Thank you for your suggestions of possible follow-ups to my Random Borough project. Here's why I'm unconvinced that most of them would work, and why some of them might...
There are too many places to visit, so the task isn't "completable". » Random Mainline Station: There are 357 of these. Even at one a fortnight, that's going to take 15 years. » Random Street: The index of my London A-Z has more than 160 pages of street names. It's so not doable (and very dull). » Random Postcode: There are 242 of these. Some of them are tiny. Even the SE postcode has 28 subdivisions. Something postcode-y might work, but not "random postcode". » Random Park: The Royal Parks are an obvious starting point, but then there are so many more, and then so many smaller green patches after that, and where do you stop? » Random Blue Plaque: There are more than 800 of these in London. And if I picked one at random, it probably wouldn't be anybody interesting.
The list isn't suitably defined, so the task is highly subjective. » Random Bridge: Over the Thames, over other rivers, over railways, over roads, over-many! » Random Roman site: Wikipedia lists just over 100 Roman sites in England. Rather fewer are anywhere near the southeast, and not all of those are accessible. » Random Old London village/district: That's places like Bloomsbury, Spitalfields, Bow, Dagenham, Heath Row... endless! » Random Street Market:Portobello and Walthamstow, obviously. And Shepherd's Bush and Romford. But Earlham Street and Sutton Farmers? And...?
I've been to too many of them already, so it'd be nothing new. » Random County Town: Ah but I've done Winchester, Chichester, Kingston, Oakham, Oxford and Hertford already. Although I haven't done Aylesbury, Bedford, Cambridge, Chelmsford, Lewes, Ipswich or Maidstone yet, to name just the local ones, so maybe there's something to this idea. » Random Tube Line: I've already scrutinised the entire Jubilee, and most of Betjeman's Metro-land, plus all the middle of the Bakerloo. » Random London Boroughs pre 1965: Most modern boroughs are two or three of these put together, so it's unlikely I'd have much more to add. » Random Borough Reprise: Many of you think I should go back to the beginning and visit each of the 33 boroughs again. The trouble is, although some of the places have changed a lot, most won't have done. There'll be just as few interesting places to visit in Harrow as there were then. It is very tempting to go back to Merton, because I gave that short shrift eight years ago. But no, sorry, job done.
The sites are better visited sequentially, rather than randomly. » Random Street (one street per letter): Hmm, an A-Z of London streets. That could be interesting, but not in a random order. » Random Thames Bridge: Definitely of interest, but would be far better done in order.
Too expensive! » Random British City: Good, good, there are only 50 English cities, so this is doable. But if I'm picking them at random, the cost of travel (and in many cases an unexpected overnight stay) would be astronomical. » Random Arrondissement: The Parisian version of Random Borough. Wouldn't that be great? Just entirely impractical.
Not for me » Random London Society: That's so not me, it's far too sociable. Plus, I suspect, difficult to randomly schedule. » Random Pub: That's so not me either. I'd be able to tell you what the lounge bar looked like, but there'd be no critique of the atmosphere or the real ales. » Random National Cycle routes: No bike. End of. » Random Motorway Services: No car. End of.
There's only a limited amount to write about. » Random Tube Termini: This was a very popular choice. Say I stick 11 tube line names in a jar, pick one, and then go and explore the ends of the line. For the Piccadilly line, for example, that's Heathrow, Uxbridge and Cockfosters. Might work. But if I concentrate on the stations, that's a bit limited. And if I wander around outside, then you've probably heard it all before. » Random Railway Terminus: I go to Victoria or Waterloo or wherever, and I take the next suburban train out to the end of the line. Could be Tattenham Corner, could be Hayes, could be Shepperton. It's not sounding like a rich list of possibilities.
Hmm, might work, but I'm not sure people would be interested. » Random Areas Just Outside The London Boroughs: There are 17 Home Counties districts that share a border with London (Three Rivers, Hertsmere, Welwyn Hatfield, Broxbourne, Epping Forest, Brentwood, Thurrock, Dartford, Sevenoaks, Tandridge, Reigate & Banstead, Epsom & Ewell, Mole Valley, Elmbridge, Spelthorne, Slough & South Bucks). It would be a natural continuation of the Random Borough concept to visit them next. Travelling around might be difficult, without the London transport network to rely on. And you'd probably switch off very quickly, not that this usually stops me. But it's the best idea so far. So far...
Random borough (15): Time yet again for me to take another random trip to one of London's 33boroughs. As I write I have no idea which one of the 19 remaining borough names will be revealed when I unfold the slip of paper I'm about to pick from my "special jamjar". I could pick any of London's other boroughs - inner or outer, urban or suburban, small or large, fascinating or dull. I just know it won't be Merton, Islington, Enfield, Sutton, Lewisham, Southwark, Kensington & Chelsea, Hackney, Hillingdon, the City, Bromley, Lambeth, Tower Hamlets or Haringey because they're the fourteen (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already. So far my random jamjar has concentrated on a strip down the centre of London from Enfield in the north to Bromley in the south, leaving two gaping voids to either side. Will today's selection head east, or go west? Or will Croydon emerge victorious to complete the run down the middle?
Once I've researched my randomly-chosen borough online then I'll head off and visit some of its most interesting places (assuming it has any). As usual I hope to visit somewhere famous, somewhere historic, somewhere pretty, somewhere retail, somewhere sporty and somewhere random. I might even takelotsofphotographs while I'm at it, if the borough's photogenic enough. Then after I've made my grand tour I'll come back tomorrow and tell you all about it. Let's see where I'm going this time...
Random borough (19): Time yet again for me to take another random trip to one of London's 33boroughs. As I write I have no idea which one of the 15 remaining borough names will be revealed when I unfold the slip of paper I'm about to pick from my legendary (and as-yet unseen) "special jamjar". I could pick any one of the other London boroughs - inner or outer, urban or suburban, small or large, fascinating or dull. I just know it won't be Merton, Islington, Enfield, Sutton, Lewisham, Southwark, Kensington & Chelsea, Hackney, Hillingdon, the City, Bromley, Lambeth, Tower Hamlets, Haringey, Hounslow, Brent, Redbridge or Ealing because they're the eighteen (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already.
I'm now well into the second half of my haphazard capital odyssey. There's a fair chunk of East London still to visit, and a swirl of boroughs across west London, plus Croydon, but that's all. Which of these leftovers will be my destination for the day? Will I be treated to the cultural highlights of somewhere central and important, like Westminster or Camden? Or will I be dispatched somewhere rather more peripheral and off-radar, like Barnet or Bexley? Watch this space.
Once I've researched my randomly-chosen borough online then I'll head off and visit some of its most interesting places (assuming it has any). As usual I hope to visit somewhere famous, somewhere historic, somewhere pretty, somewhere retail, somewhere sporty and somewhere random. I might even take lots of photographs while I'm at it, if the borough's photogenic enough. Then after I've made my grand tour I'll come back tomorrow and tell you all about it. Let's see where I'm going this time...
And so, in true Blockbusters style, I've completed a north-south trail of random London boroughs. Thank you Haringey. You'll find this slim parallelogram of a borough at the very heart of North London. It's scythed in two by the mainline railway running straight up the middle - richer to the west, more culturally diverse to the east. This is no tourist paradise either, as the council's official website reveals. But I managed to find several places to visit, and I was almost pleasantly surprised. Eastern half first...
Somewhere retail: Green Lanes, Harringay Let's start by clearing up the name. The residential neighbourhood just north of Finsbury Park is called Harringay (two rs and an ay). Meanwhile the borough, created in 1965, is called Haringey (one r and an ey). Nobody seems to be quite sure why. But no wonder a quarter of the borough's 11 year olds can't spell.
