The East End of London has a long-standing Jewish heritage. As with so many other immigrant groups, it was to the dockside slums east of the Tower that Jewish émigrés came... and settled, and grew, and thrived, and from which they eventually moved on. On Sunday I joined a guided walk round Jewish Tower Hamlets, as part of the East London Heritage Trails weekend, to try to discover what remains here. And it's not much.
There used to be nearly two hundred synagogues in the East End, and now there are only four. We began our walk outside one of the survivors - the Congregation of Jacob on the Commercial Road. I'd not noticed the building before, hemmed in between a pound shop and a travel agent, and with a bold black Star of David perched on the apex of the roof. The building was once a cobblers, transformed in the 1920s with an Arts and Crafts interior, featuring high balconies and side benches gathered around a central space for worship. At least that's how it looks in the photos. The synagogue hadn't opened by the time our walk arrived, and our guide Clive told us he'd probably not have been welcomed inside anyway. I'm sorry I didn't return later for a proper look.
Much of the rest of the two hour tour featured vanished locations once at the heart of Jewish life. A famous Yiddish theatre, now demolished with a Tesco Express on the site. A kosher street market, now little more than a run-down anonymous alley. A top Jewish school, long since escaped to the suburbs and replaced by an Asian convenience store. There's a new crowd of immigrants here these days, and streets that were once fiercely Jewish are now very definitely a Bangladeshi stronghold. Indeed, little expressed this transformation better than a refrigerated lorry which parked up beside us in Cannon Street Road. As Clive pointed out various former Jewish businesses, the driver emerged with a bloodied sheep's carcass slung over his shoulder and lugged it past us to the halal butcher round the corner.
The highlight of the tour was another synagogue, this time on Nelson Street and with the opportunity to venture inside. I'd not brought anything to cover my head so I thought I might be abandoned outside, but thankfully skull caps for visitors were available. This visit was a first for me, and it was fascinating to experience a very different place of worship. Again there were balconies for the ladies and ground floor galleries for the gentlemen, this time set beneath a light blue neo-Georgian roof. In the centre was a raised dais, and to the east two carved lions guarded the vault in the wall containing several golden scrolls of scripture [enlarge photo]. One of the synagogue's elderly worshippers spent a good half hour explaining what goes on here, and a little of the building's history, and just how much money they need to repair the roof. Most astonishingly he told of the steady decline in the number of worshippers, now reduced to little more than a quorum of 10, thanks to a Federation rule which permits only local Jews to join the congregation. The average age of the worshippers here is currently around 80-something, and as the elders die off there's a genuine risk that no Jewish East Enders will be around to replace them. A diminished congregation for the weekly service means that the building is increasingly likely to be sold off for flats, and one of the last survivors of a long heritage would be lost forever. A humbling visit.
I went on a second Heritage Trail walk in the afternoon, this time exploring the area around Mile End station. There's a surprisingly high number of intriguing locations in the vicinity, as you'll remember from my High Street 2012 chronicles. But our guide saved the best until last, a spot I'd never previously encountered, tucked away inside the Queen Mary's campus. Here was a field-sized fragment of an old Jewish cemetery, hemmed in on all sides by hedges and university buildings, containing around 2000 flat-topped graves. There used to be four times as many, but university expansion required several thousand bodies to be disinterred and relocated to a burial ground in Essex. The remainder created an impressive enough sight [enlarge photo]. As a rare treat the gate of the Nuevo Cemetery was specially unlocked on Sunday allowing access inside, and it was strangely moving to be able to stand alone amongst so many long dead generations. Hopefully this space, at the very least, will be properly protected against future development. The Jewish East End - visit now while evidence remains.
• The East London Heritage Trails booklet is a fantastic 76-page colour guide to the secret heritage of Tower Hamlets. There's a wealth of historical information inside, as well as 13 short self-guided walks you can follow at your leisure. It took me three attempts to obtain a free copy from a local library (Whitechapel Idea Store finally managed to locate their booklets in a box behind the helpdesk, but only after I'd been sent on a 15 minute wild goose chase around the building). Alternatively you could send off a stamped addressed envelope or, for a virtual copy, download the booklet as a pdf. Recommended.
I really shouldn't be telling you this but, should we ever meet, there's one sure fire way to annoy me. It doesn't involve harsh words or physical jostling. It's not about guilt, hostility or rudeness. It's about paper. Dare to mess with a sheet of my paper and I get really annoyed.
In my world every sheet of paper ought to be smooth and flawless, like it's just out of the packet. No crumples, no creases and most definitely no unnecessary folds. I try very hard in my life to preserve the purity of the paper in my possession, and not to allow anyone or anything defile its innate two-dimensionalness. You have been warned.
I'm damned good at preserving sheets of paper in their original flat form. Give me a printed sheet, or some scribbled A4, or any published work, and you can rest assured that it'll come to no harm. I treat photocopies, magazines and even tax forms with due reverence. After I've finished reading a book, it'll still look like it's fresh off the bookstore shelf. I can carry a leaflet across town without a bag and it'll arrive home looking unspoilt and unruffled. Paper is always 100% protected while in my care.
To me, the corner of a sheet of paper is a sacred object. Corners are meant to be perfect right angles, all sharp and pointed, and that's the way I like to keep them. Under no circumstances should they be folded over, either accidentally or deliberately. No process of erosion should be allowed to round them off, say by natural wear and tear or through careless storage. Untidy corners reflect thoughtless handling, and cannot be tolerated.
Other people, it seems, don't share my sense of woodpulp-related responsibility. They'll bung a sheet of paper into a pile, drawer or bag without a second thought for its welfare. They'll grasp a book cover too heavily and leave an indelible crease that no amount of wishing can ever remove. They'll staple willy-nilly, or paperclip too roughly, or holepunch without due care and attention. In short, other people just don't respect the sanctity of paper like I do, and I can't cope with such wanton desecration.
If you're ever handling a sheet of paper that belongs to me, you'd better watch out for telltale signs of my distress. See the pain in my eyes should you accidentally fold the sheet or grasp it too tightly and leave a mark. Watch me wince should you dare to write or doodle thereon, or even dot the page with the tip of a pen. And should I ever risk lending you a book to read (which is quite frankly unlikely), beware my reaction to the unforgivable sins of page-flicking, corner-folding or spine-breaking. I can go off people very quickly, and you'll probably never guess that your unintentional origami was to blame.
I have a suspicion that this behaviour is not normal. Other people aren't quite so obsessed by the preservation of pristine paper. They don't get upset by imperfection, or go out of their way to maintain virginal flatness, not like I do. And yes, I'm aware that I'm acting irrationally. I fully recognise that the meaning of the information written on a page isn't affected by its physical condition. But that doesn't prevent me from going out of my way to protect every sheet of paper in my care from inadvertent harm. Everybody's allowed one irrational aversion in their life. And mine's in creasing.
Over the Hill
Flippin eck, an era has ended. Yesterday afternoon the BBC screened the very last episode of Grange Hill, an amazing 30 years after the very first. I watched them both (as well as 90% of the episodes inbetween), and I bet there's nobody else reading this blog who can say the same. I've always been a big fan, which is why I wrote a long in-depth nostalgic post back in February (which I won't bore you with again). But it was good to see the final series returning to form after a few naff years in the CBBC wilderness. Yesterday's final episode was rather sweet, and rather silly, and rather uplifting, and rather improbable, and rather cheesy, and all the things that a decent Grange Hill story ought to be. Very Phil Redmond to have an unexploded WW2 bomb being discovered underneath the school hall during the end of term disco, and very CBBC to have it not exploding. And rather fitting to have Tucker Jenkins back to offer some careers advice to his cousin Togger, and to deliver a heartfelt sermon in praise of a comprehensive education. They won't make children's drama like this again, and the next generation of Year 7s are definitely missing out.
