D-Day+60: The rest of the media appear to be covering this anniversary admirably, and have been for the last month, so I won't say much. But I will say...
• Thank you.
• Here are somefineD-Daylinks.
• All this wartime nostalgia is a timely reminder of why voting on Thursday is so important, otherwise who knows what electoral scum you might let in.
Last Routemaster to Bow (Friday 4th June, 2315-0025)
Typical, you wait decades for the final number 8 Routemaster and then five come along at once. Late last night these five fine vehicles were lined up alongside Victoria station - three red buses, a green one and a white one. A surprisingly large crowd of enthusiasts had gathered to say their farewells and to take one last ride home (so it was just as well there were five buses available). The very last bus in the queue was RML 2760 (the very last Routemaster to be built), chugging away proudly with a Union Jack draped over the bonnet. This was the bus everyone wanted to be aboard, and the conductress had to hold the waiting mob of travellers at bay as if they were eager teenagers waiting to board a coach on a school trip.
I grabbed a window seat on the upper deck as the bus filled up with 'people who ride buses'. The bloke who sat next to me had NHS specs and the faint whiff of body odour, but I'd hate you to think everyone on board was like that. There were serial bus addicts who spent the journey testing each other out on which route ran where, there were friends who only seem to meet up on 'last runs', there were a couple of wives enjoying a double decker Friday night out with their menfolk and there were a few of the shy silent type who just sat and watched. Average age about 40, I would reckon, which is younger than I was expecting. Two blokes regaled us with bawdy songs and the odd lewd comment, a bit like being aboard a rugby club tour bus. One young afro-coiffed lad had even brought along a giant corkboard on which he had written 'Farewell No 8 Routemasters', but alas it was too big to hold up to the windows.
Ding ding. The last journey began. We set off through the illuminated streets of nighttime London, round Hyde Park Corner, up Piccadilly and through the backstreets of Mayfair. A man walked up the stairs carrying a film camera complete with giant furry microphone - the BBC were on board! He took a shot of the giant corkboard (so it wasn't entirely wasted) and pointed his camera in various people's faces (thankfully not mine). A journalist interviewed a few of the travellers, except they seemed more intent on discussing technical operational niceties rather than uttering the magic words "they're a London icon aren't they, we'll miss 'em".
Along Oxford Street the Friday night crowds waiting for their transport home were a bit cheesed off when our packed double decker sailed by without stopping. The bus was three-quarters of an hour late already and some of the on-board enthusiasts were grumbling that they were going to miss their last train home. "I wish they'd finished earlier," said one, oblivious to the irony of his statement. Some succumbed and alighted early to grab a final tube connection, allowing space for a handful of surprised Friday night revellers to take their seat aboard history. We sped past Centre Point, St Paul's and the Bank of England on this final express service to Bow. Just after midnight we passed Liverpool Street, the very last Routemaster to exit the City of London on a scheduled service. Some of us enjoyed the view, others enjoyed the upper deck social club and the BBC crew just slouched on the stairs. Bethnal Green, Roman Road, Bow Church, my house. End of the line.
Nobody wanted to be the first off the bus, mainly because the BBC cameraman was training his lens at all those filing down the stairs. The previous four buses had already disgorged their passengers and a crowd had gathered at the bottom of Fairfield Road to fire flashbulbs at the final double decker. There were still the last few yards into Bow Garage to be negotiated, and a traffic jam of vintage vehicles, current services, taxis and Smart cars had to be cleared from the narrow roadway before this could happen. The driver paused before turning into the garage so that the 200-strong crowd could attempt one last photograph. Only the crew and the BBC team were still on board as he finally disappeared inside the garage (moral: if you want to be part of history, get a job reporting it). The massed multitudes were eventually permitted a five minute photocall inside the garage - a giant shed filled by buses packed tight like loaves of bread in a baker's tray. The BBC were busy interviewing the driver and conductress, and grabbing more shots of us. I managed to capture one last decent photo, and then we were all sent back outside. Some of the old Routemasters were already heading out of the building on the way to their new owners. Slowly the crowd dispersed, ready to meet again in West London when the 7s lose their Routemasters next month.
This morning there are no crowds in Fairfield Road because there are no buses worth seeing. A steady stream of red boxy Tridents trickles out of Bow Garage every 7 minutes, and nobody's interested in the number 8 any more. It's just one more anonymous bus route traversing the capital, 40 years of historic Routemaster service lost overnight. It's hard to imagine anyone ever getting quite so worked up over these new buses. Having said that, the red boxy Tridents that go past my house on route 25 are due to be replaced by huge long bendy buses before the end of this month, and I shall certainly miss them when the only alternative is standing inside a characterless wheelchair-accessible box on wheels, packed in like cattle. But it's the Routemaster that will forever hold a special place in the heart of London. Ever had the feeling that progress is moving relentlessly in the wrong direction?
I've never had groupies massing outside my house before. There were scores of them yesterday, hanging around on the steps beside the takeaway, skulking outside Bow Church gates and lurking on the traffic island by the disused public conveniences. But they weren't here to see some famous celebrity, they were here to bid farewell to the Routemaster bus in east London. Yesterday was the very last day that these much-loved red workhorses were to be used on route 8 between Bow and Victoria. And what a show the local bus garage put on, with lots of extra old buses scheduled alongside the usual service. Enthusiasts came to ride, to photograph and just to experience this omnibus extravaganza. Some even bought commemorative t-shirts, mugs and yo-yos from the makeshift stall outside Bow Garage, but I resisted.