For my Haringey retail experience I headed to Harringay and its central spine road - Green Lanes. The most famous stretch of this old cattle-driving road runs 1½ miles from Turnpike Lane down towards Manor House, with the Piccadilly line rumbling inaccessibly underneath. This is a cosmopolitan shopping street full of hundreds of independent one-off shops, with a Tesco Express the only modern cloned intruder along the Grand Parade. Don't go expecting boutiques or anything bohemian, this is much more down to earth. These shops sell unbranded stuff that never appears in TV adverts, stuff you actually need rather than stuff you don't. Kebabs are a bit of a speciality, along with several other ethnic dishes which may one day enter the English mainstream. There's a definite Turkish presence here, as well as a smattering of Cyprus and Greece. Fancy some lahmacun, pide or tava? Or perhaps sweet delights from a Turkish patisserie? Or just six Polish beers for a fiver. You know where to come. Green Lanes also boasts the usual swathe of laundrettes, hairdressers and clothing importers, plus essential local services like the Cyprus Potato Marketing Board. Halfway down the street is the majestic Salisbury Hotel, now a bar, but with its ornate Victorian interior still very much intact. And there's "North London's oldest furniture store", called Disney's, who've managed not to be sued by American corporate lawyers because they pre-date Mickey Mouse by 15 years. But where are all the crowds? A mile up the road in Wood Green, that's where. They're all milling around the depressingly bland mall at ShoppingCity, busily acquiring products in mainstream chain stores before treating themselves to a Nando's or some Donut Magic. Some people, it seems, don't recognise choice and diversity on their own doorstep. by tube: Turnpike Lane, Manor House by train: Harringay Green Lanes by bus: 29, 141
I wondered if there was any mileage in further 'Random' blog series.
Random grid reference: TQ269722 Springfield Park Wandsworth SW17
Technically the precise spot is a block of flats just over the wall, but I was in Springfield Park just last week and blogged all about it so there's no point in going back again.
Random Haringey Park Wood Green Common N22
After generating my random number I headed straight there, just down the road from Alexandra Palace station, but it was closed. This was annoying because according to Haringey's website "Works to improve Wood Green Common were completed in June 2025", but they very much aren't. The new Multi Use Games Area and outdoor gym remain sealed off behind metal barriers while workmen tweak poles and paving, and a lot of grass people could be using for recreation is out of commission for parking white vans.
Admittedly the small children's play area is open but best not wander in there unaccompanied, also Barratt Gardens is unaffected but the wisteria on the pergola has already done its thing. Works were supposed to take 22 weeks which seems very precise, but they're very much not over yet and might not even be ready before schools go back. Bad timing.
Random London bus route 169 Claybury - Barking
The first number the generator threw up was 347 which hasn't been a London bus route for the last six months, then 446 but that hasn't run since 1996. Third time lucky I got the 169 because that actually exists, but I wasn't convinced anyone wanted to read a road trip across Redbridge whose commentary would mostly have been "and then more shops".
Random diamond geezer comment number 51857, 5th December 2011
There are now over 180,000 diamond geezer comments, which is damned impressive thanks, and to trawl back to the 51857th I had to scroll down to 5th December 2011. This was on a post about Ben Pedroche's book Do Not Alight Here in which I followed his route to disused stations round Bow, Stepney and Limehouse. Mid-afternoon one of you commented...
Shame the old Bow Station was demolished. What a magnificent building! CornishCockney 5 Dec 2011 - 4:15 p.m
...and how exciting that Cornish Cockney also left the 184817th comment only yesterday!
My random number generator picked a very high number this time, and photo 18637 turns out to be from the very start of this year when I went to Lancing to walk the road of the year. This is the roundabout at the northern end of the A2025, and excitingly it's never appeared on the blog before.
If a list exists, a random item can be identified. In this case the 71212th postbox in the database can be found in the Norfolk village of Southrepps, not far from Cromer. It's an E2R lamp box, probably the 1970s design, with a 9am collection time. It used to sit proudly outside the Post Office but that closed in January 2024 due to the resignation of the postmaster and is now a private home. I could schlepp up to Southrepps to take a photo but why bother when Google StreetView exists, other than perhaps enjoying a beer at the VernonArms afterwards.
Random London pub Little Windsor Sutton SM1
There is no official list of London's pubs but there was once courtesy of CAMRA, back in 2019, so I used that and hoped that pub number 2598 hadn't closed post-pandemic. It hadn't, but I had no idea where it was because I've never been to Greyhound Road in Sutton before. The Little Windsor looks like a decent local with a teensy front patio, formerly Fullers but they've recently withdrawn. Alas their website no longer exists but on Facebook they claim to be "a traditional cosey pub providing excellent real ales and food", plus they host occasional gigs by solo singers. I reckon Random London Pub might actually work as a feature on someone beer-friendly's blog, but I would very much run out of stuff to say after admiring the green wainscotting and noting the availability of Mini Cheddars.
I was hoping to delve back into my early years but instead we go back just three years to a rare Bank Holiday Thursday. It was the first day of the Queen's Platinum Jubilee, and after a breakfast of porridge and a nice walk round Hampstead Heath I headed to the Olympic Park to watch the flypast. Wow!
I headed home to eat bacon sandwiches while fast-forwarding through Trooping The Colour, then stuck a turkey joint in the oven. Charles and Camilla appeared on EastEnders, almost acting properly, and my most successful tweet of all time passed three quarters of a million views, which would never happen nowadays.
I went multiply random here. First I picked a random year during the lifespan of the UK Singles chart (1982), then a random month (June), then a random week and got the Top 40 announced by Paul Burnett on 8th June 1982. It was the day Adam Ant toppled Madness from the chart summit if you remember. Finally I picked a random position in that Top 40 chart and got number 5 which was Tight Fit's follow up to The Lion Sleeps Tonight, the much superior Fantasy Island. A bit cheesy perhaps, but you can see where Steps got a lot of their ideas from. Retro Charts Radio is the perfect place to hear random Top 40 hits these days.
Random London station Bexley (zone 6)
By the time I'd been to Wood Green there wasn't time to go to Bexley, plus Bexley's a dull station in an interesting place so I'd have spent more time writing about the village instead. You can always read the Wikipedia page where you'll discover the station car park has 259 spaces, or perhaps wait for someone to add their own thrilling anecdote to the comments.
n.b. I reserve the right to come back and do Random Station: Bexley at some point in the future, should it ever come up again.
Random grid reference: TQ414890
North Circular Redbridge IG4
This is mid-dual-carriageway on the A406 just north of the Redbridge roundabout, so you can only really get to it with a car. There is a footpath alongside by the river Roding, and if only it had been TQ415890 that'd have been Roding Well Pumping Station, but TQ414890 is alas off-limits Ballardian beltway. Some ideas only work once, and the magic rarely works a second or even third time, sorry.
It had to happen sooner or later. I spent Saturday trawling around my own backyard, in the historic borough of Tower Hamlets. This is the traditional East End of London, stretching from the City to the River Lea and from the Regent's Canal down to the Thames. It's been the slum end of town for several centuries - where the poor have always lived and where immigrants have always settled. Much of this multicultural borough remains locked in relative poverty, although there are also several pockets of great wealth, especially in the modern financial powerhouse of Docklands. Tower Hamlets may no longer be full of Cockneys, Pearly Queens and people who go round saying "cor blimey guv'nor" all the time, but at least there's still room for a diamond geezer. Ahh, there's no place like home.
