Somewhere historic: Wanstead Park One of the grandest houses ever seen in Britain was built in Wanstead in the early 18th century. Wanstead House was a pioneer of Palladian style, with mighty Corinthian pillars and a 200ft-long frontage. The gardens were landscaped with tree-lined avenues and ornamental waterways, creating a spectacular Versailles-like estate. A mixture of Blenheim Palace and Hampton Court, if you like, and much favoured by the nobles and gentry of the Georgian era. So why have you never heard of Wanstead House, let alone visited? Because it's been completely demolished, that's why, leaving only the surrounding parkland as evidence of magnificence lost. And the tale of its disappearance is worthy of a modern day soap opera.
Wanstead once had a Tudor manor, snapped up in 1667 by the extremely rich Governor of the East India Company, Sir Josiah Child. He was succeeded by his son Richard who knocked down the old house and built an ostentatious replacement, in a successful attempt to improve his social standing. Anyone who was anyone came to Wanstead to admire, to socialise and to marvel. So far so good. In 1750 the house passed to Richard's grandson John - a dapper individual with a love of fine art. John never married (they didn't allow civil partnerships in those days) so the estate was eventually inherited by an unsuspecting nephew. And when his son died at the tragically early age of 10, Wanstead Park ended up in the possession of teenage heiress Catherine. Poor Catherine. She was courted by many men, but in the end discarded the portly Duke of Clarence in favour of raffish young William Pole-Wellesley. As mistakes go, this was a monumental biggie. The Duke went on to become King, and William turned out to be a womanising gambler with venereal disease and an irresponsible lifestyle. 10 years later, in 1822, William's creditors forced the sale of Wanstead House and all of its contents in an attempt to pay back a quarter of a million pounds of debt. But the house, alas, failed to attract any bids whatsoever and so was demolished and sold off piecemeal, brick by brick. Catherine died soon afterwards, tragically young, while her miserable husband lived into old age to wreck several more lives. Roll credits.
Wander around the vast acreage of WansteadPark today, through the bluebell woods or across gorse-blown heathland, and only a few clues remain to its splendid past. That series of umpteen artificial ornamental lakes for a start, they don't look very municipal. And that crumbling stone grotto by the water's edge, it could only have been built on the orders of an 18th century aristocrat with a sense of the theatrical. And that low pillared building on a grassy mound at the end of a long chestnut avenue, it looks far more like a classical temple than a tea hut.
Yes, it's a 'temple', and I was delighted to discover this folly open to the public (behind the scaffolding) when I arrived on Saturday. The park is now maintained and run by the City of London, and two of their finest volunteers were in duty to show me (and a handful of other visitors) around inside. The place is run as a small museum which tells the story of Wanstead Park, and there's no shortage of interesting exhibits. Old maps, information panels, rescued statues, and even the sales catalogue from the 1822 auction. There's also a cabinet full of Roman remains, dug up on site centuries ago when the tree-lined avenues were being laid. Oh yes, there must have been a Roman villa somewhere in the grounds once, but its precise location has long been lost. The extremely enthusiastic guide told me everything I needed to know about the house's history, and more, and I know she'd be glad to welcome you too. Really, this fascinating park ought to be seen and enjoyed by far more than an audience of local dog walkers. by tube: Wanstead
Somewhere random: the Wanstead Golden Jubilee Walk Every time I visit a random borough, I like to go on a proper walk described on a local website. So, to celebrate the Queen's visit to Wanstead in 2002, I found myself strolling along and around Wanstead High Street. I didn't quite follow the correct route, and I walked a bit further than they intended, but ooh, what a lot there was to see. No really.
• When you reach St Mary's Church enter the grounds by a small gate: A most impressive Georgian pile, the only Grade 1 listed building in Redbridge, and which looks like it'd be more at home just off Regent Street. Look, there's a sentry box in the graveyard once used to guard against body snatchers. • This Green is a lovely reminder of Wanstead's rural past: Indeed it is, but it's all an illusion. The A12 dual carriageway was carved straight through the middle of Wanstead in the late 1990s, like a concrete scar. But for a few hundred metres it's been hidden in a tunnel, directly underneath the village green, and you'd never realise what a complete mess the road made everywhere else. • 'The George' pub:Rather bigger than your average pub, built on the site of an old coaching inn. Most notable is the a stone plaque on the front wall commemorating the theft of a cherry pie by a scaffolder working at the pub in 1752 (and his fine of a shilling and a half). Maybe today's petty criminals should be shamed in the same way, eh, eh? • At the junction with Grove Park is 'The Corner House': Built by a Dr Corner in 1890, and with intricate astronomical etchings in the cement. A plaque by the door commemorates James Bradley, former curate of this parish and later the Astronomer Royal. The whole building is currently sealed off by metal shutters to keep out squatters. • Christ Church, built in 1861: It's a Gilbert Scott, you know. Proper gothic. • On your left is the Wanstead United Reformed Church: You'd never guess, but this church used to be where St Pancras station now stands. And when the Barlow Train Shed took precedence, they rebuilt the entire church here in Wanstead. Near some Art Deco flats. • In Wanstead High Street: What a charmingcivilisedshoppingstreet this is. Heads 'N' Tails Pet and Garden supplies (bedding plants £1.20). AG Dennis Ltd Family Butcher (a proper jolly flesh dealer). Judith of Wanstead (she sells suburban ladies clothes to suburban ladies). And horsfall and wright (my favourite shop, packed with quirky designs, but alas the website's crap). • Snaresbrook Crown Court: This gothic temple to justice (another Gilbert Scott) is no doubt much better viewed from the outside (across the giant duckpond) than from the inside. by tube: Wanstead by bus: 66, 101, 145, 308, W12, W13, W14
You're probably not 100% certain where Redbridge is, are you? It's not got a terribly memorable name, and this isn't helped by it being named after a red brick bridge which was knocked down in 1921. The anonymous borough of Redbridge lurks on the edge of northeast London, consisting of Ilford, the M11 corridor and vast swathes of mid 20th century suburban estates. This is affordable London, home to thousands of very ordinary families, and not in any way on the tourist trail. I was quite worried that there wouldn't be enough out here to report back on, but in the end I was very pleasantly surprised.