I stood at my local bus stop for over an hour waiting for a number 8 to come along. Actually loads of number 8s came along, just not the number 8 I was waiting for. The general travelling public hopped on the first bus that turned up (approx every 6 minutes), the assembled bus fans climbed on the first antique that turned up (approx every 20 minutes), but I hung on. The young conductor who'd checked my ticket earlier in the week wandered past on his way down to McDonalds for lunch. He'll probably be out of a job tomorrow. A traditional East End funeral dray crept past, which seemed kind of appropriate.
Finally I boarded RM1(pictured right) - the very first Routemaster to be built, exactly 50 years ago. It'll form the centrepiece of the Routemaster's Golden Jubilee celebrations in Finsbury Park next month, should you be tempted to attend. Three stops along the route, at an obscure request stop in Old Ford, a phalanx of 16 photographers were waiting to take our picture. A series of classic buses trundled past in the opposite direction, surprisingly full for a Friday afternoon (did everyone else take the day off work too?). There may be quicker ways to get to central London, but few ways are more fun. And there can't be many 50 year-old vehicles that could still earn a day's living in heavy London traffic, so it's all the sadder that these fine machines are being taken off the road for politically correct reasons. Make the most of the remaining Routemasters while you can, because one day they'll be confined to a twee heritage route for tourists, probably charging £9.50 a ticket. Yesterday that heritage came for a quid. Priceless.
Today is the very last day that Routemasters will run in east London. Tonight, just before midnight, the final route 8Routemaster will arrive home at Bow Garage, the end of a small red chunk of London's history.
Stagecoach have been running special old buses on route 8 all week (full details at the LondonBusPage), just to make up for the fact that from next week there will be no special buses running on the route at all. I took the opportunity to ride RT3871(pictured below) all the way from Bow to Victoria, just because I could. There were 10 of us waiting at the first bus stop, including two people with wheelie suitcases and a shellsuited couple with a pink baby in a giant three-wheeler pushchair. "I'm sorry, you'll have to wait for the next one," said the conductor as he left these five unfortunates and their oversized contraptions behind. It was, alas, a timely reminder of why these inaccessible Routemasters are finally being phased out.
I sat back in my comfortable non-plastic seat and enjoyed the view from the top deck. Ah the luxury of the Routemaster - blessed with wooden decking long before it became fashionable. The conductor soon bounded up the corner staircase to issue authentic paper tickets from the old wind-up machine slung round his neck. Passengers hopped on and off between stops, which may not have had the blessing of the Health and Safety Executive but it was certainly damned convenient. Other bus drivers, allocated the lesser job of driving some characterless new red cuboid, waved at our driver with unconcealed jealousy. Occasionally passers by (all male) would stop and look twice at our bus, registering that it looked slightly out of place in modern London. One smiling pensioner stood motionless clutching a copy of the Times behind his back, paying his last respects as we passed by.
I've made this journey many times before (see my Cube Routes feature, for example) but this occasion was different - the bus spotters were out in force. They were busy spotting my bus, so I kept myself busy spotting them. There was a bloke with a tripod photographing at the very first stop and another standing on some steps in Houndsditch with his camera at the ready. Two spotters had set up camp on a traffic island outside City Thameslink station and someone else was carefully positioned outside Sainsburys Local in Oxford Street with a giant swivelling lens. One passenger suddenly hopped off halfway down Old Bond Street to grab a couple of shots as we waited at traffic lights, and a keen snapper stepped out into the road as we sped round Hyde Park Corner. But the biggest welcome came as we pulled into Victoria Bus Station to be met by a posse of eight Routemaster paparazzi. The driver slowed down and posed for the cameras, like a slightly-surprised 60s pop star, before turning round and heading back to Bow (where I also spotted a film crew). And all this before the last day.
Only about ten or so route 8 Routemasters have survived until the last day of operation. A large proportion of the replacement red Trident double deckers have arrived early, diluting the service with impostors. But there's a final last show of strength from the old guard today, with no less then fifteen extra old buses plying between Bow and Victoria in addition to the usual service. I suspect most of the commuting public won't quite believe their eyes when some random ancient workhorse arrives at their bus stop, but I hope they'll enjoy the ride all the same. I wonder if there'll be any spare seats on tonight's very last Routemaster (leaving Victoria 22:45), riding the gauntlet of flashbulbs in advance of one final procession into Bow Garage. Report tomorrow.
Heard on the 8:
"It's much better than the newer ones"
"This is what makes London London"
"Doesn't look past its sell by date to me"
"Stand off the platform please love"
You will, by now, have an opinion on Big Brother 5. Just answer the two simple questions below to locate your opinion in my patented BBgrid. Me, I'm A2.
Big Brother 5? A) love it B) indifferent to it C) hate it This year's contestants? 1) love them 2) indifferent to them 3) hate them
I went to watch The Day After Tomorrow the day before yesterday. This is the big 'global warming end of the world' disaster film, the one that's supposed to jolt George Bush into taking climate change seriously. Fat chance, but probably still worth watching. Waiting outside in the foyer I thought the world was about to be overrun with popcorn instead ("Prime Minister, there's a Butterkist avalanche about to innundate Stratford") but that turned out to be the underage queue for Harry Potter nextdoor. Outside it had just started raining. I took this as a sign.
For the purposes of this film the whole global warming timescale is condensed into a fortnight, from first snowfall on New Delhi to the complete glaciation of the Northern hemisphere. You'd not realised that global warming meant an instant Ice Age, had you, but let's not allow good science to stand in the way of sensational special effects. And let's not focus on the billions of deaths across the globe either, oh no, let's focus on one dysfunctional family and a few associated hangers on and watch them survive. Hurrah for the American dream, for it will prevail, despite being responsible for most of the greenhouses gases in the first place.
