The Ultimate journey of life, the universe and everything
Bus 42: Liverpool Street - Denmark Hill Location: London south, inner Length of journey: 4 miles, 50 minutes
London's ultimate bus journey of life, the universe and everything begins in Worship Street, just to the north of Liverpool Street station. This lowly sideroad marks the precise boundary between the wealthy City of London and the rather needier borough of Hackney. On the rich side is one of London's biggest building sites, upon which the 35 storey BroadgateTower is being constructed. At the moment all you can see is a giant concrete shell surrounded by cranes, looming down over the railway tracks buried beneath, but when finished next year it'll be the third tallest building in the City, visible for miles around as a shiny glassy spike. The first number 42 bus stop is sited, more appropriately, on the poor side of the street. Here, outside a walled-off 5-a-side-football centre, stands a lonely bus shelter where almost nobody ever waits. I was the exception. The driver gave me a very strange look as I boarded, as if somehow unprepared for company so early in the route. And so we set off somewhat uncomfortably, across the girder-topped rail bridge, turning right into prosperity.
The 42 is an ugly bus, both inside and outside - a boxy single decker with almost no character whatsoever. The seat covers are a nasty combination of blue, pink and purple, and far too many of them face backwards. This proved unfortunate when a particularly large woman in a woolly hat climbed aboard and wedged herself in beside me, ignoring at least 6 empty rear-facing double seats. I breathed in and prayed for rapid deliverance. The bus creaked and rattled its way along the eastern edge of the City, all of its plastic fixtures vibrating as we orbited the oversized roundabout at Aldgate.
And then what should be the true highlight of the journey - the crossing of Tower Bridge. Unfortunately the worst place to view the bridge is from a passing single decker bus. You get a decent side view of the Tower itself as you go by, but alas the gothic towers of the Victorian bridge are completely hidden behind the vehicle's broad red roof. Your only hope of seeing Tower Bridge properly is if the central piers have been raised to let through some tall ship, in which case the 42 is diverted over neighbouring London Bridge from where the riverside panorama is rather more impressive.
And so down Tower Bridge Road into Bermondsey, the affluence of the City instantly forgotten. A photocopied sign in the window of a new yellow-striped building reveals that its grand opening by Jade Goody has been unceremoniously cancelled. An unassuming plaque on a very ordinary brick wall reveals that a block of council estate flats has been erected on the site of 11th century Bermondsey Abbey. The famous New CaledonianAntiques Market breathes commercial life into the area, but only on Friday mornings. And there was worse to come. As we entered the Old Kent Road our driver suddenly bolted from his cab and escaped onto the pavement rather than continue any further. It took several minutes for his replacement to emerge, shut the doors and continue our journey southward.
The AylesburyEstate is one of the largest housing estates in Europe, and also one of the poorest. The 42 heads straight through the middle, down a bleak concrete canyon lined by long narrow blocks of flats. A decade ago Tony Blair came to this run-down social backwater to make his first speech as Prime Minister. He pledged to fight for a brighter future, for Britain as a whole and the Aylesbury in particular. But that fresh start is hard to spot today. A few colourful backlit signs have been erected bearing uplifting messages ("Do Magic!" "Nobody Is Not Loved!" "Yeah Yeah Yippee Yippee Yeah!") but very few of the original blocks and walkways have yet been torn down to be replaced by something better. The area is very badly connected, shunned by every railway line in south London, and the 42 provides one of the few lifelines for escape.
The daffodils are blooming in Burgess Park, along the concreted canal and behind the boarded-up pub. Further down the road Camberwell Green is even less welcoming, once a village green, now a meeting place for yobs and massed pigeons. But things pick up a little, past the shops and a pair of hospitals, as the bus slowly empties and climbs the gentle slopes of Denmark Hill. Here at last is recognisable suburbia, complete with tree-lined avenues and a giant Wetherspoons.
The 42 turns left and drops down into a valley of slightly twee cottages. This is Sunray Avenue, at the junction with Casino Avenue, where this service terminates. I was ejected into an environment unlike any other along the journey, if only for its wholesome ordinariness. Three lads alighting in front of me decided to ride down the street in a discarded supermarket trolley before abandoning it in the gutter, blocking the path of the departing bus. A pit bull with a large stick in its mouth padded slowly home along the pavement in front of its ageing owner. It started raining, quite heavily. As I headed rapidly for the nearest bus shelter I wondered what my ride on the 42 had taught me about life, the universe and everything. Nothing special, I guess. Mostly harmless.
I have entered another world. It's an environment wholly unfamiliar to the majority of Londoners. It's something experienced by few under the age of 60. It's Friday lunchtime in a Norfolk village pub.
From inside you might think you were standing in a genuine ye olde public house. There are rows of gnarled wooden beams running across the ceiling, with brass tankards hanging at regular intervals along their length. China plates and watercolour prints adorn the walls, while iron-framed lamps flicker silently beside the old oak fireplace. But look more carefully. The half-timbered ceiling is a fake, the walls are far too straight, the fire is gas-powered, and the flames in the lanterns are actually oscillating electric filaments. In reality the pub is a rectangular brick extension bolted onto a tiny Victorian cottage, bought out by a national brewery chain serving gassy beer and non-real ales. But it's still the beating heart of the village.
From all across the surrounding area they come - ladies who lunch and their associated husbands. Some are here to fill their time. They sit in married pairs, communicating infrequently as they pick and chew their way through a shared salad. Others are here to ease their loneliness. They sit in larger groups, smiling and nodding, helping to blot out the fact that there's nobody left to talk to back home. Some have had their hair permed especially for the occasion, others have pulled on a wig and hoped that nobody else will notice the difference. These are the rural retired, splashing out their company pensions over a mild chicken curry and a slice of lemon cheesecake.
And every Friday lunchtime is different. Every week a different selection of almost-gourmet "specials" is chalked up on the board to augment the regular set menu. There's nothing too extreme, nothing too foreign, just wholesome English food with a slightly superior twist. Hotpot still beats noodles, and steak and ale pie still trumps enchiladas. Everything comes with chips or jacket potatoes, accompanied by a small silver tray of seasonal steamed vegetables. Wash it all down with a bottled fruit juice (or a nice cup of non-frothy coffee) and you have the perfect recipe for an unhurried social event.
For those of us who spend our weekdays working in the city, this is the noonday rural world we never see. While we're grabbing a quick sandwich to gulp down at our desks, the grey haired and the retired are busy spending their time (and our inheritance) on cosy two-hour two-course banquets. From what I saw yesterday, it doesn't seem a bad way to live out one's twilight lunchtimes. I just hope that I retain good enough health and a decent enough pension to join the pampered delights of the over-70s pub lunch club one day. Mine's a mixed grill and chocolate tart, thanks.
When a birthday comes around, thoughts often turn either to fun, excitement and frivolity or instead to destiny, opportunity and mortality. This year however, at the age of 42, I find myself pondering on the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything. I'm in deep thought, I am.