Somewhere to begin: Redbridge Museum
Yes, even Redbridge has its own museum. It's spread over a couple of floors in Ilford Library, just off the main shopping street so that most blinkered consumers would never find it. The building is cursed by automatic doors that swish open rather prematurely, as if to draw your attention to the goodies beyond. And what do you know, there's plenty of Redbridge history for the museum to boast about. The main gallery contains a variety of themed exhibits, from the usual archaeological finds to the more recent industrial and social history of the area. Burial and supermarkets are unexpectedly popular themes. In the 1860s the complete skull of a woollymammoth was uncovered beneath what is now Boots the Chemist, buried here when Ilford was just temperate grassland. And the famous Ilford photographic company started up in the town in the 1870s, but the business moved on 100 years later and a superstore has since been built on the original factory site. The museum clearly has an eye on the primary school trip audience, but everything's extremely well presented. Meanwhile in the first floor gallery they've just kicked off a special exhibition devoted to Suffragette and campaigning feminist Sylvia Pankhurst who used to live in Woodford (and also in Bow, so I was especially interested). Well done Redbridge, more people deserve to hear of you. by train: Ilford by bus: 25 (and many more)
Somewhere pretty: The Hainault Loop See that big orange loop at the eastern end of the Central line? That's Redbridge, that is. Apart from the three really quiet stations at the top which are in Essex, so I didn't have an excuse to alight at Roding Valley, Chigwell or Grange Hill. But I visited all the others, and a few of them are very special indeed. This end of the Central line opened in the late 1940s, delayed somewhat by munitions factories being operated in the tunnels during WWII. Many of the stations were converted from LNER operation, and still retain a period charm not entirely wrecked by Metronet. White wooden canopies, well-worn solid benches and decorative ironwork - all a million miles away from the modern brutality of certain central London stations. Fairlop [photo] is like a rural halt in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Barkingside [photo] has a footbridge from which you can watch half the action at the non-league club nextdoor. Redbridge [photo] is more of a subterranean cavern with central tiled pillars, reminiscent of something Eastern European. But the finest examples of postwar architecture lie inbetween.
There's very little sign of Gants Hill station above the surface, just a large roundabout in the middle of the A12 with five brightly tiled subways leading down into the depths. Pass down into the ticket hall and descend the escalators, and then wow! The central lobby ahead has a mighty arched ceiling, with passageways to either side between tiled pillars leading to the two platforms [photo]. Everything is cream and shiny, even the floor, and the tiles are topped off with light orange trim. And down the centre of this cathedral-like space are three sets of paired uplighters, tall and thin like massive brown goblets. They rise up from a series of marble islands, each with a chunky wooden bench at its heart. Is this an insignificant London suburb or is this an important station on the Moscow underground? The platforms may not be sensational [photo], but they still have a sense of architectural haughtiness. Maybe it's the special London Transport clock, with roundels for digits and another roundel for a hand. Waiting for a train here is no hardship.
At Newbury Park the impressive feature is outside the station, not down on the unremarkable platforms. Exit from the ticket hall along a long brick corridor and you emerge into a bus station like no other. This interchange building, with its long barrel-vaulted roof topped with copper, makes a mighty modernist statement [photo]. It's as if someone's sliced a hollow cylinder in half to create a giant concrete insect with a green back and slender curving legs. Inside, beneath the airy canopy, equally-spaced wall-mounted lamps are shielded by thin metal fins [photo]. And down on the ground just one single bus stop serving a mere three single-decker routes, with infrequent service, in one direction only. A most ambitious project, but whose potential was never fully realised in its locality before the building money ran out. At least Oliver Hill's design won a special architectural award during the Festival of Britain, even if the plaque now has a crack across it. It's well worth getting a ticket to Zone 4 just to take a look. by tube: Gants Hill, Newbury Park by bus: 66, 296, 396
Random borough (17): Woohoo, halfway at last! 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 17 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, Haringey, Hounslow or Brent because they're the sixteen (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already.
My haphazard capital odyssey has so far taken four years, and isn't due to be completed until 2012. I may now be halfway through my quest but (unbelievably) the whole of East London is still up for grabs. There are a few stragglers in southwest London, and there's also a ring of untouched boroughs surrounding Brent, but that's all. Which of these leftovers will be my halfway house? 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...
fivelinks • See London mapped by ethnicity, deprivation, crime, health (and more) at the utterly brilliant London Profiler. [yup, I though I lived in an area like *that*] • Ari and Ellie's Exactitudes is a photographic collection of global fashion tribes. [currently being exhibited inSelfridges] [but not for long] • The latest addition to my blogroll is East London's Sajarina. [of special local interest to those of you around Stratford and Newham] • Ooh lovely. The Letter is an online catalogue of great design ideas collated by Blair in Glasgow. [mmmm, beard alphabet; mmm, Lego mp3 player; hmm, furry fornication] • If you've ever wondered how and why London's buses got their route numbers, Red-RF can tell you. [1-199 were originally Central Area double-deck routes, etc, etc]
My kitchen and bathroom both suffer from an extreme case of windowlessness. No natural light ever pierces these dark recesses of my flat, neither does the soft spring breeze ever waft gently through their becalmed atmosphere. Both rooms therefore have an extractor fan fitted, in compliance with official building regulations. And I have both extractor fans permanently switched off. Tell me, is this wrong?
Every year my landlord sends round the "gas safety check" man, while I'm out, to check whether my boiler is about to kill me. Four years ago this workman took it upon himself to fit a new extractor fan in my kitchen, replacing the original which had stopped working. I discovered this when I returned home, switched on the kitchen light and heard a loud whirring above my head. I switched off the kitchen light but the whirring continued. And continued. And continued to continue. Half an hour later it was still continuing, and only after 45 minutes did it finally splutter out. Hmm, I thought, this can't be right. So I experimented again, and again the automatic suction drone took 45 minutes to terminate. So I switched off the extractor fan and its protracted delay timer, and have continued to use my kitchen in an unventilated manner ever since.
I don't want the racket of an extractor fan forever interrupting my peace and quiet. I don't want a low buzzing noise burbling away beneath every CD or mp3 I play. I don't want to waste money on 44 pointless minutes of electricity every time I walk out of my kitchen. I don't want to lie in the bath straining to hear the radio above the spinning fan grinding away above my head. And I don't want to lie awake in bed every night wishing I hadn't popped into the kitchen just before bedtime and waiting for the hurricane to cease. I don't have a hot and steamy flat, I don't suffer from condensation and my morning bath is never plagued by clouds of rampant moisture. So both extractor fans stay firmly out of action*. * unless I have something bubbling ferociously on the stove, in which case I switch the fan on and off manually.
This week the "gas safety check" man came round again. Pre-warned, I left him a note complaining that the extractor fan in the kitchen droned on for far too long, and could he shorten its automatically-determined duration. Mistake. I returned home, switched on the light in the kitchen and was greeted again by the sound of my extractor nemesis. At the bottom of my note the engineer had scribbled a sarky reply in semi-legible block capitals. "THE VENT NEEDS TO BE LEFT ON". And on my official gas safety certificate, under the heading Give Details Of Any Faults, he'd written "LEAVE THE VENT ON". Patronising jobsworth bastard. I switched the vent off again, permanently, and continued with my unextracted ways. Tell me, was I wrong?
I cannot work out why it's apparently so essential to have a functioning automatic light-switch-based extractor fan with a 45 minute time delay in my kitchen. OK, so I have a gas boiler in there, but its operation is in no way connected to whether I've turned my kitchen light on or not. If my boiler decides to leak and render me unconscious overnight, no illumination-related vent will save my life. As for my gas oven, admittedly I tend never to use it in the dark. But 95% of the time I go into the kitchen I'm not using anything gas-operated at all. Why do I need the fan running every single bloody time I fancy a slice of toast or a bowl of cereal or a glass of water. I wouldn't mind quite so much if it switched off after half a minute, but three quarters of an hour is just taking the piss. I'm not wrong. Am I?
