whether I'm onto a winner or not, but I always suspect I'm not.
In effect, I've lost faith in my ability to second guess what others want. And this, I believe, reflects my reaction when I'm on the receiving end. When other people attempt to second guess what I want they invariably get it wrong. No, I didn't want one of those, not at all. No, that can live in its box until I get round to throwing it away. No, I'll flick through that briefly while you're watching but then it's going in the dead pile in the corner of the spare room. I know I'm meant to be grateful for the thought, and I am, but every unwanted gift seems such a complete waste of money.
I usually hate December 23rd, because it's the last opportunity to buy presents before I disappear up to Norfolk with my collected haul. I wander round London in increasing desperation, attempting to tick off all the required purchasees on my shortlist, and worrying. Will that be appreciated? Hell, will that do? Sometimes I think I'd have been better off buying the first thing I saw several days ago, rather than prolonging the agony without improving the payoff. Far from inducing festive bonhomie, my pre-Christmas shopping quest merely makes me unhappy.
I got especially frustrated on December 23rd last year, whilst touring such diverse retail locations as Stratford, Selfridges and Sainsburys. Really quite unnervingly annoyed. I even managed to drop my youngest nephew's present in a slushy puddle, before eventually returning home to spend the evening covering my disappointment with wrapping paper. In particular I'd bought my Mum some Christmas sweets, in the absence of any better inspiration, plus the CD she'd said she wanted (by a group that only Mums could like). I wrapped her stash during the course of the evening, cursing that I'd bought a turkish delight box with quite so many impossible corners, and hoping it'd pass muster on Christmas morning. And then, just before midnight, I received the unexpected phone call telling me she'd never open any of it. That bought perspective to my day, I can tell you.
So this year I'm doing things differently. I've still been round the shops for three days, but this time without hope of success. I've looked at endless gift choices all over town, and decided no, they'd not be appreciated. So I've bought nothing, absolutely nothing at all, not one single Christmas present. Which means I'll be travelling light up to Norfolk this morning, unencumbered by gift-wrapped carbootsalefodder, and never mind what reaction I get. People can jolly well have money this year and decide what to get for themselves, because that'll surely be far better appreciated that any rubbish I'd have bought for them. I'd never have dared try the 'no presents' approach last year, you understand, but this Christmas what the hell. It's the thought that counts. And life's too short.
Christmas Past (at the Geffrye Museum) For a slightly different twist on the festive season, the Geffrye Museum always comes up trumps. Every Christmas they deck out their museum with appropriate seasonal decorations, and every year I go back to enjoy the presentation. The Geffrye, if you're not familiar, is a museum of historic middle-class interiors. That means eleven living rooms, decked out as they might have appeared in particular years from the 17th century to the end of the 20th. Each is lovingly decked out with period furniture and fittings, with an increasing amount of clutter evident as we move from Jacobean simplicity into the industrial and consumer eras. One rather lovely feature is that the museum is laid out inside a row of 18th centuryalmshouses, with each successive room like stepping forward in time as you walk from one end to the other. The one downside is that the main passageway is very narrow and so it only takes a few lingering visitors to clog the place up. There are plenty of visitors at the moment, as middle-class NE London pops in for a pre-Christmas gander. Watch out for children underfoot, not all of whom have been swallowed up by the organised activities in the foyer by the cafe.
The earlier historical decorations are understated evergreens - a wreath of holly here, a garland there. Only in Victorian times does the first tree appear, coupled with more commercial accessories (and some appropriate sheet music on the piano). By the 20th century we finally see paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling, presents scattered across the rug and dining tables laid with crackers - just how you or your grandparents might have celebrated. The Geffrye adds longevity to its displays by spreading its historical tableaux across the period from Christmas Eve to Twelfth Night. A table laid with New Year treats, a post-Christmas musical evening, an iced Twelfth Night cake - all these are remembered and their traditions duly remembered. No problem, then, if you can't get in for a visit this week. The festive theme continues until January 6th, when there'll be a ceremonial burning of the holly and the ivy in the garden, and some carol singing and a glass of mulled wine. Worth a visit any time of the year, but especially over the next two weeks. Kingsland Road, E2 8EA - closed Dec 24, 25, 26, Jan 1
Sir John Soane's Museum There's no other museum like it. The townhouse of one of Georgian London's most important architects - Sir John Soane - the man behind the Bank of England and the Dulwich Picture Gallery. As Professor of Architecture at the Royal Academy in 1806 he set about transforming his town house into an inspirational museum for his students, and an Act of Parliament has preserved it in much the same state ever since his death. The library and drawing room look relatively normal, for 200 years ago, with bookshelves and wood panelling ornamental clocks. It's only when you step beyond into the rear of the house that the sheer oddness of the building confronts you. Every space in this warren of rooms is filled with some artistic object, probably classical, be that a bust, column, boss or statue. Most are plaster casts of the real thing, ideal for inspiring students in the ways of the ancient world without actually having to travel there. The largest object is a genuine Egyptian sarcophagus, hewn from a single block of limestone, which needed a hole to be knocked in the wall before Soane could get it inside. Soane's collection is spread across two levels, with lightwells that successfully illuminate the basement even on the shortest day of the year. I'd love to show you some pictures so you can gauge quite how peculiar the place is, but photography's banned so I'mafraidnoneexist.
Art was another of Sir John's great loves, and some famous paintings hang from his walls. A few Canalettos for a start, but more importantly some original Hogarths. All eight canvases of A Rake's Progress are here, filling most of one wall, allowing visitors to peruse the poor man's journey from playboy to the madhouse. Another 18th century comic strip is The Election, William's take on parliamentary corruption in a rural Oxfordshire constituency, which bears close scrutiny to pick out all the satirical details. Elsewhere, upstairs, the room sometimes used to host exhibitions is to be closed off at the end of this month to enable the transformation of the building. £6m is to be spent creating a brand new visitor experience, essentially by extending into the Soane-built house nextdoor, enabling more of number 13 to be returned to its original use and splendour. That'll take until mid-2012 to complete, but there'll still be tons to see here before then. Be warned though, the curator only allows a certain number of visitors inside the house at any one time, so you may have to queue out on the pavement before being admitted to see the delights inside. 13 Lincoln's Inn Fields, WC2A 3BP - closed Dec 24-28, Jan 1-3
They love their significant dates in the 2012 planning office. London's Olympic mascots were launched last May, exactly 800 days before the Games. Tickets will finally go on sale on 15th March next year, when the countdown reaches 500. And the floodlights at the stadium were switched on yesterday, the 20th December... or 20/12 as it's otherwise known. No chronological quirk is left unchecked in the quest for publicity.