Somewhere historic: The Tower of London Despite what you may have thought, the Tower of London isn't in the City of London, it's in Tower Hamlets. How else did you think the borough got its name? William the Conqueror built his great White Tower just outside the walls of the City, in a defensive position beside the Thames. This was London's first highrise building, standing nearly 30 metres tall, and dominating the medieval skyline. Over subsequent centuries the scale of the castle was enlarged, first with one high surrounding wall and then another, until eventually the structure contained a full 20 towers encircled by a deep protective moat [photo]. In Tudor times the Tower became less of a fortress and royal residence and more of a prison and armoury. But only seven prisoners were ever executed here - two of them wives of Henry VIII, and another the unfortunate nine-day queen Lady Jane Grey. Other, less high-profile, prisoners were executed in full public view up on the grassy hump of Tower Hill. And yes, that's (just) in Tower Hamlets too.
Visiting the Tower used to be a one-way ticket - shipped in at high tide through Traitors Gate and locked away in a dingy castle turret to await your fate. Now they let you out again afterwards, but you have to pay £16 for the privilege. Unless you're a Tower Hamlets resident, that is. We're allowed in for a quid, but only during the winter months and only on production of a library or leisure centre card. I didn't have time to go in yesterday, but I did pay up and venture inside 18 months ago if you're interested, and I enjoyed my visit far more than I was expecting. [top tip: arrive early and go straight to the Crown Jewels display - you won't have to queue]
For the cheapskates amongst us, the only way to see the Tower is from the outside. Start on the new sloping concrete plaza leading down to the entrance, where you can watch a genial Beefeater conducting bag searches and rifling through French schoolkids' rucksacks. The souvenir shop is probably best avoided, unless you have a burning desire to own a Beefeater Toby Jug or a Crown Jewels tea towel. You can walk along the riverside cobbles right beside the Tower, peering up at the paying customers on the ramparts inside, although you do at least get to see Traitors Gate for nothing [photo]. Nip up onto Tower Bridge but don't expect a decent view from the centre, not once the riverside avenue of trees is in full leaf. Instead head away from the river and join the hordes of tourists taking photographs from the raised pavement, across the moat to the castellated rooftops beyond. And don't forget to look down into the moat itself, where you should see the Tower seesaw, the Tower roundabout, the Tower climbing frame and the Tower swings [photo]. There's even a neglected Tower tennis court down there, presumably used by the Beefeaters and their families when they think nobody's looking [photo]. Those who've paid £16 don't get to see these gems, oh no, they just get eight ravens with clipped wings, some armour and a few big diamonds.
Plan in advance and it's even possible to visit the Tower for free. There's a catch - you have to arrive at 9:30pm and you can only stay for 35 minutes. But you do get to see the famous Ceremony of the Keys, performed nightly every single day for the last 700 years, before gruff Yeoman Warders eject you from the premises. One day I really must send in my name (and a stamped addressed envelope) and see if they'll allow me to attend. After all, I am local. by train: Tower Hill by bus: 15
Somewhere random: The Brentford Triangle According to novelist Robert Rankin, Brentford is the town at the centre of the universe. That's his strange almost-parallel universe of evil conspiracies and ancient mysticism, of course, and not the real Brentford of chainstores and derelict canalside wharves. Rankin's written 30-odd books by now (or should that be 30 odd books?), and they're much beloved by his devoted readership. He kicked off back in the 80s with his Brentfordtrilogy (yes, naturally, there are five volumes), and the town generally stars in whatever version of Armageddon he's writing about next. Rankin is a master of the alluring and punny book title ("The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse", "The Witches of Chiswick"), and brussels sprouts often play a starring role somewhere. I read one once.
Hounslow Council have now gifted Brentford's favourite author a very special tribute - his own exhibition at the local museum. Fans should make tracks to the Large Mansion in GunnersburyPark, which once used to belong to the Rothschild family but is now a sadly-peeling council repository. One large room on the ground floor has been given over to sproutlore, piled-up paperbacks and all things Rankin, in a comprehensive exhibition which runs until next June. There are several informative wall displays (just which seven Brentford pubs make up the constellation of the Great Bear?) but the highlight of the show is a collection of weird and wonderful models created by the author as cover illustrations. Deformed heads, grinning skeletons in jester costumes, mobile phone coffins, that sort of thing. Rankin disciples will appreciate the ensemble. It's by no means a busy exhibition (the only other people I saw were looking for the toilet), but the dark chandelier-lit drawing room provides considerable atmosphere. Maybe there is something unworldly about Brentford after all. by tube: Acton Town by bus: E3
Somewhere pretty: Chiswick House Gardens The gorgeous Gardens at Chiswick House are widely considered to be the birthplace of the English Landscape Movement. Unfortunately they also close at dusk. So I went nextdoor instead.
Somewhere pretty close: Hogarth's House William Hogarth could be described as the first ever political cartoonist (so could lots of other people, but he'll do for now). An 18th century satirist with a razor-sharp eye, he painted and engraved his way to fame and fortune in Georgian society. Hogarth was a Londoner born and bred, but in his late 40s he fancied a cottage in the country and so snapped up a summer retreat in Chiswick. His three-storey house still stands, just about, although William would find it hard to recognise the surrounding area. Long gone are the fields and Thames-side meadows, and the A4 now runs directly past his front door. The three-storey house is overlooked by the featureless office walls of the Hogarth Business Park, and at the end of the road is the roaring concrete hub of the Hogarth Roundabout. William would not be impressed by his modern namesakes. Quick, step behind the redbrick garden wall and screen them out.
Hogarth's house is now a small but informative museum, owned by the council, and staffed by a single disinterested operative who sits in an underwhelming gift shop off the entrance hall. Only 5000 visitors a year ever get this far, which seems a damned shame. Grab your free leaflet and take a look round. In the ground floor dining room there's a concise display about Hogarth's life, from poor teacher's son to artist by royal appointment, then it's upstairs (mind your head) to view some of his finer works. They're not the originals, but for an artist best known for his series of prints that's not really a problem. Takein the exquisite detail of The Harlot's Progress and A Rake's Progress, both pictorial fables of moral decline in six/eight all-too-easy stages. Reflect on the alcohol-fuelled despair of Gin Lane, alongside its less well known counterpart Beer Street (moral: gin bad, beer good). Smile at Hogarth's pointed political cartoons, and his treatise on the Line of Beauty, and a considerable breadth of other work. Clever bloke. And if you peer down out of the oriel window towards the 300-year-old mulberry tree in the garden (and blot out the buzz of the dual carriageway), you can almost imagine he's still here. by tube: Turnham Green by bus: 190
After a long hiatus for redevelopment, it was good to stride up Wembley Way on Saturday afternoon amidst a crowd of expectant spectators. They poured from the tube station, past the hot dog stalls and the ice cream van, heading south towards the epicentre of English football. But quite a strange crowd to be attending a big match, I thought. Almost all female (with just the odd bewildered husband tagging along), most over 50 or under 15, and not a stripy scarf in sight. So I wasn't entirely surprised when we reached the twin ramps up to the stadium and they continued onward at ground level and around the corner towards Wembley Arena. To attend the matinée performance of Strictly Come Dancing Live, as it turned out. The strictly macho stadium remained mostly untroubled by visitors, bar a few of us curious souls keen to view the arched wonder up close.
