I'm not sure I ever said thanks properly. I think I did, maybe even several times, but it might not have have come across coherently at the time. So here it is again, with a lot more feeling, better late than never. Thanks!
You didn't have to come round, but I'm very relieved that you did. You cancelled everything you had planned, all your weekend activities, and probably woke up a lot earlier than usual too. It was quite a journey, hardly just around the corner, and I can only imagine what you were chatting about on the way down.
You don't know how glad I was to see you. It had been a long night since I phoned, a very strange and troubling night, and I hadn't slept much. So much to do, and so little actually done. And there you were on the doorstep, like a rock of normality, to give me something sane to hang onto. So very glad.
I'm not normally an emotional person, but I think I made up for it when you arrived. I reckon I should react like that more often, to be honest, although without the need for some sort of crisis to bring it about. I'm usually a lot more at ease, and a lot more in control - and I think I have you to thank for that too.
There was plenty needed to be done, and I couldn't possibly have managed it all by myself. A lot of traipsing around, here and there, in and out, and especially up and down. That bewildered kitten kept getting in the way, didn't she? And we spent far too long in the garage, but then I never did travel light.
Then we all sat down to eat lunch, all of us together somewhere other than your place for once. Ham rolls - always a safe and reliable option in such circumstances. You sat there and discussed what was going on in your lives, and I remember feeling totally disassociated from it all, in a little bubble all of my very own.
Another long journey ahead. That cup of tea at the far end was very welcoming, almost normal. I know I didn't stay long, not on that occasion, because I had a lot more falling apart to do elsewhere. But I felt like I was imposing, taking over part of your lives unexpectedly, even though I know you were only too glad to help.
Thanks for never saying "I told you so", even though I bet you were thinking it. Thanks for helping me to move forward with an absolute minimum of fuss. And thanks for your unfailing support, especially on that day when I needed it the most. For always being there, before and since, I so very thank you.
Which explains why it's so bloody difficult to buy a CD single any more. One of those 1.6 million is mine. And none of the 116 million. I'm so behind the times.
• I know how interested all sorts of people are in the River Fleet. Now Camden Council has its own webpage on the borough's very own lost waterway, complete with recently surveyed map. Enjoy the photographs.
• Ooh, now this is interesting. Comparemyradio.com. A new website which compares all the songs and artists played by different radio stations over the last 30 days. Capital Radio is obsessed by JLSand the Black Eyed Peas, playing each more than 10 times a day. Heart love Robbie Williams more than any other station. Radio 1 and Smooth Radio have very little in common. Radio 2 has greater music variety than any other station surveyed. Absolute Radio (whose website this is) are still playing Journey's Don't Stop Believin' several times a month. I could play with this tool for longer than I could listen to most of the radio stations under scrutiny.
• Watching the C4 Heston Blumenthal / Little Chef programme last night, I had an irrational urge (along with half the viewing audience) to go and visit his Popham restaurant. Except it's in the middle of nowhere unless you have a car, and I don't. Ditto the new Kettering revamp. So I wondered where the nearest (bog-standard) Little Chef to London actually is. Alas, the company's website collapses every time I try to do any kind of geographical search.
Do you remember, before Jenson Button became proper famous, his cheesy TV infomercial for the BBC's Red Button service. If so, you may have been tempted to start pressing red to access a whole variety of interactive (and not quite so interactive) televisual features. The digital replacement for Ceefax, for example, which manages to stick even fewer words on your screen than the old Mode 7 Teletext graphics ever did. The News Multiscreen service, perhaps, which loops the latest news headlines and weather forecasts in miniature hard-to-view quadrants. Or one of the additional interactive channels hidden away behind the scenes, probably showing sport or music or background features. Extra content, extra choice.
Until yesterday. Yesterday the BBC's Red Button content slimmed down, or at least it did for those of us watching on Freeview. Less content, less choice. Two of the services were snuffed out, now available only to folk with Sky, cable or Freesat. Taking their place, for the time being, absolutely nothing. This change isn't about saving money, it's about realigning Freeview's services for the far distant future. I count myself amongst the many people who aren't terribly happy about it, not happy at all.
The first casualty of Tuesday's extinguishing is the News Multiscreen service. Want to catch up on the latest news headlines right now without waiting up to 30 minutes for the BBC News Channel to get round to telling you. Sorry, you can't have news "now" any more, you'll have to wait. Want to watch that two-minute catch-up on the latest Afghan situation or the credit crunch? Maybe one of your neighbours with a satellite dish will let you pop round and have a look. Want to check the weather forecast as spoken by a real human being, rather than relying on the BBC website's embarrassingly inaccurate short range graphics? No longer an option. Not good.
