diamond geezer

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

What's your favourite tube map cover? TfL would like to know.

That's your favourite tube map cover from the 2004-2010 era. You can't vote for any of the early minimalist covers, like from 1924, 1938 or 1965, because they're too classic. And you can't vote for the squeezed paint cover from January 2004, because that wasn't specifically commissioned (and because it would easily win). But you can vote for any of the subsequent 12 cover designs, as sponsored by Art on the Underground. So, let me collect together those dozen designs to see what they look like...

I'm guessing that some of you don't have the complete set readily to hand (call yourself a tube obsessive?) but never fear, because all 12 covers can be viewed on the Art on the Underground website. Alas they've been presented within an impractical scroll'n'zoom gallery, which I fear the site developer is very proud of, but which is woefully counter-intuitive. If all else fails, just look at the 12-in-1 poster. Which is your favourite? There's a prize in it for you if you're lucky.

I think I can discount number 8 (bottom row, second from left) straight away. That's not art, that's an "appropriated symbol" which any six-year old with a decent graphics package could have drawn. Number 1 is just a target with more hoops, whose sole saving grace is that it "uses the same colours as the various underground lines". Not good enough. Likewise 4, 5 and 11 have to go, because they're very ordinary images rendered in tube line colours. I dislike 12, because it's been done before, and better. Each of the aforementioned six covers I could have designed, and so could you, which surely makes them undeserving of any reward.

Number 3 and number 7 are a bit better, because at least there's some creative nous behind the tangle of colours. Number 6 and number 10 are the closest to 'proper' figurative art, I think with the former having the edge. And I never liked number 9, even though the concept of a ripped magic carpet really ought to have appealed. Which leaves number 2 as my default favourite (that's Gary Hume's 'Untitled'), not least because he's had the audacity to slap the tube logo & footer right across the centre of his image.

Were I feeling keener, I could now send TfL my chosen vote via email. But I'm not sure I could stretch to 200 words for question 3 - "Which is your favourite Tube Map cover and why?" - not without resorting to writing pathetic artsbollocks drivel. And as for question 4 - "What do you like about Art on the Underground?" - I fear I might get stuck after "Well it's a lot better than looking at adverts, innit". Then there's the prize on offer, which is a limited edition poster showing all 12 of the cover designs. I've already got one of each, thanks, and I'm not convinced they'd look lovely on my wall. You might think differently, in which case go for it (before the end of the month).

If TfL are looking for a thirteenth tubemapcover artist, I reckon I could throw something together that would pass muster. A kitten with Piccadilly-blue ears and a Bakerloo tail. A tube of toothpaste labelled "Squeeze". A list of rectangular boxes each of which reads "Planned closure". That sort of thing. But in the meantime I'm more than happy to celebrate the fact that London's tube map has art on the front of it at all. Because it's a lot better than looking at adverts, innit?

posted 07:00 :

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

What are you doing in 2012? Boris would like to know.

He's set up a Culture Diary so that anybody planning an event in London during 2012 can make it known to the authorities. The idea is that 2012 will be an incredibly busy year for the capital, what with the Olympics and the Queen's Big 60, so it would be wise to make a big list to stop too many big events clashing. Organisers simply need to sign up and tell the website what their event is and when, and London's then guaranteed a smooth and thrill-packed year. That's the intention anyway.

The year's major highlights are already known. There'll be some bigger than usual spectacles at the start of January to welcome in this momentous year. The Queen's Diamond Jubilee will be celebrated at the start of June with an additional bank holiday and much royal celebration (assuming Liz survives that long, of course). An Olympic-related arts bonanza called Festival 2012 kicks off on June 21st and spreads itself over the next 12 weeks. And then there's the Olympics themselves from July 27th, and the Paralympics in early September. What chance has a jumble sale in Dalston against that lot, not unless you stick it in The Diary?

2012's oncoming gala juggernaut must be particularly galling for organisers of London's regular major summer events. The Greenwich & Docklands International Festival will have to adapt to the imminent Olympics or go under. The London Triathlon will need to shift from early August if it's not to be be completely overshadowed. And the Epsom Derby is already thinking of shifting to a Jubilee Bank Holiday rather than dying a royally-smothered death at the weekend. If The Diary helps to identify 2012's pile-ups and less-busy weekends, that's got to be to everyone's advantage.

