Eleven hours after I get to work, they arrive. Normally I'm long gone by then, but sometimes our two worlds cross. Every evening they gather on the comfy seats in reception, awaiting the signal to proceed inside. Here they chatter to one another, in some mother tongue that isn't English, while the last stragglers of the working day file out of the building. Then it's on through the security gates to the storeroom at the foot of the stairs to retrieve their implements - a cloth, a mop, a pack of binliners, that sort of thing - and they're ready to go. They're the cleaners, and London wouldn't function without them.
The first I ever see, if I'm still around, is a protective blue tunic emerging from the lift. It's nice to have some company when you're working late, even if conversation isn't really on the cards. I watch from the corner of my eye as they empty the recycling bins, clearing away all those pointless sheets of paper we've spewed from the printer throughout the day. Unnecessary emails, unwanted reports, superfluous spreadsheets, jammed A3, all cleared from the premises so that we can waste another small forest tomorrow.
Every desk gets a few seconds of cursory attention. A quick rub down with a slightly damp cloth, the bin emptied, and move on. There's no attempt to dust behind the monitor or give the keyboard a scrub - these might get a once a year special seeing to if we're lucky. And definitely no attempt to move anything, be it a stack of papers or a pile of paperclips, because we'd all complain in the morning if they dared to rearrange our daytime world. They know their place, and we think we know ours.
Eventually the cleaning cavalry approaches my desk. It's a bit awkward because I'm trying desperately to get my day's work finished without interruption, and so are they. A weak smile passes between us, and also a quick "hello" (because it's the only common vocabulary we think we share). I really should say "thank you", but I never do because I fear it might sound somehow patronising. Sorry, you're not going to be able to rub my bits yet - maybe later once I've gone.
I wander over to the photocopier to pick up a copy of my evening's labours. I carefully avoid the trailing cable, the mop bucket and the large industrial hoover left obliquely across the gangway. Positioned directly outside the stairwell is one of those portable yellow plastic warning signs, the sort you're always bumping into in McDonald's. I note that the sign says "Warning - wet floor", which seems a little unnecessary because the office is fully carpeted. I'm sure the poor team are just following instructions.
Returning to my desk I plonk down my still-warm document... onto a fresh damp patch of dilute disinfectant. Never mind, I can always print it out again. My work now complete I start to shut my workstation down, then throw a last couple of screwed-up post-it notes into my waste paper bin. Job creation, I'm afraid.
Time for one last guilty smile towards the cleaners before I go. I suspect I've earned more today than they'll earn all week, or probably longer. I wonder how many mouths their minimum wage has to feed, or how few rooms they and their flatmates have to rattle around in back home. As I stand by the lift, waiting for it to whisk me away to my more fortunate existence, I look back towards my vacated desk. Look, the cleaner's already in there with the hoover, scraping around on the floor, ticking off another of the evening's tiny tasks. I wonder if I'll even think to notice in the morning.
"Martini, Mr Bond? Shaken not stirred, of course. Just how you like it."
James looked up at the bunny-eared waitress. "No thank you, Kittenlips, mine's a Coca-Cola Zero. I love its stylish and contemporary sugar-free taste. And make sure it's the sleek, limited edition bottle available only from Harrods, London, there's a darling."
Bond returned to cutting out the coupons from his copy of the Sun newspaper. Simultaneously he plugged in the earpiece to his free easy to use 512mb MP3 player. How small and lightweight it was - so handy for the gym. And there was no fuss with chargers, just pop in a AAA battery and he was ready to go. The velvety sound of soulstress Alicia Keys warbled in his ears, her themed duet with Jack White truly a match made in paradise.
A familiar smell wafted past Bond's nose. Ah, that sexy cocktail of velvety florals, cool freshness and warm woods. It had to be Moneypenny, wearing her special perfume designed exclusively for Avon. She always had been impossible to resist.
Bond checked his watch. Yes, it was still an Omega Seamaster Planet Ocean 600m Co-Axial Chronometer, the one with the domed anti-reflective, scratch-resistant sapphire crystal casing. Half past three, the perfect time for adventure. He tilted the black bezelled dial to reveal the reflected silhouette of M standing in the doorway.
"007, I have a new mission for you. I'd like you to fly Virgin Atlantic to Austria, home of the world famous Bregenz lakeside stage. Puccini's music will double as your dramatic soundtrack on this floating platform, and there are several five star hotels close by. I recommend that you wear your Church's Ryder III brown boots, the rubber sole units for those who need that extra grip under foot."