Diet update
mid-March: X stone 7
mid-May: (X-1) stone 7
mid-July: (X-1) stone 4
mid-Sept: (X-1) stone 2
Going well, isn't it? I switched from low-cholesterol crash diet to sensible eating back in May, and I'm pleased to say that my weight is still slipping gradually downwards. I'll even gorge myself on greasy seaside fish and chips these days without fear of arterial retribution. At this rate I might even be (X-2) stone something by the end of the year. But please, that's not an excuse to buy me new trousers for Christmas, OK?
Yellow peril
I've had my Oyster card for five years (five years this week, in fact), and I'm still using the original blue wallet. It goes everywhere with me in my pocket - to work, to the shops, even to the occasional sweaty nightclub - so not surprisingly it's started to look a bit worn. The ink's gradually wearing off, the interior plastic's a little crumpled, and there are two small rips at the weak point near the central fold. It's these tiny tears that concern me most, as one day soon I may whip out my Oyster and rip my wallet in two. Trouble is, all TfL's replacement wallets these days are bright yellow IKEA adverts, and I don't want to wave a sponsored eyesore every time I walk through a ticket gate thank you very much. Alas, I doubt TfL will ever again hand out tasteful unbranded Oyster wallets, not when they can raise money to fill Boris's budgetary black hole instead. So should I hunt down a tastefulalternative (with essential exterior pocket) or do I risk carrying on using my Oyster original? I'm torn.
Everything is borrowed (The Streets)
I do love a good Streets album. Which is just as well, because Mikey's latest offering is merely good, not great. His latest collection of low-key garage mumbling is an attempt at uplifting positivity, which is in direct contrast to the last album's unloveable brashness. And it sort of works. The lyrics are almost as cunning as ever, although not quite so rapid-fire and dense. The underlying beats are moretuneful, moregentle, although nowhere near as hooky as his earlier work (not even after a week's preview listening on MySpace). And the singing? Well, you don't buy a Streets album for the singing. I kind of like this latest rebirth, near enough. The Times, Guardian and NME are more keen, and the Scotsman, Time Out and Telegraph (and mike) less so. Here's hoping that Mr Skinner's fifth (and reputedly final) album (of reputedly Berlin-based electronica) will be a return to the glories of one and two.
Seaside postcard: Shivering Sands There are some mighty strange places around the UK coast. One of the weirdest lies nine miles out into the North Sea, between the coasts of Kent and Essex. It's a 7-part wartime defensive structure, dating back to 1943, and it looks completely out of this world. Hop on a speedboat from Herne Bay and you too could join the surprisingly small number of us who've actually seen it.
These are the Maunsell Forts at Shivering Sands, strategically positioned alongside the shipping lanes at the mouth of the Thames Estuary. They were designed to house a variety of gun installations, both to shoot down approaching aircraft and to destroy enemy ships. Seven towers were built and towed out to sea, then dropped so that their concrete foundations sank firmly into the sand. The central tower was then linked to each of the others via an aerial cat walk, enabling military personnel to move freely around the defensive complex. Needless to say this isolated existence was not a popular posting, so the forts were evacuated after the war and finally decommissioned in the 1950s.
But that's not the end of the Shivering Sands story. In 1963 a Swedish ship careered into the searchlight tower in thick fog, breaking its legs and carrying it several hundred miles across the North Sea before anybody noticed. The northern control tower, now severed from the remaining five, was put to use by the Port of London Authority as a tidal monitoring station. And because Shivering Sands lies outside the official limit of UK coastal waters, the southern tower became home to one of Britain's first pirate radio stations. Screaming Lord Sutch moved in during the summer of 1964, but couldn't endure the inhospitable conditions and soon sold out to his manager Reg Calvert. RadioCity ("The happiest swinging station in the world") was rather more successful, at least until a proposed merger with Radio London went tragically wrong and Reg was "accidentally" shot dead. Only in Essex, eh? The incident spurred the passing of the Marine Broadcasting Offences Act, and pirate radio's days were firmly numbered.
Today the six remaining towers rust in silent solitude, their windows smashed out by the army to ensure that no unwanted squatters can move in [photo]. Apart from one lonely writer who spent a recent summer here getting lonely (and blogging about it), now only seagulls claim Shivering Sands as their own. With decent visibility it's just about possible to see the towers from the Kentish coast, small stilted blobs on the northern horizon. But for a proper view I had to take the boat trip, out into the maritime mist, for the opportunity to get up close. And yes, they really are an impressive and unusual sight [photo]. Ropes hang limp where walkways once stretched [photo], and gaping doorways allow the unforgiving North Sea weather to penetrate inside [photo]. The stump of the smashed tower is clearly visible above the waves in calm weather (you can probably spot it in my top photo). Every slight change in boat position generates a fascinatingly new vista of boxes and legs [photo], so no photo of the fort complex is ever the same. I found this a very peaceful spot, at least until a large cargo ship departing Tilbury chugged close by [photo].
And what of the future? Our pilot suggested that Shivering Sands' proximity to the shipping lanes might prove its downfall, and that demolition may be on the cards within the next couple of years. It'd be a damned shame to lose such an iconic offshore structure, but all too often it seems risk analysis wins out over heritage preservation. All may not be lost, however, because there's another similar cluster of Maunsell Forts at Red Sands a few miles further to the west. Our boat trip didn't go there (even though it said we would in the tour description, not impressed, guys). These forts are in a slightly better condition and are therefore more likely to be saved. Apparently there are plans afoot by a private consortium to restore the towers to create a sustainable "self-funding facility", incorporating recording studios, a wartime and broadcasting museum, and of course a gift shop. If Project Redsand is successful, the platforms might even be able to host corporate events and weddings. Part of me absolutely hates the idea, but at least some element of these amazing wartime defences will be saved for the future. In the meantime, especially if you want to experience the awe-inspiring Shivering Sands, you'd better hurry and try to pick a sunny day to get out here for yourself.
Seaside postcard: Herne Bay HerneBay is an overlooked resort on the North Kent coast, facing out into the North Sea between Whitstable and Margate. Victorians came here in their droves, and even 30 years ago the promenade would have been packed in the summer with happy families intent on enjoying a week at the seaside. Since then Herne Bay has become a more retiring place, and businesses on the seafront attempt to survive on insufficient daytrippers. I've been along to partake.
You may recognise the promenade at Herne Bay from the first series of Little Britain - it's where Emily Howard (who is a lady) went for a stroll. It's an ideal town for the discerning dame, blessed with peculiarly genteel shops such as Margot Gowns [photo] where one can pop in and purchase sequinned eveningwear for the next cocktail party or soiree. Meanwhile the water's edge increasingly attracts well-off blokes in wetsuits, hopping aboard their throbbing jetski for a speedy whizz around the harbourside. And yes, there's bingo and fish and chips and amusements too, if that's what the more common of us want.