: Today's the day! Early this afternoon, somewhere between lunchtime and teatime, diamond geezer will receive its millionth visitor. Actually that's not quite true, it'll just be the millionth time that a slightly ropey stats package has registered a unique visit, which isn't the same thing at all. But, woo, one million visits is not to be sniffed at! It's the equivalent of the entire population of Birmingham reading my blog once. And it's taken precisely five and a half years to reach the magic million. On average, that's three packed bendy-busfuls of readers every day.
What's quite interesting, to me at least, is to consider how and why all these visitors have arrived here:
• 20% of my visitors arrived here via a search engine. Most of these poor deluded souls no doubt clicked here expecting that my site would yield the answer to some esoteric query, only to be disappointed by what they didn't find. I therefore shouldn't really count these two hundred thousand as true visitors - they arrived here under false pretences. • 35% of my visitors arrived here via another website. That's a third of a million arrivals via someone's else's blogroll, or because something I wrote got mentioned somewhere. I have no idea how many of these people ever came back again. But every click-through is appreciated. • Just under half of my visitors arrived here direct, without clicking through from a search engine or any other website. Which is nice, because it suggests that nearly half a million visits have been deliberate.
Let's explore that second category in a bit more depth. It's time once again for an update of my regular 'league table' of top linking blogs, ordered by volume of visitors clicking here from there. I've also included the 'highest climbers' since my last update (at ¾million) back in June. Thank you all for linking. Go on, go check out a few of the following and return the favour...
There's a real mix of different types of referrer in that list. There are huge blogs with readerships far larger than mine, who mention me occasionally and send scores of clickers gushing through. There are smaller blogs with a tiny 'diamond geezer' link nestling in the blogroll, directing a few passing clickers here every week or perhaps used daily by the blog's owner. And there are dead and dysfunctional blogs, which used to direct people here in large numbers but have since gone to the great 404 error in the sky. It all adds up.
And things are always evolving, as a bit of mouse-over will reveal. Top 10 of the last 12 months: 12345678910
Plus now there's RSS. Hundreds of you now read this blog without ever visiting it, which makes a mockery of attempting to count visitor numbers anyway. I probably passed the million several months ago, but just didn't realise it. Never mind the inexactitude. I don't mind where you come from, I'm just well chuffed that you bother. Hello and thanks to all of you. And here's to the next million...
I always try to keep my laptop running as smoothly as possible. I don't like having lots of unnecessary simultaneous programs up and running, and I try to avoid excessive software multi-tasking. I may want lots of browser windows open, but I don't want three different media players and two streaming torrents battling away in the background. So I'm always particularly annoyed when some multinational software giant insists that its programs are so important that I really must run them anyway, even if I don't want to. And the two worst offenders are both complete A***es.
iTunesHelper.exe: I need iTunes on my computer. I wouldn't be able to upload music and listen to it on the Central line otherwise. But I like to be able to choose when I need iTunes, and I don't want Apple deciding for me. Ah, the evil Quick Time update. Capitulate to its persistent charms and it'll download all sorts of sneaky little preferences onto your machine, whether you want them or not. And I don't want iTunesHelper.exe either. This little demon loads at startup, slowing down my logon <taps fingers>. And all these lengthy shenanigans are merely so that later on, should I want to load iTunes, iTunes loads really fast. Illusory speed later, perhaps, paid for by snail's pace loading now, definitely. It's evil, pure evil.
QTTask.exe: I don't want this one either. I don't want bloody Quick Time access from my system tray, because I don't feel the need to use Apple's foisted software quite so often as they think I ought. I don't want them hijacking all my defaults, and I don't want them checking for updates automatically. What I do want is the option to turn them off on startup, and they don't offer me that. This enforced opt-in is despicable corporate arrogance, and it stinks.
No, it's OK, I have managed to turn both of the above off. I downloaded the very wonderful Startup Inspector program, which checks everything that's loaded on my startup menu (even the secret stuff) and offers me the possibility to disable it. So I've disabled them both. Yah boo sucks to you, Apple.
AppleMobileDeviceService.exe: But I can't turn this one off. Piggybacked onto a Quick Time update, this miserable program kicks in at startup and lies dormant waiting for me to plug in my iPhone. It matters not to Apple that I don't own an iPhone, because this bastardware keeps checking just in case. And if I delve into the heart of the machine and stop the process running, it resurrects itself a few seconds later and sits there smugly in the background once again. Thanks Apple for putting another process on my computer for no reason. Trust me, I will never own an iPhone, especially if this is how you treat your users.
Adobe Acrobat Reader: P. D. F. Three letters to burn fear into the heart of any non-optimal home computer user. Especially the scary phrase "this document is available as a pdf". I know, if I clink on the link, that I'll have time to go and make a cup of tea before Adobe's bloated software loads. Acrobat insists on installing a variety of unnecessary plug-ins, just in case the document I'm loading should be in Icelandic or require animated gif management or something. Er, no, it's just a simple white page with black text, but all these plug-ins upload anyway. Please, make it stop.
Updater: What's this folder doing in my "My Documents" folder? Updater's always empty, but it's always there. Even if I delete it, Adobe puts it back again. I've deleted it <checks Recycle Bin> at least 100 times by now, but it still keeps coming back, empty. Please Adobe, learn to install your gubbins without making a mess in public.
See also... Quick Time Picture Viewer: I don't need yet another photo-viewer thanks, I have enough already. But this program insists on adding itself to every picture-related drop-down menu. Go away. Go away please. LastFMHelper.exe: Sigh. I don't want you to load LastFM every time I load iTunes. I don't need your memory-hogging box of tricks telling me unnecessary facts I already know about every song I play. Stop wasting my bandwidth. Ah, how I long for the golden days of the ever-so simple unobtrusive iScrobbler. etc etc: You probably have more limpetware on your machine. Who will rid us of this turbulent software?
After the chaotic scenes in town over the weekend, echoed in Paris yesterday, the thought must have crossed your mind too. London really can't risk hosting a Torch Relay in four years time. Not on the same global scale as the latest Chinese fiasco. Imagine the damage to our tourist brand collateral if foreign TV viewers started to link British holidays with civil unrest and being hit by batons. Prime Minister Cameron's reputation would never recover from another Torch Relay like this. So we've knocked together a few lower profile alternatives. See what you think. No rush.
Option 1) The Free Tibet Olympic Torch Relay: We run the torch around just one country - Tibet - to make up for all the embarrassment we caused last time. Advantages: The scenery's very nice. Will need to pack oxygen tablets.
Option 2) The Olympic Torch Motorcade: We send all our policemen over to the groves of Olympus in their woo-woo vans, pick up the flame and whizz back along the autobahns really really fast with all lights blazing. Advantages: Over very quickly. Worked well on Sunday.