At least this'll give me something meaningful to contemplate on the train up to Norfolk this morning, as I head out east for a double birthday celebration with my Mum. There may not be Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters but there should at least be plenty of cake. Life's pretty good really, all told. Don't panic.
Life is always a game of two parts. There's the part you've lived through, leading up to now, and then there's the part you have yet to live through. To start with the second part is longer than the first part. You've experienced a bit of life, but there's so much more yet to come. Later on the first part is longer than the second part. You've experienced most of life, and there's not so much still to go. Only once is the first part equal in length to the second part, and you never know precisely when that moment occurs at the time. Official UK statistics suggest that, for the average UK male born 42 years ago, this moment occurs just before your 42nd birthday. Damn.
not born yet
LI
FE
dead
But human existence continues beyond the two extremes of your life. Time divides up into three sections. There's the bit before you were born - the bit you never experienced but can always find out about. Then there's your alloted life span - the bit you've already experienced plus the bit you have yet to experience. And then there's the bit after you die - the bit you will never experience and will never find out about. Which is a shame. You may discover what your great great great grandmother got up to, but you can never know how your great great great great grandchildren will turn out.
not born yet
dead
But time is vast beyond comprehension in comparison to our lifespan. Billions of years had passed before the moment we breathed our first, and billions more will pass after we've gasped our last. Our lives are wholly insignificant on a universal scale, nothing more than a heartbeat in a vast expanse of forever. You may think that it's a long time until the weekend begins, whereas that's absolutely no time at all when compared to eternity. It's far too easy to be oblivious of the extended past and to completely ignore the longer term future.
not born yet
d
But what if that longer term future turns out to be much shorter than we imagine? It might well be. Human society is geared up to live for today rather than make sacrifices for our descendants. Our oil supplies might run out before the century is over, but we'd still rather devour the lot rather than abandon our wasteful consumer lifestyles. Nuclear power might bring us a short term energy solution, but we'll happily leave scores of future generations to mop up the mess. Global warming might eventually make our planet uninhabitable, but why bother attempting to halt it when we'll not be around to notice? We're too busy squandering the world's resources to care about sharing them with those who follow us. If we're not careful, we may be the last generation to imagine that humanity has a future. Maybe the period after our deaths will be measured in years, not billions of years. Maybe our lifetime, right now, is as good as it gets.
not born yet
dead
But I like to think that the future could be rather brighter. There may be a golden age ahead, complete with hovercars, interstellar travel and eternal harmony. It's just possible that humanity might not make a complete mess of things, so long as we can all stop thinking only about 'now' and start concentrating a bit more on 'later'. We need to face up to the consequences of our wastefulness and become considerably less selfish on a global scale. Those yet to be born will surely thank us for it. Even if we can never live long enough to discover how everything turns out.
1) Buy new mobile phone to replace malfunctioning 2½ year old anachronism (without buying function-excessive, battery-deficient, teenage-targeted model) 2) Persuade Thames Water that, despite what they think, I do indeed have a water meter and would like to use it to pay all my future bills (rather than them forcing me to pay a flat rate equivalent to a family of five with a dishwasher each) 3)Wash up 4) Find a new source of disposable contact lenses which doesn't involve returning to my previous optician (who's 50 miles away and has recently been taken over by East Anglia's least competent local business) 5)Acquire Calvin Harris single Acceptable In The 80s to adore and to cherish 6) Tidy up my dining table so that I could actually make room for a dinner plate on it 7) Rescue my salt cellar (which I've had for 25 years) from the narrow deep inaccessible canyon behind my oven (where it fell last week and lodged behind some pipes) 8)Finish replying to email I started replying to on Sunday 9)Reply to unexpected email from fellow blogger 10)Ignore accumulated backlog of stacked-up emails on the basis that they don't really need replying to 11) Dispose of unwanted large chunky computer monitor (superseded by modern flat-screen model) 12)Acquire pack of rewriteable CDs which my laptop actually recognises and doesn't spit out in disgust (for back-up purposes) 13)Complete next Time Out article (which I've started twice so far but haven't managed to finish) 14) Buy new office-type chair (because every office-type chair I ever buy always breaks) 15) Hoover that corner behind the bathroom door (the door I never close, and therefore never see that the corner behind it needs hoovering) 16) Recycle excessive pile of plastic carrier bags stashed behind door in kitchen 17)Pay in two cheques at bank (how very 20th century) 18)Post birthday card to parent 19)Buy train ticket for tomorrow 20)Write To Do list
I am the first person off the platform. I am the Underground expert. I always travel in exactly the right carriage, beside exactly the right door, to leap off the train at exactly the right point. I lead the commuter charge off the platform and up the staircase. I know there are scores of passengers pouring off the train behind me, but I never look back, never give them any advantage. The passageway ahead of me is clear. The passageway ahead is mine. I am the King of the Tube.
I am the second person off the platform. Who is that jerk in front of me? I too always travel in exactly the right carriage, beside exactly the right door, to leap off the train at exactly the right point. But today, somehow, he's got in front of me and all I can see is his departing backside. How dare he? But I'll be first tomorrow, you see if I'm not.
I am the third person off the platform. I'm late! And I'm in a hurry! Come on, I've got to be in work in three minutes time, and I'm never going to make it! So I'm going to run up these steps like a man possessed, weaving deftly round those two interlopers ahead of me. Get out of my way! If I can overtake them both I might still be out of the station first. Cha-aarge!
I am the seventh person off the platform. This is easy. Thank goodness I was in the right carriage this morning or else I'd still be back there somewhere, in the middle of that massive mêlée behind me. But this is easy. A quick departure is guaranteed.
We are the ninth and tenth people off the platform. We're in no hurry, no hurry at all. Have you seen this story in today's Metro? Have you finished the sudoku yet? We're going to carry on reading as we walk, slowly, steadily, oblivious to all around us. Why rush? It's only work we're all going to, after all.
I am the eleventh person off the platform. I may have charged off the train really fast, but there's no rushing any more. The slowcoaches in front of me are impeding the crowd's departure, down to a steady crawl, and there's no squeezing past. It's more like being in a queue now, patiently making forward progress, one amongst many. This morning rush is no longer any rush at all.
We are the twenty-eighth and twenty-ninth people off the platform. Ooh, that was lucky. What are the chances of two tourists accidentally being in exactly the right carriage near exactly the right door? Very fortunate indeed. Hang on, let's just stop and work out which way we're going next. Ah yes, over here, probably. It's a bit crowded around here at the moment isn't it? Maybe we should have picked a quieter time to try to get to the airport. But hey, we're still going to to shuffle slowly up the middle of the staircase, lifting our enormous luggage up one step at a time. Why can't people look where they're going and stop tripping over our big wheelie suitcases? Why is everyone else intent on knocking us over as they attempt to struggle by?
I am the thirtieth person off the platform. Damn and blast. There I was making good progress towards the exit when these two inconsiderate tourists appeared and totally blocked the passage in front of me. Do they have no idea of timing? It's the height of the bloody rush hour for heavens sake. I suppose I could try glaring at them, but they're probably too busy gawping hopelessly at a tube map and wittering in foreign. Grrr.