Pudding Mill station, early Monday evening. Scores of passengers descend the stairs from the DLR and emerge into the cold. "Are you here for the event, sir?" asks a security guard in a hi-vis jacket. He's not talking to me, he's talking to the man on my right. I think I recognise the man on my right from somewhere, either because he's a government minister or some big cheese in the 2012 hierarchy. He's also wearing the sort of long winter coat that only very important gentlemen wear, which must be how the guard singled him out. "This way please..." and the VIP is duly guided towards event registration and a seat on the bus to the stadium.
Things are rather quieter up on the Greenway. A handful of 2012 workers wander by, plus a few Fish Island residents taking a shortcut home. The View Tube's open late because of the 'special event', serving up hot drinks to nobody much. Two Metropolitan Police officers survey the scene, because you can never be too careful when the Prime Minister's quarter of a mile away. In the distance, a flurry of activity on the concrete podium surrounding the edge of the stadium suggests that the event will be taking place soon enough.
It's most definitely dark out here, but there are plenty of points of light all around. Spotlights on poles act as temporary streetlamps for passing construction traffic. Fourteen red lights, at the highest points on the stadium's crown, warn off low-flying aeroplanes. A ring of lampposts (they're new, aren't they?) encircles the base of the stadium. The collective glare of Hackney, Bow and Stratford raises a dull orange glow across the sky. And a steady succession of white buses roll by, ostensibly for transporting workers around the site, but whose illuminated interiors reveal almost all to be empty. Whoever's got the contract for running buses around the Olympic site is undoubtedly being paid too much to run far too many services much too often.
Just before quarter past six the lights inside the stadium dim. All eyes are on the fourteen spiky towers arranged like hen's teeth around the upper rim of the stadium. After the requisite pause for internal ceremonial, the floodlights are turned on. Only the lamps in the bottom two rows of each triangle are illuminated to begin with, about a quarter of the total, which looks partly-impressive but not quite. Inside the stadium, the crowd of specially-invited children fail to whoop with delight, as cringeworthy video footage later confirms. The staggered switch-on has left Boris and the PM floundering, and they're sounding increasingly desperate to fill time as the long wait for 100% illumination continues.
At last, after about five minutes, all 532 floodlights are lit. It's an impressive sight, even for those of us far outside the stadium who aren't in direct line of fire. Gone is the sodium glow of a typical East End night, and in its place a bright white orb gleaming upward into the sky. Bright enough to support high definition TV, so we're assured, should any 2012 athletics final run beyond summer twilight. A large group of police officers have now joined me on the Greenway, and I wonder whether they'll tell me off for attempting to take a photograph of the spectacle. I shouldn't have worried - some of them have their mobiles out and are busy taking several photos themselves.
Returning to Pudding Mill DLR, far ahead of the official guests, I see the stadium blazing like it's never done before. Trains from Liverpool Street are slow tonight, allowing commuters to stare out of the window at the unexpected light show on the horizon. But the real surprise for me comes back in Bow Road, where a ghostly white aura is illuminating the northeastern sky. I may be standing nearly a mile from the stadium but the light pollution is astonishing, like some sort of atmospheric bleach. It's a relief later in the evening, after all the great and good have gone home, when the floodlights are finally extinguished and the photon overload dies down. But it'll look great on the telly once the Olympics finally begin, and Londoners won't be able to miss the place after dark.
9.00am Christmas Carols (with the Wandsworth School choir) 9.30 Basil's Christmas Morning (with Derek Fowlds) 10.00 Christmas Crackers (a cartoon parade with Michael Aspel) 10.30 A Family Service (from Netherlee Parish Church, Glasgow) 11.45 Rolf Harris: Meet the Kids (in hospital this Christmas) 12.35pm The Story of the Silver Skates (film starring Eleanor Parker) 2.15 Top of the Pops 70 3.00 The Queen 3.25 Billy Smart's Circus Spectacular 4.30 Disney Time (with Harry Worth) 5.10 Robinson Crusoe (starring Ken Dodd, with Peter Glaze, Arthur Mullard) 6.40 The Main News 6.45 Christmas Night with the Stars (introduced by Cilla Black, featuring Bob Hope, Mary Hopkin, Graham Kerr, Nana Mouskouri, Clodagh Rodgers, Frank Sinatra and Jack Warner) 8.15 The Morecambe and Wise Christmas Show 9.15 Charade (1963 film starring Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn) 11.00 The Good Old Days (with Danny La Rue) 11.50 But Seriously...on the Nativity (with Joyce Grenfell, Cyril Fletcher, Ernie Wise)
8.55am Watch - The Nativity (first shown on Schools) 9.25 Mr Benn 9.40 The Pink Panther Show (A Pink Christmas) 10.00 Morning Worship (from Clifton Cathedral) 11.00 Weather (with Jim Bacon) 11.05 The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grimm (film from 1962) 1.10pm Carols from Warwick Castle (introduced by Douglas Fairbanks Jr) 2.00 Top of the Pops 80 (with Peter Powell and Jimmy Savile OBE) 3.00 The Queen 3.10 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (film starring Kirk Douglas) 5.15 The Paul Daniels Magic Christmas Show 6.05 Evening News (with Angela Rippon) 6.10 Larry Grayson's Generation Game (with Isla St Clair) 7.15 Dallas (Trouble at Ewing 23) 8.05 The Mike Yarwood Christmas Show (with special guest Englebert Humperdinck) 8.45 Airport 1975 (film starring Charlton Heston) 10.30 Main News (with Angela Rippon) 10.40 Parkinson at Christmas (with Penelope Keith and James Galway) 11.40 Christmas Comedy Classic: Fawlty Towers (Gourmet Night)
7.00am Children's BBC (Simon Parkin, Andi Peters and Philippa Forrester join Santa and his best friend Edd the Duck) 9.30 Shout for Joy! (from St Francis Church, Birmingham) 10.30 Noel's Christmas Presents (with special guests Frank Bruno and David Essex) 11.30 Christmas Comedy Cracker ('Allo 'Allo!/The Two Ronnies/Dad's Army) 1.30pm Top of the Pops Christmas Special (with Mark Goodier and Anthea Turner) 2.30 EastEnders (a special Christmas delivery holds a surprise for Diane) 3.00 The Queen 3.05 ET - The Extra Terrestrial (film première) 5.00 News (with Jill Dando) Weather (Suzanne Charlton) 5.10 Only Fools and Horses (Rodney Come Home) 6.25 Bruce Forsyth's Christmas Generation Game (with Rosemarie Ford) 7.30 Bread 8.20 Birds of a Feather (Falling in Love Again) 9.35 News (with Jill Dando) Weather (Suzanne Charlton) 9:45 Baby Boom (film première starring Diane Keaton) 11:30 Yes Minister (Party Games) (repeat) 12:30am Christmas Presence 12:35 The Quiller Memorandum (film starring George Segal)