Two major structures originating in the 1830s still dominate the seafront. That's not just any old clock tower, that's the world's first free-standing purpose-built clock tower, erected in 1837 [photo]. And slightly further west is what used to be Britain's longest pier, but alas no more. Southend-on-Sea overtook it in the 1840s (2km easily beats 1km), and then a storm completely destroyed the central section in 1978. Today the pier goes out no further than the futuristic metal sports pavilion [photo], home to an offshore bowling alley, although the far distant pierhead still stands severed and decaying way out to sea [photo]. Then there's the bandstand, a giant 1920s octagonal structure surrounding a central performance area. Based within is the town's tourist information centre, doomed to imminent closure thanks to short-sighted cost-cutting on behalf of the local council.
But that's not why I was in Herne Bay, I was here for the boat trip. There are some really fascinating structures out at sea, and the only way to get up close is aboard an inflatable. Bayblast are a new-ish company operating from the hut beside Neptune's Arm Jetty, and their Rigid Hulled Inflatable Boats can whisk up to 12 people off on a variety of short trips and lengthy excursions. They're not cheap these tours - mine was £22 for just over an hour at sea. And be warned that sailings are subject to change and cancellation if the weather's bad, and that the company's website is frozen in a not entirely helpfultimewarp. But it's not every day you get the opportunity to scud across the North Sea at umpteen miles an hour aboard a big orange diesel-powered speedboat. In a fetching lifejacket, I might add.
First stop, five miles off shore, was the Kentish Flats wind farm. If the future of UK electricity is renewable and wind-powered, then this forest of tall twirly blades is where it all started. There are 30 masts altogether, each hammered down into a convenient sandbank, and they've been generating power since the summer of 2005. They looked fairly tiny and compact from the beach but, as the boat approached, the huge scale of the project soon became apparent. These are mighty structures, towering 60 metres above the waves, plus another 45 metres for each blade. The blades swish round surprisingly quietly, although at some considerable speed, and it was slightly perturbing sitting in a small boat directly underneath hoping that one didn't snap off and come spinning down towards us.
I found the wind farm extremely difficult to photograph. The boat throws you about a bit, so it's not easy to capture a shot with a flat horizon [photo]. The masts are spread out over an area of 10 square kilometres, so the majority of them are always too far away to look imposing [photo]. Meanwhile each individual mast is too huge to fit easily into a frame [photo], leaving nothing else in shot to give a reasonable indication of scale [photo]. Plus it was a bit misty out at sea yesterday, brightening up only as our boat returned to shore, so I ended up with a lot of shots of thin white sticks on a grey background above a grey sea. Still, I tried. Otherpeoplehavetriedbetter. If UK electricity production has to go the green sustainable route, I think these masts look much better out at sea than plonked down on dry land. And it's rather impressive to have had the opportunity to sail right through the middle of them.
OK, enough frivolity, it's time to get back to the desperately mundane. Let's explore what's new on the street where I live, in a criminally uninteresting local feature I'm calling...
Bow Road update
• Merchant's Quarter: I see they've taken down the scaffolding around this brand new development (pictured) at the top of British Street. No architectural gem, this block of shiny flats, just more dull modern ordinariness. I much preferred the scrap of wasteland on which it was built. • 425: This new bus route, which I still can't quite see the point of, runs from Clapton to Stratford via Mile End. When the service started it was operated by leftoverdoubledeckers, scrappy old things cobbled together from a variety of operators, sometimes with the number "425" scrawled on a piece of paper and stuck on the front above the driver's head. Now, at last, there are some proper shiny new buses running the route, yet to be graffitied, yet to have some idiot's name scratched into the glass. It's a luxurious ride for the few passengers that bother to climb on board - I've yet to see any 425 even vaguely full. Should have saved some money and bought single deckers, guys. • Conkers: It's conker season at the big horse chestnut tree outside Bow Road station, long time readers will be pleased to hear. The pavement's littered with smashed spiky cases, but for the conkers themselves you'll need to arrive early in the morning to beat the local schoolkids. • Road works: Delays are expected for traffic along Bow Road on the last weekend of the month. No clues on the big yellow sign blocking the pavement outside the police station as to why, though. • Costcutter: The convenience shop with the old Co-op beehive on the roof isn't a Costcutter any more, it's metamorphosed into a Nisa. But no major changes inside. • Cupcake: I walked out of my front door earlier this week to find that some kind baking angel had left a small cupcake on my doorstep. I very nearly trod on it, squashing it flat, but thankfully avoided having to go to work with a spongey sole. The cake was iced with sugary whiteness, and had the words "eat me" piped in yellow around the circumference. I resisted the instruction, not wholly certain that the cake wasn't laced with arsenic, cigarette ash or recently-deposited rat droppings. I wonder if it came from thislot? • Bow Baptist Church: This erased building is now a building site behind a white wall, awaiting a highrise future (with a new church on the ground floor). • Byron Stingily: If there's an exciting weekend disco planned in SW Essex, you can guarantee that the promoter will have tied a big placard to the the traffic lights on the A12 roundabout beneath the flyover. Imagine my excitement when I saw on this poster that "TEN CITY featuring BYRON STINGLY" would be appearing in Loughton on the 27th "performing their all time classics alongside a legendary DJ line up." I struggled to remember any of Byron's banging screechy toons, let alone all time classics, but apparently theyhadplenty. 8pm til late, if you're interested. I shall be unavoidably elsewhere.
After four days in Grid London's non-existent alternate universe, what have we learned?
1) You hate change.
I went on a "Change Management" training course at work once, where I was told the bleeding obvious by a smile in a dress. However, this week I've completely ignored the bleeding obvious and imposed change mysteriously, suddenly and without explanation. One minute there was a normal London-based eclectic blog (in grey), and the next I replaced it with a commercial green and orange nightmare. No wonder so many of you entered the "denial", "protest" and "retribution" stages. Sorry. But don't worry, my defection to the Grid London darkside was only a temporary aberration.
2) You hate green.
What I wrote this week didn't matter at all to some of you, because you couldn't cope with the green. About a quarter of my commenters, on Monday and Tuesday at least, ignored what I'd written and just gibbered about the green. I toneddown the shade slightly on Wednesday, and we heard less about it. But the message is clear - if you want lots of comments (in the short term at least), change your background colour to something upsetting. Message to my RSS audience: Yes, the main blog's been green all this week. You never noticed did you? Actually, in this case that may have been a good thing.
3a) You hate vacuous commercial blogging.
Yeah, me too. That was the point of my Grid London exercise. Meaningless glib posts full of fawning uncritical praise - hate them. Effortless swathes of cut and paste plagiarism - hate them. Blogs littered with references to every press release some PR guru suggests - hate them. And you hate them too, so you begged me to stop. 3b) You hate unfunny attempts at blog satire.
Yeah me too. One day's usually enough to get the point across, so stretching out a parody over a week can get rather tiresome. Oh the agonies of reading a once-enjoyable blog and watching it slip slowly away from you. I bet you cheered when you clicked in today and saw this blog was grey again.
4) Some of you jump to conclusions too quickly.
Several commenters this week jumped to the conclusion that Grid London was real. Er, no. Do please try to develop a healthy scepticism, because unquestioning belief in everything you read on a blog can be extremely bad for your credibility. And some people evidently believed that I had in mind specific blogs and websites upon which my week-long withering assault was based. Let me assure you that this was not the case, and that my focus was very much on a broad soulless genre rather than particular individual exemplars.
