Seaside postcard: Bexhill Most fading south coast resorts can only dream of having a cultural magnet like the De La Warr Pavilion in their midst. Margate is trying to follow suit with the construction of the Turner Contemporary, and Folkestone this week launched a triennial arts festival in a bold attempt to raise the profile of the town. Brighton's the place to beat, obviously. But Bexhill has one or two other treats up its sleeve, including another national first. Let's go racing...
Motor Racing Heritage Centre: British motor racing began in 1902, here on the promenade at Bexhill-on-Sea. The event was the idea of the 8th Earl De La Warr (yes, him again), in conjunction with the Automobile Club of Great Britain. He wanted somewhere appropriate to drive his new fangled motor car in competition with others, and decided that the private road he owned along the seafront would fit the bill perfectly. Approximately 200 vehicles drove to Bexhill for the day, avoiding the police speed traps set up on surrounding roads ("Oi, you're exceeding 12mph, you're nicked!"). No such worries on the kilometre run down from the top of Galley Hill to the finishing line outside the Sackville Hotel, and so the "Petrol Derbies" were born. Lord Northcliffe, the founder of the Daily Mail, took part and the day also saw the first public appearance of a Wolseley racing car. And the winning speed? An amazing 54mph, courtesy of Frenchman Leon Serpollet in his steam driven "Easter Egg".
The Frenchman's victory is commemorated by what looks like a car-shaped metal climbing frame on the promenade outside the Sackville, as well as a none too exciting rock to mark the finishing line. Plus, according to the brown sign on a lamppost, there's a 'Motor Racing Heritage Centre' nearby. I walked round the block without finding anything, then asked the Eastern European lady in an ice cream van where it might be. She smiled, vaguely, and pointed at the hotel opposite. Nothing whatsoever at the hotel entrance indicated I was on the right track but, turning right down a corridor inside, I discovered the so-called Heritage Centre. It was the corridor itself, a fusty off-peach back alley zigzagging round the back of the ground floor, leading to the hotel's hairdressers and launderette. So long as the washeteria is open (daily, 9am-5pm) then this delightfully underwhelming attraction is also open. As I viewed the handful of display cases and evocative sepia photographs hung from the wall (for at least four minutes) I was given a curious look from the salon manager, as if to say "we don't get many tourists in here". I'm not surprised, dear, I'm not surprised.
Bexhill Museum: [website] Apparently this long arched building near the wetstern seafront "gives incredible insight into the history of Bexhill, its famous residents and visitors, and the important historic milestones that have made Bexhill famous." Unfortunately it's also closed for refurbishment until 2009, so I can't tell you any more. Bexhill Museum of Costume and Social History: [website] Now here's a quaint curio. This tiny museum in a barn boasts "a rare collection of lace and embroidery samples, dolls, costumes and accessories from the 18th Century, through to the 1960's." Unfortunately a sign on the door offered sincere apologies that they were unable to open the museum due to a shortage of volunteer staff, so I can't tell you any more. Manor Gardens: [website] These picturesque gardens in the hilltop Old Town were a riot of colour, and I was indeed "dazzled by the dense, colourful borders, planted with the season's best blooms." At least until I noticed an entire wedding reception staring out from what's left of the 13th century Manor House, wondering what the hell I was doing wandering around on the lawns outside their window. So I left, and I can't tell you much more. John Logie Baird's House: [website] The inventor of television moved to a semi in Bexhill in 1945, only to die eighteen months later following a stroke. I had hoped to view the plaque on the wall, but "the old house was acquired by a property company and, despite some public objections, it was demolished in August 2007." A modern block of flats is being built on the site, which must be why there was a big yellow crane blocking the road outside, so I can't tell you any more. The Promenade: Ah, you can't beat a goodpromenade. No need to say more.
Seaside postcard: Bexhill To celebrate SussexDay (which is today), I've just taken a day trip to this fine and historic county. To Bexhill-on-Sea, no less, an Edwardian resort on the south coast between Eastbourne and Hastings. Two hours from London by train, it's not anywhere you'd visit without good reason. But, thankfully, there's a damned good reason perched on the seafront...
The De La Warr Pavilion was the result of a civic competition to build a brand new entertainment venue on the Bexhill shoreline. 230 entries were received, and the winning design came from architects Erich Mendelsohn and Serge Chermayeff. They came up with an elegant modernistsolution, all bold horizontal lines and curving glass stairwells. The pavilion was the very first major building in Britain to have a welded steel frame, and when it opened in December 1935 it was the talk of the nation. Unfortunately wartime bomb damage cut short its cultural life, and the building wasted away until recently revived by an £8m Arts Council grant. The De La Warr Pavilion finally reopened in 2005 as Bexhill's cultural heart, and it's gorgeous. Running that competition was the best money the town council ever spent.
On entering the building through the main entrance I made a fundamental and embarrassing error - I asked to pay for a ticket. Er no, it turned out that admittance is completely free. Oops. And hurrah! Obviously it costs to see a show in the main auditorium, but I wasn't joining the elderly audience for an amateur dramatics matinee, I was here to see the architecture. Starting with the main staircase. It's the staircase that makes this building special, spiralling up inside a glass cylinder with a series of silver discs suspending a lampshade at the centre. There's a silverplaque at the bottom commemorating the opening of the building by its main benefactor, Earl De La Warr, and also some red seats where you can sit and read the paper. The entire staircase just begs to be photographed (with or without mobility scooter) which is why several of my Flickr contacts havealreadyhadago. I could have walked up and down all day, but probably best that I didn't.