I was reminded that all Hollywood disaster movies follow one very important geographical rule, which is that global catastrophes always hit either the western or the eastern seaboard of the United States (plus two other world capitals for thirty seconds each, just for the international dimension). The world has a land surface area of 60 million square miles but the swarm of killer tornadoes just happens to wreak havoc in the 470 square miles called Los Angeles. Where does the freak tidal wave hit? Why, New York City of course. And the eye of the North American killer ice storm may be only a couple of miles across but it just happens to pass directly over Manhatten Island during the last fifteen minutes of the film. Moral of the tale: if you insist on living in the USA, live in the middle.
20 things I've learnt about sex over the last couple of decades
1) Nothing ever prepares you for the first time...
2) ... not even the fact that the biology textbook always falls open at the same page.
3) The first time is always a ghastly mistake (I'm extrapolating this from a single occurrence, obviously)
4) The second time isn't much better.
5) It does get better eventually, but intermittently.
6) Some people need it regularly - they prefer quantity to quality.
7) Some people don't need it regularly - they prefer quality to quantity.
8) Both types of people should wash their sheets more often.
9) You always wish you were doing it more than you are.
10) Everyone else is doing it more than you are (this is of course only true for half of the population)
11) Sometimes you can wait for weeks/months/years only for it to last for seconds.
12) People who you'd like to do it with generally don't want to do it with you.
13) People who'd like to do it with you you'd generally not touch with a bargepole.
14) You only spot people you'd really like to do it with when it's impossible to make contact with them (eg at a funeral, on the opposite escalator, from the top of a bus, on the way into work)
15) Never do it without considering all the possible consequences.
16) Never do it in a single bed and stay the night - your spine will regret it.
17) There's nothing worse than waking up next to someone you realise you shouldn't have done it with.
18) There's nothing better than doing it then falling asleep in the arms of the one you love...
19) ... just so long as they're thinking the same thing.
20) You'll never forget the first time, but you'll never notice it's the last time.
How better to spend a bank holiday Monday than digging holes in the sand on a beach. Trust me, it beats standing in the B&Q queue, painting the bathroom or mowing the lawn. I spent my bank holiday Monday digging holes in the beach at Gorleston, a blue flag beach just south of Great Yarmouth on the East Norfolk coast. It's a proper traditional British beach with sand, ice cream and chips, but still with character and not too commercialised. I was there to perform uncle-ing duties with the smaller members of my family and to lap up the intermittent sunshine. Oh, and I was watching our fellow daytrippers as well...
Never stray more than fifty yards along the beach from the car park. Nobody else does, and you'd just feel lonely if you had the far flung sections of the beach all to yourself. Use a windbreak to protect unclad limbs from chronic goosepimpling and to stake out your territory so that other families don't stray too close. Bring a cheap ball game with you too, one of those fluorescent plastic frisbee-type games you can buy down the market for 99p, or from the shop on the promenade for £3.99. Don't forget to dig a large hole in front of your beach headquarters, initially with the intention of burying Dad in, but it's actually much more fun to watch passers-by accidentally falling into it just after you've packed up and left.
Wear as little as possible in order to show off your latest batch of tattoos to best effect. Don't bother with the suntan lotion, this isn't Malaga. At least one item of your clothing should be emblazoned with the flag of St George, preferably the item with the bulging elasticated waistband. Teenage males should dress as hip cool surfer dudes to impress their pink girlfriends, but should never shatter the illusion by going anywhere near the water.
Don't bring your own sandwiches because they'll become tainted by the sand which is on the beach. Instead join the lengthy queue for fried fat, reconstituted meat and barely cooked chips from the understaffed cafe on the seafront. It's mandatory to purchase an ice cream mid-way through the afternoon, usually at the same time that everyone else on the beach has decided to buy one. Expect that your favourite lolly will have sold out, but never mind because it's at least 30 years since you last enjoyed a Mini-Milk. Take the weight off your feet and play 10p-a-go automated bingo with the local pensioners, or waste pounds failing to grab the cuddly bear from the impossible glass box in the amusement arcade.
If all that sounds like too much effort, a popular alternative day out is to sit in your car in the car park and look out of the window at all the windswept holidaymakers whilst drinking soup and listening to the radio. But, quite frankly, you'd be missing out on all the fun.
Silver Jubilee:Stratford Opened: Thursday 20th June 1839 Jubilee platforms opened: Friday 14th May 1999 Distance from previous station: 1.5 km Change here for: Central line, Docklands Light Railway, North London line and One (somebody please sack the incompetent PR gibbon who thought that name up) Change here soon for:Eurostar services to St Pancras and Paris, via the new Channel TunnelRail Link. Fact file: Stratford station used to be a bit of a dump. But it was completely rebuilt between 1996 and 1999 and is now a bit of a stunner, although it's still a heck of a long walk out of the station from the Jubilee line platforms. Coming soon, just to the north, Stratford International. 5 things I found outside this station: Meridian Square, a big bus station, a purple steam engine called Robert, scores of people, my local shopping centre. Nearby:StratfordMarket train depot (formerly a fruit & veg market), the Cultural Quarter (TheatreRoyal + StratfordPicturehouse + Stratford Circus). Nearby (maybe):OlympicPark2012 Local history:no, no, no - this place has a local future.