And the second casualty is channel 302, the second of the BBC's additional red button channels. Everyone can still get 301, but 302 has gone dark to the entire Freeview audience. This means there's now only one place to view 'extras', not two, so expect to see fewer additional sporting events, fewer interesting Grand Prix camera angles and only half as many alternative stages at Glastonbury. On Monday, for example, Freeviewfolk wanting an Electric Proms catch-up could have chosen between Shirley Bassey on 301 or Robbie Williams on 302. On Tuesday Robbie (and 302) disappeared, leaving only Dame Shirl on looping repeat. Half the options, half the fun.
Freeview's sports fans will probably feel the greatest severance. Let's take next weekend's red button sporting action as an example (it's here, if you're interested). Saturday morning's Grand Prix Third Practice, no problem, but the subsequent "Live coverage of Qualifying, with choice of commentaries" is "Not available on Freeview". Likewise you'll be able to watch Final Score with Gabby but not the simultaneous Rugby League Four Nations Forum. The evening's live coverage of the Cycling Track World Cup will be halted on Freeview an hour earlier than for viewers on other services. On Sunday, the 11-hour rolling repeat of the Football League Show will be invisible on Freeview, as will all the extra Grand Prix commentary options and rolling highlights that BBC viewers have recently come to expect. And if you want to watch Cardiff v Nottingham Forest live, sorry, you'll have to wait until the New York Marathon finishes because that's been deemed more important.
And what's the BBC's excuse for these newly-blank channels? High Definition telly, that's what. HD isn't yet available on Freeview, and they think it ought to be, eventually, when suitable set-top boxes and bandwidth exist. You'll need to buy a new (expensive) DVB-T2 MPEG-4-coded digibox, none of which are yet available, in order to watch HD versions of programmes you're already getting. And HD services will be available in some regions faster than others, depending on digital switchover date, and could take up to three years to reach your local transmitter. In the meantime, Grand Prix on-board camera shots and Robbie Williams have been unnecessarily sacrificed. Given that there are currently millions of Freeview sports fans and no Freeview HD viewers, it'll come as no surprise that a succession of BBC blogpostsannouncing the withdrawal have been besieged with angriness.
Never fear, say the BBC, because you can always view these lost streams on our website. The news headlines and weather forecast, they're online, as are all the sporting events and post-mortems no longer available on Freeview TV. Which is fine so long as you have a decent broadband connection and a computer and nobody else in the family is using it to check eBay or shoot aliens. For the significant minority of Britons still not connected to the web, many of them poor or elderly, the BBC website option is as blank as their TV screens. This is particularly galling when the rest of Freeview is still clogged up with rubbish like The Diamonique Hour and the 23rd repeat of Dragon's Den on Dave, but that's how it is.
This week's digital slimdown appears to be an ill-conceived strategic error, and a classic example of removing something before its replacement is ready. No doubt one day, when the entire nation is capable of viewing Jenson Button's wrinkles in full eye-watering close-up detail, we'll wonder what all the fuss was about. But in the meantime, the discriminatory message "Press your red button now (not available on Freeview)" is about to become depressingly familiar.
Another month, another new London station. Don't get too used to this rapid infrastructure rollout, because the run of fresh stations won't last more than another year. But ooh, bright shiny DLR station alert. Have you been yet?
South Quay is a mid-Docklands station used mostly by office workers whose companies can't afford the bigger brasher skyscrapers further up the line. It boasts a turbulent but brief history. Originally constructed in 1987, South Quay was given a major revamp in 1994 when the DLR proved much more popular than expected. Then in 1996 the IRA exploded a ceasefire-breaking bomb close by and the station had to be re-rebuilt. And now it's been completely rebuilt yet again, this time 125 metres further east, as part of the DLR's Three Carriage Capacity Enhancement Project. The previous station was sandwiched inbetween two bends and couldn't be extended to take longer trains, hence the need to start again from scratch alongside a straighter stretch of track. We can only hope that this latest resurrection survives a bit longer.
Aside: TfL are very proud that they've managed to construct the new station immediately adjacent to the railway without disrupting services. Their latest press release boasts that "clever engineering techniques by contractors Taylor Woodrow meant the replacement station was constructed without the line, or the old station, once being closed." This may indeed be true, construction-wise. But the entire arm out to Lewisham was closed last weekend, essentially so that the new South Quay station could be properly 'tested'. And that's why it took me over an hour to get home from Lewisham to Bow by bus on Sunday afternoon, rather than half an hour on the DLR, so I spit in the face of this particular press release.
The new South Quay station opened yesterday with minimal fanfare. Certain local residents managed to get there during daylight hours and take several decent photos. By the time I arrived, however, it was very dark. Very dark, that is, except in the space immediately underneath the station where it was very bright indeed. Somebody's installed lighthouse-strength illumination below the platforms, shining out into the surrounding area like a glaring beacon. Office workers streaming home weren't going to miss their new departure point.