Option 3) The Green Olympic Torch Relay: It's completely unsustainable to tour the planet by plane whilst burning fossil fuels from a big torch, so let's try it the environmentally friendly way instead. We'll get a six year-old to draw a picture of a flame in orange crayon on a sheet of recycled paper, and then post it round the world by surface mail. Or tied to the leg of a pigeon. Advantages: We could run this as a Blue Peter competition.
Option 4) The Online Olympic Flame: Let's film fifty riot police having fun with a burning torch, then stick the footage on YouTube and see if we can get ten million global web users to view it. Advantages: We could disguise the weblink as a Rick Astley video, that usually works.
Option 5) Ye Olde Olympic Torch Relaye: We could keep costs to a minimum by thinking nationally, not globally. Scale things down so that the torch only tours Britain. Especially all the places up north who don't think they're going to see any benefits from the Games. We could even employ local jobless people as torchbearers. Advantages: It's how Olympic Torch Relays used to be done. It's heritage.
Option 6) The Olympic Backpacker Gap Year: Find an MP with college-age offspring and get them to carry the flame around the world in their rucksack. Maybe use a chain of lighted spliffs to circle the world. Advantages: We can probably get this trip paid for on expenses.
Option 7) The Morally Upright Olympic Torch Relay: We run the torch through all the nations of the world with an unblemished human rights record. Advantages: Current estimates suggest that'd just be Wales.
Option 8) The Olympic Nuclear Option: Rather than visiting scores of other countries with the Olympic torch, one by one, we could save a lot time by simultaneously firing a nuclear missile at each one. Mmm, watch the flames burn. Advantages: Unless we use them soon, all our Trident missiles will soon be past their sell-by date.
Option 9) Le Relay du Torche Olympique: We do France. We take the torch round every last ville, village and rue. Touring the country by bike would be just fantastique. Advantages: 2012, ce n'est pas votre année.
Option 10) The El Cheapo Option: Tell you what Seb, I'll buy a cigarette lighter and I'll see you at the Olympic cauldron on 27th July 2012. Don't be late.
Beijing Olympic Torch Relay 2008 Stop 4: London Light the passion, share the dream
Light the passion? Well they got that right. As for sharing the dream, it was more of a nightmare to be honest. Fiery protests, Tibetan temperatures, dodgy scheduling, blatant marketing and rampantsecurity. I think there were some sporting ideals lost in the middle too. Still, I bet an awful lot of police officers got an awful lot of overtime. Here are four snapshots from along the way.
British Museum (12 noon) There were masses of pro-Tibet protesters at the British Museum. Just up the road to be precise, in Bloomsbury Square, safely corralled up a side street so that they could shout at the passing parade from behind a helmeted cordon without getting in the way. Probably a thousand or so angry individuals, waving Tibetan flags and yelling slogans at any official vehicle with the temerity to sweep by. The Coca Cola bus got it in the neck first. "Stop the torture!" And then the grinning Samsung girls gyrating on the back of a lorry. "Stop the killing!" There followed a long noisy pause before the official Olympic double decker crawled into view. "Shame on China! Free Tibet!" The torch waited patiently, somewhere inside the bus, before crawling forward in front of the growling mob. Flags fluttered and balloons bobbed, while the chorus of angry voices grew ever louder. Many of these belonged to Tibetans themselves, or to a sincere throng of woolly-hat wearers and Guardian readers. The bloke in front of me began booing anything and everything that passed. It was when he started deliberately booing a group of Chinese athletes that I started to feel distinctly uncomfortable. There's a thin line between rightful protest and naked racism, and I feared he'd crossed it. Thankfully he seemed to be in a deluded minority. I slunk off, past a Chinese protester being apprehended by the police. Doubly disappointing. When 2012 comes round, we shouldn't be surprised when the world turns round and spits back at us.
Trafalgar Square (1pm) Here's how not to hold a successful public event. Invite everyone to turn up at noon, when the main event's at one. Don't erect a stage, just get your performers to dance around at ground level so that only a select few on the edge of the terrace can see what's going on. Pick a bloody cold day, preferably with snow, and then waste money by adding blue tickertape snow of your own. Get a white-haired ITN newscaster to wield the torch, then hide him inside a crowd of jogging minders so that onlookers are shielded from the one thing they've come to see. Watch the faces of the native Chinese community who are here to feel proud, and see their disappointment. And fill the square with branded advertising collateral, and attempt to hand it out to innocent spectators by pretending it's nothing more than a balloon or a flag. I was particularly disappointed by the flags. On the front a small "Beijing 2008" logo overshadowed by the big blue blob of the Korean "presenting partner", and on the rear a great big corporate logo on a featureless blue background. These shameless adverts were being handed out all along the route by opportunistic marketeers. I still have my unbranded 2004 torch relay flag. I recycled my 2008 flag immediately.
Somerset House (2:15pm) I thought I'd go and watch one of the set piece celebrations along the route. Not the great big multicultural spectacle on the South Bank, but the rather smaller affair inside Somerset House. I got there a bit too early, and had to stand around for half an hour in the courtyard feeling increasingly cold as yet another snow shower swirled around us. The crowd never grew too large, which we discovered later was because we'd been sealed inside behind closed iron gates. "Could you hold up the rope?" asked one of the insufficient security guards attempting to keep us well back. We declined. First into the makeshift arena, at last, came the Bollywood Brass Band. They were more Yorkshire fancy dress than Delhi realism, to be honest, but a rousing success all the same. And then 60 small schoolchildren filed out from the Seamen's Hall, jiggling up and down to keep themselves warm in the April chill. They were wearing waterproof red plastic capes, which are an essential fashion item when you're about to leap and dance amongst a courtyard filled with fountains. Unfortunately several of the children ran across the gushing jets and soaked the inside of their costume, while the lack of sleeves meant that most of their arm movements remained invisible. We loved the spectacle, however improvised the choreography, and the performers well deserved their final ovation. And finally the torch arrived, held high by a leggy blonde, hanging around for only a few seconds before continuing into the seething protests outside. But we at least, through the eyes of children, had seen the true Olympic message.
Bow Road (4pm) The good citizens of E3 appeared to have forgotten that the torch was passing through. But as four o'clock approached, and the buzz of helicopters filled the sky overhead, a few headed down to Bow Road to watch the flame go by. Many were of Chinese origin, here to watch a potent symbol from the motherland passing along their local street. The vicar was out with his camera, having set his bell ringers the task of welcoming the flame to Bow (or maybe he just pressed a button inside the tower, it was hard to be sure). And there were no protesters whatsoever, not this far out of town. What could go wrong? The road to the flyover suddenly cleared of traffic and a very large number of police motorbikes zoomed past. And a van, and another van, and the Coca Cola open-topped bus. Was the flame aboard? We didn't think so. Those grinning Samsung girls were next, keeping up their professional act as they danced for a crowd who almost certainly couldn't afford a widescreen telly like the one on the float. And then silence. Was that it?