5) Some of you are new round here.
And you newbies may have taken my apparent change of direction more seriously than most. I've got into trouble before for not being up-front about my sarcasm. I often play my blog straight, when in fact I'm taking the piss mercilessly. I've debated whether I ought to use an "irony flag" to signal satirical spoofery, but instead I prefer to rely on the intelligence of my readership to spot the difference. You'll get the hang of me eventually. Unless you've already buggered off pledging never to return, that is.
6) If Grid London were real, and paying me per click-through, I'd be rich.
Usually when I post a link on my blog, only a few of you click on it. Maybe about 5% of readers, that sort of proportion, and rarely more than 10%. But my prolonged and shameless promotion of Grid London this week has whacked that percentage up to more like half. I've inspired nearly 2000 target site conversions since Monday, and for that level of interest I'm sure a healthy Paypal balance would have been coming my way. And you lot are a discerning audience for heavens sake, not a bunch of easily-led muppets. Maybe monetised blogging could pay, after all. But, trust me on this, I have no intention of starting down that path.
7) Even lazy content attracts comments.
Wednesday's "end of the world" post was in fact exactly the same text I'd have posted anyway, even if I hadn't been having a scary green week. Admittedly it wasn't quite the cut and paste I claimed, but I bet that reproducing the genuine Daily Mail article would have gathered a similarly large number of comments. No effort on my part whatsoever, but generating the illusion of intelligent conversation. Whereas Tuesday's "trouser-buying" post took ages to write, and yet not one of you commented specifically on my purchasing adventures. Why did I bother?
8) Even detestable content attracts visitors.
"It would be interesting to see how visitor numbers to this blog have declined this week," commented Michael yesterday. And yes, I was expecting exactly that. But no, quite the opposite occurred. Visitor numbers this week are actually up by approximately 15% on last week, and my total number of RSS subscriptions is at a record high. Maybe some people actually appreciated the well-targeted humour. Or maybe they only kept coming back to see if the content could get any worse. Beats me.
9) The only constant on diamond geezer is change.
This is not a blog about London. I know it felt like that last month when I droned on and on about the same short stretch of road for two weeks. And I do talk about the Olympics a lot, and the Underground, and lots of alternative London-y stuff. But there's plenty of other content here too, much of which is not even vaguely geographical. diamond geezer is a blog about whatever takes my fancy, which is not necessarily what takes yours. I write about what I like, not what you want. Get used to it.
10) When you click to read this blog in the morning, you never quite know what you're going to get.
And, after six years, that's still the way I like it.
Grid London Gathering Thursday 11th September, 7:30pm The Hammer and Shovel, Shepherd's Bush
I'm ever so excited, because tonight sees the latest Gathering for Grid London contributors. We all meet up every month and sit in an obscure pub getting mildly drunk at someone else's expense. We discuss what's going on in the blogosphere, and we show off our digital cameras, and we point at one another excitedly and go "Oh my god, so you'reCamden Queen!" Really it's ever so interesting, and a great way to mix socially with a cross section of commercially savvy Londoners. Such a good night.
Last month I was delighted to meet Sally from My Left Sprocket, who's genuinely as charming as she comes across in her writing. It was also an honour to chat to Yellow Peril about Boris's transport policy, and to lock horns with Raymond over the future of East End skyscraper development. Bev brought along her Samsung V280, which we all coveted, and Top Panda made history by Twittering simultaneously from the gents and ladies toilets. I also got to meet Zavinda, The Wandsworth Wizard, Fudgepack, Alas Poor Yorick and several other wannabes who'd started a blog three days earlier and hoped that, by turning up to a pub, everyone else would link to them. Way to go, guys.
Of course I also met the charismatic Magda. I must say, Grid London's chief impresario didn't look quite how I was expecting. Her thigh length motorcycle boots were an unusual touch, and a fringed turquoise poncho is not everyone's idea of style. But, as she sat there in the leatherette booth hidden behind a pair of designer neon sunglasses, I felt somehow unable to resist her commercial advances. Indeed after my seventh free glass of the chief sponsor's guava-based energy drink, Magda convinced me that signing up my blog to Grid London would be the perfect way to unlock a seam of untapped marketing potential. It's great to see how positively my loyal readers have reacted to this unashamed sellout.
We're promised a really top-notch sponsor tonight, something to do with brain-nourishment chewing gum I believe, and hopefully there'll be lots of freebie giveaways that we can review on our blogs in the morning. I trust the talk won't drag on beyond 90 minutes this time, because everyone's really there for the geeky smalltalk and the free bar. So the only place to be this evening is the upstairs lounge of the Hammer and Shovel in convivial W12. I've not been before, but of course Grid London's excellent pub reviews always give a clear indication of the sort of atmosphere to expect. See you there?
Grid London Review:HAMMER AND SHOVEL(7 handclaps) Shepherd's Bush Green, Holland Park West, London, W12 3NK [map]
» Wow we got free beer all night!!! I can heartily reccomend this place! My Left Sprocket, 12 Sep 2008 » What a fantastic pub!! Everything about it shines, not least the doorman's knuckle duster. You'll never have to queue at the bar for more than ten minutes, and the selection of Bolivian reds is to die for. Magda, 10 Sep 2008 » full of braying BBC meeja types, pissing away your licence fee the bastards mikey, 3 Oct 2007 » there is no atmosphere not unless you like airport departure lounges amanda le-bourcier, 22 Jan 2007 » Ate there with the missus Monday evening, beer fine, food not. I was served mouldy bread and when I complained it came back scraped off with a tut. chilli was lukewarm & very salty. we were blatantly ignored for several minutes whilst other customers who arrived later were served. I found the landlord a bit aloof, which at these prices is not acceptable. Mr anon, 29 May 2005 » Confidence with Ladies and inner confidence comes with impressive manhood. Double your volume upsize today @lushmedz.com phenterboy, 7 Jan 2005 » I ordered a pint of Whigstons Earth Monster and the barman served it one degree below the optimum temperature. Needless to say I've not been back. ColinVII, 13 Nov 2002 » Your review here?
I saw this report in the paper so I've cut and pasted it here. See what you think.
Big Bang threatens Doomsday for House Prices
Euro scientists will today switch on an untested nuclear gizmo which could destroy the British property market. If plans to recreate the Big Bang are successful, mini black holes could ripple outwards from the Swiss countryside consuming everything in their path. These dangerous atomic experiments are the biggest threat to British house prices since World War 2, it was revealed today. And yet Gordon Brown does nothing.
"It's a national disgrace," said Harvey Mitchell of the English Estate Agents Alliance. "Here we are in the middle of the biggest mortgage slump in recent memory, and continental physicists threaten the very bricks and mortar on which our inheritances are founded. People just won't want to buy houses this morning in case they vanish by lunchtime, and it's all the fault of those pesky Euroboffins."
Property meltdown is on the cards because of the imminent launch in Geneva of the Large Hadron Collider. Think of the LHC as a giant underground railway for sub-atomic particles, but without any trains. This £4.5 billion project is designed to speed up atoms until they mutate into planet-eating strangelets, or even explode. But critics fear that tiny black holes could accumulate and start to devour the Swiss countryside, before munching their way across Europe and threatening the UK across the English Channel.