I am the one hundred and ninety-third person off the platform. Sigh. It's taken me two minutes to shuffle along this platform behind a seething throng of bobbing heads. Looks like I was in exactly the wrong carriage, beside exactly the wrong door, at exactly the wrong end of the train. One day I'll learn and plan ahead, and position myself somewhere more sensible in advance. But can you hear that? It sounds like another train is rushing into the station behind me, ready to empty another load of human cargo onto the platform. By the time I reach the top of the steps I bet there'll be another crowd of eager commuters snapping at my heels, racing for the exit. Well, they'll just have to wait.
I note, with a mixture of fascination and dismay, that today's almost effort-free post about crisppacketcolours has attracted more visitors to this blog (and also more comments) than I've had on any other day since January, back when I was pretending to be dead.
geezer stays in...
because nobody goes out on a Monday night
That's probably quite enough of going out and being vaguely sociable for the time being. I don't want to overdo it yet, just to ease myself gently back into the social mainstream. And anyway, you don't want this blog to become an endless series of reports about what I got up to yesterday, because that could get rather too introspective and less than interesting. Nice generic posts about stuff we all have in common, that's what you like best. Writing about television, or music, or Trafalgar Square, or why different crisp manufacturers can't agree to use the same colour for certain key flavours. These are the topics that engage and encourage feedback. This is what you want - not an endless list of pubs you haven't been to, gigs you didn't attend and suburban locations you'll never visit. So, as my social life continues to slowly ramp up over the next few weeks, I'll try not to bore you with all the minor details. Even if that means my blog going a bit quieter than usual sometimes...
geezer goes out... to ThreeMills for a British Waterways Open Day Prescott Lock - a new green gateway to the Lower Lea valley
With Olympic construction due to begin next year, a heck of a lot of building materials need to be delivered to the Lower Lea Valley in the run up to 2012. They could be driven in by road, but a far more environmentally-friendly solution would be to ship them in by boat. And so British Waterways are to build a brand new lock on the Bow Back Rivers, just south of the Olympic Park, with the aim of removing 1000 lorry journeys a week from the streets. The exact location of the lock is the Prescott Channel [photo], a quarter-mile navigation around the back of the Three Mills film studios. Don't worry, it's not named after our esteemed Deputy Prime Minister, just in honour of one of the men who had this cut-through constructed in the 1930s. The Prescott Channel is a quiet waterway - off the beaten track and rarely visited - and yet it's still somewhere you probably know very well. Because it's across this river, during the summers of 2000 and 2001, that Big Brother contestants were led to the studio following their eviction from the House. Because this is Davina's Bridge [photo].
Channel 4 built the first Big Brother house in a field on the eastern side of the Prescott Channel [photo]. But producers weren't convinced that the show would be a hit and only had planning permission for two years, after which Newham Council insisted that the house be pulled down and the site returned to a natural habitat. Five years later not a trace remains, just a locked-off patch of green wasteland [photo]. Peering through the gate it's hard to imagine that this is where Nasty Nick was unmasked, where Vanessa Feltz went slowly mad and where Marjorie the chicken pecked her way to fame. But the bridge [photo] is still there. The same bridge across which evictees ran the gauntlet of the press, and behind which fireworks erupted as Craig and Brian crossed to victory. But the bridge won't be there for much longer.
To ensure that Prescott Lock is in place before Olympic construction begins, the old bridge has to go. It'll be replaced, fractionally further upriver by a state-of-the-art tidal barrier, complete with sluice gates, fish ladder and pedestrian walkway. The new lock gates will be big enough to accommodate two 350 tonne barges, enabling building materials to sail up the Lea from the Thames into the heart of the Olympic redevelopment zone. There's also every expectation that a green transport network can be established as the regeneration of the valley continues. It'll then be possible to move waste and recyclables up and down the river by barge, rather than them continuing to be dumped into the water by couldn't-care-less local industries. As those responsible for the development delighted in telling me yesterday, the lock should have a sustainable future well beyond the closing ceremony of the 2012 Games.
One of the biggest problems seeping out into the Bow Back Rivers at the moment is biodegradable human pollution. Most of North London's sewage passes through the Abbey Millspumping station, just to the north, and the Victorian pipes are no match for modern levels of effluent. Fifty times a year, on average, sewage from Abbey Mills overflows out into Abbey Creek, down the Channelsea River [photo] and into the River Lea. I bet they didn't warn Big Brother contestants of this regular current of sludge sweeping right past their living quarters. And it's not one-way traffic. The Lea is a tidal river and so, less than 12 hours after every discharge, most of the sewage is washed back upriver to contaminate a much larger area of waterway. One extremely useful side-effect of constructing the Prescott Lock will be to block off this brown backwash and prevent it from reaching the Olympic Zone a short distance upstream. Longer term, however, only an upgrade of London's 150-year-old sewer infrastructure can solve the underlying issues with outfall pollution, and the cost of such a major project would dwarf even the Olympics.
Construction on the new lock begins in a few weeks time, which means the closure of even more local waterside pathways (this time for an 18 month period). Three different footpaths meet at the bridge and each will shortly be sealed off for security reasons. One heads north to Three Mills Green, and another west along a puddle-strewn track round to Three Mills itself [photo]. But the most charming of the three is the eastern footpath along the Channelsea River towards the Greenway. The water below may be a nasty shade of brown, the view across the river may be of a forest of gas cylinders and the land opposite may be the site of an old cyanide factory, but it's a lovely walk [photo]. Nesting moorhens waddle across the tidal mudflats, and catkins hang low from trees above the riverbank. You can walk along this path and not see a soul, save for scores of passengers peering from the windows of passing District line trains wondering what the hell you're up to [photo]. Before long, however, watching from the train is going to be the only way to keep track of how the construction of Prescott Lock is going. But British Waterways are certain that, once complete, it will kickstart the renaissance of this sub-Olympic corner of the Lower Lea Valley. Let's hope the future round here is green, and not brown.
How "vaguely sociable" was it? Sort of. A blazered gent and I had a nice chat with the British Waterways representatives who'd given up their Sunday to stand in a tearoom at Three Mills and talk in some detail about this new project. But I didn't stay for a cup of tea and a chat, sorry.
With the London Transport Museum in Covent Garden closed until the Autumn, the capital's bus and train enthusiasts have had nowhere to go recently. Thank goodness for the Museum Depot in Acton Town, home to hundreds of thousands of pieces of transport ephemera, which occasionally unlocks its doors for an official Open Weekend. And then they come, out of the shadows, both young and old, to spend the day staring at tube trains and old trolleybuses and stuff. There was a ridiculously long queue outside yesterday morning, but I'd bought my ticket in advance and so walked past the lot of them. Damn, that probably makes me a bigger geek than any of them.