The wind whipped round the elevated concrete promenade. Up on level two the bronze figure of BobbyMoore stood watching over the stadium approach, a large St George's flag fluttering limply behind behind his right shoulder [photo]. Every 15 minutes or so a group of paid-up tourists emerged from the glass doors of "Club Wembley" to stand at his feet as their guide related the tale of our glorious 1966 World Cup victory. I understand that the rest of their £15 tour included rather more exclusive locations such as the Royal Box, the changing rooms and the Wembley Stadium Tour Cafe. Plus, of course, the official shop where you can purchase a souvenir tankard, a teddy bear or a patch of turf to remember your visit. Not for me. I held back for a few minutes to attempt to take a photograph that didn't contain a shaven-headed fan gawping in excited adulation [photo]. And then I continued on my free circumnavigation of the giant glass bowl. Which was closed.
The stadium has several entrances, all of them securely fastened with impregnable shiny metal doors when no event is underway. A long list of regulations informs spectators what they can and can't bring inside [photo]. No darts, air horns or explosives (obviously). No cameras, radios or umbrellas (good grief, I wonder how many unwitting visitors get those confiscated when they attempt to attend a concert or match). And no balls. One hopes that the England football team aren't required to abide by that last one.
What you can see from the outside of the stadium is the curved glass wall that rises up several storeys into the sky [photo], and the great white arch above. Ahh, the Wembley Arch, a simple enough idea but so magnificently realised. It rises out of the walkway on opposite sides of the stadium, bolted into the ground with a big concrete plug, and launches into the sky in a sweeping white-piped curve [photo]. You don't really get a sense of its enormity from up close, but you do get some excellent arch-y reflections in the building as you walk round the perimeter [photo][photo]. And you get some mighty fine views out across the surrounding area, just as they can see right back towards the arch even from several miles away [photo].
Time your visit right and you might end up sharing most of your walk only with a couple of bored-looking security guards. Or time your visit right and you might end being swept along by a crowd of jubilant spectators celebrating a glorious national victory. It's all or nothing at the New Wembley. by tube: Wembley Park by bus: 92, PR2
Go West. Hounslow is a ridiculously long borough, ten miles from tip to tip, almost perfectly aligned with the Heathrow flightpath. I said ALMOST PERFECTLY ALIGNED WITH THE HEATHROW FLIGHTPATH. It's not an especially coherent borough, with only the A4 and M4 to link its disjoint suburbs. But look carefully, especially in the Thames-side slice to the east, and there are some absolute gems hidden away. I'm almost tempted to drop "Hounslow" back into my random jamjar - there's easily enough here to merit a return visit. But preferably next time on a warm sunny summer's day...
Somewhere famous: Kempton Great Engines For a certain breed of gentleman, nothing beats a steamy day out. It might be a ride on a locomotive, it might be a chug on a traction engine, but sheer heaven only comes when they're tweaking a bloody enormous steam engine. And steam engines don't come much bigger than the Triple Engines at Kempton Park Waterworks. These monsters reside inside a huge Portland stone Engine House, erected by the Metropolitan Water Board in 1928, adjacent to two thin brick chimneys which are visible for miles across the floodplain. There are reservoirs aplenty along this stretch of the Thames, and these engines were needed to pump water up from the river and across town to the North London suburbs (via Cricklewood). And that's a very long way, which is why this is such an enormous engineering marvel. The steam engines went out of service in 1980 (blame that new-fangled electricity), but were restored a few years ago by that certain breed of gentleman. We thank them.
Seven weekends a year the Kempton Engines are steamed up in for the delight of their adoring public. This weekend was one of the seven (including today, if you're interested), so I kicked off my journey by heading down to the most inaccessible corner of Hounslow for a look. Blimey, if I'd known how far I'd have to walk from the nearest outpost of civilisation I might not have bothered. Along a back lane, through a Thames Water security gate and down a long curving access road with bramble-covered pavement. I think the journey works better if you drive. Outside the front entrance were a group of spluttering pipes and spinning wheels, lovingly tended by the Sussex and Kent Weald Stationary Engine Group. Beautifully preserved, guys, but there was some considerably more impressive vintage machinery inside.
Blimey. They. Are. Huge. I'd entered an enormous tiled cavern, the size of a squished cathedral, surrounded by a perimeter walkway looking down over a subterranean turbine floor. But the most impressive sight was off to the left and to the right - a pair of green triple-decker steam engines[photo][photo]. And not just three storeys high but also three cylinders wide, like a towering wall of pre-electric power. Men in white boiler suits were scuttling around on all levels, tending to the valves and dials and gauges, like something out of a 1920s James Bond movie. I arrived as they were firing up the engines - tweaking two smaller rear wheels to make the starter motor run - and then the room was full of swirling churning steaminess. Giant flywheels turned. Grown men beamed. Over in the corner their wives were busy selling filled rolls, jam sponge and steaming tea, and they beamed too. Every so often small groups of lucky punters got the opportunity to take an hour-long tour of the second engine ("The Lady Bessie Prescott"). Up the metal staircases they went, to view the entire spectacle from one, two, three levels up. Alas I couldn't afford the time to do the same, although the bloke on the front desk was extremely anxious that I was leaving too soon and begged me to come back next year. Maybe I will.
Oh, and I forgot to explain why this Hounslow powerhouse is famous, and why you've probably seen it before. It's because triple-expansion steam engines such as these used to be used aboard the largest ocean-going steamships. Remember that engine room scene in Titanic? That was filmed here (according to the council's website). And, at 62 feet tall, Kempton's still the biggest operational triple engine in existence. It's the king of the world. by train: Kempton Park by bus: 290, H25
Somewhere retail: Hounslow Road Parade, Hanworth I was planning to write about the shopping nirvana that is Hounslow Broadway, but I didn't have time to get off the bus and explore. I could have written about the bijou boutiques of Turnham Green Terrace, but it was cold and drizzly and I didn't feel like hanging around. So instead, here's an in-depth look at the retail location where I spent longest yesterday afternoon. On the A316, near lots of houses, by a bus stop. Forgive me if the following is of no interest whatsoever.
• MH Recruitment: They find labour for airline catering and cleaning. But not at weekends - shutters down. • Domestic Appliances: Local purveyors of quality white goods. On Saturday the owners were busy unloading several gleaming washing machines from the back of a lorry - none of them fell off, honest. • Elizabeth Fashions: One of those delightful old-fashioned "clothes and wool" shops you only find in suburban parades. Still displays an 081 phone number above its red and white striped awning. Balls of wool are down from £1.25 to 99p in the latest sale, a pair of blue nylon shorts is £1.99 and a pair of padded slippers bearing a football motif will set you back only £5.99. • Beijing Chef: Hanworth's favourite Chinese takeaway (serves "Traditional Fish & Chips"). • APW Property Services: The lady who lives above this shop gave me the strangest looks as I took a few photographs of the parade. She probably thought I was a criminal, or a spy come to gather intelligence for some evil parade-bombing terrorist empire. • Londis: They've got one of those Link cashpoint machines that charges the financially inept a small fortune for withdrawals (and they sell Haribo). • The Hotspot: "A famous name in Indian Quality Catering" - unlikely for a Zone 6 takeaway, I suspect. • Bunters Cafe: From what I saw, a feeding station for stocky blokes in trackies (they do pie and mash and eels on Fridays). • Q Barbers: There wasn't. by bus: 111, H25
[part 2 tomorrow - in the meantime here's a pretty photo of autumn leaves in Gunnersbury Park]
Somewhere historic: Syon Park Hounslow has more than its fair share of elegantstatelyhomes. Alas none of them are open in November. So I went to the biggest, just west of Brentford, and took a brief wander around the lush autumn parkland on the estate.