Bond shut the lid on his Sonylaptop, revealing a familiar gun-barrel logo engraved on the silver-brushed casing. This lightweight 1.5kg package boasted an Intel Core 2 Duo P9500 CPU running at 2.5GHz, combined with 4GB DDR2 SDRAM and inbuilt Blu-ray drive. Ideal for the busy special agent or gentleman about town. His scheduled afternoon of video game entertainment (complete with mild language, alcohol reference and violence) would have to wait.
Q entered the room, brandishing an armful of impossibly must-have gadgetry. "Look what I bought down at Comet," he said. "This may look like the new Sony EricssonC902 mobile in limited edition Titanium Silver, but it's actually your new remote control device. I thought if I dressed it up as a shiny brick, exclusively available only to O2 customers, nobody else would think to steal it. See this button? It powers the hatchback on your new Ford Ka. Adventurous, individual and full of spirit, the all-new Ka is the perfect match for any feisty lady agent you might meet."
James stood up, taking care not to block sight of the Heineken Pilsener on the shelf behind him. He'd never drink the gassy weak gnat's piss himself, obviously, but mission sponsors required close proximal brand linkage for enhancement of the liquid's global product awareness. As he abseiled out through the window he made sure that the label on the seat of his Levi's 307 Sta-Prest trousers was clearly visible in shot. And then, with a pert swish of those tapered slacks, he was gone. Premium Bond, licence to sell.
London gazetteer quiz
London is a vast place, embracing within its borders hundreds of lesser locations. Some of these are well known (Westminster, Clapham, Romford, etc) whereas other place names are familiar only to locals and those with a bit of neighbourhood knowledge. Often it's small suburbs without a station which slip beneath the radar, or estate-sized areas within more well-known districts.
So for today's quiz I'm presenting you with a list of 24 place names. Twenty of these are proper London place names, and the other four I've made up. Can you spot the four non-existent non-London locations?
As a hint, there's one fake name in each column.
Try to spot the fakes before you open the comments box, because that's where the answers are.
You can confirm or disprove your hunches by clicking through to a gazetteer and/or map.
And then let us know how you got on.
Credit Crunch report: The vast car parks are fairly full, but you'd easily find a space. Queues of traffic stretch back along winding feeder roads to the NorthCircular, but at least they're moving. Would-be shoppers dribble off the double deckers in the featureless bus station, but not in large numbers. Hold open the door to the mall and there's still plenty of room inside. It's nearly nearly-Christmas, but you wouldn't guess. It's Brent Cross, it's the UK's first large enclosed shopping centre, and it's about to face its third recession.
Even in these tough financial times, the mall experience remains an attractive family day out, but now with the emphasis on window shopping. There's a dress you can't afford, and there's a pair of shoes that mustn't go on your credit card. Those chocolates look gorgeous but unnecessary, and no way am I paying four quid for a bagel. Nobody buys Swarovski crystals at a time like this, although a spin round Claire's Accessories shouldn't break the bank. Don't worry about buying some trifling luxury for the kid, because Junior will be pleased enough with a free balloon from McDonalds. Maybe a long walk round the Fenwick department store will pass the time, and then the same round John Lewis. Look, they're doing a meal for two for a tenner in M&S, bargain, and there's even fruit crumble. Best give the Apple store a miss, I think.
At the heart of the mall, beneath the central glass dome, the "My Brent Cross" promotion is underway. Some spotty youth and her lank-haired beau are perched inside a video pod waiting to talk to camera, no doubt telling the world what they so love about this place. Maybe it's the feeling of camaraderie they get from meeting up with their mates outside the Karma Kitchen. Maybe it's the opportunity to nick a pair of leggings from Miss Selfridge. Maybe this is the only decent place in the area to get away from the parents and do some pointless slouching. Or maybe it's the free central heating. Whatever the reason, this mid 70s mall experiment still has its legions of devoted fans.
But maybe not for much longer. Never mind the credit crunch, there's a new enemy lying in wait five miles down the road. If Brent Cross was London's first mid-conurbation shopping centre, then Westfield is its first all-encompassing retail megaplex. It opens on Thursday, and its extensive hinterland threatens to suck what little recessional trade exists out of existing local shopping centres. Why go to a nasty concrete box outside Hendon when you could visit a shiny glass amphitheatre near Holland Park instead? Why head for a far-flung Zone 3 stationon the hard-to-reach side of an enormous roundabout when you could arrive at the mall doors via a brand new Zone 2 interchange. Why do H Samuel when you could do Tiffany? There are a lot of nervous retail managers across West London at the moment, all hoping that this weekend isn't the last time their shops ever see normal levels of trade. It's shops in W12 which have the most to fear, obviously, but I'm certain Brent has its fingers firmlyCrossed.