5.30am Children's BBC in Lapland 10.00 Christmas in Wonderland - a Service for Christmas Day (from Cheshire) 11.00 The Santa Clause (film from 1994) 12.40 Hooves of Fire (comedy animation narrated by Robbie Williams) 1.10 Top of the Pops (with Jamie Theakston, Sara Cox and Richie Blackwood) 2.10 Homeward Bound for Christmas (live from HMS Invincible, with Jim Davidson) 3.00 The Queen 3.10 The Borrowers (film première) 4.35 Walking with Dinosaurs Special (the Ballad of Big Al) 5.05 BBC News and Weather (with George Alagiah) 5.15 EastEnders (Mel makes a decision that will change her life) 5.45 Titanic (film première) 8.50 EastEnders (an uninvited guest causes mayhem at the Fowlers') 9.20 Victoria Wood with All the Trimmings 10.10 The Royle Family at Christmas 10.40 BBC News and Weather (with George Alagiah) 10.50 Before They Were Famous (introduced by Angus Deayton) 11.30 French & Saunders Present the Making of the Making of Titanic 11.50 Naked Gun 2½ : the Smell of Fear (film with Leslie Nielsen) 1.15am Carry on Camping (film from 1969)
London's New Year fireworks are world famous. The London Eye explodes in a riot of sound and colour. A quarter of a million spectators, two-thirds of whom live outside London, turn up along the Embankment to enjoy the spectacle. Everything's broadcast live on BBC1, complete with a fawning inane commentary. And images from the event are flashed to broadcasters worldwide, which does the capital's media profile no harm at all.
So you'd think that the Greater London Authority would be promoting their New Year fireworks with everything they've got. You'd think wrong.
New Year's Eve in London is so important, it has its own website. That's http://www.london.gov.uk/newyearseve, where every year the Mayor tells the world what to expect at midnight on December 31st. How to plan your night, where to view the fireworks, and a whole bunch of frequently asked questions answered. This is important stuff, especially if you're thinking of trekking into London from elsewhere in the UK, or even flying in from abroad. But not this year, not yet. With less than two weeks to go until the New Year turns, Boris's NYE webpage is still information-less.
I think we can agree that "early December" has passed, and yet still no detailed information is forthcoming. What's proving so difficult? It's not as if this website's tough to create, because all of 2009's detailed information is still lurking out of sight behind the scenes. But nobody at Team Boris, or whichever agency he's hired to put this stuff together, has quite got round to updating or revealing anything.
Boris did put out a press release last month, announcing that British-made fireworks will be used for the first time and that the display will be accompanied by music mixed by a Radio 1 DJ. He also blustered something about how firework displays are "exhilarating and primal", but nothing of any practical use for spectators. Meanwhile detailed travel plans for NYE services are already available in a thick TfL leaflet, but these haven't made it as far as the official NYE website. Nothing has, not yet.
And this lack of publicity matters, because these fireworks cost. Boris is spending£1.8m on the event this year (10% more than in 2009) - a budgetary spend which only makes sense if tourist numbers can be maximised. As things stand, potential national and international visitors lured in by Visit London's New Year's Eve webpage are duly directed to Boris's dead end, which so far tells them nothing. Surely something will materialise in the next 12 days, but that'll be far too late to entice any long distance travellers.
I went to Edinburgh for Hogmanay last year, and one of the crucial factors in persuading me to go was the council's very detailed event website. I knew in advance how much there was to see, so I knew it was worth spending cash to get there. Alas London's New Year celebrations present no such coordinated face to the world, and that's a lot of money up in smoke.
Update: NYE website finally launched on the afternoon of 22nd December.
The priest continues to speak his well-chosen words of comfort. His voice has that special vicar-y tone which reassures at times of greatest need, and which conveniently masks what might be going on behind the drapes. He tells us all what a spiritual person my uncle was, which is news to me. Every now and then he slips in a few sentences which sound suspiciously like an advert for his religion, before returning to praising my uncle's personal qualities. Not wrong there.
We've already sung the hymn. It's amazing how little noise a crowd of 100 can make, which must be why the crematorium has invested in a series of pre-recorded hymns complete with professional choir. So much less embarrassing than the usual tone-deaf hiatus.
The final piece of music is a 1970s ballad, one you'll know well, one my uncle evidently held dear. I've never thought about about this particular song in a funereal context before, but now I may never be able to clear it from my head. One verse in, the undertaker wafts up to the front of the chapel and invites us to leave. Everybody stands and exits through the side door, every body that is except one.
It's biting cold on the terrace outside. The congregation moves round the corner to view the floral tributes laid out on the paving. It's easy to spot our party's wreaths in amongst the day's collection, because they're the only ones not covered by half an inch of snow. All around are half-frosted lilies, flake-sprinkled posies and the frosted names of loved ones past. We stand beside this tableau of blanked-out colour and chat.
There are twins due in January. So-and-so couldn't be here because they've got flu. Hasn't Dan grown - the last time we saw him he was, what, that high? Somebody's left their coat in the chapel. They'll have to wait another twenty minutes, there's already another committal underway inside. Lovely to see you again, even if these aren't the best of circumstances.
The snow lays heavy across the fields, illuminated by the winter-bright rays of the descending sun. It's a beautiful afternoon, or at least it is out there. As we walk back down the hill towards the car park, we pass the next batch of black-clad figures arriving for their moment of remembrance. The grieving cycle continues, and cherished memories depart.