On the first floor there was a choice of culture or cappucino. There were definitely more people in the cafe/restaurant than there were sitting in the dark watching a multimedia presentation about mental disability. I, as usual, went for the cheaper option. Up on the second floor landing the options were fewer - essentially either returning to earth down the northern stairwell or strolling out onto the roof terrace. This is a mostly-featureless open space, hard to convey in a photograph, where you can imagine Thirties socialites standing around sipping martinis during the interval of a summertime concert. Look south towards the sea and there's the striking winged bandstand, a marvellous 21st century addition, looking more like a pair of ivorylips than a performance space. Really, it's hard to to justice to the De La Warr Pavilion in words, so I took lots of photos instead.
Unpopular Culture (curated by Grayson Perry) And on the ground floor, in the gallery which used to be the restaurant and dance floor, another treat. The Arts Council have asked potter Grayson Perry to flick through their archived collection and pick out a few of his favourite works. He's done so by selecting an unsung period in British art (from the 1940s to the 1980s) and curating a fascinating little exhibition of nostalgic austerity. There's quite a bit of brown and grey on show, be it a dour watercolour of some industrial heartland or the lumpen bronze of a misshaped humanoid figure. Plenty of evocative photographs too, recalling the less than glamorous side of living on an estate, the bleak optimism of a seaside holiday or just general low-key grittiness. There's a pleasing mix of image and sculpture, and no one artist dominates - just the one Lowry and only a couple of Frinks. One wall is taken up by what looks like a striking photo of a net-curtained tower block, but on closer inspection turns out to be clever brushwork. And Grayson himself has contributed two signature works, one a pierced bronze skull embellished with symbols of Britishness, the other a large glazed urn emblazoned with portraits of the artist in a fetching headscarf. He likes headscarves almost as much as dresses, does our Grayson, which is why there's also a limited edition silk headscarf available from the pavilion shop for (cough) £45. This is a refreshinglydown-to-earthexhibition, reassuringly retro and rather more accessible than many. It's open at the De La Warr until July 6th, and then touring the UK (Preston, Durham, Southampton, Aberystwyth, Scarborough, Wakefield and Bath) until 2010. For once, it's Londoners who are missing out.
I'm now halfway through my monthly trawl through London by numbers. Thanks for all the suggestions you've offered, whether in the comments box or by email. I know I haven't used all of them, but that's because I'm being picky. Nothing which involves measurement is being included, nor anything which isn't specifically about London. And I'm also trying to concentrate on the relevant rather than the coincidental, which has meant leaving lots of your ideas out. But the second half of the month is going to be even harder to fill. There just aren't as many London facts floating around for 23 as there are for 3. so I'm expecting my lists will get a lot shorter. Unless you can help.
What I need, to beef things up a bit, are some interesting questions. Questions that you don't know the numerical answer to, but that probably have an answer that's 30 or less. If you lot can come up with lots of fascinating questions, then somebody on here must be able to find out what number they match up to. Here's the sort of thing I mean, to get you started (and I'll add your best questions here during the day).
» How many London buildings are taller than St Paul's Cathedral?(Looks like 24, or maybe 29 if you include masts, chimneys and arches) » Where's the London bus stop served by the greatest number of routes? (I wonder if it's Bromley Sainsbury's (stop N) on Kentish Way, with 19 different bus routes) » How many road bridges cross the Thames in London? » On average, how many days each month does it rain in London?(Answer: 12¾) » How many lifts are there in the Gherkin? » In 2012, how many different Olympic sports will be held in London? » How many of Shakespeare's plays are set (at least in part) in London? » Which London mainline station has the most platforms?(question from FSF)(Answer: Waterloo, Victoria and Liverpool Street, each allegedly with 19) » How many London-wide radio stations are there?(question from Geoff)(Answer: 20, according to RAJAR) » How many are there in London? » (any more?)
Londoners love shopping. There'll be hundreds of thousands of Londoners out today pottering round designer boutiques, browsing in department stores and nibbling muffins in coffee shops. Heaven knows why, but there will be. But we're not big on shopping in Tower Hamlets. Canary Wharf has plenty of clone stores, but they're mostly aimed at lunchtime bankers. The new Spitalfields market has a few chic retail outlets, but they're mostly for pretentious incomers. But most Tower Hamlets residents do much of their shopping in lesser cheaper shops on ordinary independent parades. We don't do malls. So it's not surprising that Tobacco Dock was doomed.
It sounded like a good idea at the time. Take a Grade I listed warehouse in Wapping, originally a store for imported tobacco, and convert it into a £47 million shopping centre. The intention was to create the Covent Garden of the East End (that's a bijou shopping centre, not a fruit and vegetable market) in an iconic 200 year-old building. People would come from far and wide to browse beneath its vaulted brickarches, perhaps taking home a nice woollen cardigan or a pair of ruby stilettos or an ethnic wooden thingamajig. But it didn't happen.