Thankfully not. After a brief interlude of ordinary vehicles, the empty road reappeared. Yet more police outriders whizzed by, as if every motorcycle copper in the capital was having a whale of a time breaking the speed limit in 10 different boroughs in one day. And then a 4×4, and a couple of vans, and a single-decker red bus. I'd seen this procession several times before, so I knew the single-decker was just a support vehicle packed with bottles of Coke and Malvern Water. More vans followed, and the TV crew lorry, and another single-decker bus, and a luxury coach, and some more vans. Still we scanned the road for sight of any open-topped vehicle that might be carrying a beaming athlete waving a torch. None appeared, only a steady stream of very normal looking traffic. It very slowly dawned on us, with a distinctly sinking feeling, that the flame had already passed. Bugger. It must have been concealed inside one of the unflagged single-deckers, by now at least half a mile away on the road to Stratford. The vicar and I shared a look, as if to say "pah!", and walked away. Here we were, a community on the very edge of the Olympic Zone, and the authorities had sped by without acknowledging our existence or even attempting to include us as part of the celebrations. I do hope that this isn't a sign of things to come in 2012, but I fear it might be.
When researching yesterday's map of independent London bookshops, it soon became apparent that there were several independent London bookshops I'd never heard of, let alone visited. In fact they might not have existed at all. Several of them didn't have a website, and it's hard to prove that things exist without a website. So I thought I'd visit a few, just to check. I could have visited loads more, except that touring London orbitally took absolutely ages.
1) The Roundabout Bookshop: 370 Mare Street, Hackney E8 1HR What was I expecting? Hmm, a bookshop on Hackney's main shopping street. Let's say that my hopes weren't high. What did I find? A newsagent, with a few books in the window. Not best sellers, but some local interest stuff. And inside? Definitely a newsagent, and not a particularly friendly one. "This is not a library. Please do not read here." And up the back, past the counter, a few shelves filled with not terribly up-to-date books. Including a Rupert Bear annual. And a big sign saying "Closing Down Sale". I can't say I was surprised. What was the service like? Brief. What did I buy? A newspaper.
2) West End Lane Books: 277 West End Lane, West Hampstead NW6 1QS What was I expecting? Not sure. The website is mostly blank pages, and for some reason I've never visited this part of town before. What did I find? Ooh, a lovely compact bookshop, all wooden surfaces and temptingly-stocked shelves. The selection is just the right side of mainstream, with some intriguingly oblique volumes, and a nod towards books that make you think. A fair scattering of Jewish themes too. This felt a friendly place to browse and flick and peruse, and there was a definite come-back-again atmosphere. Recommended. What was the service like? Smiley and charming. What did I buy?The English Year by Steve Roud (£9.99)
3) Willesden Bookshop: Willesden Green Library Centre, 95 High Road NW10 4QU What was I expecting? A multicultural children's bookshop. That's how the website makes it sound, anyway. What did I find? A rather modern ambience, in a corner of Brent's main brick-y block-y library. Some carefully-selected bestsellers around a central table, plus several neat shelves on diverse topics. Quite a lot of worldy wise fiction, a fair amount of travel stuff, and a whole rack of spiritual, mystic and paranormal paperbacks. And the children's section lived up to expectations. What was the service like? Indifferent. What did I buy?Pies and Prejudice by Stuart Maconie (£6.99)
4) World's End Bookshop: 357 King's Road, Chelsea SW3 5ES What was I expecting? "An extensive variety of new and second hand books." Which is all that any of those spammy listings websites could tell me. What did I find? A claustrophobic second hand bookshop, not first hand in any way. Two wings, utterly rammed with piled-high old books, including plenty of ex-library stock. I had to mind where I walked, there were piles on the floor too. When I knelt down to inspect the lower shelves of British travel guides, I accidentally trapped the elderly gentleman perusing the historical books behind me. I think he escaped without knocking everything over. What was the service like? A cheerful but distant bloke sat behind the central desk, jotting down every purchase in a ruled blue ledger. I wonder if the strange poetry in the free (photocopied and tippexed) copy of "The World's End Mag" was his. I suspect so. What did I buy? London's Churches by Elizabeth & Wayland Young (£3) (ex Battersea Library, 1986)
5) My Back Pages: 8-10 Station Road, Balham SW12 9SG What was I expecting? A second hand book shop with some first hand books. What did I find? An even more crowded shop than the last one. Closely packed shelves, topped with precarious stacks, squeezed into a long thin split-level space. When other customers stopped to scan the shelves I was unable to move around. Plenty of proper old books - including those red/blue-spined hardbacks much beloved of mid 20th century publishing. And, yes, the odd new paperback scattered around in the relevant section as a tempting treat, but not many. What was the service like? The cash desk was so well screened and camouflaged that it was easy to miss. My purchase had a £6 sticker on the front cover but, as it turned out, the intended £9.95 pencilled inside. The owner charged me six quid anyway. That's my sort of shop. Let's hope it survives. What did I buy?A Guide to the Small Museums of Britain by Christine Redington (£6)
I'm trying to create a map of Londonbookshops. The independent ones (so no Waterstones or Borders/Books Etc). The non-specialist ones (so no Stanfords or Grant & Cutler). The ones that sell first-hand, not second-hand (so no Ripping Yarns or Skoob). Those small-ish friendly bookshops with knowledgeable assistants who can flog you a Richard and Judy or order you an obscure Ian McEwan. There must be more in London than I've found so far. Can you help me out? [permalink]
Wahey, the Olympic torchcomes to London this weekend. It's chugging round the capital on Sunday, following a rather more ambitious route than it did four years ago. Ah, now that was a sight. If you fancy following the flame in 2008 (with or without placard), here's my approximate guide to where to go.