Would Jubileevit quiz: Here are clues to the names of 21 Jubilee line stations. How many can you identify? (Answers in the comments box)
1) chalet 12) how Hilda Ogden asked husband for seconds 2) Route 007 13) environmentally-friendly recreation area 3) artillery fire 14) uses leg joint to injure Leslie Grantham 4) occident pig 15) where the Heinz Beans factory is 5) royal funeral 16) Tower or Millennium, for example 6) royal funeral 17) main entrance to York cathedral 7) Lake Superior 18) Barbie and Sindy go climbing 8) murder, arson 19) Warwickshire theatreland 9) Belgian battlefield 20) stick a road in the oven 10) Hammers' cuddly bear 21) Arctic gullible sorceress 11) mooring for yellow birds
Silver Jubilee:West Ham Opened: Monday 16th October 1854 Jubilee platforms opened: Friday 14th May 1999 Distance from previous station: 1.6 km Platform: exit to the right of the train Change here for: District, Hammersmith & City, c2c and North London lines Fact file: West Ham station is 1½ miles from West Ham football ground, which must fool a lot of away supporters. You want Upton Park instead, you do. (bad luck lads) 5 things I found outside this station:Ibstock bricks and small glass squares, Costcutter Express, a mini-roundabout, Memorial Avenue, a chippy under new management (shame, because the old management served right tasty cod) Nearby (eastward): the East LondonRugby Club, a few houses. Nearby (westward): no houses, Bow Back Rivers, light industrial sprawl, Olympic Park 2012, the site of the old Big Brother House (go look at my exclusive photos again). Local history: In the 1850s West Ham was the eighth largest town in the country. Keir Hardie became the first ever Labour MP when he was elected to represent West Ham in 1892. A local timeline here.
Meet the Big Brother 5 twelve (let the freakshow begin)
Marco(law student, 21, self-confessed drama queen) keywords: camp, squeaky, vodka, over-excited. Most likely to say "Oh my god, oh my god!" (last 3) Ahmed(voluntary lawyer, 44, self-confessed homophobe) keywords: multi-lingual, arrogant, bolshy, asylum-seeker. Most likely to say "I want people to hate me" (evicted: week 1) Jason(air steward, 30, self-confessed shagger) keywords: muscles, meathead, cocksure, vain. Most likely to say "do you like my leopardskin thong?" (evicted: week 3) Daniel(hairdresser, 30, self-confessed babe/bloke-magnet) keywords: tall, secretive, fedora, metrosexual. Most likely to say "I am an enigma" (evicted: week 7) Stuart(psychology student, 20, self-confessed genius) overconfident, immodest, bandana, smug. Most likely to say "I got 4 As at A level I did" (evicted: week 6) Victor(gap year student, 23, self confessed alpha male) keywords: dominant, outspoken, well-endowed, arrogant. Most likely to say "I fear no man" (evicted: week 9)
Vanessa(blonde, 26, self-confessed centre of jealousy) keywords: sporty, sleeptalker, strong-willed, South African archery champion. Most likely to say "I won't be walked over" (evicted: week 8) Emma(legal administrator, 20, self-confessed dippy lass) keywords: common as muck, partygirl, talkative, naive. Most likely to say (whilst standing in the lounge) "Wow is this the house?" (last 3) Kitten(activist, 24, self-confessed radical feminist lesbian) keywords: strident, political, argumentative, principled. Most likely to say nothing, but hold up two fingers instead (evicted: week 4) Michelle(mortgage advisor, 23, self-confessed sex addict) keywords: wannabe, mucky, vegetarian, slag. Most likely to say "Have I appeared on the front of the Sun yet?" (evicted: week 2) Shell(art student, 22, self confessed shepherdess) keywords: nice, cultured, outdoors, innocent. Most likely to say "Have any of you read Dostoevsky?" (potential winner) Nadia(bank clerk 27, self-confessed virgin) keywords: double-breasted, feisty, plastic, gravelly. Most likely to say (eventually) "18 months ago I used to be a bloke" (evicted: week 5)
Silver Jubilee:Canning Town Opened: Monday 14th June 1847 Jubilee platforms opened: Friday 14th May 1999 Distance from previous station: 1.7 km (beneath the River Thames yet again) Platform: exit to the right of the train You are now entering: the London Borough of Newham Change here for: Docklands Light Railway and North London line Fact file: This is a double decker station, with the DLR platforms directly above the Jubilee line platforms. The eastbound DLR runs directly above the westbound Jubilee, but in the same actual direction. 5 things I found outside this station: a big flyover on the A13, an MFI superstore, a teeming bus station, Purvi newsagents, a large stone memorial commemorating the nearby Thames Ironworks (HMS Warrior was built here in 1860) Nearby:Bow Creek, Leamouth, Trinity Buoy Wharf (London's only lighthouse) Local history:RonanPoint was once a typical new 1960s tower block, at least until Mrs Ivy Hodge woke early one morning in 1968 to make herself a cup of tea. She struck a match to light the gas on the cooker in her kitchen, and the resulting explosion caused all 23 floors in one corner of the block to collapse. Amazingly only five people died (not including Ivy) but Britain's high-rise tower block dream died with them. Local blog:Random Acts of Reality
Watch the opening seconds of EastEnders very very closely and you'll see that the camera pans out from an epicentre in the middle of the River Thames, just off the North Greenwich peninsula. When the programme started in 1985 the opening credits depicted a densely-packed industrial wasteland here, with a dark grey cloud positioned carefully over the tip of the peninsula. In 1999 the credits were updated to show a very different picture, with much of the surrounding industry erased and a vast new Dome shining out from the centre of that camera shot. For one millennial year the people came, in their not-quite-enough millions, and the peninsula buzzed with life. Well, some life. And then the nation went away disillusioned and left North Greenwich alone, a major transport hub surrounded by nobody. The station was designed to cope with up to twenty-two thousand passengers an hour but now serves less than half that a day. A great futureis promised, but it hasn't arrived yet.
Walk out of North Greenwich station today and what will you see? There's the big Dome standing folorn and empty, its twelve yellow spikes thrusting defiantly into the sky. Through the long blue perimeter fence you might spot Group 4 security workers patrolling the vast arena like ghosts. It's still possible to walk right up to the rows of over-optimistic admission booths, all 48 of them, lined up waiting for the crowds that never came. A trickling stream of lost buses passes through the curved bus station, detouring to ferry the grateful of south-east London back to their distant homes. To the south of the Dome lies a vast open space where, one day, something more than car parks and fountains will be built. And further away still is the Millennium Village - yuppie heaven so they'd have you believe, but still absolutely nowhere near critical mass. The whole redevelopment is as bleak and deserted as the industrial landscape it replaced.