The new station is built above water, spanning the canal between the West India and Millwall Docks. This means it has two entrances - one lesser pair of staircases to the east, and a much flashier main entrance to the west. An occasionally useful byproduct of this will be than when a passing boat causes the swingbridge to be raised, pedestrians will still be able to cross the canal via the platforms above. An annoying byproduct of this is that passengers arriving by train have been given no obvious clue as to which exit is which, nor that one involves a heck of a lot of stairs and the other a nice comfy escalator.
South Quay's main ground-level concourse feels rather unwelcoming, in that it's essentially a gaping chasm beneath a concrete railway track. Good luck working out where to go. I watched one lost commuter walking up to the far end only to discover a useless waterside terrace rather than any useful station access. And then I tried to find the up escalator for myself. I walked up to the obvious one, only to spot that it was barely moving, and downwards. They've installed intelligent energy-saving escalators here which only ramp up to normal speed when approached - and only when approached from the right end. It took me a while to spot the illuminated "no entry" sign on this particular escalator, so then had to wander off in search of the proper 'up' one. Minimal signage meant that it wasn't as obvious as it should have been.
Then a slow glide up to the platform to enjoy the elevated South Quay experience. I bet there's a fine watery view out across the dock during daylight hours, whereas yesterday's rush hour offered only overlookable twinkling lights. Instead I got to stare at the glassy metally walls, and the very bright lights, and the 'next train' indicator. I was pleased that it hadn't been installed by cretins and was therefore fully legible. I was less than impressed by the scrolling message along the bottom which read "Passengers are advised that the new South Quay station is now open". Well, yeah, duhhh, obviously.
These are proper three-carriage-length platforms, although DLR trains are currently still only two. This caused teething difficulties as commuters spread out to enjoy the full length of their new platform, then had to run to catch an arriving train when it arrived shorter than expected. They'll get the hang of it soon. The new South Quay certainly beats the old one, which is already dark and being dismantled a short distance away. Bad news - another line closure will be required to get rid of it.
This is the 10th year that the curators at Tate Modern have invited a world-renowned artist to fill their Turbine Hall. It's not an easy space to fill, what with it being huge and that, but several of them have had a good stab. Light, sound and vision have been all invoked, with some artists concentrating on the floor below and others on the air above. And it's getting tougher and tougher to think of something original, something that'll make the visiting public go "Ooh, that's different, I like that". This year, after a bunkbed duffer last, I think we've anotherwinner.
This year the theme is darkness, with the appearance of an all-enveloping giant steel boxon stilts. It doesn't look terribly exciting from the second level overbridge, more like an oversized freight container, but then it's not the exterior that's important here. The box's creator is Miroslaw Balka, a Polish architectural artist, and he's the first commissionee to create something the Tate audience can actually walk inside. To find the way in, walk up to the far end of the Turbine Hall and stand at the foot of the ramp rising back into the box. Dark, isn't it?
If the intention is to unnerve, then "How It Is" succeeds admirably. You know there can't be anything too terrible ahead, like a pit of snakes or a rotary machete, because nobody inside the box is screaming. But there could be something unpleasant, or fearsome, or potentially painful lurking in the darkness, couldn't there? And that's precisely what the artist is hoping you'll think, evoking echoes of wartime innocents being herded into concentration camps. Don't worry. Take the installation on trust, and step inside. If you don't want to know what's inside the box until you visit for yourself, stop reading now. The rotary machete (or whatever) will then come as a complete surprise.
It is very dark indeed inside the box. Even if you've heard reports of how dark it is, the pitchblackness of the interior will still surprise you. That's so long as all the participants are playing by the rules and keeping their cameras in their pockets, as requested by a polite sign at the entrance to the artwork. While your eyes are attempting to adjust to the darkness, the last thing you want to see is the flash of a camera or the glow of a mobile screen. Needless to say, there are plenty. It's clearly not feasible to tell today's youth to put their mobiles away, because they'd be lost without them. That pinpoint of bright light you can see, that's some selfish twat taking a photo so that they can send dimly-lit facial images to their mates. Please resist the temptation to punch them in the face (even though in the darkness they'd never know who hit them).
As you move forward, you may become convinced that you're about to walk into something. Or more likely someone - walking back the other way and accidentally bumping into you. Relax, it doesn't happen. What's more likely is that you'll reach the far end of this cavernous space without noticing. It's very hard to judge distance in the dark, or at least to match how far you've walked with the length you saw so clearly on the outside. The best indicator that the end is nigh is an increased level of chatter immediately ahead, because everybody stops at the far wall to survey their position. And yes, the far wall is soft and velvety, so don't be too surprised when you end up with a face full of fur.