There's a huge multi-storey car park next door, but it's never been full of shopping trolleys. There's Rupert Murdoch's giant News International headquarters immediately adjacent, but no easy passage from one to the other. There are two fullsize pirateships positioned outside by the waterway, but kids never nagged their parents to bring them sightseeing. There was even an accessible tube and DLR station within easy walking distance, but few people bothered. Too far from the capital's retail epicentre, too close to people who didn't need luxuries and couldn't afford them anyway. Opened in 1989, the Tobacco Dock shopping centre survived for only a few years before limping to an embarrassed close.
But one sandwich shop is still open. And the most surprising thing about Tobacco Dock is that the entire complex is still maintained and managed and cleaned, just for them. Heaven knows how Frank & Stein have survived here since day 1, they must serve up the finest baguettes in all of Wapping. It's certainly not their unique cellar ambience, tucked up a side passage near the WC with a couple of lonely tables dumped outside. And it's not their contribution to 24-hour cafe society, because the deli counter is (very) closed at evenings and weekends. But on weekdays anybody can wander inside Tobacco Dock through the unlocked gates and take a stroll around the interior, even if they have no interest whatsoever in buying pastrami in a ciabatta.
It's like a ghost mall, maybe that one in Dawn of the Dead, with eerie empty walkways crossing in front of rows of vacant shopfronts. It feels as if you're trespassing, rather than exploring, although the bored security guard probably won't give you a second look. The arched brickwork is enticingly authentic, but there are also several artificial Thatcherite extras dropped in all around the place. Those chunky lanterns, for example, or the pair of scarystatues by the empty maps near the mall entrance. The central stone staircase is garish and optimistically huge, designed for excessive footfall that never came. Elsewhere are unnecessarily ornate domed pergolas, one topped off with a metal globe, surrounding freshly-watered potted plants. All that architectural effort for so little return.
One company's dreams came tumbling down inside Tobacco Dock's vaults with one hell of a crash. But someone, somehow, someday, surely, must be able to breathe some life back into the place. Factory outlet? Row of pound shops? Any takers?
Metropolitan borough names that vanished overnight: Battersea, Bermondsey, Bethnal Green, Camberwell, Deptford, Finsbury, Hampstead, Holborn, Paddington, Poplar, St Marylebone, St Pancras, Shoreditch, Stepney, Stoke Newington, Woolwich.
The new map of London: (very approximately) » The City of London [purple] » The County of London (pre-1965) [orange] » Middlesex [green] » A bit of Essex [green] » A bit of Kent [green] » A bit of Surrey [green] » A tiny bit of Herts [in Barnet, not shown] (yes, it's very approximate) (a better map here)
Ten councils that narrowly missed out on becoming part of London: Banstead, Caterham and Warlingham, Epsom and Ewell, Esher, Walton and Weybridge (Surrey); Chigwell (Essex); Cheshunt (Herts); Potters Bar, Staines, Sunbury (Middlesex).
Nine new boroughs that were nearly called something else: Barnet ("Northgate", or "Northern Heights"), Brent ("Willesden and Wembley"), Enfield ("Enfield Chase", or "Edmonton Hundred"), Greenwich ("The Royal Borough of Charlton"), Hammersmith and Fulham ("Olympia", or "Riverside"), Hillingdon ("Uxbridge"), Islington ("New River"), Lewisham ("Ravensbourne"), Richmond ("Twickenham").
• There are only 13motorway junctions in Greater London - three on the M1 (j1, j2, j4), five on the M4 (j1, j2, j3, j4, j4a), one on the M11 (j4) and four on the M25 (j14, j25, j28, j29). • London has 13 Premiership and League football clubs. • Thirteen of London's green wooden cabmen's shelters remain (there were originally 61). • The A13trunk road from Aldgate to Shoeburyness is home to the innovative Artscape project, and was an inspiration to Billy Bragg. • Bus route13 runs from Aldwych to Golders Green.
100 years ago today, not-so-deep below the River Thames, the Rotherhithe Tunnel was opened by the future King George V. This mile-long single bore tunnel had taken four years to build, at a cost of two million pounds, and was (at the time) "the largest subaqueous tunnel in existence". There weren't many cars around in the 1900s so the RotherhitheTunnel was primarily for the benefit of horse-drawn traffic and pedestrians. Not that you'd want to walk through its exhaust-fumed portals today. So I've done that for you. Here's what it's like down there...
To Rotherhithe, which is slightly harder than usual with the nearby Thames Tunnel closed until 2010. If I had a car I'd have to start at the Rotherhithe roundabout (take the turning for the A101, no explosives, no flammable liquids). But as a pedestrian I had it slightly easier. There are stepsdown onto the entrance ramp close to Rotherhithe station, avoiding the first few hundred yards past the speed camera. It doesn't look like anyone on foot should be allowed down here, but really, it's still perfectly legal. Only 20 pedestrians a day pass this way, apparently, even though it's the only walking route across the river between Tower Bridge and Greenwich? OK, deep breath (very very deep breath), and I ventured inside the southern portal.