Should you have half an hour to spare you can take a lovely lonely walk around the Dome. Turn right out of the station, skulk past a wall of blue portakabins and breathe in the stunning view of Canary Wharf from across the river. Further round you cross the meridian line, etched in stone, beside a disused pavilion still home to the model remains of a multimedia exhibition. A carpet of replanted wild flowers lies cut off inside the Dome perimeter, whilst nearby riverside reedbeds sway freely in the breeze. Tiny planes fly low overhead on their way to land at tiny City Airport, and an enormous yellow sign warns shipping that the Thames Barrier lies just round the corner. You pass a legacy of underappreciated artwork spaced along the riverbank, from a vertically-sliced boat (now covered in seagulls) to Anthony Gormley's towering QuantumCloud. Nobody lands at the Queen Elizabeth Pier any more, if indeed they ever did, and gardeners have long abandoned the shrubberies alongside the deserted car parks. The odd cyclist may speed past on some long ride to nowhere, but otherwise this walk is a solitary pilgrimage to misplaced ambition. I loved it.
Looking back from the smug safety of the future it's clear that the Dome should never have been built. The British public were never going to be enthralled by a worthy exhibition of social issues, hurriedly assembled to meet an immovable deadline. But I'm glad we tried. We may have wasted millions on the millennium, but one day this area will be reborn and it'll all be because one year ended in three zeroes. Until then the Dome will continue to stand alone and abandoned in the middle of nothing. Nothing but the EastEnders map, that is.
Silver Jubilee:North Greenwich Opened: Friday 14th May 1999 Distance from previous station: 1.7 km (beneath the River Thames again) Platform (eastbound): exit to the left of the train Platform (westbound): exit to the right of the train You are now entering: the London Borough of Greenwich, zone 3 Fact file:NorthGreenwichstation is even bigger than Canary Wharf station, but serves a local population of virtually zero. The station contains over 150000 tonnes of reinforced concrete and is sort of purple-themed. There are three platforms here rather than the usual two, just in case anyone ever wants to build a new branch line out to Beckton and the Royal Docks. 5 things I found outside this station: a carelessly-discarded Dome, WH Smiths, a bus station in the middle of nowhere, a 1000-space car park, Group 4 security. Nearby:MillenniumDome, Millennium Way, MillenniumVillage, Millennium Quay, Millennium Sainsburys, big fat Millennium zero. Nearby, but a 5 minutes detour by road: the Blackwall tunnel Not nearby enough: Greenwich, civilisation. Local history: It's hard to believe today but until the mid 19th century this was all farmland. The South Metropolitan Gas Works were built here in 1889, once the largest gasworks in Europe (they closed in 1985 but the giant gasholder still serves south-east London). The government chose to site the Millennium Dome here rather than in Birmingham because planned transport links were so good. The Dome opened on 31st December 1999, was universally slated by the press, failed to reach over-ambitious visitor targets and closed a year later having tainted the career of every politician who'd ever been involved with it. I quite liked it. Nobody comes to see the Dome any more, they come to catch buses to Charlton and Bexley. How are the mighty fallen. Local blog:Casino Avenue (well, local-ish) Cheap plug 1: My Dome of Doom interactive adventure. Cheap plug 2: lots more photos on my photo blog today.
5 completely unfounded rumours
• The tabloid press will moan endlessly that the latest series is deadly dull, but still continue to waste endless column inches scrutinising the housemates' private lives, especially those with large breasts.
• The Big Brother sofa lifestyle range will be launched by Linda Barker at IKEA over the bank holiday weekend.
• In an attempt to liven up proceedings, this year's secret room will contain three American prison guards and a digital camera.
• Two housemates will have sex within the first week, only to discover afterwards that they're both undercover journalists.
• By Christmas we'll have forgotten every last one of the D-list non-entities, just like we have with whoever it was won last year.
12 completely unconfirmed housemates
• Katriona: An unassuming girly girl who loves ponies, but who is also secretly a psychotic sleepwalking murderess.
• Baz: Tedious bigoted argumentative loudmouth, of the kind everyone shares an office with but nobody wants to see on the telly.
• Liz: Septuagenarian monarch seeking to connect with one's subjects.
• Chris & Pat: A married couple, and therefore the least likely of any of the contestants to engage in shagging.
• Tanya: Fresh from Larkhill Prison, TV's favourite footballer's wife continues her tour of primetime ratings hits.
• Biffa: (in broad Brummie accent) "I hate these bloody lentils, I need my fags, is there any cider left?"
• Dermot: Big Brother's Little Brother will be presented from inside the house this year.
• Fran: Dull non-entity, but has a birthday in week 3 so that's an excuse for the producers to throw a booze-soaked party.
• Billy-no-mates: Fat miserable sod, physically incapable of completing any of the tasks, but never evicted by the public due to his inestimable comedy value.
• Lug: Shaven-headed witch who insists on walking around in the nude and sacrificing the chickens.
• Tony: Prime Minister in a desperate bid for the youth vote in the run up to the June 10th elections, after which he'll escape over the walls never to be heard from again.