Gennifer Mitchell, of Parents Against Prejudice, said: "Once again it's home owners in London and the South East who are bearing the brunt of property price uncertainty. First time buyers aren't interested in buying homes close to the epicentre of EuroArmageddon. Instead they're switching their interest to properties in Scotland, Northern Ireland or even (for heaven's sake) Wales. And who can blame them? Not even the Chancellor's shameless stamp duty bribes can prop up the Home Counties housing market this morning."
One of the scientists responsible for the LHC project, DrBrianCox, turns out to have direct links to disgraced ex-PM Tony Blair. Atom smasher Brian used to be the drummer in 90s pop group D:Ream, whose single Things Can Only Get Better was used by spin doctors to invoke false expectations of New Labour optimism. Now Dr Cox risks destroying your home, your beautiful garden and even your unborn grandchildren, and all in just a billionth of a second.
"I'm tremendously angry," said Kenneth Mitchell, 87, of Putney Heath. "I fought in the war to protect my family and to provide a future for all right thinking Englishmen. Now we face a far more deadly foreign threat, and I may no longer be able to pass on my lovely bungalow to future generations. I don't understand how all this physics stuff works, obviously, but I am very fearful and extremely outraged."
Life in credit crunch Britain has already become unbearable, with families who bought property this year now waist deep in hundreds of pounds of negative equity. It's even worse for long-standing home owners, who've seen the quintupling in value of their greatest asset reduced to mere quadrupling over recent months. Now the misplaced curiosity of ignorant scientists threatens to unleash a 100% inheritance tax on the UK housing market. And not one of them seems to care.
"There really is absolutely nothing to worry about," said Professor Hans Mitchell. "Any micro black holes we might create will be considerably tinier than an electron. Magnetic monopoles and heavy ion whirlpools are nothing but figments of an over-active imagination. And we have more to fear from global warming than from rampaging strangelets. The world will not end this morning, and that's a scientific certainty."
Opinion in the British suburbs remains unconvinced. So we still recommend that you defend your property to the last, and maybe take out some urgent home insurance. Lock the front door, construct a blast shelter under the stairs, whitewash your windows and prepare for the worst. And if we turn out to be correct and the universe is indeed devoured by an all-consuming vacuum bubble, trust us, we'll be back here tomorrow to say 'We told you so'.
Why not join the conversation on this article over at the Grid London web forum. And do try to comment before noon, thanks.
Monday 18:37 Hi Magda. Just checking in with you so that Grid London can approve my post idea for tomorrow. I've been shopping for trousers in Selfridges again, and I wanted to write about my menswear experience. Here's what I posted last time, just to give you a flavour of my intended angle. Will this be OK, or might Grid bosses demand a rewrite? DG
Monday 20:26 Hi DG. I'm afraid your previous post about trouser-buying doesn't really fit with Grid London's core ethos. You make it sound as if shopping is a chore, whereas we need to be promoting purchase power at all times. And do try to keep your posts a bit shorter. Our research shows that readers won't plough through anything more than 300 words long, so keep it snappy! Be inspired, be vibrant, and whatever you do say nice things about Selfridges - we're hoping they'll buy up some advertising space next semester. Magda
Monday 21:53 Hi Magda. Point taken. I've had another go, taking a much more positive approach. I thought I'd open by saying "When a man's thoughts turn to buying trousers, there's really only one source that cuts the mustard" and go on to describe Selfridges' menswear department as the Mecca of male haute couture. I hope that suits better. DG P.S. When will my first PayPal payment be arriving? These are damned expensive trousers, and I'm counting on your thirty pieces of silver to contribute towards my new hipster wardrobe.
Monday 23:08 Hi DG. I'm afraid I can't let you mention mustard. It's been agreed that Bellini's Curry Sauce is Grid London's condiment of choice for September, so no reference to competing relish is permitted. Also could you avoid mentioning Mecca, as religious references tend to upset foreign investors, and bingo is so terribly downmarket. Do try again, there's a darling. Magda.
Tuesday 00:41 Magda. I'm slightly concerned that you haven't confirmed my payment status yet. At our initial webcam meeting you dangled such an impressive carrot, but I still appear to be working for peanuts. Let me know about financial capability asap, or else I may not be able to afford to write about luxury level shopping again. Anyway, here's my revised version of tomorrow's today's post. Please say that this is good enough because I need to go to bed now.
When your work trousers start to slide gently down over your hips, you know that your diet has perhaps been too successful. Accessorise with a leather or diamante belt, that's normally the solution. But my recent waistline shrinkage had been rather too successful for that. I needed a new pair of gentlemen's strides, and fast! So I headed to the epicentre of twin-legged cool, the Selfridges' menswear department, and scouted round for a bargain. Oh what an Aladdin's Cave of tempting treats! Dazzling swathes of cloth hung all around me, from every great modern designer and then some. I could have selected a gorgeous pair of McQueens or some sharp pinstriped Aquascutum, each realistically priced in a variety of fashion shades. But instead I headed back to the same concession I frequented last year - I'm nothing if not devoted to my chosen brand loyalties.
"I'd like a pair of exactly the same trousers as last time," I demanded. "Only smaller." The talented assistant looked me up and down, reached to the correct shelf and lifted out a perfectly matching pair. Such sartorial skill, sir. I tripped to the changing rooms, the sweet tones of Prince wafting over the first floor loudspeakers, and slipped my legs into the duplicate fabric. At last, a close-hugging waistband and no risk of unbelted slippage! I looked quite the dapper man about town in the gleaming Selfridges mirror. "Yes please," I said to the impeccably dressed assistant on my return to the cash desk. "And get me another pair exactly the same please, so that I can wear them alternately to work, week in and week out." A man's got to have a reasonably-priced spare, you know, just in case of accidental curry sauce spillage. Trust Selfridges to kit you out with consummate style. (299 words)
Actually the incompetent Selfridges muppets sold me the wrong-sized second pair, so I've got to trudge all the way back into Oxford Street to get them replaced. I mean, what idiot dyslexic assistant swaps the waist and inside leg measurements round the wrong way and then sticks incorrect sized trousers into your bag? But I thought I'd better omit that part of the story, because it's not really the positive unquestioning marketing message that Grid London wants to promote, is it? See, I'm learning. DG
Tuesday 05:49 Hi DG. Oh that's just absolutely perfect. Bellini's PR team were so impressed by your saucy product placement. You've got that Grid sensibility down to a T. Go ahead and publish immediately! By the way, tomorrow's guidance from on high is to write about the end of the world - you know, CERN, black holes, imminent global catastrophe, that sort of thing. Bonus points for hotlinking to any of the insurance companies on Grid London's list of approved sponsors in your welcome pack. And please, remember to sound more uplifting first time next time. Toodlepip! Magda
And, to celebrate, I have excellent news for all my readers. As of today I'm linking up with my friends at GRID LONDON to bring you an even better London website experience. Together we'll be serving up the very best London content, direct to your screen. Every day there'll be a fresh diet of news and information and reviews - exactly what you need to help you make the most of living in London. It's going to be a great partnership.
I know a lot of you will already be familiar with Grid London. In a very short period they've already become one of the main players on the London web scene, combining value-added recommendations with customer-focused reviews. Searching for a new home? Smart buyers know that Grid London is tops for property news and estate agent details. Need to know the best kebab restaurant in Balham High Street? Grid London's interactive takeaway map is the only service you'll ever need. And Grid London's web forums are alive with witty conversation and scathing political comment, all free to access 24 hours a day. I'm always jabbering away over there, especially in The Grid chatroom, and it'll be great to have some more of you on board!