Syon House is the London home of the Duke of Northumberland. Ah yes, I was up at his northern residence - AlnwickCastle - earlier in the year. But that had some real history, whereas Syon House merits little more than a minor footnote in our nation's story. There used to be a medieval abbey on the site, but that's now just something for "Time Team" to dig up and Lord Percy's home has risen in its place. The house is currently covered in scaffolding, part of a winter makeover, so visitors are having to make do with a motley collection of assorted alternative attractions. Greatest of these are the gardens, landscaped by Capability Brown, and yours to visit for a mere four quid. Splendid they may be but I couldn't even find a sign pointing the way in, let alone spare the time for a look round.
Never mind, because Syon Park boasts a host of commercial hangers on. At the bottom of the car park, directly underneath the booming Heathrow flightpath, a mosaic lepidoptera flaps its wings above the entrance to the London Butterfly House. Alas this attraction closed for good last month, not that there's any sign to this effect posted outside. Nextdoor is The Tropical Forest (formerly The Aquatic Experience), a hands-on conservation experience especially aimed at children. The organisers seem particularly reluctant to divulge their admission charges, both outside their main entrance and on their website, nor even to outline precisely what you'll find inside. Redevelopment plans at Syon Park (the Duke fancies a new hotel) will soon doom their exhibit to the same fate as those endangered butterflies. Far more popular on Saturday afternoon were the adult retail outlets brought in to diversify the Percy's economic throughflow. Plants were being trolleyed out of the Wyevale Garden Centre like it was a spring bank holiday, and the Edinburgh Woollen Mill was proving essential to many a local lady's wardrobe. History pays, so it seems, even in November. by train: Syon Lane by bus: 235, 237, 267
Somewhere sporty: Griffin Park Alternate Saturday afternoons, in the backstreets ofBrentford, a red and white army is on the move. They sport a protective armour of scarves and official club fleeces, wrapped up warmly against the autumnal chill. All generations of footsoldier are represented, from the youngest apprentice to the most elderly general. They slip silently from their homes, making their way to the terraced arena before battle commences at the 3pm whistle. On every corner the sheriff's men keep watch in their fluorescent jackets and pointy helmets, their eyes peeled for any premature disturbance. Crowds gather at a multiplicity of muster points, each labelled by a coat of arms, for fortifying ale and hearty sustenance. A serving wench at the Princess Royal ladles steaming barbeque meat onto the plates of hungry troops, while others make do with a saveloy or hot dog from the serfs in the scullery.
The enemy have been sighted! Their official coach is laid up on the bridge alongside the queen's highway, arrived here this morning after a forced routemarch from Darlington. But the opposition have already slipped away to make last minute preparations, and now only a lone watchman stands guard outside. Still a merry band of local men streams in, their number now just over two thousand, each busily discussing tactics for the afternoon ahead. They stream over the tarmac drawbridge and through the security portcullis, pausing only to cast a few gold coins at the programme seller beside the gate. The dulcet tones of the minstrel Seal flow down over the grey battlements, as the assembled crowds within prepare themselves for the off. An epic second division tournament is anticipated. Let the Battle of Brentford commence!
(Damn, two-nil home defeat. Bees whacked) by train: Brentford by bus: 65
WALK HARROW Somewhere pretty: London Loop section 15 Hatch End to Stanmore (5 miles)
One thing Harrow has in spades is open space. A third of the borough is Green Belt, including most of a broad northern strip, and by London standards this is landscape heaven. I chose to follow one of the capital's major strategic walks across fields, through woodland and past an ornamental death pond. And it was all the better because almost nobody else had had the same idea.
To Hatch End station, clutching a pdf printout of London Loop section 15. I would have preferred the proper leaflet, except the folk at Walk London are incredibly protective of their 55 strategic walk leaflets and permit dispatch of only three per online request. I'd soon be extremely lost as a result of their excessive prudence. My reduced-size, mostly-grey, deskjet route map proved to be a hopeless indicator of direction, even within the first few minutes. It is this way, isn't it? Big field, ambiguous wording, too many potential exits, not enough signs. Help, I appear to be stuck on the wrong side of a prickly hedge. But eventually I worked out how to get back on track, and passed through a gate, and... [Sorry, at this point the London Loop crosses into Hertfordshire for about a mile, which isn't Harrow, so I'm not going to tell you about it. Especially the snooty golfers.]
Is this track really called Ass House Lane? Apparently so. And apparently it crosses a pre-historic earthwork called Grim's Dyke, although I'm still not convinced I actually saw it - the shallow earth trench I spotted could have been any other non-ancient feature. The woodland here forms the edge of Harrow Weald Common, and this end was once part of a landscaped garden belonging the famous comic librettist W. S. Gilbert. He lived in Grim's Dyke (the house, not the ditch) for 20 years, and was especially proud of his ornamental lake complete with boathouse and central island. Alas, this lake was to lead to his untimely death. One day in 1911 a young female house guest got into difficulties while swimming, and when Gilbert jumped in to assist he suffered a fatal heart attack. His widow had the lake drained, and it's now just an eerie vegetated hollow in the woods [photo]. Meanwhile Gilbert's gorgeous home, much praised by Betjeman in his Metroland documentary, has become a rather desirable hotel[photo].
Just to the south, along Old Redding, is a large car park with impressive panoramic views over northwest London. I'd never spotted this before, despite having visited the pub nextdoor, and I enjoyed the opportunity to watch the planes landing at Heathrow eight miles away. After dark, however, it wouldn't surprise me if this car park transforms into prime dogging territory - it had that look about it.
My walk returned into the deserted woods, striding along not-quite muddy paths beneath yellowing leaves. Roll on autumn, I say, if it looks like this. And then across a main road into Bentley Priory Open Space. A concrete path skirted the edge of something top secret and secure, which I later discovered was one of the country's most important airforce bases. RAFBentleyPriory was the headquarters of Fighter Command during the Second World War, and the entire Battle of Britain was directed by officers holed up in the manor house. It's an enormous site, barely visible beyond ubiquitous security fences, and currently undergoing a period of enormous change. The RAF station here closed with a flourish at the end of May 2008, and future plans include less exciting things like a museum and lots and lots of luxury apartments. The perfect gated community, I fear.
Next, on my poorly signposted walk, to Stanmore Common. The official route weaved between two tree-fringed ponds [photo], then passed a rugby pitch where 30 overweight blokes were grunting in the late afternoon sunlight. And then, at a nearby residential enclave named 'Little Common' (which oh so definitely wasn't common), I decided to break my journey. The London Loop continues from here to Aldenham reservoir and Elstree, but they're back in Hertfordshire and that was off limits. Instead I headed south down the hillside, through Stanmore Country Park and back to the edge of the tube network. These strategic walks are great for taking you the non-obvious route via the green bits, and my autumnal stroll had shown northern Harrow in a glorious light. by train/tube: Hatch End, Stanmore by bus: H12
Somewhere random: The Answer Lies At The End of The Line Some days it seems that any old reason will do. For modern art, I mean. Whether it's shoving bunkbeds in the Tate Modern to simulate Armageddon, or flooding the roof of the Hayward Gallery as a parodic intervention, it seems modern artists can get away with anything. In the case of Stanmore station, it's all about publishing a book of crosswords. Artist Serena Korda was inspired by the fact that secret wartime codebreakers deciphered Hitler's secrets in a military outpost on the corner of Brockley Hill, and has assembled a collection of interconnected cruciverbalist art. There are eight crosswords altogether, compiled around some very local themes (such as the Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital and the Stanmore Bowls Club). You're supposed to be able to pick up a booklet from Jubilee line stations, but they're so rare that downloading the pdf is likely to be a more profitable pursuit. Go on, you're not doing any real work this afternoon.