Very quickly the artificial environment of the tunnel took over. Fluorescent strip lights, glazed white tiles and long grey lines vanishing into the distance. Last chance to turn back, or else there was a long slog ahead. Because this is no straight and simple tube. It was designed with horses in mind so it cuts across the river at an angle, allowing gradients to be shallower and easier to climb. And it was also constructed with several sharp zigzagging bends, ensuring that horses wouldn't be able to see daylight at the other end and bolt for the exit. Once I'd passed the first of five curves, the outside world seemed a very long way away.
It's relentlesslybleak down here, especially when the traffic's light. A few 20mph roadsigns, various ventilation units, a two-lane non-super highway, and look at that, two pavements! The circular roof means that traffic can't get too close to the walls, so there's room to walk two abreast on either side. Shame that almost nobody bothers. That's probably why I got several funny looks from the oncoming traffic. What the hell is he doing down here? Has he not yet dropped dead from carbon monoxide poisoning? Shall I mount the pavement and squash him flat?
At bend number two there was an unexpected sight tucked away in a tiled recess - a large iron spiral staircase. This used to be the pedestrian entrance, a shortcut down the airshaft from the banks of the Thames above, but wartime damage closed it off and the steps are now firmly locked top and bottom. I would have stayed to take a photo but there was a big sign saying EXHAUST FUMES DO NOT LOITER so I thought it wise not to. Plus I was expecting the police to arrive at any minute, having observed a suspicious looking white male hanging around near a security camera in a strategic location. Oh it felt so very wrong down there, but no backing out now.
The central straight section was the longest, with millions of gallons of water now suspended somewhere above my head. More locked-off stairs at the far end, and then just two more sharp bends and a gentle curve to go. Round this last curve I was surprised by an approaching cyclist riding on what I thought was the pavement (but probably not half as surprised as he was). And finally, yes, the welcoming sight of North London daylight. It took 20 minutes altogether to walk from one end of the tunnel to the other, eventually emerging almost a mile downstream in deepest Limehouse. By this time I'd probably breathed in more pollutants than the average countryside resident inhales in a year, and shortened my life by several weeks. But hey, even if I don't make it to 100, this crucial cross-London link has reached its landmark centenary in reasonable health. Probably best to celebrate by not visiting.
Keep your eyes open for a new series of artworks going up across the tube network this week. Don't go looking for watercolour masterpieces or ornate sculptures, because this time it's posters. Six different posters. Each of them plain white, with a single phrase in big black text down the middle. Dead cheap, dead simple.
OK, there's a bit more to it than just words on paper. The artist, Anna Barriball, found the phrases on the backs of photographs in an album she bought in a junk shop. The font she's used is NewJohnston, the official tube typeface, which is rather evocative. And the posters will appear in place of adverts, so they should make commuters think and/or smile. It's an ingenious idea.
Here are representations of four of Anna's posters (in non-copyright font).
60 miles of beautiful views.
Oh, boy, what a wonderful city!
The last place he ever saw me.
Off to work 8.15 AM. (Nylon uniform.)
Actually that's only three of the correct posters - I made the other phrase up. I'm sure you can spot my fake. That's because generating effortless minimalist art is a lot harder than it looks. Anna's poster collection may look like it was conceived, planned, designed and produced in ten minutes flat, but it probably took a lot longer than that. Probably. Anyway, I think it's a clever concept.
But oh dear, somebody's let the TfL art critic loose, and they've gushed something rotten over Anna's composition.
Location: Mapleton Road, Westerham, Kent TN16 1PS [map] Open: 11am - 5pm (closed Mondays & non-summer Tuesdays) (closed Nov-Feb) Admission: £11-ish (or free to National Trust types) 3-word summary: Churchill's Wealden homestead Website:www.nationaltrust.org.uk Time to set aside: half a day
1922 wasn't Winston Churchill's finest hour. He lost his seat in Parliament after a distinguished political career and suddenly found himself with plenty of time on his hands. The perfect year, then, to snap up a Victorian country manor house in the Kentish hills near Westerham. Chartwell Manor cost £5000 to buy (a fortune in those days) and another £18K for the architect Philip Tilden to rebuild. A delightful gabled family home emerged, with landscaped grounds sweeping down to two artificial lakes. Winston moved in at the age of fifty and lived here with his beloved wife Clementine for most of the next four decades. There was a financial hiccup in 1945 when the British population voted him out of office again, but friends ganged together to buy the property and donated it to the National Trust (with the Churchills as tenants on a nominal rent). And that's why there's now a car park at the head of the valley, and a tea shop, and a plant stall, and a queue of coaches disgorging a steady stream of mature visitors. Me, I arrived by bus.
Chartwell's grounds aren't enormous, but they are splendid. The house clings to one side of a narrow wooded valley, with distant views across the undulating Weald from a series of grassy terraces [photo]. A rather charming rose walk crosses the kitchen garden, planted to commemorate the couple's 50th wedding anniversary 50 years ago [photo]. There's a formal rose garden, an informal water garden and of course a pristine croquet lawn [photo]. It's all very Lutyens-Jekyll. Winston also grew his own vegetables (nice patch, Winnie), built his own walls (a plaque points out which), and indulged his love of painting in a garden studio (was there no end to this man's talents?).