There are several benefits to inclusion, apparently. Marketers at Visit London might pick up your cause and start promoting you to an extended audience of global tourists. The Cultural Olympiad might decide it likes the look of you and welcome your event under its mighty wing. Other jumble sales in the Dalston area could band together to create the Hackney Olympic Rummage-a-rama, with all the cross-promotional benefits that might bring. And the police will be able to say "ooh no, we can't let you hold a summer fête that weekend, all our officers are committed elsewhere, had you considered February instead?"

No event is too small for inclusion, it seems. "The Culture Diary is designed to be inclusive of all activities/events, of all scales, for individuals or organisations, whether commercial, subsidised or voluntary, from diverse cultural sectors and industries." So I thought I might enter some events of my own. There's my 47th birthday drinks in March, and my final random jamjar visit in April, and then I'm thinking of going birdwatching on the top of Primrose Hill in November and you're all invited.

Perhaps you'd like to submit an event to the 2012 Cultural Diary too. Here are a few suggestions...
Monday 6th February 2012: The Queen's Actual Diamond Jubilee Tea Party (just in case she doesn't make it to June) [Hyde Park]
Sunday 31st March 2012: Neasden Vuvuzela Festival [Neasden]
Monday 23rd April 2012: St George's Day Egg and Spoon Race (& stoning of the immigrants) [Dagenham]
Friday 4th May 2012: "Boris is no longer Mayor" Spontaneous Rejoicings [City Hall]
Saturday 14th July 2012: Bastille Day Celebrations (because we've got the Olympics starting in a fortnight, and Paris hasn't) [Trafalgar Square, obviously]
Saturday 21st July 2012: Hackney Olympic Rummage-a-rama (because it's an excellent idea) [Shoreditch Park]
Monday 10th September 2012: The "Oh Thank God The Olympics Have Finished" Festival [Stratford Old High Street]
Friday 21st December 2012: Armageddon - sponsored by the Ancient Mayan Civilisation (could be a supernova, could be cataclysmic tectonic activity, could be an invasion by vampire space unicorns) [all over London]
You'll have better ideas for 2012 events, I'm sure. And if you're serious about them, make sure they're in the Cultural Diary by the end of this year. Or watch them drown.

posted 07:00 :

Monday, June 14, 2010

Most areas of Britain have their own tourist website.
Some make more plausible claims than others.
"Whether you're planning a few hours, a few days or a lifetime here, Harlow won't disappoint."
That's Harlow, the new town off the M11 on the western edge of Essex. Surely only a nutcase, or somebody living on the doorstep, would ever consider visiting Harlow for kicks? But if you're the sort of person who reads this blog, which you evidently are, then Harlow might well hold your attention for a few hours. A few days, though, absolutely not.

There are two Harlows - the old one, and the much larger new one which swallowed it whole. Old Harlow's in the northeastern corner, close to a Roman settlement by the railway line. You can see the site of the Roman temple from the train - it's the only spot that's still grass and hasn't been overtaken by warehouses or industry. The old town's based around the wiggly crossroads at George Corner, with proper pubs and a proper bakery and all the proper stuff a small pre-war town might have generated. The insurance brokers by the bank was the birthplace of Sarah Flower Adams, authoress of the hymn "Nearer My God To Thee", the one supposedly playing while the Titanic went down. She's the pinnacle of Harlow's history, she is, which says a lot.

Across the dual carriageway, nowhere you'd find by mistake, is The Museum of Harlow. It's set among a series of delightful gardens, which somebody clearly takes very good care of. The man on reception seemed confused by my arrival ("are you here for the event?"), later mentioning my presence to the duty manager ("actually a proper visitor!"). I fear they don't get many. And yet Harlow's past provides an almost-perfect potted microcosm of our nation's history. Roman remains in gallery one (pots, tiles, styli, the usual), then a whistlestop tour leading up to the amalgamation of small town and fields to create something very new.

Harlow New Town grew up after the War as a focus for near-London overspill. Neighbourhoods were established one at a time, each designed by a different architect, with the first residents often moving in before local services had been established. The first neighbourhood was Mark Hall, where construction began in 1950 (and which is also where today's museum is based). Gallery Four relates the story well, with reminiscences from the early pioneers, and artefacts such as the booklet distributed to incoming children to teach them how to play 'Out of Doors'. Here you can learn that all the pubs in New Harlow were named after butterflies, and that the area was nicknamed 'Pram Town' in the early days because so many residents were of pre-school age.