If you get stuck on the clues, that's where a trip to Stanmore station comes in [photo]. There are linocut posters at the northern end of the platform giving hints to certain solutions (yes, 12 across really is "QUAGGA") and praising celebrated crossword setter Roy Dean. There are further hints on the stairs (yes, "saw nothing" is an anagram of "WASHINGTON"), although you get funny looks from passing commuters if you pause too long to read them. Still not enough help? Never fear, because the solution for each of the eight puzzles has been painted onto the roof high above the ticket hall, each grid surrounded by ornate swirly artwork. The Answer Lies at the End of the Line. So if you haven't solved Serena's crosswords before the end of January, you'd best travel out here to Zone 5 to take a look. by tube: Stanmore by bus: 142, H12
Four problems... • The City of London isn't a true London borough, it's a corporation. That's because it dates back to the 12th century and not the London Government Act of 1963. But I'm ignoring this rather inconvenient fact. • The City of London is the tiniest administrative district in the entire country (it's not called the Square Mile for nothing), with a resident population even smaller than London, Ohio. • The City of London closes at the weekend. All the suited and booted City types stay at home, most of the buildings close and all the shops shut. And I visited on a Saturday. • I've been to the City of London before, and written about it, loads of times. I've done the "Oranges and Lemons" churches, I've made a trip to the top of the Gherkin, I've visited Little Britain and Postman's Park, I've reported back from the Museum of London and I've explored the River Fleet. I've even waved at the Lord Mayor.
So, was there anything left to report on? Thankfully yes. The City of London is probably the most concentrated slab of fascinatingness in the entire country, so I was still spoilt for choice. I even went back to a couple of places I've visited before - please try not to notice. Here's where I went...
Somewhere famous: The Bank of England Only one bank in the entire City of London was open on Saturday - how convenient that it was the Bank of England. This is the esteemed national institution to which we all belong but from which we can never draw money. And it's only open to the public twice a year, once for the City of LondonFestival and once for Open House weekend, so you're going to have to wait until September for your peek. Believe me, it's a rare treat to be allowed inside.
From outside the Bank of England looks more like an administrative fortress [photo]. A high windowless curtain wall of Portland stone encloses its perimeter - all that remains of Sir John Soane's original Georgian building. Seven storeys are visible above ground, with another three levels of basements and vaults hidden away beneath. The bank's staff enter through tall black iron doors on Threadneedle Street[photo], whereas we mere mortals were admitted through the insignificant side entrance. There weren't many of us, and the few tourists who'd stumbled along seemed wholly unaware that this was a very special opportunity not usually available to the general public. We were searched by top-hatted security gents wearing pink frock coats (it wasn't easy to take them seriously) and then ushered through the lobby to begin our guided tour. A long corridor stretched off into the distance, its floor covered by painstakingly precise mosaics loaded with numismatic symbolism. Everywhere the craftsmanship was excellent, at least in the areas we were allowed to see. Nevertheless the current building is of 1930svintage and so had a 'town hall' feel in many places, with 'lift block' lobbies, payphone kiosks and wide stone staircases. Most of the back rooms, we were assured, look instead like any other faceless modern office with computer terminals and divided-off desks.
The Governor's Room is a mix of the grand and the utilitarian. Current boss Merv has a big desk with two monitors, a civil service issue desk-tidy and three artworks depicting London scenes on his wall. To one side is an old brown table used by every governor since 1694, and up on the mantlepiece a commemorative cricket ball and a signed Aston Villa football. He also looks out into the inner Garden Court, planted with mulberry trees cut from the churchyard which used to stand on this site. Upstairs the rooms are grander still. The First Floor Ante Room boasts red silk wallpaper and an intricate 18th century globe. The Court Room, retained from Sir John Soane's original building, has an opulent ceiling dripping with gold detail (and a matching carpet). We also got to stand in the octagonal Committee Room where the Monetary Policy Committee met last Thursday to determine UK interest rates (4.5% again? OK).
After 45 fascinating minutes we rounded off our visit in the Bank's museum (which is open to the public). It's surprisingly big, which means lots of in-depth displays about banknotes, the bank's history, banking, bankers and general bankiness. It's not somewhere to bring a 5-year old, but budding accountants and bank clerks would find much of interest. And you get the opportunity to handle a genuine (and surprisingly heavy) gold bar - worth either 28 pounds or 137 thousand pounds depending on whether you're weighing it or buying it. How many other banks offer this level of service to their customers? by tube: Bank
Somewhere pretty: St Dunstan's in the East Most of the City of London isn't pretty, not unless you like office blocks. Some of these are deadimpressive, but the great majority are merely bland and functional [photo]. Every weekend the City is abuzz with construction workers and cranes [photo], knocking down the old stuff (15 years is old round here) and erecting something dazzling in its place. But scattered inbetween all these financial temples, if you know where to look, are several tiny oases of green. Small gardens where office workers can eat their lunchtime sandwiches before slipping back indoors for another hard afternoon of profit accumulation. One of the largest is Finsbury Circus, which is big enough to contain its own perfectly manicured bowling green, but most are considerably titchier. There's usually a bench or two, and maybe a strip of grass or some flower beds, and (useful tip, this) they're also the only places in the City with litter bins.
One of the most unusual, and utterly charming, small gardens in the City is that of St Dunstan's in the East[photo]. The early medieval church here was severely damaged during the Great Fire of London in 1666 and then rebuilt (with a new Wren steeple), only to be severely damaged again during the Blitz in 1941. The steeple survived along with a few walls and arched doorways, and the site left derelict until the Corporation of London decided to turn the ruins into a garden in 1967. And what agarden. Vines and climbers have overtaken the remaining walls, and several secluded areas of shrubbery have been created between new twisting paths. There are flowerbeds and compact lawns where the pews used to stand, and a squat fountain in the middle of what was once the nave. Palm trees flap above the lower lawn where, on Saturday, smiling couples sat lazily soaking up the city sun. Who'd have thought that so much could be created out of so small a space? You could walk round the entire garden site in one minute flat, but I guarantee you'll stay longer. by tube: Monument by bus: 15
Random borough (15): Time yet again for me to take another random trip to one of London's 33 boroughs. As I write I have no idea which one of the 19 remaining borough names will be revealed when I unfold the slip of paper I'm about to pick from my "special jamjar". I could pick any of London's other boroughs - inner or outer, urban or suburban, small or large, fascinating or dull. I just know it won't be Merton, Islington, Enfield, Sutton, Lewisham, Southwark, Kensington & Chelsea, Hackney, Hillingdon, the City, Bromley, Lambeth, Tower Hamlets or Haringey because they're the fourteen (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already. So far my random jamjar has concentrated on a strip down the centre of London from Enfield in the north to Bromley in the south, leaving two gaping voids to either side. Will today's selection head east, or go west? Or will Croydon emerge victorious to complete the run down the middle?
Random borough (19): Time yet again for me to take another random trip to one of London's 33 boroughs. As I write I have no idea which one of the 15 remaining borough names will be revealed when I unfold the slip of paper I'm about to pick from my legendary (and as-yet unseen) "special jamjar". I could pick any one of the other London boroughs - inner or outer, urban or suburban, small or large, fascinating or dull. I just know it won't be Merton, Islington, Enfield, Sutton, Lewisham, Southwark, Kensington & Chelsea, Hackney, Hillingdon, the City, Bromley, Lambeth, Tower Hamlets, Haringey, Hounslow, Brent, Redbridge or Ealing because they're the eighteen (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already.