Silver Jubilee:Canary Wharf Opened: Friday 17th September 1999 Distance from previous station: 2.4 km (beneath the River Thames) Platform: exit to the right of the train You are now entering: the London Borough of Tower Hamlets Change here for:Docklands Light Railway (quite a walk, though) Photo shows: the new eastern entrance to the station, opened last month (and still fairly quiet). Fact file: Canary Wharf tube station is an award-winning architectural masterpiece designed by Sir Norman Foster, buried within the former West India Dock. The station is so big that the whole of the largest nearby skyscraper could fit inside lengthways with room to spare. Nothing quite prepares you for your first descent down the bank of escalators into the vast subterranean space. 5 things I found outside this station: Docklands, One Canada Square (Britain's tallest building), a sculpted head lying on its side, JubileePlace shopping centre beneath Jubilee Park, four clocks on poles. Nearby: a forest of skyscrapers, over-priced flats, far too many posh shops and bars, new Billingsgate Market, the Museum In Docklands. Local history:Canary Wharf used to be an insignificant cargo warehouse beside the West India Docks (opened 1802), and was so named because many of its imports came from the Canary Isles. West India Dock finally closed in 1980, the year in which the London Docklands Development Corporation was set up. The docks were filled in and major reconstruction began, with the huge tower at One Canada Square completed in 1990 (my television reception has never recovered). Without Canary Wharf the Jubilee line extension would never have been built. Tens of thousands of people now live and work in Docklands, rather more yuppie financial types than the swarthy dockers of old. Full history here. Future: More and more skyscrapers are planned (maybe too many if you ask me). See what Canary Wharf might look like in the future here.
I decided to kick my inertia last night and went out to see a film. A year and two days is quite long enough to spend out of the cinema (although for the last couple of months I suspect I was only hanging on to reach the year milestone out of sheer spite). There was one particular film I wanted to see, except it's not released officially until the day after tomorrow. So instead I went for the local option, a delightful vignette about Chelsea and Millwall football supporters. To add extra realism I went to a screening at the UCI Cinema in Surrey Quays, just a bottle's throw from the New Den. That could have been half the cast I saw drinking outside the redbrick boozer by the station, it was hard to tell.
The Football Factory is a charming tale about a group of good mates with a soccer fixation. They drink together, go on coach trips to far flung stadia together and enjoy nothing better than a little light boxing in the street. No nasty knitted scarves for these gentlemen, they wear only the finest Pringle and Burberry, often liberally splattered with haemoglobin. Their drink of choice is lager, and lots of it, but they down a lot of coke too. Admittedly their language is rather colourful, but nothing worse than you'd hear in the first minute of Four Weddings And A Funeral. All in all these fine friends love life, almost as much as they like kicking it out of other people.
We follow Tom, a fug about to turn firty, who finks filosofically about the frill of freatening behaviour but is forever in the fick of any frottling and frashing. He works down the florists with a racist psychopath, is touchingly devoted to his right-on grandad, and is having premonitions that the gang's young apprentice is about to meet his match. Which, in this case, is a third round cup tie. Appropriately the film's exactly 90 minutes long, and mixes in just enough humour with the bleak unforgiving violence and pathos. Some wooden acting in parts, but any film that plays the Jam's Going Underground over the closing credits can't be all bad (even if the usherette waiting to collect the litter was glaring at me to leave by the end). Home win, 2-0.
Silver Jubilee:Canada Water Opened: Thursday 19th August 1999 Jubilee platforms opened: Friday 17th September 1999 (1 month later) Distance from previous station: 1.1 km Platform: exit to the right of the train Change here for: East London Line Fact file: There didn't used to be a station here on the EastLondonline before the Jubilee line came along. Rotherhithe station is only 300m away. 5 things I found outside this station: a big round glass drum, a bus station, large tracts of open space awaiting redevelopment, Surrey Quays Shopping Centre, Canada Water (complete with bird raft and wind turbine). Nearby:Harmsworth Quays (where the Daily Mail and Evening Standard are printed), Rotherhithe (which is actually rather lovely, down by the river at least), the entrance to the Rotherhithe Tunnel, the cinema I went to last night, Millwall FC. Local history: The Surrey Docks on the Rotherhithe Peninsula closed in 1969. During the subsequent redevelopment almost all of the docks were filled in, but one section of the old Canada Dock remains and this is Canada Water. Locals continue to campaign to make their voices heard as redevelopment continues.
inertia, n. inertness: the inherent property of matter by which it continues, unless constrained, in its state of rest or uniform motion in a straight line.
I suffer from inertia. It's not terminal or anything, but it affects every aspect of my life. Given the chance I tend to carry on doing the things I've always done, and not veering off the straight and narrow. My life rolls forward uniformly in a straight line without deflection. I am inertial.
I'm happy in my job and am not actively seeking a new one. I like my flat and I'm not looking to move on. I really ought to sort out my endowment mortgage but I can't quite be bothered. I feel no urge to spend my weekends at the garden centre, the department store or the furniture warehouse. I could repaint my bathroom but what's the point? My mobile's more than two years old and I'm not interested in a hi-tech replacement. I wait for my phone to ring rather than taking the initiative and ringing other people. I've not changed one of the 39 tracks on my portable mp3 player since last summer. I sidestep the question 'where are you going on holiday this summer?' at work because I'll probably stay in London. I've not been to the cinema for over a year. I've only had one evening out so far this month, which is a bit rubbish given that there have been 4 weekends in May already. I wake up, go to work and come home, repeatedly. I am, essentially, inert.
I am a snooker ball rolling slowly across the pool table of life (ok, I know I'm mixing my metaphors here, but bear with me). There are very few other balls around on my table for me to bounce off (hmm, maybe this is rather more like billiards). I know a few talented snooker players who used to deflect me on a regular basis (they'd ring me up right on cue and invite me out somewhere) but recently they've been too busy playing doubles instead (my table has been cleared). I expect I'll carry on travelling in my straight line for a very long time, until eventually I rebound off an unexpected cushion into the outfield or some deep dark pocket opens up ahead for me to tumble into (I'd better take a rest there before you start to baulk).