News
The Grid London team believe in news first and foremost. That's why they're so swift to rehash every slightly quirky story that appears on the BBC London and Evening Standard websites, and publish it immediately for your comments. If there's a press release in their inbox, Grid London will cut and paste it and bring it to you first, and that's a promise. Hell, they'll even recycle the top story on ITV Local, they're not proud, just so that it looks like they have their finger on the capital's pulse. Whereas in fact Grid London has a journalistic staff of one, and they're based in Toronto with an RSS reader, but sssh none of you need ever know that.
Information
After a long chat with the entrepreneurs behind Grid London, I've become aware of the omissions and inconsistencies in my normal writing. When I visit a museum or place of interest, I'm told I shouldn't be wasting my time detailing the history or pointing out the flaws in their service. Instead I must concentrate on what the coffee in the cafe tastes like, and what special treasures are available in the gift shop, and how much money you could save with a 2 for 1 offer. This is what the great majority of the public want to know, because being discerning and intellectual doesn't pay. So from now on I'll only be visiting Grid-approved locations, and staying on-message at all times.
Reviews
Londoners are always on the move, always on the lookout for something new. Well look no further, because life enhancement is Grid London's forte. It's all thanks to their army of unpaid contributors whose incisive reviews form the majority of the site's 100%-credible content. Just enter your postcode and the comprehensive Grid London database will churn out tens of potentially relevant local experiences, from designer boutiques to real ale pubs. Grid London always knows what's on tonight, and where to eat, and which guava-based energy drink you should consume on the way. Web services are about trust, and every product promoted by Grid London is a name you can trust.
So save Grid London to your bookmarks now, because over the next few weeks we're going to forge a beautiful and inspirational online relationship together. What with their resources and my credibility, we have the perfect synergy to build web business and drive market share.
And if you're still looking for diamond geezer's usual quirky uncommercial content then don't worry. My new friends at Grid London are still allowing me to do my own thing, but only on Saturdays when visitor numbers are lower. Here's to selling out, and to six more years.
Wow! What a response from the diamond geezer audience! You've been logging onto Grid London in droves since we announced our new partnership earlier this morning. But your enthusiasm for the website has caused it to crash, which is clearly less than acceptable on this special joint launch date. Please accept the management's deepest apologies while they attempt to source additional bandwidth. Rest assured that London's favourite interactive website will be back up and running as soon as possible!
And one more event from yesterday's Time Out-inspired walkabout, because this one deserved better than an mobile-emailed summary.
Vintage Travel Posters (page 47): Well that looks interesting, I thought. An exhibition of those marvellous posters designed to encourage the travellers of the past to board a Cunard liner to Canada, or take a train to the Scottish Highlands. Might look nice on the living room wall at home, you never know.
The destination listed in Time Out for this exhibition was Sotheran's, a second-hand bookshop just off Piccadilly, so off I trotted and inside I went. Ah, right, not just a literary jumble sale but a proper antiquarian book dealer, all wood panelling and fusty shelves. The two gentlemanly staff shot barely a look as I wandered in, allowing me the opportunity to explore. Everywhere there were elegant hardbacks, dating back far more than decades, gleaming behind shiny plastic dust jackets. The more valuable volumes were locked away in glass-topped display cases or secured behind cabinet doors, lest some non-Mayfair oik dare pilfer them. However other, lesser titles were available to touch, and open, and peruse. Billiards for Beginners, for example (published 1884, price 1/-), or a 1934 Arthur Ransome first folio. This, clearly, was the sort of bookstore one visited to top up the contents of one's library, before popping round to the club for an armchair malt.
One particular locked-away book caught my eye, but with no obvious access I instead headed down to the basement to see the travel posters. Four walls were bedecked with vintage classy advertising, attempting to lure the viewer to some snow-capped mountain or Arcadian idyll. See Britain By Train, they implored, or Fly To The Caribbean by BOAC. Modern marketing conjures up nothing so polished and enticing. Each poster had a label detailing age and artist, and was this silkscreen or lithograph, plus a price. Yeeouch. The number of pounds was generally in the midhundreds, even occasionally into four figures, incorporating the enormous premium deemed chargeable by a long-established dealer in fine prints. These weren't mass-produced Athena copies, they were originals, and at a price to match. So I looked around more tentatively, and coveted more covertly, and decided that all I'd be able to afford was the £1.50 exhibition catalogue.
The Uncle series of books may mean nothing to you, in which case move on. But the six adventures of the kindly millionaire elephant, long since out of print, were amongst my literary childhood favourites. Uncle lived in an unfeasible castle called Homeward, packed with soaring towers, mysterious rooms and a crowd of bizarre characters. His dutiful servants included an old monkey called The Old Monkey and a one-armed badger called The One-Armed Badger. Outside, in a hellish slum called Badfort, dwelt such evil adversaries as the skewer-throwing Hitmouse, the wobbly Jellytussle and their ringleader Beaver Hateman. Look, I told you to stop reading if this meant nothing to you. The stories were written by an octogenarian Methodist vicar called J.P. Martin, and vibrantly illustrated by Quentin Blake. Plotlines were fantastical, often surreal, but rarely morally black and white. None of your Blyton-esque drippy fables with Uncle, these were proper books for a kid with an imagination. So if you shared my fascination, or if you just want to see what the fuss was about, I can heartily recommend Tony's Uncle fansite - not huge, but perfectly formed. I've also uncovered an interview with the author, a bibliography, the book's introduction, a Jackanory listing and a New York reprint. Blimey, some enterprising soul is even churning out Uncle's blog, with several posts this last week, as well as Beaver's blog riposte. I am duly re-enchanted.
We walked over to the cabinet at the back of the store and the shopkeeper unlocked the door to take out my chosen prize. A quick flick within, to a number handwritten in pencil, and he was able to tell me the catalogue price. Two hundred and ninety-eight pounds! "Sheesh buggery bastard," I thought. "Oh dear," I said, "I don't think I'll be buying it then." The dealer remained unpatronising throughout, kindly handing me the nigh-priceless book for a nostalgic flick-through. The edges were slightly browned, but the content was as sharp as ever. Were it not for the price tag, this could have been the copy I borrowed regularly from the Hertfordshire Library service all those years ago. But in the end I left the shop with only that rather cheap catalogue, and a damned posh blue plastic bag with silver lettering to keep it dry.
Once finally back home I went for a rifle through some of the boxes at the back of my spare room, and lo and behold I uncovered a copy of book number five in the series - Uncle and Claudius The Camel. It's a 1969 original, formerly library stock but withdrawn for sale, and I bought it for the princely sum of 10p. I'm quite tempted to take it back to Southeran's for a valuation, to see what extortionate number they might scribble in the front and what whopping percentage profit I might have made. But no, I'd much rather flop down and read it again from cover to cover, maybe this afternoon, and then put it aside for a similar treat in a decade or two's time. When you can enjoy an elephant in a purple dressing gown, who needs a travel poster anyway?
I know I said that September in London was full of exciting activities and happenings, but all the fun stuff appears to be happening over the next three weekends. And definitely not today (which is probably just as well, given the miserable weather). So, being at a loss for something thrilling (and dry) to do, I thought I'd flick through the pages of this week's Time Out in search of some places to go. It'll make a change to actually use my copy for once, rather than just forking out £2.99, flicking through once and bunging it in the recycling. I've circled some stuff that looks interesting, and I'm about to head out across town to a variety of free events that I'd not have thought of attending if I hadn't spotted them in the listings. And then I'll report back here during the course of the day, via my mobile, to tell you what I'm up to. Better tuck my magazine away inside a waterproof bag! Cue Saturday Out.