London's ten busiest tube stations (2009) 1) ↑1 Victoria (77.4m)2) ↓1 Waterloo (76.0m)3) Oxford Circus (74.0m)4) King's Cross St Pancras (66.2m)5) ↑1 London Bridge (61.5m)6) ↓1 Liverpool Street (60.9m)7) ↑2 Paddington (42.0m)8) Bank/Monument (40.7m)9) ↓2 Canary Wharf (39.6m)10) Piccadilly Circus (38.6m)
London's ten busiest tube stations that aren't also National Rail stations (2009) 1) Oxford Circus (74.0m)2) ↑1 Bank/Monument (40.7m)3) ↓1 Canary Wharf (39.6m)4) Piccadilly Circus (38.6m)5) ↑1 Bond Street (36.9m)6) ↑1 Leicester Square (35.6m)7) ↓2 Tottenham Court Road (34.9m)8) Holborn (30.1m)9) Green Park (28.3m)10) Hammersmith (District & Piccadilly) (27.4m)
London's ten busiest tube stations outside Zone 1 (2009) 1) Canary Wharf (39.6m)2) Hammersmith (District & Piccadilly) (27.4m)3) Stratford (27.0m)4) Finsbury Park (23.2m)5) Brixton (20.9m)6) ↑1 Camden Town (19.7m)7) ↓1 Shepherd's Bush (19.0m)8) ↑1 North Greenwich (18.1m)9) ↓1 Ealing Broadway (16.6m)10) ↑* Bethnal Green (15.1m)
London's ten least busy tube stations (2009) 1) Roding Valley (209000)2) Chigwell (397000)3) Chesham (427000)4) Grange Hill (441000)5) Theydon Bois (674000)6) ↑1 Moor Park (771000)7) ↓1 Croxley (778000)8) Fairlop (827000)9) South Kenton (853000)10) Chorleywood (859000)
London's ten busiest National Rail stations (2008/9) 1) Waterloo (88m)2) Victoria (70m)3) Liverpool Street (55m)4) London Bridge (50m)5) Charing Cross (37m)6) ↑1 Paddington (29m)7) ↓1 Euston (27m)8) King's Cross (25m)9) ↑1 Cannon Street (22m)10) ↓1 East Croydon (21m)
London's ten busiest National Rail stations that aren't central London termini (2008/9) 1) East Croydon (20.6m)2) Clapham Junction (17.4m)3) Wimbledon (15.2m)4) Vauxhall (14.6m)5) ↑1 Stratford (12.3m)6) ↓1 Putney (8.8m)7) Surbiton (8.4m)8) ↑1 Romford (7.3m)9) ↑1 Richmond (6.7m)10) ↓2 Lewisham (6.3m)
The UK's ten busiest National Rail stations that aren't in London (2008/9) 1) Glasgow Central (27.6m)2) ↑2 Birmingham New Street (25.2m)3) Leeds (22.4m)4) ↓2 Manchester Piccadilly (20.1m)5) ↑* Liverpool Central (19.6m)6) Glasgow Queen Street (18.7m)7) ↓2 Edinburgh Waverley (17.6m)8) ↓1 Reading (14.4m)9) ↓1 Brighton (13.8m)10) ↓1 Gatwick Airport (11.7m)
» Tube passenger data here(total annual entry and exit frequencies) » Rail passenger data here(total annual entry and exit frequencies)
The company's Xmas Do was last week. They've held all sorts of December events over the years, from glitzy balls to minor huddles, and this year's was towards the lower end of the scale. A room was hired at a major London landmark, some considerable distance from the office, and everyone was summoned to attend if at all possible. Here bosses regaled staff with tales of corporate successes, ticklists of targets reached and a flurry of on-brand messages. If you've had to sit through something similar recently, I feel for you. And then the gathering broke for the serving of drinks, raising a glass to achievements past and challenges to come. I think this was the moment that several attendees slipped out and went home, or even returned to the office to get on with some real work. I don't know, I had to be at a meeting elsewhere, so I missed the lot. Lucky escape, I think.
The division's Xmas Do is this afternoon. There's a reshuffle underway, and this is the new division I'm about to move into once they can find enough desks. Very kindly the new lot have an extended an invitation to us incomers, in the hope that we'll feel more part of the team once we finally arrive. Their Do appears to be an all-out slap-up celebration at an external venue, complete with drinks, canapés, food and more drinks. There's even mention of a DJ-driven after-party until late in the evening, which is precisely the sort of event which makes me socially uncomfortable. I imagine most of the attendees will start dressing up sometime after noon, filling the gents/ladies toilets with the smell of perfume/aftershave, then trooping out of the building to overeat, overdrink and be overmerry. I don't know, I've taken the day as annual leave, so I'm missing the lot. Lucky escape, I think.
The department's Xmas Do was last week. Again, that's the new one being generous and attempting to welcome me on board before I've officially started. First they sent me an invite to their Christmas departmental meeting, which turned out to be a normal meeting but with an added box of chocolates. The last item on the agenda was a Secret Santa, operated entirely amongst themselves, which meant watching people I don't know opening presents from people they didn't know. This was as much fun as you can imagine. And at the end of the meeting they said they looked forward to seeing me at their festive drinks after work that evening, before suddenly realising they'd forgotten to invite me. An official email invitation plopped into my inbox shortly afterwards, revealing the name of the wine bar where I expect my new workmates slurped Rioja into the small hours. I don't know, I had other plans for the evening and missed the lot. Lucky escape, I think.
The team's Xmas Do was yesterday. We used to be a fairly big team, but we've been culled down to single figures this year so we had a very small-scale Do. Nothing wild, just a Christmas meal in a pub down the road, and plenty of room for everyone to fit around a single table. We did the usual thing of forgetting what we'd pre-ordered last month, and the waiter did the usual thing of reading out the entire list until somebody agreed to accept the final plate he'd brought. Turkey and trimmings for me, and a pint of non-real ale, and a slice of cream-drenched pud to finish. The crackers were rubbish - sometimes missing a toy, often repeating the same joke and with all the hats the same colour. The conversation was very pleasant throughout, but sometimes a little pessimistic because we reckon this'll be the last Xmas Do we ever attend as our existing team. Sad loss, I fear.
While you weren't looking, early yesterday morning, Charing Cross Road disappeared. Not all of it, just the top bit, up the northern end near Tottenham Court Road station. On Monday you could drive or walk along it, on Tuesday it wasn't there. And it won't be there again for the next four years. Think you'll miss it?
You know the stretch of Charing Cross Road I'm talking about. The bit past the Astoria (although that's not there any more). The bit below Centre Point (alongside the fountains) (although they're not there any more either). Lots of things around here have vanished recently, completely demolished, totally flattened. It's all for Crossrail, for which a massive new Tottenham Court Road station needs to be constructed. Hijacking this short strip of road allows contractors to combine three existing worksites, creating one mega building site which they can then dig up to their hearts' content.