Once inside there was a lot to see. Several bits of trains are lined up in the main body of the warehouse, from old Metropolitan milk wagons to prototype Crossrail carriages. You're only allowed inside a couple of them, which gave several parents a chance to show their precocious offspring the semi-luxurious conditions in which they used to travel. A number of old buses have been crammed in along one side. Nothing too modern, you'll be glad to hear. Proper buses (some red, others green) with friendly drivers and conductors, and comfy seats, and route information on the front blinds. unlike many of the visitors I didn't remember any of the trams and trolleybuses, but some of the 60s and 70s vehicles looked nostalgically familiar.
Elsewhere there are ticket machines, signals, escalators and engine parts, and racks of smaller items such as clocks and fire buckets. There are 3D models of tube stations, built to assist engineers when the labyrinth of tubes and tunnels beneath was being extended. There's a big shop, where yesterday grown men were queueing to purchase a limited edition Acton 2007 diecast Routemaster 1:76 scale model (already selling on eBay for £89). Upstairs there are rows and rowsof station signs ("Look Daddy, Arsenal! Arsenal!"), and old maps, and even some old furniture from London Transport HQ. If you like this sort of thing, you'd have loved it. Maybe next time.
How "vaguely sociable" was it? Not even slightly. OK, so if you came with family and friends then it was very sociable indeed, and you could spend all day saying things like "Ooh, I remember that" and "Look Johnny, Daddy remembers that". If you were a true transport aficionado you could go round meeting like-minded souls and telling them "Of course, the Class B was withdrawn in 1957 and replaced by the frankly substandard twin-valve Class F." But I went by myself, and kept myself to myself, and kept reminding myself that actually I'm nowhere near as borderline Aspergers as I sometime think I might be.
geezer goes out... after dark last night, looking up at the sky Total lunar eclipse - perfectly timed for the journey to the nightclub
Aww, did you see it? One bold bright full moon in a cloudless sky, slowly nibbled away and fading to red? I watched the first silver sliver disappearing high above the Blackwall Tunnel Approach Road. I observed a twin-horned crescent shining ominously between the towers of Canary Wharf. I saw the shadowy disc fading fast while stood on a deserted bridge in the middle of the Thames. I stared wistfully at the eclipsed copper moon hanging high above the nightclub car park. And then I went inside and missed all the rest of the lightshow. But it was great, wasn't it?
How "vaguely sociable" was it? Extremely. Easily my sociable night of the year so far (maybe that's not saying much, but this was proper chatty beery sociable). See, I do go out sometimes - once in a red moon.
geezer goes out... after dark tonight and looks up at the sky Total lunar eclipse - perfectly timed for the walk back from the pub
20:18 Saturday: The Moon enters the outer shadow of the Earth, or penumbra. It gets slightly dark. Nobody notices. 21:30: The Moon enters the inner shadow of the Earth, or umbra. Slowly the lower left corner is eaten away, still sort of visible but darker, then more and more disappears until the whole disc has gone. 22:44: Total eclipse. The Earth lies now directly between the Sun and the Moon, so no light can get through, so the Moon goes dark. Not black though, usually a sort of dark red colour, because some light is still getting through diffracted by the Earth's atmosphere. But quite moody-looking all the same. 23:57: Now the top left of the Moon edges back out into light shadow, and the eclipse is partial again. And slowly more and more partial. 01:11 Sunday: Back into the outer shadow, where the eclipse is again barely even noticeable. 02:23: That's it, all over, and the full Moon shines brightly once again.
If you miss this, then there's another total eclipse visible from the UK next February (but you probably won't be awake to see it at 3am on a Thursday morning). Miss that, and you'll have to wait for December 2010 (although the eclipse starts at sunrise, so it won't be as impressive as tonight's). It's an even longer wait for the next half-decent opportunity. So don't miss tonight.
• East (1-6 March): A six-day festival of food, history, performance, art and fashion. Although it looks suspiciously like "all the usual stuff that goes on in East London but under a fancy title" to me.
• London: A Life In Maps (closes Sunday): A brilliant retrospective of capital cartography, attended so far by ninety thousand appreciative visitors. If too many more turn up during this final weekend, however, expect South London to disappear behind a sea of bobbing heads.
• Barbican Arts Centre: It's 25 years old. It's 25 years old today! This concrete palaceof the arts is always a fascinating place for a wander (assuming you don't get lost, that is). Plenty of special activities this weekend, especially for kids.
• Open weekend atthe London Transport Museum Depot: Head to Acton Town to see tubes and buses and trams and signs and posters and other urban transport ephemera. Anoraks optional. Not open again until 2008. [photos][photos]
• City Hall: The Mayor's giant bike helmet is open on the first weekend of every month, but have you ever been inside? And up to the observation deck at the top? And down the fantastic central spiral staircase? And wondered how anyone ever gets any work done whilst sat in the goldfish bowl offices?
Three weeks ago, you may remember, I told you how utterly rubbish Visit London's official search engine was. Because it was utterly rubbish. I asked the site to tell me "What special events are taking place in London tomorrow?" and the search engine listed 854 events, the great majority of which weren't actually happening at all. So I thought I'd go back today to see if things have improved. And, what do you know, they have! Lots!
Let's try asking that same question again. What special events are taking place in London tomorrow? According to Visit London today, there are 181 special events taking place in London tomorrow. That may sound a lot, and indeed Visit London have a very broad definition of "special". But 181 is a much more realistic total, and 80% lower than the 854 they were offering three weeks ago. I am impressed.
Last time round, Visit London were insistent that a Tuesdays-only art course at Sotheby's happened every day of the week. Now it only crops up if your search includes a Tuesday. Likewise Cripplegate's 7-11 Club is now rightly restricted to Wednesdays, and Storytime at Pollards Hill Library only appears on the last Friday of the month. The search engine designers have pulled their fingers out and labelled everything properly, by date, including a special new "recurring events" category. I am impressed.
Last time round, searching Visit London still threw up events from several months past, such as Lewisham's Winter Festival and Christmas Market. No longer - all these anachronistic events have been deleted. I am impressed. The database still contains a few events ridiculously far into the future, such as next year's Lord Mayor's Firework Show (9 November 2008). I guess it's possible that some tourists really are interested in planning that far ahead, but the continued inclusion of events dated 2010 and 2012 is surely unjustifiable.
Last time round, searching for "free events" generated a list of absolutely no events whatsoever. This counter-intuitive result was a consequence of incompetent programming, which has now been fixed. Attempt the same search today and you'll discover 56 free special events taking place in London this weekend. I am impressed. There used to be a similar problem when searching for events with "wheelchair access" or "disabled toilets" - none whatsoever showed up. Visit London haven't fixed this problem, they've hidden it by removing all four accessibility categories from the search form. There's still absolutely no functionality for disabled visitors, but at least nobody's going to waste their time looking any more.