But let's view this another way. Most people strive throughout their lives to reach a state of inertia. They'd love to lead a steady and secure existence, heading forward on a well-defined path. They'd rather not ricochet round the green baize of life, being hit randomly by black after red after blue. Most people long for the safe, the predictable and the uneventful, because the alternative is stress, struggle and uncertainty. I think, all things considered, I rather like having inertia. But then I would say that wouldn't I?
Silver Jubilee:Bermondsey Opened: Friday 24th September 1999 Distance from previous station: 1.9 km Platform: exit to the right of the train You are now entering: zone 2 Fact file: Bermondsey station is "a synthesis of heroic engineering structures animated by light, topped off by a sleek, transparent box at ground level." Further gushing architectural drivel here. 5 things I found outside this station:Jamaica Road, an electronic display welcoming you to Bermondsey station, two cashpoints, Feltor Carrington estate agents, densely-packed council blocks. Nearby: more densely-packed council blocks, Southwark Park, the Pool of London, King's Stairs Gardens (Edward III had a house here). Not quite nearby: Bermondsey Local history:Peter Tatchell infamously lost the Bermondsey by-election in 1983, which is the only reason Simon Hughes still has a career. Jade from Big Brother grew up here, giving the lie to estate agents' claims that Bermondsey is now somehow trendy. More about local redevelopment here, local history here, and local historians here.
Bloggeration: I've been using the new redesigned Blogger interface for a fortnight now. I've been very patient, I've tried hard to learn how everything works and I'm impressed with some bits, but I'm afraid there are still ten changes I avidly dislike. Are you listening Evan?
1) I can't edit and see what I'm editing at the same time. This is particularly annoying if I change something and want to look back and see what I've changed it from, because I can't.
2) I can save a draft post or I can publish a post, but I can't just post a post any more and publish it later. If I want to edit lots of posts, I have to wait for ages while they each publish separately.
3) After I've published a post, Blogger takes me to a useless 'just published' page. If I want to go back and edit my post it takes two further mouse clicks via the index, whereas it used to take none.
4) All 'previews' appear in grey text rather than black text, which is no use if I'm trying to write in a mixture of black and grey (as I have been all month) because I can't see which is which.
5) It's all too easy to press the wrong button and accidentally lose the entire post I've just been writing, especially if I've been using the 'preview' function and haven't saved it yet.
6) It's particularly easy to lose an entire post if I accidentally click on the blue strip across the top of the edit page, because this takes me back to the pointless 'Dashboard' feature.
7) The precise time of a post is no longer displayed on my blog index page. I can change the time if I want, but the default is now the time I start writing a post, not the time I publish it.
8) I can't search for an old post by date any more because the old 'calendar' function has been disabled. Instead I have to remember a word from the post I'm looking for and search for that.
9) Blogger's new low-fi comment system takes two clicks to access, plus the comment doesn't appear on the other person's blog immediately so I can't see what I just wrote in context.
10) If I do add a comment to a Blogger blog, the link from my comment goes to my profile page not to my blog. Except I don't want a godforsaken twee profile page, so it links nowhere.
Silver Jubilee:London Bridge Opened: Sunday 25th February 1900 Jubilee line platforms opened: Thursday 7th October 1999 Distance from previous station: 1.3 km Platform: exit to the right of the train Change here for: Northern line and mainline services Fact file: There are now two exits from this station, the original beneath the mainline station and a new exit onto Borough High Street. More photos here. 5 things I found outside this station:London Bridge, the London Dungeon, Borough Market (selling posh organic food for Observer readers), Southwark Cathedral, Guy's Hospital Nearby:The Clink (a notorious medieval prison), the Golden Hinde (a reconstruction of Drake's famous galleon), the Greater London Assembly and, one day soon-ish probably, the 1016ft high London Bridge Tower (controversial pointy skyscraper). Local history: The Romans built the first London Bridge across the Thames in AD43. The first stone bridge appeared in 1176, famously lined by rickety buildings and traitors' heads on spikes. A new bridge followed in 1831, only to be shipped to Lake Havasu in Arizona in the 1960s and replaced by a desperately dull concrete span. Local blog:Miss Elaine Neous
Nobody wanted to be the first off the bus, mainly because the BBC cameraman was training his lens at all those filing down the stairs. The previous four buses had already disgorged their passengers and a crowd had gathered at the bottom of Fairfield Road to fire flashbulbs at the final double decker. There were still the last few yards into Bow Garage to be negotiated, and a traffic jam of vintage vehicles, current services, taxis and Smart cars had to be cleared from the narrow roadway before this could happen. The driver paused before turning into the garage so that the 200-strong crowd could attempt one last photograph. Only the crew and the BBC team were still on board as he finally disappeared inside the garage (moral: if you want to be part of history, get a job reporting it). The massed multitudes were eventually permitted a five minute photocall inside the garage - a giant shed filled by buses packed tight like loaves of bread in a baker's tray. The BBC were busy interviewing the driver and conductress, and grabbing more shots of us. I managed to capture one last decent photo, and then we were all sent back outside. Some of the old Routemasters were already heading out of the building on the way to their new owners. Slowly the crowd dispersed, ready to meet again in West London when the 7s lose their Routemasters next month.
I stood at my local bus stop for over an hour waiting for a number 8 to come along. Actually loads of number 8s came along, just not the number 8 I was waiting for. The general travelling public hopped on the first bus that turned up (approx every 6 minutes), the assembled bus fans climbed on the first antique that turned up (approx every 20 minutes), but I hung on. The young conductor who'd checked my ticket earlier in the week wandered past on his way down to McDonalds for lunch. He'll probably be out of a job tomorrow. A traditional East End funeral dray crept past, which seemed kind of appropriate.