For my Haringey retail experience I headed to Harringay and its central spine road - Green Lanes. The most famous stretch of this old cattle-driving road runs 1½ miles from Turnpike Lane down towards Manor House, with the Piccadilly line rumbling inaccessibly underneath. This is a cosmopolitan shopping street full of hundreds of independent one-off shops, with a Tesco Express the only modern cloned intruder along the Grand Parade. Don't go expecting boutiques or anything bohemian, this is much more down to earth. These shops sell unbranded stuff that never appears in TV adverts, stuff you actually need rather than stuff you don't. Kebabs are a bit of a speciality, along with several other ethnic dishes which may one day enter the English mainstream. There's a definite Turkish presence here, as well as a smattering of Cyprus and Greece. Fancy some lahmacun, pide or tava? Or perhaps sweet delights from a Turkish patisserie? Or just six Polish beers for a fiver. You know where to come. Green Lanes also boasts the usual swathe of laundrettes, hairdressers and clothing importers, plus essential local services like the Cyprus Potato Marketing Board. Halfway down the street is the majestic Salisbury Hotel, now a bar, but with its ornate Victorian interior still very much intact. And there's "North London's oldest furniture store", called Disney's, who've managed not to be sued by American corporate lawyers because they pre-date Mickey Mouse by 15 years. But where are all the crowds? A mile up the road in Wood Green, that's where. They're all milling around the depressingly bland mall at Shopping City, busily acquiring products in mainstream chain stores before treating themselves to a Nando's or some Donut Magic. Some people, it seems, don't recognise choice and diversity on their own doorstep.
Despite what you may have thought, the Tower of London isn't in the City of London, it's in Tower Hamlets. How else did you think the borough got its name? William the Conqueror built his great White Tower just outside the walls of the City, in a defensive position beside the Thames. This was London's first highrise building, standing nearly 30 metres tall, and dominating the medieval skyline. Over subsequent centuries the scale of the castle was enlarged, first with one high surrounding wall and then another, until eventually the structure contained a full 20 towers encircled by a deep protective moat [photo]. In Tudor times the Tower became less of a fortress and royal residence and more of a prison and armoury. But only seven prisoners were ever executed here - two of them wives of Henry VIII, and another the unfortunate nine-day queen Lady Jane Grey. Other, less high-profile, prisoners were executed in full public view up on the grassy hump of Tower Hill. And yes, that's (just) in Tower Hamlets too.
For the cheapskates amongst us, the only way to see the Tower is from the outside. Start on the new sloping concrete plaza leading down to the entrance, where you can watch a genial Beefeater conducting bag searches and rifling through French schoolkids' rucksacks. The souvenir shop is probably best avoided, unless you have a burning desire to own a Beefeater Toby Jug or a Crown Jewels tea towel. You can walk along the riverside cobbles right beside the Tower, peering up at the paying customers on the ramparts inside, although you do at least get to see Traitors Gate for nothing [photo]. Nip up onto Tower Bridge but don't expect a decent view from the centre, not once the riverside avenue of trees is in full leaf. Instead head away from the river and join the hordes of tourists taking photographs from the raised pavement, across the moat to the castellated rooftops beyond. And don't forget to look down into the moat itself, where you should see the Tower seesaw, the Tower roundabout, the Tower climbing frame and the Tower swings [photo]. There's even a neglected Tower tennis court down there, presumably used by the Beefeaters and their families when they think nobody's looking [photo]. Those who've paid £16 don't get to see these gems, oh no, they just get eight ravens with clipped wings, some armour and a few big diamonds.
Hounslow Council have now gifted Brentford's favourite author a very special tribute - his own exhibition at the local museum. Fans should make tracks to the Large Mansion in Gunnersbury Park, which once used to belong to the Rothschild family but is now a sadly-peeling council repository. One large room on the ground floor has been given over to sproutlore, piled-up paperbacks and all things Rankin, in a comprehensive exhibition which runs until next June. There are several informative wall displays (just which seven Brentford pubs make up the constellation of the Great Bear?) but the highlight of the show is a collection of weird and wonderful models created by the author as cover illustrations. Deformed heads, grinning skeletons in jester costumes, mobile phone coffins, that sort of thing. Rankin disciples will appreciate the ensemble. It's by no means a busy exhibition (the only other people I saw were looking for the toilet), but the dark chandelier-lit drawing room provides considerable atmosphere. Maybe there is something unworldly about Brentford after all.
William Hogarth could be described as the first ever political cartoonist (so could lots of other people, but he'll do for now). An 18th century satirist with a razor-sharp eye, he painted and engraved his way to fame and fortune in Georgian society. Hogarth was a Londoner born and bred, but in his late 40s he fancied a cottage in the country and so snapped up a summer retreat in Chiswick. His three-storey house still stands, just about, although William would find it hard to recognise the surrounding area. Long gone are the fields and Thames-side meadows, and the A4 now runs directly past his front door. The three-storey house is overlooked by the featureless office walls of the Hogarth Business Park, and at the end of the road is the roaring concrete hub of the Hogarth Roundabout. William would not be impressed by his modern namesakes. Quick, step behind the redbrick garden wall and screen them out.
Obviously. Where else. But I've written about Wembley Stadium several times on this blog before. Of Watkin's folly (1896), and the Empire Exhibition (1924), and the Olympic Games (1948). But I've never yet written about the revamped rebuilt stadium (2007). So here goes.
The wind whipped round the elevated concrete promenade. Up on level two the bronze figure of Bobby Moore stood watching over the stadium approach, a large St George's flag fluttering limply behind behind his right shoulder [photo]. Every 15 minutes or so a group of paid-up tourists emerged from the glass doors of "Club Wembley" to stand at his feet as their guide related the tale of our glorious 1966 World Cup victory. I understand that the rest of their £15 tour included rather more exclusive locations such as the Royal Box, the changing rooms and the Wembley Stadium Tour Cafe. Plus, of course, the official shop where you can purchase a souvenir tankard, a teddy bear or a patch of turf to remember your visit. Not for me. I held back for a few minutes to attempt to take a photograph that didn't contain a shaven-headed fan gawping in excited adulation [photo]. And then I continued on my free circumnavigation of the giant glass bowl. Which was closed.
What you can see from the outside of the stadium is the curved glass wall that rises up several storeys into the sky [photo], and the great white arch above. Ahh, the Wembley Arch, a simple enough idea but so magnificently realised. It rises out of the walkway on opposite sides of the stadium, bolted into the ground with a big concrete plug, and launches into the sky in a sweeping white-piped curve [photo]. You don't really get a sense of its enormity from up close, but you do get some excellent arch-y reflections in the building as you walk round the perimeter [photo][photo]. And you get some mighty fine views out across the surrounding area, just as they can see right back towards the arch even from several miles away [photo].
Go West. Hounslow is a ridiculously long borough, ten miles from tip to tip, almost perfectly aligned with the Heathrow flightpath. I said ALMOST PERFECTLY ALIGNED WITH THE HEATHROW FLIGHTPATH. It's not an especially coherent borough, with only the A4 and M4 to link its disjoint suburbs. But look carefully, especially in the Thames-side slice to the east, and there are some absolute gems hidden away. I'm almost tempted to drop "Hounslow" back into my random jamjar - there's easily enough here to merit a return visit. But preferably next time on a warm sunny summer's day...