Last time round, the Visit London search engine had been rubbish for months and months and months. And now it isn't. At some point (very very recently) the site's programmers have knuckled down and sorted out the great majority of issues that were making the search facility nigh impossible to use. It's still not perfect, but it is at least now fit for purpose. I'm sure it's just a coincidence that all these changes have occurred during the last three weeks, because I'd hate to think that Visit London had to be shamed into action by having their site's flaws exposed in public. But credit where credit is due - I am impressed.
geezer goes out... to Sister Ray record shop, Berwick Street Onetwo - performance and record signing by Paul Humphreys and Claudia Brücken
Old pop stars never fade away, they just carry on making music for an increasingly small nucleus of hardcore fans. And we love them for it. Onetwo is the 21st century performance vehicle for two 1980s stalwarts - Paul Humphreys of sensibly electric OMD, and Claudia Brücken of intensely epic Propaganda. Together they make sensibly electric intensely epic music, as you might expect. Claudia's voice is as recognisable and captivating as ever, and Paul can still stand behind a synth and smile with the best of them. Last night's after-work crowd in a Soho record shop lapped up this upbeat and rather special performance, then queued to get the band's new album signed by the demi-gods of their adolescence. Because old pop fans never fade away either.
How "vaguely sociable" was it? Pretty good. Not only did I attend in company, but I also bumped into somebody else I knew while I was there. And I was reminded (by the odd icy glare) that it's not deemed good manners to be too chatty and sociable during a musical performance.
geezer goes out...In a gentle attempt to break out of my recent hermit-like state, I've decided to try "going out and being vaguely sociable" a bit more often. I started last night with a bit of urban planning, just to get the new month off to a flying start.
As part of the British Library's phenomenally successful London: A Life In Maps exhibition (closes Sunday), a series of related talks has been running on Wednesday evenings. The last of these was given yesterday by the man in charge of 2012 Olympic planning, and hence with the job of ensuring that our taxes deliver a lasting legacy to the Games. I think our money's in safe hands.
Planning for the 2012 Olympics isn't just about making sure that all the stadia open on time. It's also about ensuring that local communities benefit from all the millions being pumped into redevelopment and new infrastructure, helping one of the poorest corners of the country to reinvent itself. It's about making sure that government funding isn't just used to spend and spend, it's used as an investment for the future. And, as Jerome explained, this isn't a new idea - it dates back to the Victorians.
Over the last 150 years there have been several attempts to revitalise various areas of London via expensive grand schemes. The Great Exhibition of 1851 inspired the development of our Museum quarter on the fringes of Hyde Park, then delivered suburban acceptability to the newly established suburbs of Sydenham. The development of Alexandra Palace in the 1870s provided another nucleus of development in North London, even though the original building burnt down within a fortnight of its opening. The British Empire Exhibition proved the catalyst for the growth of the Wembley area, and the Festival of Britain in 1951 opened up the South Bank to culture and respectability. Even the Millennium Dome, though much maligned, is finally starting to bring prosperity to the former industrial wasteland of the North Greenwich peninsula. London's history has proven time and time again that substantial investment in green space brings significant added value to the surrounding area. When viewed in the context of long-term legacy, the 2012 Olympic Games are just another example of government-sponsored regional philanthropy.
The plan for 2012 is to "start with the park". Get that right, said Jerome, and everything else should follow. The ODA started their detailed planning by considering what they'd like the Olympic Park in Stratford to look like a few years after the Games have finished, and worked back from there. Sustainable venues such as the Velodrome will be built to last. Other 'unnecessary' venues will be dismantled soon after 2012, and these adaptable plots of land given over to other uses such as housing. It's expected that at least 9000 new homes will have been built around the Olympic Park by 2025 (which, sold off at a few hundred thousand pounds each, should pay back a substantial proportion of the Games' building costs). Initial estimates suggest that the population of this part of East London may eventually rise by between 100,000 and 150,000 people (approximately one-and-a-half Olympic Stadium-fuls). And that's a lot longer-lasting legacy than two weeks of athletics.
Jerome confirmed that the Olympic site in Stratford will be barricaded off in just four months' time. The ODA plan to erect 13km of security fencing to surround the site, allowing major remediation work to begin across the 300 hectares of land within. I've long been concerned that the unique nature of the Bow Back Rivers would be eradicated by the imposition of major building works, but Jerome had reassuring words that this ought not to be the case. The plan is to "enhance, not obliterate", and steps are already underway to populate a seedbank of the Lower Lea Valley's native species to ensure their survival. It won't look or feel the same after 2012, obviously, but it was good to hear that the Olympic Park won't be a bland featureless landscape of lawns and saplings cut through by ugly concrete channels. Come July we locals are to be locked out from our favourite backyard wilderness for at least five years, probably rather longer, before the full extent of Olympic regeneration can be revealed. But after Jerome's talk I'm now more hopeful that it'll be worth the wait.
How "vaguely sociable" was it? Not very. There were about 200 of us in the audience, but we all sat far enough apart so as not to have to chat to anyone else. I did try to return a dropped pencil to its owner on my way out, but that was the total extent of my evening's conversation.
During February 2003 on diamond geezer I kept myself busy by counting things. Ten different counts, to be precise, in a none-too thrilling daily feature called 'The Count' (a sort of 28-day tally chart). It may be deathly dull to the rest of you, but I've continued to count those ten categories again, everyFebruarysince, just to keep tabs on how my life is changing. Below are my counts for February 2007, accompanied by the previous statistics and some deep, meaningful pondering. Should you care, that is.