Time Out Times (page 50): The only place to begin is the exhibition of Time Out covers at the Museum of London, celebrating 40 years of the capital's leading listings magazine. Plenty of iconic (and rather dated) imagery covers two walls near the entrance. There are also a few archive copies tethered to the display, including the very first folded A2 sheet from August 1968, so you can flick back and check which veggie restaurants were serving 'rabbit food' and where Jimi Hendrix was playing. Good start. [posted 10:47]
Skeletons (page 51): Twenty-six sets of human remains, lifted from former cemeteries throughout the capital, are on display at the Wellcome Collection on Euston Road. It's a minimalist but highly effective exhibition, laying bare the illnesses and chronic conditions of Londoners across the centuries. Roman soldiers with arthritis, babies with smallpox and a variety of nasty dental decay, it's a sobering look at centuries of mortality. And that's the second time I've been introduced to 'spondylolysis' in the last 24 hours. [posted 11:20]
Illumini (page 49): A great place to hide from a downpour is the crypt of St Pancras Church, currently illuminated by some rather nifty modern artwork. The theme here is light, and most of the pieces shine, glow or reflect. Exhibits include dancing dayglo filaments, glowing android torsos, lightbulb-shaped candles and mirrored lightboxes (Amy Winehouse has already bought one of the latter with her face on). Compact but unexpectedly impressive, and getting to wander round a dark undercroft is an added bonus. [posted 12:06]
Cliff Richard (page 65): Britain's most youthful pensioner has a new book out, and this lunchtime he's signing copies at Waterstones in Piccadilly. A queue of mostly 60-ish ladies snakes round the corner from the entrance, and every now and then the doorman allows another batch inside and up to the secondary queue on the first floor. Admittance to the autograph area is by £20 purchase alone, so I was unable to sneak a glimpse of Sir Cliff's radiant face. But streams of departing fans seemed delighted, jabbering away about the smile he'd shot and the photos they'd snatched. Congratulations, young ones. [posted 12:53]
London Through a Lens (page 49): Just round the corner from Oxford Circus, at the Getty Gallery, is this Time Out sponsored exhibition of a century of historic London photographs. Black and white they may be, but they're an extraordinarily powerful way of evoking the past. Londoners themselves are at the heart of it, from a folorn feathered King waiting for the royal coach to crowds of grinning urchins paddling in the Thames. The gallery was surprisingly crowded, and it wasn't always easy to read the informative labels bottom right. But you missed a trick, guys. If you'd had copies of the accompanying book available, you'd have sold a shedload. [posted 13:40]
Brick Lane Thrift Store (page 40): I've headed out to Shoreditch to Time Out's featured 'just opened' shop of the week. Good, I could do with a cheaply-filled slightly-trendy partially-updated wardrobe. But could I find the place? Could I hell. Sclater Street yes, unshuttered shop no. So I've hidden in the beigel shop to escape a rainstorm instead, yum. Next stop, the main event. [posted 14:31]
E17 Art Trail (page 48): From this weekend to next, 300 local artists are displaying their work around the streets and suburbs of Walthamstow. The idea is you pick up a map from a participating location and then track your way from gallery to temporary display space to enjoy what's on offer. Well that was the idea. I struggled in the wind with the flappy map, and the absence of a simple key made working out precisely where to go surprisingly difficult. Several times I walked past a unsigned participating venue without noticing, or missed the crucial message that they were only open next weekend. As a result I've seen a lot of streets, and a lot of rain, but not a lot of art. Some charming ceramics at the Vestry House Museum, some portrait photos in Waterstones' window, a couple of greyhounds and not much else. "It's normally much busier than this," said the lady behind the counter at Penny Fielding Beautiful Interiors, "the shop's usually rammed with people." Not this weekend, dear. If the maps dry out, maybe next. [posted 17:07]
If there's one news event that's guaranteed to annoy me every year, it's the early autumn announcement of TfL's New Year fare rises. But it's not the increasing prices that annoy me, it's the accompanying moaning from all corners of the media. That, and people's utter inability to cope with figures. This year, alas, is no exception.
"TUBE & BUS FARES SOAR" (Evening Standard) Ah, never an organ to use a subdued verb where a scary one will do, the ES pounces with characteristic pessimism. Oyster bus fares will be going up all of 10p, from 90p to £1. By the end of a week's travelling this might cost about the same as an extra litre of petrol. Not exactly 'soaring' - I think London will cope.
"Mayor announces increases of up to 10 per cent in the New Year" (Evening Standard) Now, stop me if I'm wrong, but a rise from 90p to £1 is more than 10%. It's just over 11% in fact. ES journalist Pippa corrects her mathematical incompetence in the next paragraph, but by then she's missed out on an even scarier strapline.
"TUBE AND BUS FARES GO UP 10%" (thelondonpaper) Er, no they don't. Overall, the price rise is 6%. There are only two fares rising precisely 10%. One's a Zone 1 & 2 Oyster tube fare (£2 → £2.20), and the other's a one day bus pass (£3 → £3.30). Almost everything else rises less.
"Capital faces big travel fare hike" (This is Local London) Actually, if you look carefully, some fares aren't going up at all. Buying a bus ticket with cash will still cost £2 and buying a tube ticket with cash will still cost £4. It may be extortionate, but not everybody's travel bill is increasing.
"Tube fares to soar to fill £84m shortfall" (Metro) Boris has made a big deal of this £84m shortfall, supposedly created by his predecessor, but it equates to just £12 per Londoner per year. A pound a month. It's not exactly the biggest most gaping hole ever.
"Rise will fix Ken's TfL black hole" (Evening Standard again) It'll also fix Boris's scrapping of the £25 Congestion Charge for guzzly 4×4s and fund the cost of replacing bendy buses with pseudo-Routemasters. But sssh, no mention of that in the lapdog Standard.
"It's Ken's fault says Mayor" (Evening Standard yet again) Because it's all Ken's fault, obviously. Last year Ken raised fares in line with inflation, rather than by inflation plus 1%. Londoners appreciated that, but Boris didn't. If only Ken had raised prices by inflation plus 1%, Boris could have got away with just inflation this year, and looked less evil.
"Elderly to benefit from 24hrs Freedom Pass" (london.gov.uk) Hang on, that's rather brilliant, isn't it? The over 60s can travel anywhere any time for nothing. That's not a price hike at all, it's rush hour fare abolition. Still, you can always count on the bright young things in rest of the media to focus on themselves and not the pensioners they'll one day be.
"It's appalling that fares are going up when the service is so rubbish" (woman in street) But my dear, if we're going to make the service better we need to spend more money on it. Sorry, but you don't get a better service by paying less. Do you not realise how lucky you are to live in a city with a cheap, extensive, accessible public transport network?
"You don't get a better service by paying less" (diamond geezer) Well, actually, that's not always true. Sheesh, do you realise how many misguided inaccurate statements there are above? You could pick holes in almost everything I've written, especially if you're one of those tedious political ranty types. And that's why I hate TfL price rise announcement day - it brings out the illogical vitriol in us all. Fares go up every year, get used to it.