For a certain breed of gentleman, nothing beats a steamy day out. It might be a ride on a locomotive, it might be a chug on a traction engine, but sheer heaven only comes when they're tweaking a bloody enormous steam engine. And steam engines don't come much bigger than the Triple Engines at Kempton Park Waterworks. These monsters reside inside a huge Portland stone Engine House, erected by the Metropolitan Water Board in 1928, adjacent to two thin brick chimneys which are visible for miles across the floodplain. There are reservoirs aplenty along this stretch of the Thames, and these engines were needed to pump water up from the river and across town to the North London suburbs (via Cricklewood). And that's a very long way, which is why this is such an enormous engineering marvel. The steam engines went out of service in 1980 (blame that new-fangled electricity), but were restored a few years ago by that certain breed of gentleman. We thank them.
Blimey. They. Are. Huge. I'd entered an enormous tiled cavern, the size of a squished cathedral, surrounded by a perimeter walkway looking down over a subterranean turbine floor. But the most impressive sight was off to the left and to the right - a pair of green triple-decker steam engines [photo] [photo]. And not just three storeys high but also three cylinders wide, like a towering wall of pre-electric power. Men in white boiler suits were scuttling around on all levels, tending to the valves and dials and gauges, like something out of a 1920s James Bond movie. I arrived as they were firing up the engines - tweaking two smaller rear wheels to make the starter motor run - and then the room was full of swirling churning steaminess. Giant flywheels turned. Grown men beamed. Over in the corner their wives were busy selling filled rolls, jam sponge and steaming tea, and they beamed too. Every so often small groups of lucky punters got the opportunity to take an hour-long tour of the second engine ("The Lady Bessie Prescott"). Up the metal staircases they went, to view the entire spectacle from one, two, three levels up. Alas I couldn't afford the time to do the same, although the bloke on the front desk was extremely anxious that I was leaving too soon and begged me to come back next year. Maybe I will.
• MH Recruitment: They find labour for airline catering and cleaning. But not at weekends - shutters down.
Syon House is the London home of the Duke of Northumberland. Ah yes, I was up at his northern residence - Alnwick Castle - earlier in the year. But that had some real history, whereas Syon House merits little more than a minor footnote in our nation's story. There used to be a medieval abbey on the site, but that's now just something for "Time Team" to dig up and Lord Percy's home has risen in its place. The house is currently covered in scaffolding, part of a winter makeover, so visitors are having to make do with a motley collection of assorted alternative attractions. Greatest of these are the gardens, landscaped by Capability Brown, and yours to visit for a mere four quid. Splendid they may be but I couldn't even find a sign pointing the way in, let alone spare the time for a look round.
Alternate Saturday afternoons, in the backstreets of Brentford, a red and white army is on the move. They sport a protective armour of scarves and official club fleeces, wrapped up warmly against the autumnal chill. All generations of footsoldier are represented, from the youngest apprentice to the most elderly general. They slip silently from their homes, making their way to the terraced arena before battle commences at the 3pm whistle. On every corner the sheriff's men keep watch in their fluorescent jackets and pointy helmets, their eyes peeled for any premature disturbance. Crowds gather at a multiplicity of muster points, each labelled by a coat of arms, for fortifying ale and hearty sustenance. A serving wench at the Princess Royal ladles steaming barbeque meat onto the plates of hungry troops, while others make do with a saveloy or hot dog from the serfs in the scullery.
WALK HARROW
One thing Harrow has in spades is open space. A third of the borough is Green Belt, including most of a broad northern strip, and by London standards this is landscape heaven. I chose to follow one of the capital's major strategic walks across fields, through woodland and past an ornamental death pond. And it was all the better because almost nobody else had had the same idea.
Is this track really called Ass House Lane? Apparently so. And apparently it crosses a pre-historic earthwork called Grim's Dyke, although I'm still not convinced I actually saw it - the shallow earth trench I spotted could have been any other non-ancient feature. The woodland here forms the edge of Harrow Weald Common, and this end was once part of a landscaped garden belonging the famous comic librettist W. S. Gilbert. He lived in Grim's Dyke (the house, not the ditch) for 20 years, and was especially proud of his ornamental lake complete with boathouse and central island. Alas, this lake was to lead to his untimely death. One day in 1911 a young female house guest got into difficulties while swimming, and when Gilbert jumped in to assist he suffered a fatal heart attack. His widow had the lake drained, and it's now just an eerie vegetated hollow in the woods [photo]. Meanwhile Gilbert's gorgeous home, much praised by Betjeman in his Metroland documentary, has become a rather desirable hotel [photo].
My walk returned into the deserted woods, striding along not-quite muddy paths beneath yellowing leaves. Roll on autumn, I say, if it looks like this. And then across a main road into Bentley Priory Open Space. A concrete path skirted the edge of something top secret and secure, which I later discovered was one of the country's most important airforce bases. RAF Bentley Priory was the headquarters of Fighter Command during the Second World War, and the entire Battle of Britain was directed by officers holed up in the manor house. It's an enormous site, barely visible beyond ubiquitous security fences, and currently undergoing a period of enormous change. The RAF station here closed with a flourish at the end of May 2008, and future plans include less exciting things like a museum and lots and lots of luxury apartments. The perfect gated community, I fear.
Some days it seems that any old reason will do. For modern art, I mean. Whether it's shoving bunkbeds in the Tate Modern to simulate Armageddon, or flooding the roof of the Hayward Gallery as a parodic intervention, it seems modern artists can get away with anything. In the case of Stanmore station, it's all about publishing a book of crosswords. Artist Serena Korda was inspired by the fact that secret wartime codebreakers deciphered Hitler's secrets in a military outpost on the corner of Brockley Hill, and has assembled a collection of interconnected cruciverbalist art. There are eight crosswords altogether, compiled around some very local themes (such as the Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital and the Stanmore Bowls Club). You're supposed to be able to pick up a booklet from Jubilee line stations, but they're so rare that downloading the pdf is likely to be a more profitable pursuit. Go on, you're not doing any real work this afternoon.
Four problems...
From outside the Bank of England looks more like an administrative fortress [photo]. A high windowless curtain wall of Portland stone encloses its perimeter - all that remains of Sir John Soane's original Georgian building. Seven storeys are visible above ground, with another three levels of basements and vaults hidden away beneath. The bank's staff enter through tall black iron doors on Threadneedle Street [photo], whereas we mere mortals were admitted through the insignificant side entrance. There weren't many of us, and the few tourists who'd stumbled along seemed wholly unaware that this was a very special opportunity not usually available to the general public. We were searched by top-hatted security gents wearing pink frock coats (it wasn't easy to take them seriously) and then ushered through the lobby to begin our guided tour. A long corridor stretched off into the distance, its floor covered by painstakingly precise mosaics loaded with numismatic symbolism. Everywhere the craftsmanship was excellent, at least in the areas we were allowed to see. Nevertheless the current building is of 1930s vintage and so had a 'town hall' feel in many places, with 'lift block' lobbies, payphone kiosks and wide stone staircases. Most of the back rooms, we were assured, look instead like any other faceless modern office with computer terminals and divided-off desks.
Most of the City of London isn't pretty, not unless you like office blocks. Some of these are dead impressive, but the great majority are merely bland and functional [photo]. Every weekend the City is abuzz with construction workers and cranes [photo], knocking down the old stuff (15 years is old round here) and erecting something dazzling in its place. But scattered inbetween all these financial temples, if you know where to look, are several tiny oases of green. Small gardens where office workers can eat their lunchtime sandwiches before slipping back indoors for another hard afternoon of profit accumulation. One of the largest is Finsbury Circus, which is big enough to contain its own perfectly manicured bowling green, but most are considerably titchier. There's usually a bench or two, and maybe a strip of grass or some flower beds, and (useful tip, this) they're also the only places in the City with litter bins.
Four problems...