As a consequence, a brand new road has been built to allow traffic to continue flowing freely. It veers off from Charing Cross Road a short distance north of Denmark Street. It carves between tall blue Crossrail hoardings alongside fresh wide pavement. And then it joins up with St Giles High Street, which used to be a parking space for buses and is now rather busier than that. Essentially what's happened is that the crossroads outside the Dominion Theatre has been replaced by two T-junctions on either side of Centre Point. For traffic heading Eustonward this means negotiating two sets of traffic lights rather than one, with a consequent increase in congestion. Still, at least traffic on Oxford Street is now flowing both ways again, after several months of glaringly inconvenient roadworks.
You'd think there'd have been a bit more publicity surrounding the closure of a major road for 200 weeks, but apparently not. TfL whipped out a press release yesterday announcing "From 06:00 on Tuesday 14 December, Charing Cross Road will be diverted to the east of Centre Point and join St Giles High Street for the next four years", by which time the road closure had already happened. There had been an announcement in the autumn edition of the Transforming Tottenham Court Road newsletter, although few Londoners read that for pleasure. And if you'd known where to look back in 2008, a series of maps were available depicting every planned stage of Crossrail-related road closures in the Tottenham Court Road area. Welcome to phase 3, even if it's a bit of a surprise.
Good news: there are scores of leaflets up for grabs inside Tottenham Court Road station detailing changes to walking routes, bus services and cycleways in the TCR area. Bad news: all the leaflets are dated January 2009 and therefore outline obsolete changes which took place two years ago. Better news: there are already "continuing your journey from..." maps along the newly diverted road, so that pedestrians can come to terms with the extra diversions they're having to make. Dire news: an illiterate contractor has erected several red laminated signs along the pavement directing the public to "Charring Cross Road". You have to wonder, if Crossrail's quality procedures can't spot a glaring spelling mistake like this, what hope for their precision drilling of tunnels beneath the capital?
Anyway, I don't want you getting caught out by Crossrail works again, so let me give you advance notice of this. Northern line trains won't be stopping at Tottenham Court Road station for eight months next year because of escalator work. More precisely, Northern line trains will be sailing straight through the platforms at Tottenham Court Road every day from Sunday 3rd April until Saturday 26th November 2011. Central line trains will still be stopping as normal, but you won't be able to interchange for destinations like Camden or Kennington. That's going to bugger up a few of your commutes, I bet. This major closure hasn't been widely trumpeted yet, but it is also mentioned in that Transforming Tottenham Court Road newsletter, the one we've already established you don't read. And it won't be the last unexpected impact of Crossrail during the next eight years. Prepare for a lot more widespread pain before the next-Mayor-but-one finally opens the blessed thing.
2010 Get the scissors out. Local councils will be cutting back on services in the New Year, as government grants for funding are slashed. Next year's budget settlement is savage, and more savage in some areas than others. The government insists that its cuts are fair, because the least well-off authorities will still have the highest grants. But what they're not trumpeting is that the highest grants are being cut the most. Hackney has the highest funding in the country, for example, but also the largest cut. Maintain this down-slicing for the next four years and the funding gap between rich and poor authorities will shrink - which isn't anywhere near as positive as it might first sound. What's being imposed here is a straightjacket designed to force councils to behave the way the government wants them to. Far from increasing "Localism", as Eric Pickles would spin it, this is Westminster's greatest interference in local politics for many years. It doesn't matter what colour council the local population voted in, they're still going to be forced to act like the truest bluest budget-cutters. And perversely it won't be spendthrift councils that'll be worst hit, because they'll find it easiest to trim some fat. The biggest victims will be areas who've already made cuts to save money, because they're going to have to cut deeper. Best get down to your local library while it's still open. And keep your fingers crossed that all the worst cuts will be to services you don't use, because they don't matter do they?
For Tower Hamlets, that's the equivalent of a one in eleven cut. Like so...
2011 Get the scisors out. Loca councils wil be cutting ack on servies in the New Ear, as goverment grants or funding ae slashed. Net year's budgt settlemen is savage, an more savage n some areas han others. Te governmen insists tha its cuts are air, because he least wel-off authoriies will stil have the hihest grants. Ut what they'e not trumpeing is that te highest grnts are bein cut the most. Ackney gets he highest fnding in the ountry, for eample, but alo the larges cut. Maintai this down-slcing for the ext four yeas and the funing gap betwen rich and por authorites will shrik - which isn't nywhere nea as positive s it might fist sound. Wha's being impoed here is a sraightjackt designed t force councls to behave he way the goernment wans them to. Far rom increasng "Localism", a Eric Pickle would spin i, this is Westinster's gretest interfrence in locl politics fr many years. T doesn't mater what color council th local popultion voted i, they're stil going to be frced to act lke the trues bluest budgt-cutters. An perversely t won't be spedthrift coucils that'll e worst hit, bcause they'l find it easist to trim soe fat. The bigest victims ill be areas ho've alread made cuts to ave money, beause they're oing to have o cut deeper. Est get down o your local lbrary while t's still ope. And keep you fingers crosed that all he worst cut will be to sevices you do't use, becaus they don't mater do they?
For Tower Hamlets, that's the equivalent of a one in six cut since 2010. Like so...
2012 Get th scissrs out. Ocal cuncil will b cuttig back n servces in he New Ear, as overnent grnts fo fundig are sashed. Ext yer's budet setlemen is savge, and ore saage in ome aras tha other. The goernmen insiss that ts cut are fir, becuse th least ell-of authoities ill stil have he higest grnts. Bu what tey're nt trumeting s that he higest grnts ar being ut the ost. Hacney ges the hghest undin in the ountr, for exmple, bt also he larest cu. Maintin thi down-sicing or the ext for year and th fundig gap btween ich an poor athoriies wil shrik - whic isn't aywher near a positve as i might irst sund. Wht's beig impoed her is a staightacket esignd to foce coucils t behav the wa the goernmet want them t. Far frm incrasing "Ocalim", as Erc Pickes woud spin t, this s Westinste's greaest inerfernce in ocal plitic for may year. It doen't mater wha colou councl the lcal poulatin vote in, the're stil goin to be frced t act lie the tuest buest bdget-ctters. Nd perersel it won' be spedthrit counils tht'll be orst ht, becase the'll fin it easest to rim soe fat. Te biggst vicims wil be aras who'e alredy mad cuts t save mney, beause tey're ging to ave to ut deeer. Bes get don to yor loca libray whil it's stll ope. And kep your inger crossd that ll the orst cts wil be to srvice you do't use, bcause hey do't mattr do thy?