Access to the main house is via timed ticket. Chartwell's a lot more cramped on the inside than it appears on the outside, so the volunteer stewards don't want everyone storming in at once. A visitors book in the hall records the names of civil dignitaries and world statesmen who popped by, with an original telephone resting nearby (Westerham 3344, if you ever fancy giving the great man a call). Many of the shelves in the compact library are filled with Winston's own books, written upstairs in the wood-panelled study. Even the disabled can get up to the first floor via the tiny lift installed for Mr Churchill's 80th birthday. Do stop to talk to the stewards, they have many fascinating tales to tell.
See that fish tank. The story goes that two schoolboys won a pair of goldfish at a central London funfair after the war, and walked up to the door of 10 Downing Street to present them to Mr Churchill. "We thinks you deserves them for saving our country Sir," they said (or something similarly endearing). Winston asked a member of his staff to rush out and buy a fishtank, and then took an interest in fish-keeping from that day on. Oh, and if you listen carefully you'll hear it's a silent fishtank, he couldn't bear even a low electric hum.
Watch out for the trademark cigars all over the house, and several framed examples of Winston's finer brushwork. Look, even the wartime Prime Minister had his own ration book. And there's his Nobel Prize for Literature, and his certificate of honorary American citizenship, and blimey Churchill was a bit of a superman really, wasn't he? Right man, right place, right time. Having visited Chartwell I can now also picture him as a family man, sat at the circular table in his low-ceilinged dining room, gazing out through the arched windows at the Westerham hills. Who wouldn't have been happy here [photo]?
• London's most famous address is 10Downing Street, home to the Prime Minister. • CityHall, seat of the Greater London Authority, has ten levels. • The Thames Flood Barrier has ten gates, the largest four of which weigh 3700 tonnes each. • Tenrailway bridges have been built across the River Thames in London: Alexandra, Blackfriars, Hungerford, Grosvenor, Battersea, Fulham, Barnes, Kew and Richmond. • Ten is the lowest number that isn't the first word of a London street name (in either the ordinal or cardinal form). • The A10trunk road runs due north from Monument to Kings Lynn. • Bus route10 runs from Kings Cross to Hammersmith. • What's the most famous number in Wimbledon? 10 is.
Bus 246: Bromley North - Chartwell Location: London southeast Length of journey: 15 miles Duration: 50 minutes (timetabled), 2 hours 55 minutes (actual)
It's London's most elevated bus route. It runs through the corner of London that's furthest from a railway station. It accepts Oyster cards south of the M25. It ventures along steep, narrow, leafy country lanes. It only runs, to the end of the line, about 250 times a year. And I spent three bloody hours on it yesterday because I made an elementary scheduling error. It's the 246, and it's the bus to Winston Churchill's house.
Bromley North station in a power cut, not the best of starts. All the traffic lights were down, and the empty-ish bus stumbled slowly through the undirected traffic. And then, at Bromley South, further complications. A teenage lad tried to board without a vaild ticket, claiming power-cut-related Oyster hardship. He argued adamantly that no shop could currently top him up, but the driver (and then a passenger, and then an inspector) told him in no certain terms to get off. Eventually, with a shower of lurid cursing, he backed down and moped off down the High Street. During this time, however, an unusually large queue of passengers had gathered at the bus stop. They piled aboard, filling the seats and the aisles to overflowing, leaving one late-arriving mum and her giant twin-buggy disconsolate at the kerbside. Never mind dear, there'll be another bus along in an hour.
Off through the suburbs of Bromley, occasionally stopping to let old ladies and their shopping disembark (but not stopping to let glaring would-be passengers get on). Past the end of the line at Hayes station, then exiting suburbia and zipping briskly across the common. So far so good. But then the serious traffic jams began. An interminable queue of snaking traffic on the approach to Keston village, inching forward a few feet at a time, with no sign of escape. It was at this point that I realised how badly I'd mistimed my bus journey. The annual Biggin Hill Air Fair was getting underway, three miles down the road, and every visitor who wasn't on the bus appeared to be in a car ahead of us. My fellow passengers became agitated. They shuffled and muttered and moaned. They tried to ring friends, but found that the mobile network had collapsed. Many of those without small children decided to get off and walk (it'll only take an hour and a bit, up and down hills, on the hottest day of June so far, why not?).
Some gave up on Keston Common (hell, let's spend the afternoon in the pub instead). Some gave up a quarter of a mile down the road, half an hour later. Gradually the bus emptied to tolerable seating levels, while the exodus of sweaty walkers passing alongside increased. Those of us who remained aboard could hear jet engines and roaring fighters in the distance, and occasionally (when the canopy of trees permitted) we caught a subsonic glimpse of what we were missing. Only when the bus finally filtered onto the main road did progress eventually became slightly faster. At one point a knackered pedestrian bashed on the door of the bus and demanded to be allowed on board. Our jobsworth driver apologised that he couldn't halt between stops, at which point the would-be passenger launched into a foul-mouthed Anglo-Saxon tirade (including female body crevices) and spat contemptuously at the window. Had a police officer been watching, an arrest would have been a certainty.