Count 1 (Blog visitors): Blimey, I've reached the giddy heights of 800-or-so visitors a day. That's ten times more than I had four years ago, back when I used to dream of having 100. But last February's massive total remains an unrepeated freak, thanks to a single mention on Blogger's front page. This year's February figure feels somehow more worthy. Total number of visitors to this webpage in February 2007: 23082
(2006: 42277) (2005: 9636) (2004: 6917) (2003: 2141)
Count 2 (Google searches): I'm only counting these in case too large a proportion of my visitors are coming here 'accidentally' rather than deliberately. And they're not. So that's alright then. Total number of Google referrals to this webpage in February 2007: 3919
(2006: 3473) (2005: 908) (2004: 947) (2003: 316)
Count 3 (Blog content): I'm always convinced every year that I'm writing far more than I was last year, but this turns out not to be the case. OK, so this is my most prolific February yet, but not by much. It looks like I'm really astonishingly consistent, generating about 500-600 words a day. Good, I'd hate to think my blogging was increasing out of control like an addiction or something. Total number of words in diamond geezer in February 2007: 17102
(2006: 15817) (2005: 16016) (2004: 16214) (2003: 14392)
Count 4 (Spam): Still surprisingly low, given the avalanche of speculative drivel that clogs the world's inboxes. My ISP manages to block most incoming spam, thankfully, although numbers slipping through are sadly on the increase. Those new blurred-image messages for US stock options seem most difficult to stop at the moment, along with the usual badly-spelt willy-strengtheners. But I should be glad to be averaging only four a day. Total number of spam emails I received in February 2007: 119
(2006:82) (2005: 54) (2004: 31) (2003: 30)
Count 5 (Nights out): Oh dear, I appear still to be an after-dark hermit, with 25 nights in this month and only three nights out. I've defined 'night out' to be 'sometime after 6pm', which has discounted a couple of otherwise appropriate contenders. And I've included sitting in an audience (eg at the cinema) as 'being sociable', even though it's not really. Otherwise my total would be down to just one, which is a bit grim really. Still, I'm expecting things to pick up from the middle of next month, maybe even approaching 2003 levels... The number of nights in February 2007 I went out and was vaguely sociable: 3
(2006: 2) (2005: 2) (2004: 7) (2003: 21)
Count 6 (Alcohol intake): That's right, my entire alcohol consumption for this month consists of a single bottle of Becks, which was consumed before 5pm on the very first day of the month. It may be healthy to be nigh teetotal, but it's also a sign of how stay-at-home I've become. Total number of bottles of Becks I drank in February 2007: 1
(2006: 7) (2005: 0) (2004: 17) (2003: 58)
Count 7 (Tea intake): Apart from one dodgy year when workplace kettle usage was banned, my tea consumption remains wonderfully consistent. As, incidentally, does my coffee intake (still zero). Total number of cups of tea I drank in February 2007: 137
(2006: 128) (2005:81) (2004: 135) (2003: 135)
Count 8 (Trains used): Again, very regular and fairly high. You can tell I live in London, can't you? Total number of trains I travelled on in February 2007: 100
(2006: 107) (2005: 117) (2004: 109) (2003: 103)
Count 9 (Exercise taken): I'd like to assure you that any apparent decline in escalator-climbing is due to the nature of my daily commute, not to any increasing levels of breathless unfitness. Honest. I still walk up every escalator I ascend (unless a fat tourist with an even fatter suitcase is blocking my upward progress, of course). Total number of escalators I walked up in February 2007: 31
(2006: 35) (2005:38) (2004: 72) (2003: 73)
Count 10 (Mystery count): At one point earlier in the month I thought that the legendary diamond geezer Mystery Count was most definitely going to reach 2 by the end of February. And then I'd have had to tell you what I was counting, like I promised. But these expectations proved wholly unfounded, and so the Mystery Count remains zero. Bad luck. Maybe next year... Total number of times that the mystery event happened in February 2007: 0
(2006: 0) (2005: 0) (2004: 0) (2003: 0)
When a sporting stadium is renamed after a big corporate sponsor, do you think "Ooh, I'd never heard of them before, but they must be a really fantastic company so I'll go out immediately and buy all their products"? Or do you think "sellout"? I know which one it is for me.
Here's a list of Britain's top 10 most sold-out stadia(unless, of course, you know better)
1) Ricoh Arena (Coventry City): You what? Ricoh are obviously a sponsor selected for their millions rather than for their name. Does "Ricoh Arena" make you think football stadium? Of course it doesn't. You probably can't even pronounce the name properly. I reckon Ricoharena sounds more like a seedy hotel complex on the Costa Brava, or maybe a dodgy Spanish dance involving smearing oneself over the nether regions of ones partner. But hey, Coventry have decided (in their shareholders' infinite wisdom) to name their new stadium after a photocopier manufacturer whose "software solutions are designed to enhance your document lifecycle". If this is the future of football, God help us all. 2) Emirates Stadium (Arsenal): Because there's nothing one associates more with top class football than long haul Middle East air travel, right? Wrong. Arsenal's chairman admitted to having mixed feelings about selling naming rights for the Gunners' new stadium to an airline, but said £100m was too good to resist. I bet it was. No wonder most true supporters continue to call the new place Ashburton Grove or, even better, Highbury. 3) Reebok Stadium (Bolton Wanderers): One of the first (and boldest) stadium rebranding opportunity scenarios. You wonder if Bolton fans are wholly delighted by their sci-fi-tastic modern stadium, or secretly embarrassed to be associated with a sportswear manufacturer who are not quite cool enough. 4) JJB Stadium (Wigan Athletic): Whatever happened to naming your stadium after the street in which it's located? Doesn't pay enough sponsorship money, I guess. In this case maybe Robin Park didn't sound quite serious enough, but it's still surely better than being named after a discount warehouse for hoodies. 5) KitKat Crescent (York City): Yes really. York's tiny ground at Bootham Crescent was renamed after a chocolate bar as part of a two-year sponsorship deal with confectionery giants Nestlé Rowntree. Who then promptly sacked 645 local factory workers. There's brand loyalty for you. 6) The Brit Oval (Surrey County Cricket Club): Surrey have always seemed willing to prostitute their naming rights to whoever pays them the most money. Over the last few years their world-famous cricket ground has been called the Fosters Oval (strewth), the AMP Oval (who?) and now the Brit Oval (after an insurance company you'd not otherwise have heard of, and maybe still haven't). 7) Walkers Stadium (Leicester City): It could have been worse. Leicester's new stadium was nearly called the Walkers Bowl, which is both hideously American and far too easily satirised (a "bowl of crisps"? please no). Leicester supporters with a modicum of self-respect prefer to call their new stadium Filbert Way, so I'm told, which at least doesn't make anyone think of over-perky jug-eared potato munchers. 8) Grattan Stadium (Bradford Bulls): That's a rugby ground named after a mail-order catalogue full of lingerie, ladies shoes and garden furniture. Good grief. I'll let the stadium's PR give the case for the defence... "Known the world over as the home of the awesome Bradford Bulls, Grattan Stadium is a unique and unforgettable destination ideal for a wide range of on-field and indoor sporting, cultural and corporate events." They just don't get it, do they? 9) Madejski Stadium (Reading): I suppose it's acceptable to name a football stadium after the chairman if he's poured millions into the club and brought it rare success. But it's still sheer unbridled megalomania, isn't it? 10) The McDonalds Double Quarter Pounder Stadium (2012 Olympics): It's OK, I've made this one up. Seb & Co have yet to announce the key domestic partners for the London 2012 Olympics, and the IOC wouldn't allow such blatant advertising anyway. But I bet some deranged PR executive somewhere is trying to change the rules to make it happen.
I SPY LONDON the definitive DG guide to London's sights-worth-seeing Part 17:Hampton Court Palace
Location: East Molesey, KT8 9AU [map] Open: 10am - 6pm (closes 4:30pm in winter) Admission: £12.30 5-word summary: 500 years of royal magnificence Website:http://hrp.org.uk/hampton Time to set aside: a day
You've probably never considered visiting Hampton Court during the winter months. The gardens aren't at their best in February, the renowned flower show is still months away and the palace isn't centrally heated throughout. But this might just be the best time to visit, mercifully free from packs of tourists and staircase-blocking coach parties. Plus there's absolutely tons to see, far more than you probably expect, and it's not all bluff Tudor monarchs and armoured codpieces. Hampton Court wasn't originally a royal palace, not until Henry VIII confiscated it from his disgraced archbishop Thomas Wolsey in 1528. But over the last five centuries it's been repeatedly embellished, extended and rebuilt, so that the palace now comprises several different architectural styles. It certainly has a turreted chimneypot skyline like no other [photo].