Britain boasts several museums devoted to the history of asingleeverydayobject. You'll be glad to hear, then, that there's a museum devoted to possibly the most important everyday object of modern times. A device which didn't exist 70 years ago, but which now pervades almost everything we do. Its story is told in the National Museum of Computing, which is based in the very building where the world's very first digital programmable computer was operated. Block H, Bletchley Park.
The invention of the computer was ultimately Adolf Hitler's fault. British forces needed to crack the extremely complex code used by top level German officers, and only an electronic solution would do. The first computer was designed by TommyFlowers, an engineer at the GPO Research Centre in Dollis Hill, and installed at Bletchley Park over Christmas 1943. It was called Colossus, and consisted of 1500 electronic valves linked together by switchable circuits. Information was fed in via papertape running at 30mph, and swift operation meant that German operational plans could now be decoded in hours rather than weeks. Introduced in 1944, Colossus helped to ensure that Britain was usually one step ahead of Germany for the rest of the war.
Ten Colossus machines were built, but all were eventually dismantled to maintain secrecy. Volunteers have since managed to recreate this pioneering computer using the memories of retired engineers, a scant few circuit diagrams and eight black and white photographs. A fully functioningreplica now exists on the original site, complete with whirring tapes and flashing red lights, overseen by dedicated men with soldering irons. It doesn't do anything 'useful' any more, but it stirs the heart merely by existing. So long as the money (and a supply of electronicvalves) holds out, Colossus's legacy should last well into the 21st century.
Explore the remaining rooms at the Museum of Computing, from one end of the wartime huts to the other, and you'll uncover a motley collection of the outstanding and the once-ordinary. Two rooms are given over to large systems and mainframes, of the kind that used to half-fill 70s offices or keep air traffic control operational. Another houses punched-card systems (sigh, I wrote my first computer program on punched cards), while another showcases early electronic calculators (ooh, there's my Sinclair President, and my Casio fx-thingy). There's also a room being set up as a classroom circa 1984 - still work in progress, and made trickier because the specialised hardware and videodiscs needed to run the BBCDomesdayProject are already decaying.
All around the museum you'll spot volunteers keeping the place ticking over. For many this means poking around in the back of various bits of hardware, trying to restore them to working order. There are men on their knees with screwdrivers, beardyblokes in sysadmin t-shirts tweaking circuit boards, and lank-haired teenagers busy rescuing computers which are older than they are. If you have a clichéd view of what IT nerds look like, then a visit here may not alter your perception. These miracle workers should, however, earn your unfailing respect.
A favourite room is the personal computer gallery, which celebrates that glorious decade when Atari, Acorn, Amstrad etc ruled the home market. Up at one end are a Commodore PET, an original Apple and a Dragon 32, along with several other vintage models with very British brand names. Even better, the museum prides itself on having as many systems as possible up and operational. Take a seat for a nostalgic game of Frogger, or perhaps Frak on the good old BBC Micro, or even a quick round of Lemmings. Younger visitors may look somewhat baffled at first, then increasingly intrigued, whereas children of the 1980s need no invitation to get stuck in and show off long-lost prowess. If you're lucky even the Sinclair ZX81 might be loaded up and ready to play, but more likely its cassette-loading interface will have failed leaving only a few floundering lines of BASIC on the screen.
If computers have never intrigued you, don't come. If you're only interested in Facebook, YouTube or Twitter, stay away. But if you ever wrote a program that ended "20 GOTO 10", or if there's a floppy-powered PC mothballed in your spare room, then you'd no doubt enjoy a nostalgic hands-on trip. The museum's open on Tuesday and Saturday afternoons only, should you want to time your visit to Bletchley Park appropriately. And who knows, you might even consider becoming one of the volunteers preserving our digital past for the benefit of an obsolete future.
World War Two was won by soldiers, officers, sailors and air crew. But it was shortened by mathematicians. Had codebreakers not provided invaluable information behind the scenes, WW2 could have dragged on until 1947, or 1949, or we could even have lost. Hurrah, then, for the cream of British intelligence at Bletchley Park. Fancy a visit? It's easy to get there. The entrance to this former top secret establishment is within brief walking distance of Bletchley station. For those in London, that's a zip up from Euston station. Pick your fast train carefully and you could be walking through the front gates less than 45 minutes from leaving town.
Bletchley Parkmansion lies halfway between Oxford and Cambridge, which helps explain why MI6 officials bought up its estate immediately before the outbreak of war. They established the hastily-assembled Government Code and Cypher School, and erected scores of prefabricated huts around the grounds. Within these workspaces the brightest minds of the day (mostly men) were supported by a pool of devoted administrators (mostly women). Nobody ever mentioned to friends or family what they were up to, and Bletchley Park's secrets stayed hidden well into the 1970s. The site's now owned by a trust and has been open to the public since 1993. They maintain a series of exhibits and exhibitions, and attempt to prevent the place from crumbling into disrepair. Most importantly, they've so far managed to prevent the site from being redeveloped into a bog standard housing estate, like the one that's currently being erected nextdoor. So far, so good.
The German armed forces sent coded messages to each other using a fiendish machine called Enigma. This looked like a typewriter in a wooden box, with an electric current travelling from the keyboard through a set of rotors and a plugboard to light up the 'code' alphabet. Enigma could encrypt any message into code in over 150 million million million different ways, which led the Germans to believe that their codes were unbreakable and their military secrets were safe. They were wrong. Several different Enigma machines are now on display at Bletchley Park, along with a variety of other wartime memorabilia. Volunteers also run explanatory tours for visitors - ninety minutes around the site, mixing historical details with cryptographic technique. These deliver over and above what you might normally expect, and are led by entertaining experts. I think it's fair to describe the tours as intellectually stimulating, so if you find reading The Sun a challenge I wouldn't bother.
Hidden away at Bletchley Park, the cream of the UK's code-breakers were ready and waiting each morning to try to crack that day's code. There were useful clues, like the fact that messages often started with a weather report, or the fact that Enigma never ever coded a given letter as itself. One major advance came from mathematician AlanTuring, who designed a complex mechanical device called a Bombe which could analyse hundreds of thousands of possible rotor positions. Thanks to its input, Churchill often knew precisely what the Germans were up to and could plan his tactics accordingly. The original Bombes were all destroyed after the war, but volunteers have managed to reconstruct one and it has pride of place in the exhibition in Block B. The tour guides also have access to a more basic mock-up, and they'll try to explain to you how the rotating drums generated electrical circuits which identified logical contradictions. Don't leave your brain at home.