Many local residents (and tired pedestrians) had stopped off at Leaves Green to sit on the grass near the pub and watch the air display for free. Rather better value than the £21 charged by the organisers for a view on the other side of the hedge. The family who'd been sitting in the seats behind me an hour earlier waved from their picnic blanket beneath a shady tree, beer in hand. A DC6 flew by, repeatedly, and a spiralling Chinook proved that even helicopters can do intricate acrobatics. And slowly, finally, we edged towards the airport perimeter. The road runs right past the end of the runway and we arrived just in time to see a Lancaster bomber preparing to soar into the sky. Scores of people were standing along the fence, in contravention of safety advice, many of them bikers for whom the jammed traffic had proved no problem at all. An ear-splitting drone signalled a four-jet flypast, and I strained to look out of the window to watch them looping sunwards. Suddenly my mistimed bus journey didn't seem quite such a trial after all.
The traffic was a breeze after the airfield, but there were only a handful of us left aboard. Through the town of Biggin Hill (it didn't look overly posh, but it boasted a Waitrose almost immediately nextdoor to an M&S Simply Food) and climbing up onto the North Weald. Immediately before crossing into Kent the bus reached Westerham Heights, not only the most southerly bus stop in the capital but also (at 245m) the highest point in Greater Londonby some considerable distance. Not entirely coincidentally, the highest point in Kent lay a few metres further up the road, atop Bestrom's Hill. And then down into a gorgeous green valley, trying to ignore the M25 carving across the landscape in an ugly cutting, and on into the quiet town of Westerham, where this bus terminates.
Except on summer Sundays, when the 246 continues from the villagegreen to Chartwell. There were only five of us left aboard, all National Trust types, waiting patiently to arrive at our final destination more than two hours late. On into wooded uplands, along lanes sufficiently narrow to cause serious manoeuvring problems when we met another bus coming in the opposite direction. There was something very odd about riding a proper red London bus deep into rural seclusion, round sharp tree-lined bends and down into a stately home car park. But how fantastic that it's possible to travel to somewhere so distant and cultured armed only with an Oystercard and an awful lot of patience. And please time your visit to Chartwell more carefully than I did - any other Sunday before November should be fine.
I was in Beckton yesterday [don't ask] on a quest to visit a well-hidden green oasis [actually, I confess, I spotted it by accident on a map at a bus stop]. The East Ham Nature Reserve is a ten acre churchyard [the largest churchyard in London, no less] ,tucked away beside the busy A13 in a location which must once have been idyllic [but now, where a giant flyover crosses a major sewer, I think not]. The church in question is St Mary Magdalene[the oldest parish church in London, allegedly], a 12th century jewel blessed with a Norman interior[not that I got to look inside, because there was a wedding on]. And the entrance to the nature reserve is round the back [past the fat bridesmaid and her chubby pushchair-bound daughter].
By the side gate Newham Council have built a visitors centre [it looked like a green portakabin to me] to welcome schoolkids and nature-seekers [it was barely welcoming, it was firmly locked and shuttered]. Go straight ahead and you'll spot two gravestones dedicated to victims of the Titanic[I never saw them, I only found out when I got home and Googled the place]. More interesting, however to turn left and head into the churchyard proper [why are you telling them this? they don't care, they'll never visit]. [and is that the best photo you could find, it's a bit dull, and not even slightly representative]
This was once a well-tended cemetery, but it's been a nature reserve since 1977 [irrelevant date, stop it] and since has been allowed to become semi-overgrown [the paths are kept clear and immaculate by invisible council operatives]. Watch out and you might spot owls, foxes and kestrels rustling through the foliage [I saw some birds, and a cat, and a squashed snail, that was all][even the foliage is a bit same-y, unless you have a thing for shrubby green leaves]. There's also a nature trail to follow, marked by metal doornumbers nailed into stumpy wooden posts [but without knowing what all the numbers stand for, it's all a bit pointless]. [really, you're wasting your time writing this, nobody's been, and nobody's in the least bit interested]
There's something melancholy about reading the inscriptions in an obsolete graveyard [yes, obviously]. Most of the remaining headstones are from the first half of the last century [so a lot of Mauds, Arthurs and Sidneys] and are etched with the names of the forgotten dead ["My dear husband Joseph"], many of them children ["Nenn, adored daughter"]. Inscribed underneath there's often a melodramatic verse ["A face is from our household gone, a voice we love is still"] or poignant phrase ["God thought it best"]. Many gravestones are now tilting, cracked or overgrown [yes, most old cemeteries are like this]. But just occasionally a flash of yellow and red up a side path reveals a grave still lovingly tended by relatives. [do try to write something relevant and original, won't you?]
On Saturday afternoon I had the entire nature reserve to myself [bar the jabbering wedding party on the opposite side of the hedge]. All the way round the central wilderness [if you're buried in there, nobody's coming to see you], past the flowering dogroses [I think they were dogroses, I'm not good on plants] and along the avenue of shady pines [it was so quiet and so private that I kept expecting to bump into a gang of teenage glue sniffers or an embarrassed couple shagging, but no, just me]. My secluded circuit was a pleasant way to spend quarter of an hour [but in a very unspecial ordinary way]. Where better to commune with nature than this environmental East Ham hideout? [lots of other places to be honest][it's worth a look if you're in the neighbourhood, which is unlikely][really, don't bother making a special effort to visit][see, my Saturdays are often quite dull]
• The London postal district contains eightpostcodes: N, NW, W, SW, SE, E, WC and EC. • There are eightRoyal Parks in London: Bushy Park, Green Park, Greenwich Park, Hyde Park, Kensington Gardens, Regent's Park, Richmond Park and St James's Park • Eightdeep-level shelters were built in the early 1940s, linked to existing tube stations at Clapham South, Clapham Common, Clapham North, Stockwell, Goodge Street, Camden Town, Belsize Park and Chancery Lane. • Bus route8 runs from my house to Victoria.