10:30 Wembley: Actually, don't bother turning up here unless you're a Brent resident and you've got a ticket. The event's in Arena Square, and not inside the stadium where you might expect it to be. And could someone please teach the official Torch Relay website how to spell Harlesden? And then by bus (yes, bus) to... 11:00 Ladbroke Grove & Notting Hill: A bit of symbolic multiculturalism as a very-mini-Carnival cheers on the runners. Let's hope it isn't snowing too ferociously by now. Then some cyclists carry the torch along the top of Hyde Park (probably a good place to jump into the road and wave your pro-Tibet banner) to... 12:00 Oxford Street: Back to an open-topped bus, for the full length of this disinterested shopping street, as far as the British Museum. Let's hope the curator doesn't nick the torch and stick it on show with our other foreign booty. Then jogging athletes take over again, through Soho to 12:30 Chinatown: Obviously. With dragons. 12:50 Trafalgar Square: Probably one of the busiest spots on the run, so a good opportunity for the Torch Relay's greedysponsors to hand out advertising freebies to grinning children. Who the hell are Lenovo anyway? Then a sprint down Whitehall to 13:00 Downing Street: Gordon Brown grits his teeth and welcomes envoys from another nation with a dismal human rights record, before the flame heads down to Westminster Pier and goes for a jolly jaunt on the Thames to 13:30 South Bank: Waiting here will be youngsters celebrating with arty singing, beatboxing and hiphop (really, it's all very Olympic, honest). I hope they still can be heard above the roar of the security choppers whirring overhead. And then a slow run via Somerset House to 14:45 St Paul's Cathedral: Ooh, bagpipes. It's a real cultural smorgasbord this cross-capital journey, isn't it? Back on the bus to cross London Bridge to 15:00 Tibet: No, sorry, I'm lying. 15:15 City Hall: One of the last events to take place at the seat of London's civic administration, before Mayor Boris sells off the glass building as a terribly desirable apartment block (with gym and concierge). Time to run across Tower Bridge to Tower Hamlets... 15:45-ish Whitechapel Road: The torch will probably be running woefully late by now, so don't blink or you'll miss it. Here we're promised spectacular performances from "the Emperor and the Tiger". And then up High Street 2012, by bus, to 16:08 My house!! Blimey, it's the Olympic torch! Right outside my front door! The flame may be on its way to Beijing, via the world, but it has to go past my chicken nugget-strewn doorstep first. I am duly honoured. 16:15 Stratford: There's no visit to ourOlympic Stadium, not this year, but the host borough of Newham are throwing a really big street party. Might be fun. And then, unbelievably, the Olympic flame hitches a ride on the DLR (in direct contravention of DLR Conditions of Carriage Section 4 subsection 5) to 17:00 Canary Wharf: Here's the face-painting. You knew there had to be face-painting somewhere. And jugglers and stilt walkers and probably some scary clowns too. And finally back to the river for a boat trip round the Thames's loopy meander to 18:00 North Greenwich: Sssh, don't call it the Dome. Ssssh, don't call it the <insert name of mobile network>. And don't bother coming to the cauldron-lighting acrobatic finale in the Square if you didn't get free tickets. I didn't get free tickets. I wonder how many Tibetan protesters got free tickets. April 7th Paris: Rubbing salt in the wounds a bit, innit?
On posters, on leaflets, and over the tannoy. Saturation coverage. A desperate attempt by TfL to keep the travelling public away from a pair of congested City stations while they upgrade the ageing escalators. The warren of tunnels linking the various platforms is ridiculously complicated and tortuous at the best of times, and any attempt at interchange often involves a five minute mountaineering trek. But from Monday this week, for the next 70 weeks, no interchange is possible.
"No interchange at Bank and Monument stations until August 2009 During major escalator upgrade and replacement work you will not be able to interchange at Bank and Monument stations (except between the DLR and Northern lines)"
Well, so it says in the ¼million leaflets they've had printed. But, what do you know, this turns out to be a whopping white lie. I've been down into the bowels of the station, for two consecutive rush hours, and interchanging wasn't impossible at all. A bit circuitous and inconvenient maybe, but still considerably faster than using some of the ridiculous roundabout routes via alternative stations that various leaflets are proposing. TfL would probably rather I didn't tell you the following...
Interchange 1: Central(Bank) → Northern(Bank) Normally this interchange (3→9) can be made without ever using an escalator. A quick dash down the spiral staircase (from 3), a walk along a long passageway (to 7) and down some steps (9). Not any more. The spiral staircase is closed ("to avoid overcrowding") and there's only one exit from the Central line platforms (3). I had no choice - it had to be up the escalator and out through the barriers into the ticket hall (1). Not surprisingly, the ticket hall was quite crowded. Even more crowded was the unfit-for-purpose narrow passageway between the ticket hall (1) and the Lombard Street entrance (4). Then it was back through the barriers and a choice of routes back down into the depths. Either to wait for one of the four lifts (it's not exactly high capacity, this) or to walk 128 kneecap-numbing steps down the clunky 16-flight metal staircase. Phew. And after this very long up and down slog, where was I? In the big tiled chamber (7) just above the Northern line platforms (9). If only TfL had left the lower passageway open (3→7) I could have walked here in just a minute. But no, they sent me up an escalator, along an alleyway and down in a lift. Is it just me, or is this meandering detour actually serving only to increase congestion all around the station?
Interchange 2: DLR(Bank) → District(Monument) I decided to attempt this interchange (8→11) because it should now be an utter nightmare. Bank and Monument stations have been severed, so this particular connection should involve heading the long way up to daylight at Bank (8→6→5→4), walking along King William Street (4→13) and then re-entering the system at Monument (13). Ten minutes, minimum. And yes, the direct escalator (8→12) is now boarded up. But I nipped up from the DLR to the Northern line (8→9) and, what a surprise, this exit to Monument was still open! The escalator (9→10) was still running, both ways! No blocked-off barriers at all, just straight up the quick way to the District line (11). Two minutes, maximum. Bloody liars! The Bank/Monument interchange IS STILL OPEN. TfL haven't cut the link between the two stations at all. They probably will at some point, but in the meantime they're just scaring passengers away for no particularly good reason. They're delighting in sending those of us who use the station scurrying round an ever-changing maze of one-way tunnels like rats in a laboratory maze. And they clearly want to piss us off so much that we go somewhere else, anywhere else but here. For 70 weeks. I feel deliberately misguided.
So, next time TfL tell you to avoid changing at Bank/Monument because no interchange is possible, do treat their urgings with a huge pinch of salt. Because there's plenty of interchange. I'm sure that telling fibs helps to keep TfL's health and safety people happy, but these two stations aren't as dead and buried as we're being told. Only one set of escalators is currently closed, and all the other disruption is due to blocked-off passageways and one-way systems. Why not come and find out for yourself?
Coinage quiz: Britain's decimal coinage is changing. Over the next few months a brand new coin series will start trickling into your pocket, and the Royal Mint has just released the new designs. Ooh, that's quite a clever interpretation of the Royal Coat of Arms, isn't it? I rather like them. But how well do you know the old set of coins, in circulation since 1971? Test yourself by selecting the correct design for each coin, and then check your answers in the final drop-down box.
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Famous London: The Big Ben Hello my name is Trevor. When we think of London it is impossible to do without The Big Ben. This is a large tower built by the fair hand of Queen Victoria, and it sticks up in the middle of the city to be seen far and wide. The Big Ben is even taller than the Taj Mahal, and we all know how big that is. And The Big Ben is brown. Not many famous world towers are brown, so this makes it very special indeed. All the senators and lords who run the country live in The Big Ben, and they meet every day in a big room on the top floor to pass the laws of the land. Then at eleven o'clock precisely bong! The ringing of The Big Ben calls the royal horses from the stables for the Changing of Guard. Her Majesty Elizabeth stands on her balcony and decides which of her guards she wants to change. The losing ones have to go back to work as poor people, and the new ones win a furry hat.