After the war ended the site passed into the hands of the GPO, and then to BT. There's still a mock-up PostOffice in the grounds, which was once used for training and now sells first day covers (and stuff) to visitors. Most of the huts have survived, in varying statesofrepair, and several are open for you to poke around inside. See Alan Turing'soffice in Hut 8, find out about Winston Churchill in Block A, or sample the (non-historic) cafe in Hut 4. There's a model railway exhibit in one (didn't you just know there would be?) and a collection of vintage vehicles in the lock-ups round the back of the Stable Yard. This weekend, as a special treat, the Bletchley Park site is dressed up for a "Festival of Christmas" event. Specially imported fake snow covers the front lawn, which is ironic because the real stuff only melted a few days ago. There's a (rather small) funfair, and a (terribly artificial) ice rink, plus an (obviously genuine) Santa Claus greeting children in Hut 12. More intriguingly the ground floor of the mansion has been taken over by 50 stallholders flogging festive gift fodder, from 'vanilla and chilli' candles to win-a-bottle tombolas. The event's reeling in the locals, but rather at odds with what more long-distance visitors have come to expect.
Bletchley Park is a fascinating place to explore, and the volunteers on site make every effort to be both helpful and informative. If you're the sort of person who reads this blog more than intermittently, you've either already been or really ought to go. Admission usually costs a tenner, but entrance is free this weekend if you fill in the voucher in Milton Keynes' local paper. Personally, I suspect they'd prefer you to wait. Given the perilous state of Bletchley Park's finances, every paying visitor counts.
Barclays Cycle Superhighway 2 (sorry, this is another dull moaning hyperlocal post, sorry)
CS2 isn't officially due to be operational until next Summer, but the latest of Boris's bank-sponsored cycle lanes is already making an appearance. A blue stripe has been daubed along parts of Bow Road and Mile End Road over the last week or two, and bikes are already speeding their way along. Sounds great? I'm not convinced.
The road from Aldgate to Bow ought to be perfect for the addition of a dedicated cycle lane. It's relatively straight and there's plenty of room - the road's wide enough to have supported both trams and traffic back in the early 20th century. Indeed there's been a cycle lane along the road for several years, it's just wasn't as wide as Cycle Superhighways are supposed to be. The old lane was less than a metre wide, which isn't entirely conducive to feelings of safety. The new lane's the requisite metre and a half, which is much better. But you still wouldn't catch me dead using it, for fear you'd catch me dead.
Problem 1) It's still just a cycle lane. It's not segregated from the rest of the traffic at all. No thanks, not for me.
Problem 2) Bow Road is wide enough for a narrow cycle lane and two lanes of traffic. But it's not wide enough for a wide cycle lane and two lanes of traffic. All that's happened so far is that the new blue stripe has encroached on the inside lane and shrunk it, meaning it's no longer wide enough for a lorry, bus or coach. Traffic is now forced to trespass on the Cycle Superhighway because left-hand wheels have to go somewhere. As things stand, CS2 is much more likely to be full of traffic than its narrow predecessor.
Problem 3) OK, there are probably plans to repaint the existing white lines to equalise the two non-bike lanes. But I fear this would simply shrink both lanes to impractical widths too narrow for buses and broad-chassis traffic. It's therefore possible that Bow Road will, in places, be restricted to a souped-up bike lane and one lane of traffic, rather than the current two. Great for cyclists, but expect snarled-up jams of cars and lorries as the capacity of the road suddenly shrinks. We'll see.
Problem 4) As a cyclist, the one thing you really don't want to end up underneath is a bendy bus. Along Bow Road we have lots of those trundling along route 25. More importantly we have lots of enormous bus stops, increased in size six years ago to be long enough to fit two-and-a-half bendy buses. Our bus stops are a massive 45 metres long, creating corresponding 45m gaps in the blue striped Cycle Superhighway. These huge bus stops won't be required next summer when the 25 is due to revert to double decker operation. But I bet nobody at TfL thinks to shrink Bow Road's bus stops down to normal size after the bendies go, and the unnecessarily large gaps in CS2 will remain.
Problem 5) Bus stops aren't the only street features creating gaps in the Cycle Superhighway. We have a ridiculous number of pedestrian crossings along Bow Road, so the stripe regularly breaks for those. And for road junctions. And for laybys. Indeed, the newly laid Cycle Superhighway is split into at least ten separate chunks, and that's over a stretch less than a mile long. The blue lane stops starts stops starts stops starts, which ain't great. I hope there's more blue paint on its way, to link things together, otherwise this intermittent stripe is a bit rubbish.
Problem 6) TfL posted me a leaflet three months ago which promised "From Autumn 2010 a section on our webpage will be showing further details of what will be implemented, and where. We will also show details of the timing of any works which may affect local residents and businesses."It isn't there. Work has started on CS2, and nobody's telling us anything. That new layby beside St Clements Hospital, that should have been online somewhere, but it's finished already and not a mutter. Much public information was promised, but none's been delivered.
Problem 7) The Cycle Superhighway's blatantly not yet finished. I'd hope that many of the problems I've mentioned above will be sorted out before the official opening next summer. And yet someone's already been along and written "CS2" on the road at regular intervals, as if to give the fledgling Cycle Superhighway some unwarranted legitimacy. Bad thing. If it's not yet ready, don't tempt cyclists onto it.
Problem 1 again) Even when it's finished, it'll still be nothing but a souped-up cycle lane. It won't be segregated from the rest of the traffic at all, it won't be safe. No thanks, not for me.
The first Green Christmas
For a slightly different twist on the festive season, the Geffrye Museum always comes up trumps. Every Christmas they deck out their museum with appropriate seasonal decorations, and every year I go back to enjoy the presentation. The Geffrye, if you're not familiar, is a museum of historic middle-class interiors. That means eleven living rooms, decked out as they might have appeared in particular years from the 17th century to the end of the 20th. Each is lovingly decked out with period furniture and fittings, with an increasing amount of clutter evident as we move from Jacobean simplicity into the industrial and consumer eras. One rather lovely feature is that the museum is laid out inside a row of 18th century almshouses, with each successive room like stepping forward in time as you walk from one end to the other. The one downside is that the main passageway is very narrow and so it only takes a few lingering visitors to clog the place up. There are plenty of visitors at the moment, as middle-class NE London pops in for a pre-Christmas gander. Watch out for children underfoot, not all of whom have been swallowed up by the organised activities in the foyer by the cafe.