Ten other blogs you might enjoy reading » If you like odd and neglected buildings from the English countryside, with nice photos:Unmitigated England » If you like odd and neglected buildings from the English countryside, with nice photos:English Buildings » If you like touring every Underground station on the network, slowly, one by one, to see what's there:To The End Of The Line » If you like discussing opinion polls and the state of the UK's political parties:UK Polling Report » If you like birds and insects and wildlife, and fancy a look round a coastal village east of Dover:St Margaret's at Cliffe Photo Diary » If you like those big adverts and signs they used to paint on walls and buildings, many of them now endangered by redevelopment:Ghost Signs » If you like carvings, sculpture and other intricate designs to be found on London's buildings:Ornamental Passions » If you like graphic design, typography and lovely modern lettering (with or without serifs):Noisy Decent Graphics » If you like discussing Greenwich, probably (but not exclusively) because you live or work there:The Greenwich Phantom » If you always thought Mark Kermode should have a blog about movies:Mark Kermode's Movie Blog
Motor Racing Heritage Centre: British motor racing began in 1902, here on the promenade at Bexhill-on-Sea. The event was the idea of the 8th Earl De La Warr (yes, him again), in conjunction with the Automobile Club of Great Britain. He wanted somewhere appropriate to drive his new fangled motor car in competition with others, and decided that the private road he owned along the seafront would fit the bill perfectly. Approximately 200 vehicles drove to Bexhill for the day, avoiding the police speed traps set up on surrounding roads ("Oi, you're exceeding 12mph, you're nicked!"). No such worries on the kilometre run down from the top of Galley Hill to the finishing line outside the Sackville Hotel, and so the "Petrol Derbies" were born. Lord Northcliffe, the founder of the Daily Mail, took part and the day also saw the first public appearance of a Wolseley racing car. And the winning speed? An amazing 54mph, courtesy of Frenchman Leon Serpollet in his steam driven "Easter Egg".
Bexhill Museum: [website] Apparently this long arched building near the wetstern seafront "gives incredible insight into the history of Bexhill, its famous residents and visitors, and the important historic milestones that have made Bexhill famous." Unfortunately it's also closed for refurbishment until 2009, so I can't tell you any more.
On entering the building through the main entrance I made a fundamental and embarrassing error - I asked to pay for a ticket. Er no, it turned out that admittance is completely free. Oops. And hurrah! Obviously it costs to see a show in the main auditorium, but I wasn't joining the elderly audience for an amateur dramatics matinee, I was here to see the architecture. Starting with the main staircase. It's the staircase that makes this building special, spiralling up inside a glass cylinder with a series of silver discs suspending a lampshade at the centre. There's a silver plaque at the bottom commemorating the opening of the building by its main benefactor, Earl De La Warr, and also some red seats where you can sit and read the paper. The entire staircase just begs to be photographed (with or without mobility scooter) which is why several of my Flickr contacts have already had a go. I could have walked up and down all day, but probably best that I didn't.
And on the ground floor, in the gallery which used to be the restaurant and dance floor, another treat. The Arts Council have asked potter Grayson Perry to flick through their archived collection and pick out a few of his favourite works. He's done so by selecting an unsung period in British art (from the 1940s to the 1980s) and curating a fascinating little exhibition of nostalgic austerity. There's quite a bit of brown and grey on show, be it a dour watercolour of some industrial heartland or the lumpen bronze of a misshaped humanoid figure. Plenty of evocative photographs too, recalling the less than glamorous side of living on an estate, the bleak optimism of a seaside holiday or just general low-key grittiness. There's a pleasing mix of image and sculpture, and no one artist dominates - just the one Lowry and only a couple of Frinks. One wall is taken up by what looks like a striking photo of a net-curtained tower block, but on closer inspection turns out to be clever brushwork. And Grayson himself has contributed two signature works, one a pierced bronze skull embellished with symbols of Britishness, the other a large glazed urn emblazoned with portraits of the artist in a fetching headscarf. He likes headscarves almost as much as dresses, does our Grayson, which is why there's also a limited edition silk headscarf available from the pavilion shop for (cough) £45. This is a refreshingly down-to-earth exhibition, reassuringly retro and rather more accessible than many. It's open at the De La Warr until July 6th, and then touring the UK (Preston, Durham, Southampton, Aberystwyth, Scarborough, Wakefield and Bath) until 2010. For once, it's Londoners who are missing out.
It sounded like a good idea at the time. Take a Grade I listed warehouse in Wapping, originally a store for imported tobacco, and convert it into a £47 million shopping centre. The intention was to create the Covent Garden of the East End (that's a bijou shopping centre, not a fruit and vegetable market) in an iconic 200 year-old building. People would come from far and wide to browse beneath its vaulted brick arches, perhaps taking home a nice woollen cardigan or a pair of ruby stilettos or an ethnic wooden thingamajig. But it didn't happen.