If you go to London you must always have your photograph taken with The Big Ben. This is the law. Every day visitors go to West Minister to stand by the red telephone box with the best view. Sometimes the queues are three miles long. But the wait is always worth while, and how we love to see the photographic results in emails and blogs worldwide. No trip to London is complete without a walk to the top of The Big Ben. There are 3000 steps to the viewing platform just above the clock, or you can take the escalators. From the top there are panoramic views over London almost as far as Stonehenge, and you can buy tea towels and marmalade from the special souvenir shop. All this for just 250 rupees! Oh yes, The Big Ben, it is special indeed.
Eat London: The Taj Sahib Restaurant Hello my name is Miriam. I know readers of the Geezer are always wondering where to have dinner. Well wonder no longer. There is a great restaurant in Bricklane and it is called the Taj Sahib. You cannot miss it. It's the one with two men standing outside inviting you urgently inside. Be welcomed to your seat with a warming naan, and rest your weary slippers. Two for one offers and special deals are always available at the Taj Sahib. Curry is a speciality, of course, and the balti is hot and spicy. And we have an excellent bonus for you. Just tell my cousin Jahar that you have seen this review on the Geezer and he will give you extra chapatis. And he will give me new bicycle if enough of you go, so please go.
But be careful when you visit. The streets of London are full of the hoodie youth and girls with knives. It is inhuman and it is sad and we are reading about it all the time in the foreign press. We do not understand why the youth are breaking down like this but maybe it is the free oyster and the bendy bus. It must be very scary for you, oh people of London. So be sure to go to Bricklane when all the devil's children are at school. Or maybe wait a few more months and they will all have been locked up in the Tower of London. Or sacrificed.
Transport Talking Point: Chaos on Line 2 Hello my name is Lionel. There is only one transport topic in the office this week and that is the terrible conditions at Vishwa Vidyalaya Underground Station. Honestly, do they think we're goats or something? The overcrowding is really severe, especially when Delhi University lectures finish and all the students come pouring out. Several people have been seen climbing onto the train roof, which is in direct contravention of Metro Rail Corporation regulations paragraph 14b. The situation on Line 2 is getting intolerable.
Yesterday there were huge queues at the smart-card gates, and when the General Secretariat train came it was packed. I had to squeeze in between an old man carrying a stuffed tiger and a lady with a giant embroidered bag. By the time the train reached Kashmere Gate I'd lost all sensation in my left arm, and by Patel Chowk I was semi-comatose. If it's like this now, imagine how it'll be when the monsoon comes and everyone smells of umbrella.
One of the grandest houses ever seen in Britain was built in Wanstead in the early 18th century. Wanstead House was a pioneer of Palladian style, with mighty Corinthian pillars and a 200ft-long frontage. The gardens were landscaped with tree-lined avenues and ornamental waterways, creating a spectacular Versailles-like estate. A mixture of Blenheim Palace and Hampton Court, if you like, and much favoured by the nobles and gentry of the Georgian era. So why have you never heard of Wanstead House, let alone visited? Because it's been completely demolished, that's why, leaving only the surrounding parkland as evidence of magnificence lost. And the tale of its disappearance is worthy of a modern day soap opera.
• This Green is a lovely reminder of Wanstead's rural past: Indeed it is, but it's all an illusion. The A12 dual carriageway was carved straight through the middle of Wanstead in the late 1990s, like a concrete scar. But for a few hundred metres it's been hidden in a tunnel, directly underneath the village green, and you'd never realise what a complete mess the road made everywhere else.
You're probably not 100% certain where Redbridge is, are you? It's not got a terribly memorable name, and this isn't helped by it being named after a red brick bridge which was knocked down in 1921. The anonymous borough of Redbridge lurks on the edge of northeast London, consisting of Ilford, the M11 corridor and vast swathes of mid 20th century suburban estates. This is affordable London, home to thousands of very ordinary families, and not in any way on the tourist trail. I was quite worried that there wouldn't be enough out here to report back on, but in the end I was very pleasantly surprised.
See that big orange loop at the eastern end of the Central line? That's Redbridge, that is. Apart from the three really quiet stations at the top which are in Essex, so I didn't have an excuse to alight at Roding Valley, Chigwell or Grange Hill. But I visited all the others, and a few of them are very special indeed. This end of the Central line opened in the late 1940s, delayed somewhat by munitions factories being operated in the tunnels during WWII. Many of the stations were converted from LNER operation, and still retain a period charm not entirely wrecked by Metronet. White wooden canopies, well-worn solid benches and decorative ironwork - all a million miles away from the modern brutality of certain central London stations. Fairlop [photo] is like a rural halt in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Barkingside [photo] has a footbridge from which you can watch half the action at the non-league club nextdoor. Redbridge [photo] is more of a subterranean cavern with central tiled pillars, reminiscent of something Eastern European. But the finest examples of postwar architecture lie inbetween.
At Newbury Park the impressive feature is outside the station, not down on the unremarkable platforms. Exit from the ticket hall along a long brick corridor and you emerge into a bus station like no other. This interchange building, with its long barrel-vaulted roof topped with copper, makes a mighty modernist statement [photo]. It's as if someone's sliced a hollow cylinder in half to create a giant concrete insect with a green back and slender curving legs. Inside, beneath the airy canopy, equally-spaced wall-mounted lamps are shielded by thin metal fins [photo]. And down on the ground just one single bus stop serving a mere three single-decker routes, with infrequent service, in one direction only. A most ambitious project, but whose potential was never fully realised in its locality before the building money ran out. At least Oliver Hill's design won a special architectural award during the Festival of Britain, even if the plaque now has a crack across it. It's well worth getting a ticket to Zone 4 just to take a look.
Random borough (17): Woohoo, halfway at last! 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 17 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, Haringey, Hounslow or Brent because they're the sixteen (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already.
London Olympic Torch Relay 2012
Option 1) The Free Tibet Olympic Torch Relay: We run the torch around just one country - Tibet - to make up for all the embarrassment we caused last time.
There were masses of pro-Tibet protesters at the British Museum. Just up the road to be precise, in Bloomsbury Square, safely corralled up a side street so that they could shout at the passing parade from behind a helmeted cordon without getting in the way. Probably a thousand or so angry individuals, waving Tibetan flags and yelling slogans at any official vehicle with the temerity to sweep by. The Coca Cola bus got it in the neck first. "Stop the torture!" And then the grinning Samsung girls gyrating on the back of a lorry. "Stop the killing!" There followed a long noisy pause before the official Olympic double decker crawled into view. "Shame on China! Free Tibet!" The torch waited patiently, somewhere inside the bus, before crawling forward in front of the growling mob. Flags fluttered and balloons bobbed, while the chorus of angry voices grew ever louder. Many of these belonged to Tibetans themselves, or to a sincere throng of woolly-hat wearers and Guardian readers. The bloke in front of me began booing anything and everything that passed. It was when he started deliberately booing a group of Chinese athletes that I started to feel distinctly uncomfortable. There's a thin line between rightful protest and naked racism, and I feared he'd crossed it. Thankfully he seemed to be in a deluded minority. I slunk off, past a Chinese protester being apprehended by the police. Doubly disappointing. When 2012 comes round, we shouldn't be surprised when the world turns round and spits back at us.