Having started 'Next Train' Indicator Week at one end of my daily commute, I'm ending it at the other. I'm a bit surprised, because I didn't think Holborn's NTIs were anything special. But once reader Marc had pointed out the crude display on a separate platform, this station's signage shortcomings became all too apparent. Holborn's a perfect and up-to-date example of how uncoordinated the planning of these things still is. Installation by cretins continues.
Next train: Holborn
First to the eastbound Central line platform. It's where reader Rachel waits each morning, and where I stand each evening before I head home. Picture the scene - a straight tubular platform with a low subway bridge across the centre. Six months ago there were two 'next train' indicators, both of the long-standing green&orange type, one attached to each side of the overbridge. This meant that destination information was clearly visible from the majority of the platform, but alas not from a blind spot beneath the bridge. Pretty good, but not perfect. Holborn station is currently undergoing refurbishment, and new 'next train' indicators are part of the package. Perhaps sensibly, the new displays have been installed before the old ones have been removed. They hang a few feet further away from the central bridge, so there's no blind spot underneath any more. Unfortunately there's now a blind spot almost everywhere else. From further away the new signs completely block out sight of the old and, although they've been installed for months, the new signs are not yet functional. Installed by cretins.
So I stand each evening and stare at the new signs, wondering what it says on the old ones sandwiched behind. The new signs merely tell me I'm waiting for "Eastbound trains: Central line", which I know already, and they tell me what the time is in hours minutes and seconds, which I know already. The next train is for Idunno, and it's arriving Anywhen. Why oh why, if the new signs aren't yet plugged into the signalling system, did some cretin decide to install them several months early. I know I shouldn't be surprised, but I do despair.
So next to the northbound Piccadilly line platform. It's much the same story here - a new indicator installed before the old one has been removed. Thankfully this new NTI actually works, and it doesn't block the old one. Unfortunately it's been installed by cretins. The new 'next train' indicator has been attached to the ceiling immediately to the right of the platform entrance, which is (unsurprisingly) very close to a "Way Out" sign. This is especially bad news if you want to stand on the left half of the platform, ready to board at the rear of any arriving train. From here the "Way Out sign" obscures almost all of the dot matrix display, apart from the first four letters. If you're lucky, the first train will be heading to "Arno". If you're unlucky it'll be heading to "Cock".
Did the electrical contractors do this for a laugh? Or did nobody consider the unfortunate combination of truncated information and accidental filth? Surely TfL, if your trains go to Cockfosters, you should always think twice before you install anything. Evidently not. I'm still kicking myself for not waiting on the platform long enough. My photograph of this abysmal debacle only has one Cock in it, whereas if I'd hung around longer I could have hit the jackpot with two.
But this platform's not somewhere I wanted to wait for long. And that's because it's home to TfL's next generation of 'next train' indicators - NTIs that talk. If you can't see the the destination of the next train, either because some cretin has blocked it or because you're blind, then worry no more because it'll be announced out loud. Something like this...
"Piccadilly line. The next train to Cockfosters will arrive in 2 minutes. Next station Russell Square."
Surely this kind of announcement must be a good idea, making our stations aurally accessible to all? Well yes, except that the announcement doesn't stop there. About a minute later, as the next train is about to hurtle into the platform, TfL now insist on subjecting us to the following...
"Ladies and gentlemen, the next train will be a Piccadilly line service calling at all stations to Cockfosters. Ladies and gentlemen, please stand behind the yellow line as the train approaches. Use the full length of the platform and let customers off the train first."
Good grief, that's a bit excessive isn't it? As a regular commuter, all I want to know is where the next train is heading. Instead I'm subjected to 43 words of dressed-up waffle and patronising nannying. I know the next train will be a Piccadilly line service, because it's the only line to use this platform. I know the train will stop at all stations, because in this direction they all do. I don't need to hear "Ladies and Gentlemen" twice thank you, because I haven't switched gender inbetween. I know to stand behind the yellow line, even if the occasional exuberant passenger still forgets. I can't use the full length of the platform, because there's only of me and I'm not that wide. I don't need to use the full length of the platform because it's a Saturday afternoon and the station's not particularly busy. And I already know to let customers off the train first (although, OK, maybe TfL can't repeat this often enough because so many commuters appear to be inconsiderate self-obsessed me-first thrusters). But, before every single bloody train for the foreseeable future, is this really necessary? I don't want to listen to a perpetual sequence of on-message announcements, I just want to know where the next few trains are going and when they'll arrive. Otherwise, oh disembodied automated voice, please shut up.