And then turn round, and see the box for the illusion it truly is. With daylight trickling in from the windows in the Turbine Hall wall, everything between you and the ramp is now visible in eerie silhouette. A sea of cautiously bobbing heads is approaching - slowly, steadily, oblivious to the daylight flooding in behind. And that's why nobody bumped into you on the way in, because you were as wholly visible to them as they were invisible to you. Soak in the view for a while longer, at least until some fresh arrival blunders onto the very spot where you're already standing and displaces you. Then tread carefully back to the world outside, now more certain of precisely where you're heading. Illuminating, that's how it is.
The Turbine Hall 10 (in order of interestingness) 1) Olafur Eliasson - The Weather Project: A giant radiating orange sun which Londoners took to their hearts [2003] 2) Carsten Höller - Test Site: Several slippery twisty-turny metal slides (use at own risk, ouch!) [2006] 3) Louise Bourgeois - I Do, I Undo, I Redo: Three thin sculpted towers to climb, with big mirrors on the top [2000] 4) Miroslaw Balka - How It Is: Walk into a very dark box, and try not to bash your nose into the furry wall [2009] 5) Anish Kapoor - Marsyas: Three steel rings sheathed in a one-piece PVC membrane [2002] 6) Juan Muñoz - Double Bind: Stand beneath a low floor as lifts rise and fall through the space above [2001] 7) Doris Salcedo - Shibboleth: A big crack in the floor (the filled-in trench is still very visible) [2007] 8) Rachel Whiteread - Embankment: Thousands and thousands of white boxes to wander between [2005] 9) Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster - TH 2058: Blue and yellow bunkbeds form a futuristic refugee camp [2008] 10) Bruce Nauman - Raw Materials: 22 audio recordings to stop and listen to (if you can be bothered) [2004]
Another month, another new London station. Don't get too used to this rapid infrastructure rollout, because the run of fresh stations won't last more than another year. But ooh, bright shiny DLR station alert. Have you been yet?
The new South Quay station opened yesterday with minimal fanfare. Certain local residents managed to get there during daylight hours and take several decent photos. By the time I arrived, however, it was very dark. Very dark, that is, except in the space immediately underneath the station where it was very bright indeed. Somebody's installed lighthouse-strength illumination below the platforms, shining out into the surrounding area like a glaring beacon. Office workers streaming home weren't going to miss their new departure point.
South Quay's main ground-level concourse feels rather unwelcoming, in that it's essentially a gaping chasm beneath a concrete railway track. Good luck working out where to go. I watched one lost commuter walking up to the far end only to discover a useless waterside terrace rather than any useful station access. And then I tried to find the up escalator for myself. I walked up to the obvious one, only to spot that it was barely moving, and downwards. They've installed intelligent energy-saving escalators here which only ramp up to normal speed when approached - and only when approached from the right end. It took me a while to spot the illuminated "no entry" sign on this particular escalator, so then had to wander off in search of the proper 'up' one. Minimal signage meant that it wasn't as obvious as it should have been.
Then a slow glide up to the platform to enjoy the elevated South Quay experience. I bet there's a fine watery view out across the dock during daylight hours, whereas yesterday's rush hour offered only overlookable twinkling lights. Instead I got to stare at the glassy metally walls, and the very bright lights, and the 'next train' indicator. I was pleased that it hadn't been installed by cretins and was therefore fully legible. I was less than impressed by the scrolling message along the bottom which read "Passengers are advised that the new South Quay station is now open". Well, yeah, duhhh, obviously.
This year the theme is darkness, with the appearance of an all-enveloping giant steel box on stilts. It doesn't look terribly exciting from the second level overbridge, more like an oversized freight container, but then it's not the exterior that's important here. The box's creator is Miroslaw Balka, a Polish architectural artist, and he's the first commissionee to create something the Tate audience can actually walk inside. To find the way in, walk up to the far end of the Turbine Hall and stand at the foot of the ramp rising back into the box. Dark, isn't it?
It is very dark indeed inside the box. Even if you've heard reports of how dark it is, the pitchblackness of the interior will still surprise you. That's so long as all the participants are playing by the rules and keeping their cameras in their pockets, as requested by a polite sign at the entrance to the artwork. While your eyes are attempting to adjust to the darkness, the last thing you want to see is the flash of a camera or the glow of a mobile screen. Needless to say, there are plenty. It's clearly not feasible to tell today's youth to put their mobiles away, because they'd be lost without them. That pinpoint of bright light you can see, that's some selfish twat taking a photo so that they can send dimly-lit facial images to their mates. Please resist the temptation to punch them in the face (even though in the darkness they'd never know who hit them).
1) Olafur Eliasson - The Weather Project: A giant radiating orange sun which Londoners took to their hearts [2003]