But one sandwich shop is still open. And the most surprising thing about Tobacco Dock is that the entire complex is still maintained and managed and cleaned, just for them. Heaven knows how Frank & Stein have survived here since day 1, they must serve up the finest baguettes in all of Wapping. It's certainly not their unique cellar ambience, tucked up a side passage near the WC with a couple of lonely tables dumped outside. And it's not their contribution to 24-hour cafe society, because the deli counter is (very) closed at evenings and weekends. But on weekdays anybody can wander inside Tobacco Dock through the unlocked gates and take a stroll around the interior, even if they have no interest whatsoever in buying pastrami in a ciabatta.
It's like a ghost mall, maybe that one in Dawn of the Dead, with eerie empty walkways crossing in front of rows of vacant shopfronts. It feels as if you're trespassing, rather than exploring, although the bored security guard probably won't give you a second look. The arched brickwork is enticingly authentic, but there are also several artificial Thatcherite extras dropped in all around the place. Those chunky lanterns, for example, or the pair of scary statues by the empty maps near the mall entrance. The central stone staircase is garish and optimistically huge, designed for excessive footfall that never came. Elsewhere are unnecessarily ornate domed pergolas, one topped off with a metal globe, surrounding freshly-watered potted plants. All that architectural effort for so little return.
» The City of London [purple]
To Rotherhithe, which is slightly harder than usual with the nearby Thames Tunnel closed until 2010. If I had a car I'd have to start at the Rotherhithe roundabout (take the turning for the A101, no explosives, no flammable liquids). But as a pedestrian I had it slightly easier. There are steps down onto the entrance ramp close to Rotherhithe station, avoiding the first few hundred yards past the speed camera. It doesn't look like anyone on foot should be allowed down here, but really, it's still perfectly legal. Only 20 pedestrians a day pass this way, apparently, even though it's the only walking route across the river between Tower Bridge and Greenwich? OK, deep breath (very very deep breath), and I ventured inside the southern portal.
It's relentlessly bleak down here, especially when the traffic's light. A few 20mph roadsigns, various ventilation units, a two-lane non-super highway, and look at that, two pavements! The circular roof means that traffic can't get too close to the walls, so there's room to walk two abreast on either side. Shame that almost nobody bothers. That's probably why I got several funny looks from the oncoming traffic. What the hell is he doing down here? Has he not yet dropped dead from carbon monoxide poisoning? Shall I mount the pavement and squash him flat?
Location: Mapleton Road, Westerham, Kent TN16 1PS [map]
Chartwell's grounds aren't enormous, but they are splendid. The house clings to one side of a narrow wooded valley, with distant views across the undulating Weald from a series of grassy terraces [photo]. A rather charming rose walk crosses the kitchen garden, planted to commemorate the couple's 50th wedding anniversary 50 years ago [photo]. There's a formal rose garden, an informal water garden and of course a pristine croquet lawn [photo]. It's all very Lutyens-Jekyll. Winston also grew his own vegetables (nice patch, Winnie), built his own walls (a plaque points out which), and indulged his love of painting in a garden studio (was there no end to this man's talents?).
Bus 246: Bromley North - Chartwell
Bromley North station in a power cut, not the best of starts. All the traffic lights were down, and the empty-ish bus stumbled slowly through the undirected traffic. And then, at Bromley South, further complications. A teenage lad tried to board without a vaild ticket, claiming power-cut-related Oyster hardship. He argued adamantly that no shop could currently top him up, but the driver (and then a passenger, and then an inspector) told him in no certain terms to get off. Eventually, with a shower of lurid cursing, he backed down and moped off down the High Street. During this time, however, an unusually large queue of passengers had gathered at the bus stop. They piled aboard, filling the seats and the aisles to overflowing, leaving one late-arriving mum and her giant twin-buggy disconsolate at the kerbside. Never mind dear, there'll be another bus along in an hour.
Many local residents (and tired pedestrians) had stopped off at Leaves Green to sit on the grass near the pub and watch the air display for free. Rather better value than the £21 charged by the organisers for a view on the other side of the hedge. The family who'd been sitting in the seats behind me an hour earlier waved from their picnic blanket beneath a shady tree, beer in hand. A DC6 flew by, repeatedly, and a spiralling Chinook proved that even helicopters can do intricate acrobatics. And slowly, finally, we edged towards the airport perimeter. The road runs right past the end of the runway and we arrived just in time to see a Lancaster bomber preparing to soar into the sky. Scores of people were standing along the fence, in contravention of safety advice, many of them bikers for whom the jammed traffic had proved no problem at all. An ear-splitting drone signalled a four-jet flypast, and I strained to look out of the window to watch them looping sunwards. Suddenly my mistimed bus journey didn't seem quite such a trial after all.
By the side gate Newham Council have built a visitors centre [it looked like a green portakabin to me] to welcome schoolkids and nature-seekers [it was barely welcoming, it was firmly locked and shuttered]. Go straight ahead and you'll spot two gravestones dedicated to victims of the Titanic [I never saw them, I only found out when I got home and Googled the place]. More interesting, however to turn left and head into the churchyard proper [why are you telling them this? they don't care, they'll never visit]. [and is that the best photo you could find, it's a bit dull, and not even slightly representative]