I hope I haven't given the impression over the last week that all of London's 'next train' indicators are poor. Many are well designed, expertly positioned, unblocked by clutter and written in a font size large enough to read without squinting. The DLR ticks almost all boxes, for example. But there are still a lot of sub-standard, ill-thought-through, incompetent displays out there, providing an inadequate service for travellers and wasting public money. Installed by cretins. And each perfectly re-installable, should anybody at TfL actually care.
NTI scariness, category 7: Displays that talk • Tower Hill (District/Circle, eastbound): This one talks, but has an annoying habit of announcing a completely different destination to the one displayed on the board. As yet, bloody hopeless. • Euston (Northern): "The next train to Morden will arrive in two minutes. Next stop King's Cross St Pancras. Please stand back from the platform edge." • any more?
London gazetteer quiz London is a vast place, embracing within its borders hundreds of lesser locations. Some of these are well known (Westminster, Clapham, Romford, etc) whereas other place names are familiar only to locals and those with a bit of neighbourhood knowledge. Often it's small suburbs without a station which slip beneath the radar, or estate-sized areas within more well-known districts. So for today's quiz I'm presenting you with a list of 24 place names. Twenty of these are proper London place names, and the other four I've made up. Can you spot the four non-existent non-London locations?
Even in these tough financial times, the mall experience remains an attractive family day out, but now with the emphasis on window shopping. There's a dress you can't afford, and there's a pair of shoes that mustn't go on your credit card. Those chocolates look gorgeous but unnecessary, and no way am I paying four quid for a bagel. Nobody buys Swarovski crystals at a time like this, although a spin round Claire's Accessories shouldn't break the bank. Don't worry about buying some trifling luxury for the kid, because Junior will be pleased enough with a free balloon from McDonalds. Maybe a long walk round the Fenwick department store will pass the time, and then the same round John Lewis. Look, they're doing a meal for two for a tenner in M&S, bargain, and there's even fruit crumble. Best give the Apple store a miss, I think.
At the heart of the mall, beneath the central glass dome, the "My Brent Cross" promotion is underway. Some spotty youth and her lank-haired beau are perched inside a video pod waiting to talk to camera, no doubt telling the world what they so love about this place. Maybe it's the feeling of camaraderie they get from meeting up with their mates outside the Karma Kitchen. Maybe it's the opportunity to nick a pair of leggings from Miss Selfridge. Maybe this is the only decent place in the area to get away from the parents and do some pointless slouching. Or maybe it's the free central heating. Whatever the reason, this mid 70s mall experiment still has its legions of devoted fans.
First to the eastbound Central line platform. It's where reader Rachel waits each morning, and where I stand each evening before I head home. Picture the scene - a straight tubular platform with a low subway bridge across the centre. Six months ago there were two 'next train' indicators, both of the long-standing green&orange type, one attached to each side of the overbridge. This meant that destination information was clearly visible from the majority of the platform, but alas not from a blind spot beneath the bridge. Pretty good, but not perfect. Holborn station is currently undergoing refurbishment, and new 'next train' indicators are part of the package. Perhaps sensibly, the new displays have been installed before the old ones have been removed. They hang a few feet further away from the central bridge, so there's no blind spot underneath any more. Unfortunately there's now a blind spot almost everywhere else. From further away the new signs completely block out sight of the old and, although they've been installed for months, the new signs are not yet functional. Installed by cretins.
So next to the northbound Piccadilly line platform. It's much the same story here - a new indicator installed before the old one has been removed. Thankfully this new NTI actually works, and it doesn't block the old one. Unfortunately it's been installed by cretins. The new 'next train' indicator has been attached to the ceiling immediately to the right of the platform entrance, which is (unsurprisingly) very close to a "Way Out" sign. This is especially bad news if you want to stand on the left half of the platform, ready to board at the rear of any arriving train. From here the "Way Out sign" obscures almost all of the dot matrix display, apart from the first four letters. If you're lucky, the first train will be heading to "Arno". If you're unlucky it'll be heading to "Cock".