Most visitors start their exploration of the palace from the central Clock Court[photo], maybe meeting up with a costumed guide, or else following one of the many audio-wand walks around the building. One of the oldest surviving parts of the palace is close by - the Tudor Kitchens. This mass catering establishment has been recreated for today's visitors as if preparing for a genuine 16th century banquet. The roast boar and savoury pies cooked here would have been served in the Great Hall upstairs, and gobbled down beneath the richly decorated hammer-beam roof. Nextdoor are Henry VIII's state apartments (or at least those which Sir Christopher Wren left alone when modernising the rest of the building a couple of centuries later). Palace guides enjoy leading hapless visitors through the gallery supposedly haunted by Henry's headless Wife-number-5, and this is also where the famous oil painting of The Field of the Cloth of Gold is hung. Close by is the magnificent Chapel Royal, where Henry married his last wife and baptised his only son, and which is still used for regular Sunday services to this day.
And that's only a small part of what there is to see. The southern and eastern sides of the palace, around the Fountain Court and cloisters, house the state apartments of King William III and his wife Queen Mary. You know the sort of thing - chains of vast rooms and long galleries packed with panelled walls, stern-looking portraits, giant tapestries and ornate 4-poster beds, all set out beneath impossibly ornate roofs. And, if you're willing to climb up several rear staircases to reach them, you might be able to take a look inside one of the old grace and favour apartments on the upper floors, close to the seat of the 1986 fire which devastated several of the historic rooms beneath (now restored).
Don't rest yet, there's still loads to see outside. There's Capability Brown's Great Vine for a start, not especially impressive in winter but still the oldest productive vine in the world [photo]. Inside the Lower Orangery are nine priceless (but overlooked) Italian Renaissance canvases depicting the Triumphs of Caesar (I suspect the security guard stationed in here gets very lonely). Round the corner is the famous Royal Tennis Court - a wooden chamber where Henry VIII used to play, and the oldest surviving tennis court anywhere in the world [photo]. And then there are the gardens[photo], acres and acres of them, beautifully laid out in a variety of imposing formal styles. Some lead down to the Thames, others run alongside an artificial channel through the grounds. Look east into the Home Park (above the heads of the swans on the Long Water) and you can just make out the Golden Jubilee Fountains shooting water 100 feet into the air some three quarters of a mile away.
The infamous Hampton Court Maze is located in the northern part of the palace grounds. This was Britain's first hedge maze, planted as long ago as 1690, and crams half a mile of paths into a third of an acre. The labyrinth is considerably more complicated than the sign pictured here suggests, although not so complex that you need fear getting trapped inside forever. Study the map by the entrance as much as you like - it won't help you much once you get disoriented inside. The sanctuary of the centre never seems too far away when viewed through a patchy yew hedge, but selecting the correct route at each junction is far harder than you might expect [photo].
Expect to have to fight your way past yelping children and scattered families, and maybe enjoy directing them down one of the dead ends just for a laugh. Listen out too for a permanent audio art installation called "Trace" which has been embedded around the maze, playing various enigmatic sound effects as you pass by. Just try not to be too disappointed when you finally reach the centre only to discover a few occupied benches, a big tree and far too many over-pleased mummies with pushchairs. It's much easier to get out, thankfully, through a simple exit gate back into the surrounding gardens. You might be ready to go home at this point, but I bet you still won't have seen everything this a-maze-ing palace has to offer. [sorry, I couldn't resist it] by train: Hampton Courtby bus: 111, 216, 411
The Ultimate journey of life, the universe and everything
London's ultimate bus journey of life, the universe and everything begins in Worship Street, just to the north of Liverpool Street station. This lowly sideroad marks the precise boundary between the wealthy City of London and the rather needier borough of Hackney. On the rich side is one of London's biggest building sites, upon which the 35 storey Broadgate Tower is being constructed. At the moment all you can see is a giant concrete shell surrounded by cranes, looming down over the railway tracks buried beneath, but when finished next year it'll be the third tallest building in the City, visible for miles around as a shiny glassy spike. The first number 42 bus stop is sited, more appropriately, on the poor side of the street. Here, outside a walled-off 5-a-side-football centre, stands a lonely bus shelter where almost nobody ever waits. I was the exception. The driver gave me a very strange look as I boarded, as if somehow unprepared for company so early in the route. And so we set off somewhat uncomfortably, across the girder-topped rail bridge, turning right into prosperity.
And then what should be the true highlight of the journey - the crossing of Tower Bridge. Unfortunately the worst place to view the bridge is from a passing single decker bus. You get a decent side view of the Tower itself as you go by, but alas the gothic towers of the Victorian bridge are completely hidden behind the vehicle's broad red roof. Your only hope of seeing Tower Bridge properly is if the central piers have been raised to let through some tall ship, in which case the 42 is diverted over neighbouring London Bridge from where the riverside panorama is rather more impressive.
The Aylesbury Estate is one of the largest housing estates in Europe, and also one of the poorest. The 42 heads straight through the middle, down a bleak concrete canyon lined by long narrow blocks of flats. A decade ago Tony Blair came to this run-down social backwater to make his first speech as Prime Minister. He pledged to fight for a brighter future, for Britain as a whole and the Aylesbury in particular. But that fresh start is hard to spot today. A few colourful backlit signs have been erected bearing uplifting messages ("Do Magic!" "Nobody Is Not Loved!" "Yeah Yeah Yippee Yippee Yeah!") but very few of the original blocks and walkways have yet been torn down to be replaced by something better. The area is very badly connected, shunned by every railway line in south London, and the 42 provides one of the few lifelines for escape.
The 42 turns left and drops down into a valley of slightly twee cottages. This is Sunray Avenue, at the junction with Casino Avenue, where this service terminates. I was ejected into an environment unlike any other along the journey, if only for its wholesome ordinariness. Three lads alighting in front of me decided to ride down the street in a discarded supermarket trolley before abandoning it in the gutter, blocking the path of the departing bus. A pit bull with a large stick in its mouth padded slowly home along the pavement in front of its ageing owner. It started raining, quite heavily. As I headed rapidly for the nearest bus shelter I wondered what my ride on the 42 had taught me about life, the universe and everything. Nothing special, I guess. Mostly harmless.
When a birthday comes around, thoughts often turn either to fun, excitement and frivolity or instead to destiny, opportunity and mortality. This year however, at the age of 42, I find myself pondering on the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything. I'm in deep thought, I am.