Here's how not to hold a successful public event. Invite everyone to turn up at noon, when the main event's at one. Don't erect a stage, just get your performers to dance around at ground level so that only a select few on the edge of the terrace can see what's going on. Pick a bloody cold day, preferably with snow, and then waste money by adding blue tickertape snow of your own. Get a white-haired ITN newscaster to wield the torch, then hide him inside a crowd of jogging minders so that onlookers are shielded from the one thing they've come to see. Watch the faces of the native Chinese community who are here to feel proud, and see their disappointment. And fill the square with branded advertising collateral, and attempt to hand it out to innocent spectators by pretending it's nothing more than a balloon or a flag. I was particularly disappointed by the flags. On the front a small "Beijing 2008" logo overshadowed by the big blue blob of the Korean "presenting partner", and on the rear a great big corporate logo on a featureless blue background. These shameless adverts were being handed out all along the route by opportunistic marketeers. I still have my unbranded 2004 torch relay flag. I recycled my 2008 flag immediately.
I thought I'd go and watch one of the set piece celebrations along the route. Not the great big multicultural spectacle on the South Bank, but the rather smaller affair inside Somerset House. I got there a bit too early, and had to stand around for half an hour in the courtyard feeling increasingly cold as yet another snow shower swirled around us. The crowd never grew too large, which we discovered later was because we'd been sealed inside behind closed iron gates. "Could you hold up the rope?" asked one of the insufficient security guards attempting to keep us well back. We declined. First into the makeshift arena, at last, came the Bollywood Brass Band. They were more Yorkshire fancy dress than Delhi realism, to be honest, but a rousing success all the same. And then 60 small schoolchildren filed out from the Seamen's Hall, jiggling up and down to keep themselves warm in the April chill. They were wearing waterproof red plastic capes, which are an essential fashion item when you're about to leap and dance amongst a courtyard filled with fountains. Unfortunately several of the children ran across the gushing jets and soaked the inside of their costume, while the lack of sleeves meant that most of their arm movements remained invisible. We loved the spectacle, however improvised the choreography, and the performers well deserved their final ovation. And finally the torch arrived, held high by a leggy blonde, hanging around for only a few seconds before continuing into the seething protests outside. But we at least, through the eyes of children, had seen the true Olympic message.
The good citizens of E3 appeared to have forgotten that the torch was passing through. But as four o'clock approached, and the buzz of helicopters filled the sky overhead, a few headed down to Bow Road to watch the flame go by. Many were of Chinese origin, here to watch a potent symbol from the motherland passing along their local street. The vicar was out with his camera, having set his bell ringers the task of welcoming the flame to Bow (or maybe he just pressed a button inside the tower, it was hard to be sure). And there were no protesters whatsoever, not this far out of town. What could go wrong? The road to the flyover suddenly cleared of traffic and a very large number of police motorbikes zoomed past. And a van, and another van, and the Coca Cola open-topped bus. Was the flame aboard? We didn't think so. Those grinning Samsung girls were next, keeping up their professional act as they danced for a crowd who almost certainly couldn't afford a widescreen telly like the one on the float. And then silence. Was that it?
10:30 Wembley: Actually, don't bother turning up here unless you're a Brent resident and you've got a ticket. The event's in Arena Square, and not inside the stadium where you might expect it to be. And could someone please teach the official Torch Relay website how to spell Harlesden? And then by bus (yes, bus) to...
13:00 Downing Street: Gordon Brown grits his teeth and welcomes envoys from another nation with a dismal human rights record, before the flame heads down to Westminster Pier and goes for a jolly jaunt on the Thames to
16:08 My house!! Blimey, it's the Olympic torch! Right outside my front door! The flame may be on its way to Beijing, via the world, but it has to go past my chicken nugget-strewn doorstep first. I am duly honoured.
Normally this interchange (3→9) can be made without ever using an escalator. A quick dash down the spiral staircase (from 3), a walk along a long passageway (to 7) and down some steps (9). Not any more. The spiral staircase is closed ("to avoid overcrowding") and there's only one exit from the Central line platforms (3). I had no choice - it had to be up the escalator and out through the barriers into the ticket hall (1). Not surprisingly, the ticket hall was quite crowded. Even more crowded was the unfit-for-purpose narrow passageway between the ticket hall (1) and the Lombard Street entrance (4). Then it was back through the barriers and a choice of routes back down into the depths. Either to wait for one of the four lifts (it's not exactly high capacity, this) or to walk 128 kneecap-numbing steps down the clunky 16-flight metal staircase. Phew. And after this very long up and down slog, where was I? In the big tiled chamber (7) just above the Northern line platforms (9). If only TfL had left the lower passageway open (3→7) I could have walked here in just a minute. But no, they sent me up an escalator, along an alleyway and down in a lift. Is it just me, or is this meandering detour actually serving only to increase congestion all around the station?
Coinage quiz: Britain's decimal coinage is changing. Over the next few months a brand new coin series will start trickling into your pocket, and the Royal Mint has just released the new designs. Ooh, that's quite a clever interpretation of the Royal Coat of Arms, isn't it? I rather like them. But how well do you know the old set of coins, in circulation since 1971? Test yourself by selecting the correct design for each coin, and then check your answers in the final drop-down box.
Hello my name is Trevor. When we think of London it is impossible to do without The Big Ben. This is a large tower built by the fair hand of Queen Victoria, and it sticks up in the middle of the city to be seen far and wide. The Big Ben is even taller than the Taj Mahal, and we all know how big that is. And The Big Ben is brown. Not many famous world towers are brown, so this makes it very special indeed. All the senators and lords who run the country live in The Big Ben, and they meet every day in a big room on the top floor to pass the laws of the land. Then at eleven o'clock precisely bong! The ringing of The Big Ben calls the royal horses from the stables for the Changing of Guard. Her Majesty Elizabeth stands on her balcony and decides which of her guards she wants to change. The losing ones have to go back to work as poor people, and the new ones win a furry hat.
Hello my name is Miriam. I know readers of the Geezer are always wondering where to have dinner. Well wonder no longer. There is a great restaurant in Bricklane and it is called the Taj Sahib. You cannot miss it. It's the one with two men standing outside inviting you urgently inside. Be welcomed to your seat with a warming naan, and rest your weary slippers. Two for one offers and special deals are always available at the Taj Sahib. Curry is a speciality, of course, and the balti is hot and spicy. And we have an excellent bonus for you. Just tell my cousin Jahar that you have seen this review on the Geezer and he will give you extra chapatis. And he will give me new bicycle if enough of you go, so please go.
Hello my name is Lionel. There is only one transport topic in the office this week and that is the terrible conditions at Vishwa Vidyalaya Underground Station. Honestly, do they think we're goats or something? The overcrowding is really severe, especially when Delhi University lectures finish and all the students come pouring out. Several people have been seen climbing onto the train roof, which is in direct contravention of Metro Rail Corporation regulations paragraph 14b. The situation on Line 2 is getting intolerable.