There's no other museum like it. The townhouse of one of Georgian London's most important architects - Sir John Soane - the man behind the Bank of England and the Dulwich Picture Gallery. As Professor of Architecture at the Royal Academy in 1806 he set about transforming his town house into an inspirational museum for his students, and an Act of Parliament has preserved it in much the same state ever since his death. The library and drawing room look relatively normal, for 200 years ago, with bookshelves and wood panelling ornamental clocks. It's only when you step beyond into the rear of the house that the sheer oddness of the building confronts you. Every space in this warren of rooms is filled with some artistic object, probably classical, be that a bust, column, boss or statue. Most are plaster casts of the real thing, ideal for inspiring students in the ways of the ancient world without actually having to travel there. The largest object is a genuine Egyptian sarcophagus, hewn from a single block of limestone, which needed a hole to be knocked in the wall before Soane could get it inside. Soane's collection is spread across two levels, with lightwells that successfully illuminate the basement even on the shortest day of the year. I'd love to show you some pictures so you can gauge quite how peculiar the place is, but photography's banned so I'm afraid none exist.
Olympic update
Pudding Mill station, early Monday evening. Scores of passengers descend the stairs from the DLR and emerge into the cold. "Are you here for the event, sir?" asks a security guard in a hi-vis jacket. He's not talking to me, he's talking to the man on my right. I think I recognise the man on my right from somewhere, either because he's a government minister or some big cheese in the 2012 hierarchy. He's also wearing the sort of long winter coat that only very important gentlemen wear, which must be how the guard singled him out. "This way please..." and the VIP is duly guided towards event registration and a seat on the bus to the stadium.
London's New Year fireworks are world famous. The London Eye explodes in a riot of sound and colour. A quarter of a million spectators, two-thirds of whom live outside London, turn up along the Embankment to enjoy the spectacle. Everything's broadcast live on BBC1, complete with a fawning inane commentary. And images from the event are flashed to broadcasters worldwide, which does the capital's media profile no harm at all.
London's ten least busy tube stations (2009)
The company's Xmas Do was last week. They've held all sorts of December events over the years, from glitzy balls to minor huddles, and this year's was towards the lower end of the scale. A room was hired at a major London landmark, some considerable distance from the office, and everyone was summoned to attend if at all possible. Here bosses regaled staff with tales of corporate successes, ticklists of targets reached and a flurry of on-brand messages. If you've had to sit through something similar recently, I feel for you. And then the gathering broke for the serving of drinks, raising a glass to achievements past and challenges to come. I think this was the moment that several attendees slipped out and went home, or even returned to the office to get on with some real work. I don't know, I had to be at a meeting elsewhere, so I missed the lot. Lucky escape, I think.
You know the stretch of Charing Cross Road I'm talking about. The bit past the Astoria (although that's not there any more). The bit below Centre Point (alongside the fountains) (although they're not there any more either). Lots of things around here have vanished recently, completely demolished, totally flattened. It's all for Crossrail, for which a massive new Tottenham Court Road station needs to be constructed. Hijacking this short strip of road allows contractors to combine three existing worksites, creating one mega building site which they can then dig up to their hearts' content.
Good news: there are scores of leaflets up for grabs inside Tottenham Court Road station detailing changes to walking routes, bus services and cycleways in the TCR area. Bad news: all the leaflets are dated January 2009 and therefore outline obsolete changes which took place two years ago. Better news: there are already "continuing your journey from..." maps along the newly diverted road, so that pedestrians can come to terms with the extra diversions they're having to make. Dire news: an illiterate contractor has erected several red laminated signs along the pavement directing the public to "Charring Cross Road". You have to wonder, if Crossrail's quality procedures can't spot a glaring spelling mistake like this, what hope for their precision drilling of tunnels beneath the capital?
Anyway, I don't want you getting caught out by Crossrail works again, so let me give you advance notice of this. Northern line trains won't be stopping at Tottenham Court Road station for eight months next year because of escalator work. More precisely, Northern line trains will be sailing straight through the platforms at Tottenham Court Road every day from Sunday 3rd April until Saturday 26th November 2011. Central line trains will still be stopping as normal, but you won't be able to interchange for destinations like Camden or Kennington. That's going to bugger up a few of your commutes, I bet. This major closure hasn't been widely trumpeted yet, but it is also mentioned in that Transforming Tottenham Court Road newsletter, the one we've already established you don't read. And it won't be the last unexpected impact of Crossrail during the next eight years. Prepare for a lot more widespread pain before the next-Mayor-but-one finally opens the blessed thing.
Britain boasts several museums devoted to the history of a single everyday object. You'll be glad to hear, then, that there's a museum devoted to possibly the most important everyday object of modern times. A device which didn't exist 70 years ago, but which now pervades almost everything we do. Its story is told in the National Museum of Computing, which is based in the very building where the world's very first digital programmable computer was operated. Block H, Bletchley Park.
Ten Colossus machines were built, but all were eventually dismantled to maintain secrecy. Volunteers have since managed to recreate this pioneering computer using the memories of retired engineers, a scant few circuit diagrams and eight black and white photographs. A fully functioning replica now exists on the original site, complete with whirring tapes and flashing red lights, overseen by dedicated men with soldering irons. It doesn't do anything 'useful' any more, but it stirs the heart merely by existing. So long as the money (and a supply of electronic valves) holds out, Colossus's legacy should last well into the 21st century.
Bletchley Park mansion lies halfway between Oxford and Cambridge, which helps explain why MI6 officials bought up its estate immediately before the outbreak of war. They established the hastily-assembled Government Code and Cypher School, and erected scores of prefabricated huts around the grounds. Within these workspaces the brightest minds of the day (mostly men) were supported by a pool of devoted administrators (mostly women). Nobody ever mentioned to friends or family what they were up to, and Bletchley Park's secrets stayed hidden well into the 1970s.
Hidden away at Bletchley Park, the cream of the UK's code-breakers were ready and waiting each morning to try to crack that day's code. There were useful clues, like the fact that messages often started with a weather report, or the fact that Enigma never ever coded a given letter as itself. One major advance came from mathematician Alan Turing, who designed a complex mechanical device called a Bombe which could analyse hundreds of thousands of possible rotor positions. Thanks to its input, Churchill often knew precisely what the Germans were up to and could plan his tactics accordingly.
CS2 isn't officially due to be operational until next Summer, but the latest of Boris's bank-sponsored cycle lanes is already making an appearance. A blue stripe has been daubed along parts of Bow Road and Mile End Road over the last week or two, and bikes are already speeding their way along. Sounds great? I'm not convinced.