I am the first person off the platform. I am the Underground expert. I always travel in exactly the right carriage, beside exactly the right door, to leap off the train at exactly the right point. I lead the commuter charge off the platform and up the staircase. I know there are scores of passengers pouring off the train behind me, but I never look back, never give them any advantage. The passageway ahead of me is clear. The passageway ahead is mine. I am the King of the Tube.
geezer stays in...
geezer goes out... to Three Mills for a British Waterways Open Day
With Olympic construction due to begin next year, a heck of a lot of building materials need to be delivered to the Lower Lea Valley in the run up to 2012. They could be driven in by road, but a far more environmentally-friendly solution would be to ship them in by boat. And so British Waterways are to build a brand new lock on the Bow Back Rivers, just south of the Olympic Park, with the aim of removing 1000 lorry journeys a week from the streets. The exact location of the lock is the Prescott Channel [photo], a quarter-mile navigation around the back of the Three Mills film studios. Don't worry, it's not named after our esteemed Deputy Prime Minister, just in honour of one of the men who had this cut-through constructed in the 1930s. The Prescott Channel is a quiet waterway - off the beaten track and rarely visited - and yet it's still somewhere you probably know very well. Because it's across this river, during the summers of 2000 and 2001, that Big Brother contestants were led to the studio following their eviction from the House. Because this is Davina's Bridge [photo].
Channel 4 built the first Big Brother house in a field on the eastern side of the Prescott Channel [photo]. But producers weren't convinced that the show would be a hit and only had planning permission for two years, after which Newham Council insisted that the house be pulled down and the site returned to a natural habitat. Five years later not a trace remains, just a locked-off patch of green wasteland [photo]. Peering through the gate it's hard to imagine that this is where Nasty Nick was unmasked, where Vanessa Feltz went slowly mad and where Marjorie the chicken pecked her way to fame. But the bridge [photo] is still there. The same bridge across which evictees ran the gauntlet of the press, and behind which fireworks erupted as Craig and Brian crossed to victory. But the bridge won't be there for much longer.
To ensure that Prescott Lock is in place before Olympic construction begins, the old bridge has to go. It'll be replaced, fractionally further upriver by a state-of-the-art tidal barrier, complete with sluice gates, fish ladder and pedestrian walkway. The new lock gates will be big enough to accommodate two 350 tonne barges, enabling building materials to sail up the Lea from the Thames into the heart of the Olympic redevelopment zone. There's also every expectation that a green transport network can be established as the regeneration of the valley continues. It'll then be possible to move waste and recyclables up and down the river by barge, rather than them continuing to be dumped into the water by couldn't-care-less local industries. As those responsible for the development delighted in telling me yesterday, the lock should have a sustainable future well beyond the closing ceremony of the 2012 Games.
Construction on the new lock begins in a few weeks time, which means the closure of even more local waterside pathways (this time for an 18 month period). Three different footpaths meet at the bridge and each will shortly be sealed off for security reasons. One heads north to Three Mills Green, and another west along a puddle-strewn track round to Three Mills itself [photo]. But the most charming of the three is the eastern footpath along the Channelsea River towards the Greenway. The water below may be a nasty shade of brown, the view across the river may be of a forest of gas cylinders and the land opposite may be the site of an old cyanide factory, but it's a lovely walk [photo]. Nesting moorhens waddle across the tidal mudflats, and catkins hang low from trees above the riverbank. You can walk along this path and not see a soul, save for scores of passengers peering from the windows of passing District line trains wondering what the hell you're up to [photo]. Before long, however, watching from the train is going to be the only way to keep track of how the construction of Prescott Lock is going. But British Waterways are certain that, once complete, it will kickstart the renaissance of this sub-Olympic corner of the Lower Lea Valley. Let's hope the future round here is green, and not brown.
Once inside there was a lot to see. Several bits of trains are lined up in the main body of the warehouse, from old Metropolitan milk wagons to prototype Crossrail carriages. You're only allowed inside a couple of them, which gave several parents a chance to show their precocious offspring the semi-luxurious conditions in which they used to travel. A number of old buses have been crammed in along one side. Nothing too modern, you'll be glad to hear. Proper buses (some red, others green) with friendly drivers and conductors, and comfy seats, and route information on the front blinds. unlike many of the visitors I didn't remember any of the trams and trolleybuses, but some of the 60s and 70s vehicles looked nostalgically familiar.
Aww, did you see it? One bold bright full moon in a cloudless sky, slowly nibbled away and fading to red? I watched the first silver sliver disappearing high above the Blackwall Tunnel Approach Road. I observed a twin-horned crescent shining ominously between the towers of Canary Wharf. I saw the shadowy disc fading fast while stood on a deserted bridge in the middle of the Thames. I stared wistfully at the eclipsed copper moon hanging high above the nightclub car park. And then I went inside and missed all the rest of the lightshow. But it was great, wasn't it?
The Count 2007
I SPY LONDON
You've probably never considered visiting Hampton Court during the winter months. The gardens aren't at their best in February, the renowned flower show is still months away and the palace isn't centrally heated throughout. But this might just be the best time to visit, mercifully free from packs of tourists and staircase-blocking coach parties. Plus there's absolutely tons to see, far more than you probably expect, and it's not all bluff Tudor monarchs and armoured codpieces. Hampton Court wasn't originally a royal palace, not until Henry VIII confiscated it from his disgraced archbishop Thomas Wolsey in 1528. But over the last five centuries it's been repeatedly embellished, extended and rebuilt, so that the palace now comprises several different architectural styles. It certainly has a turreted chimneypot skyline like no other [photo].
Most visitors start their exploration of the palace from the central Clock Court [photo], maybe meeting up with a costumed guide, or else following one of the many audio-wand walks around the building. One of the oldest surviving parts of the palace is close by - the Tudor Kitchens. This mass catering establishment has been recreated for today's visitors as if preparing for a genuine 16th century banquet. The roast boar and savoury pies cooked here would have been served in the Great Hall upstairs, and gobbled down beneath the richly decorated hammer-beam roof. Nextdoor are Henry VIII's state apartments (or at least those which Sir Christopher Wren left alone when modernising the rest of the building a couple of centuries later). Palace guides enjoy leading hapless visitors through the gallery supposedly haunted by Henry's headless Wife-number-5, and this is also where the famous oil painting of The Field of the Cloth of Gold is hung. Close by is the magnificent Chapel Royal, where Henry married his last wife and baptised his only son, and which is still used for regular Sunday services to this day.
The infamous Hampton Court Maze is located in the northern part of the palace grounds. This was Britain's first hedge maze, planted as long ago as 1690, and crams half a mile of paths into a third of an acre. The labyrinth is considerably more complicated than the sign pictured here suggests, although not so complex that you need fear getting trapped inside forever. Study the map by the entrance as much as you like - it won't help you much once you get disoriented inside. The sanctuary of the centre never seems too far away when viewed through a patchy yew hedge, but selecting the correct route at each junction is far harder than you might expect [photo].
London's ultimate bus journey of life, the universe and everything begins in 
The 
The 42 turns left and drops down into a valley of slightly twee cottages. This is 
I am the first person off the platform. I am the Underground expert. I always travel in exactly the right carriage, beside exactly the right door, to leap off the train at exactly the right point. I lead the commuter charge off the platform and up the staircase. I know there are scores of passengers pouring off the train behind me, but I never look back, never give them any advantage. The passageway ahead of me is clear. The passageway ahead is mine. I am the King of the Tube.
To ensure that Prescott Lock is in place before Olympic construction begins, the old bridge has to go. It'll be replaced, fractionally further upriver by a 
I SPY LONDON