Finally I boarded RM1 (pictured right) - the very first Routemaster to be built, exactly 50 years ago. It'll form the centrepiece of the Routemaster's Golden Jubilee celebrations in Finsbury Park next month, should you be tempted to attend. Three stops along the route, at an obscure request stop in Old Ford, a phalanx of 16 photographers were waiting to take our picture. A series of classic buses trundled past in the opposite direction, surprisingly full for a Friday afternoon (did everyone else take the day off work too?). There may be quicker ways to get to central London, but few ways are more fun. And there can't be many 50 year-old vehicles that could still earn a day's living in heavy London traffic, so it's all the sadder that these fine machines are being taken off the road for politically correct reasons. Make the most of the remaining Routemasters while you can, because one day they'll be confined to a twee heritage route for tourists, probably charging £9.50 a ticket. Yesterday that heritage came for a quid. Priceless.
I sat back in my comfortable non-plastic seat and enjoyed the view from the top deck. Ah the luxury of the Routemaster - blessed with wooden decking long before it became fashionable. The conductor soon bounded up the corner staircase to issue authentic paper tickets from the old wind-up machine slung round his neck. Passengers hopped on and off between stops, which may not have had the blessing of the Health and Safety Executive but it was certainly damned convenient. Other bus drivers, allocated the lesser job of driving some characterless new red cuboid, waved at our driver with unconcealed jealousy. Occasionally passers by (all male) would stop and look twice at our bus, registering that it looked slightly out of place in modern London. One smiling pensioner stood motionless clutching a copy of the Times behind his back, paying his last respects as we passed by.
I've made this journey many times before (see my Cube Routes feature, for example) but this occasion was different - the bus spotters were out in force. They were busy spotting my bus, so I kept myself busy spotting them. There was a bloke with a tripod photographing at the very first stop and another standing on some steps in Houndsditch with his camera at the ready. Two spotters had set up camp on a traffic island outside City Thameslink station and someone else was carefully positioned outside Sainsburys Local in Oxford Street with a giant swivelling lens. One passenger suddenly hopped off halfway down Old Bond Street to grab a couple of shots as we waited at traffic lights, and a keen snapper stepped out into the road as we sped round Hyde Park Corner. But the biggest welcome came as we pulled into Victoria Bus Station to be met by a posse of eight Routemaster paparazzi. The driver slowed down and posed for the cameras, like a slightly-surprised 60s pop star, before turning round and heading back to Bow (where I also spotted a film crew). And all this before the last day.
You will, by now, have an opinion on Big Brother 5. Just answer the two simple questions below to locate your opinion in my patented BBgrid. Me, I'm A2.
Silver Jubilee month terminates here.
Silver Jubilee: Stratford
Opened: Thursday 20th June 1839
Opened: Monday 16th October 1854
Meet the Big Brother 5 twelve (let the freakshow begin)
Opened: Monday 14th June 1847
Watch the opening seconds of EastEnders very very closely and you'll see that the camera pans out from an epicentre in the middle of the River Thames, just off the North Greenwich peninsula. When the programme started in 1985 the opening credits depicted a densely-packed industrial wasteland here, with a dark grey cloud positioned carefully over the tip of the peninsula. In 1999 the credits were updated to show a very different picture, with much of the surrounding industry erased and a vast new Dome shining out from the centre of that camera shot. For one millennial year the people came, in their not-quite-enough millions, and the peninsula buzzed with life. Well, some life. And then the nation went away disillusioned and left North Greenwich alone, a major transport hub surrounded by nobody. The station was designed to cope with up to twenty-two thousand passengers an hour but now serves less than half that a day. A great future is promised, but it hasn't arrived yet.
Walk out of North Greenwich station today and what will you see? There's the big Dome standing folorn and empty, its twelve yellow spikes thrusting defiantly into the sky. Through the long blue perimeter fence you might spot Group 4 security workers patrolling the vast arena like ghosts. It's still possible to walk right up to the rows of over-optimistic admission booths, all 48 of them, lined up waiting for the crowds that never came. A trickling stream of lost buses passes through the curved bus station, detouring to ferry the grateful of south-east London back to their distant homes. To the south of the Dome lies a vast open space where, one day, something more than car parks and fountains will be built. And further away still is the Millennium Village - yuppie heaven so they'd have you believe, but still absolutely nowhere near critical mass. The whole redevelopment is as bleak and deserted as the industrial landscape it replaced.
Should you have half an hour to spare you can take a lovely lonely walk around the Dome. Turn right out of the station, skulk past a wall of blue portakabins and breathe in the stunning view of Canary Wharf from across the river. Further round you cross the meridian line, etched in stone, beside a disused pavilion still home to the model remains of a multimedia exhibition. A carpet of replanted wild flowers lies cut off inside the Dome perimeter, whilst nearby riverside reedbeds sway freely in the breeze. Tiny planes fly low overhead on their way to land at tiny City Airport, and an enormous yellow sign warns shipping that the Thames Barrier lies just round the corner. You pass a legacy of underappreciated artwork spaced along the riverbank, from a vertically-sliced boat (now covered in seagulls) to Anthony Gormley's towering Quantum Cloud. Nobody lands at the Queen Elizabeth Pier any more, if indeed they ever did, and gardeners have long abandoned the shrubberies alongside the deserted car parks. The odd cyclist may speed past on some long ride to nowhere, but otherwise this walk is a solitary pilgrimage to misplaced ambition. I loved it.
Opened: Friday 14th May 1999
Opened: Friday 17th September 1999
Opened: Thursday 19th August 1999
Opened: Friday 24th September 1999
Opened: Sunday 25th February 1900