There used to be nearly two hundred synagogues in the East End, and now there are only four. We began our walk outside one of the survivors - the Congregation of Jacob on the Commercial Road. I'd not noticed the building before, hemmed in between a pound shop and a travel agent, and with a bold black Star of David perched on the apex of the roof. The building was once a cobblers, transformed in the 1920s with an Arts and Crafts interior, featuring high balconies and side benches gathered around a central space for worship. At least that's how it looks in the photos. The synagogue hadn't opened by the time our walk arrived, and our guide Clive told us he'd probably not have been welcomed inside anyway. I'm sorry I didn't return later for a proper look.
The highlight of the tour was another synagogue, this time on Nelson Street and with the opportunity to venture inside. I'd not brought anything to cover my head so I thought I might be abandoned outside, but thankfully skull caps for visitors were available. This visit was a first for me, and it was fascinating to experience a very different place of worship. Again there were balconies for the ladies and ground floor galleries for the gentlemen, this time set beneath a light blue neo-Georgian roof. In the centre was a raised dais, and to the east two carved lions guarded the vault in the wall containing several golden scrolls of scripture [enlarge photo]. One of the synagogue's elderly worshippers spent a good half hour explaining what goes on here, and a little of the building's history, and just how much money they need to repair the roof. Most astonishingly he told of the steady decline in the number of worshippers, now reduced to little more than a quorum of 10, thanks to a Federation rule which permits only local Jews to join the congregation. The average age of the worshippers here is currently around 80-something, and as the elders die off there's a genuine risk that no Jewish East Enders will be around to replace them. A diminished congregation for the weekly service means that the building is increasingly likely to be sold off for flats, and one of the last survivors of a long heritage would be lost forever. A humbling visit.
I went on a second Heritage Trail walk in the afternoon, this time exploring the area around Mile End station. There's a surprisingly high number of intriguing locations in the vicinity, as you'll remember from my High Street 2012 chronicles. But our guide saved the best until last, a spot I'd never previously encountered, tucked away inside the Queen Mary's campus. Here was a field-sized fragment of an old Jewish cemetery, hemmed in on all sides by hedges and university buildings, containing around 2000 flat-topped graves. There used to be four times as many, but university expansion required several thousand bodies to be disinterred and relocated to a burial ground in Essex. The remainder created an impressive enough sight [enlarge photo]. As a rare treat the gate of the Nuevo Cemetery was specially unlocked on Sunday allowing access inside, and it was strangely moving to be able to stand alone amongst so many long dead generations. Hopefully this space, at the very least, will be properly protected against future development. The Jewish East End - visit now while evidence remains.
Over the Hill
Everything is borrowed (The Streets)
But that's not the end of the Shivering Sands story. In 1963 a Swedish ship careered into the searchlight tower in thick fog, breaking its legs and carrying it several hundred miles across the North Sea before anybody noticed. The northern control tower, now severed from the remaining five, was put to use by the Port of London Authority as a tidal monitoring station. And because Shivering Sands lies outside the official limit of UK coastal waters, the southern tower became home to one of Britain's first pirate radio stations. Screaming Lord Sutch moved in during the summer of 1964, but couldn't endure the inhospitable conditions and soon sold out to his manager Reg Calvert. Radio City ("The happiest swinging station in the world") was rather more successful, at least until a proposed merger with Radio London went tragically wrong and Reg was "accidentally" shot dead. Only in Essex, eh? The incident spurred the passing of the Marine Broadcasting Offences Act, and pirate radio's days were firmly numbered.
And what of the future? Our pilot suggested that Shivering Sands' proximity to the shipping lanes might prove its downfall, and that demolition may be on the cards within the next couple of years. It'd be a damned shame to lose such an iconic offshore structure, but all too often it seems risk analysis wins out over heritage preservation. All may not be lost, however, because there's another similar cluster of Maunsell Forts at Red Sands a few miles further to the west. Our boat trip didn't go there (even though it said we would in the tour description, not impressed, guys). These forts are in a slightly better condition and are therefore more likely to be saved. Apparently there are plans afoot by a private consortium to restore the towers to create a sustainable "self-funding facility", incorporating recording studios, a wartime and broadcasting museum, and of course a gift shop. If Project Redsand is successful, the platforms might even be able to host corporate events and weddings. Part of me absolutely hates the idea, but at least some element of these amazing wartime defences will be saved for the future. In the meantime, especially if you want to experience the awe-inspiring Shivering Sands, you'd better hurry and try to pick a sunny day to get out here for yourself.
But that's not why I was in Herne Bay, I was here for the boat trip. There are some really fascinating structures out at sea, and the only way to get up close is aboard an inflatable. Bayblast are a new-ish company operating from the hut beside Neptune's Arm Jetty, and their Rigid Hulled Inflatable Boats can whisk up to 12 people off on a variety of short trips and lengthy excursions. They're not cheap these tours - mine was £22 for just over an hour at sea. And be warned that sailings are subject to change and cancellation if the weather's bad, and that the company's website is frozen in a not entirely helpful timewarp. But it's not every day you get the opportunity to scud across the North Sea at umpteen miles an hour aboard a big orange diesel-powered speedboat. In a fetching lifejacket, I might add.
OK, enough frivolity, it's time to get back to the desperately mundane.
• Merchant's Quarter: I see they've taken down the scaffolding around this brand new development (pictured) at the top of British Street. No architectural gem, this block of shiny flats, just more dull modern ordinariness. I much preferred the scrap of wasteland on which it was built.
• Cupcake: I walked out of my front door earlier this week to find that some kind baking angel had left a small cupcake on my doorstep. I very nearly trod on it, squashing it flat, but thankfully avoided having to go to work with a spongey sole. The cake was iced with sugary whiteness, and had the words "eat me" piped in yellow around the circumference. I resisted the instruction, not wholly certain that the cake wasn't laced with arsenic, cigarette ash or recently-deposited rat droppings. I wonder if it came from this lot?
Grid London - Lessons Learned
to signal satirical spoofery, but instead I prefer to rely on the intelligence of my readership to spot the difference. You'll get the hang of me eventually. Unless you've already buggered off pledging never to return, that is.
Monday 18:37 Hi Magda. Just checking in with you so that Grid London can approve my post idea for tomorrow. I've been shopping for trousers in Selfridges again, and I wanted to write about my menswear experience. Here's what I posted last time, just to give you a flavour of my intended angle. Will this be OK, or might Grid bosses demand a rewrite? DG
It's diamond geezer's 6th birthday, hurrah!
Back upstairs I handed my pathetic purchase to the gentleman sitting at his archaic computer terminal, hoping he wouldn't view me with too much disdain, and dared to ask about the locked-away book I'd seen earlier. "How much is that Uncle book?" "I don't see it." "The book stood up at the back, in the cabinet, the book with "UNCLE" written in big black letters above a picture of an elephant in a purple dressing gown."
Time Out Times (page 50): The only place to begin is the exhibition of Time Out covers at the Museum of London, celebrating 40 years of the capital's leading listings magazine. Plenty of iconic (and rather dated) imagery covers two walls near the entrance. There are also a few archive copies tethered to the display, including the very first folded A2 sheet from August 1968, so you can flick back and check which veggie restaurants were serving 'rabbit food' and where Jimi Hendrix was playing. Good start. [posted 10:47]
Monday 18:37 Hi Magda. Just checking in with you so that 