Round the corner from the museum can be found Britain's first residential tower block [photo] [photo]. This is The Lawn, a pleasing nine-floor non-cuboid designed by Sir Frederick Gibberd. He was Harlow's creative godfather, and the mastermind behind numerous works of public sculpture littered throughout the town. Liverpool's Roman Catholic cathedral is one of Fred's, as are Heathrow's postwar terminal buildings and Chrisp Street market in Poplar. Harlow's neighbourhood shopping centres and spiky modernist churches also bear the Gibberd stamp, although the big man chose to make his home on the undeveloped outskirts of town instead. Should you time your visit right, his sculpture-filled gardens are now open to the public three afternoons a week.

At Harlow's heart is Britain's first pedestrian precinct - just as concrete-y as you might expect, as if somehow it's still 1960 here [photo]. Broad straight shopping streets link a variety of rectangular piazzas, some over-big, others under-small. Again there's plenty of arty sculpture on display, either vaguely mammalian or unrepentantly abstract. Another Gibberd highlight is the Water Gardens, a terraced open space in whose formal rectangular waters roam bronze wild life. Alongside is the new Civic Centre, where you can check your council benefits or enjoy the art gallery (I suspect rarely both). A couple of larger modern shopping malls now supplement Gibberd's original retail experience, and these undoubtedly keep local residents rather happier. Harlow's no longer a new New Town, but thanks to Fred it remains more characterful than most.

Like I said, if you're the sort of person who reads this blog then you might well fancy a truly atypical day out in Harlow inspecting its unique architectural heritage. If not, you probably haven't bothered to read this far anyway.

» Visit Harlow (honest)
» The Museum of Harlow (photos) (incorporating the Mark Hall Cycle Museum)
» Harlow sculpture trail (map)
» More photos of Harlow, old and new, than any person might comfortably need

posted 07:00 :

Sunday, June 13, 2010

England 0 USA 0

Kick off. I switch off the TV and go out for a walk. If football euphoria has indeed taken over the nation, a wander round my local neighbourhood ought to prove the point. I head straight to my local park.

England 1 USA 0

My local park is empty. It's bright daylight, it's nowhere near bedtime, and the place is deserted. Normally there are children swarming over the swings and a bunch of teens making excitable noises in a big gang on the lawn. Not tonight. They must be somewhere else. One of the houses backing onto the park is holding a noisy barbecue in their back garden. The smell of charring meat drifts over the fence, along with the slightly distorted sound of the ITV commentary. As the evening continues, these are the only few seconds of the match I'll hear.

The streets are clearing, as latecomers head home. A cyclist carrying cans of lager bangs desperately on a front door attempting to be heard by those inside. A mute ice cream van passes by. Most of those out of doors appear to be female, or men wearing glasses, or people born in a country that isn't playing tonight.

The Greenway is deserted. Not a bike, not a pedestrian, not even a security guard keeping an eye on potential Olympic troublemakers. Normally there'd be residents out on their balconies at the Ironworks, enjoying the last rays of evening sunlight, but they must all be inside watching something. The Olympic Stadium, and the entire surrounding building site, are deathly quiet. For a full 15 minutes it's just me up here, and a few pigeons, and the stench of thousands of pre-match bathroom visits rising up from the sewer beneath. Next time the world gathers for a major global tournament, in two summers time, the focus will be this very spot. The entire area will be bubbling with emotion, as humanity comes together to share both victory and crushing disappointment. Tonight, however, the Olympic Park is the perfect spot to get away from it all.

England 1 USA 1

I go for a ride on the DLR. It's quite busy, but again with a female bias. This looks like the ideal evening for a girls' night out - little black dresses, hair styled to perfection, and pierced belly button glinting. For those of us travelling during the match, the score could be anything and we wouldn't know. We are the Don't Cares, and for a couple of hours London belongs to us.

Stratford Town Centre is eerily quiet, in parts. No queues in McDonalds, not a customer in sight at Perfect Fried Chicken, and no need to press the button on the pelican crossing because there's barely any traffic. But the pubs on the cheap side of the Broadway are packed, with nylon-shirted lads spilling out onto the pavement for their half time fag break. The densest crowds are in the betting shop, where umpteen poor Newham folk have gathered to bet their benefits on the outcome. There being no TV showrooms in High Streets any more, now bookies and bars are the only places to congregate and watch.

I take the opportunity to go shopping. I pick a major supermarket and swan round its multitude of aisles relatively undisturbed. Nobody's picking up 12-packs of lager, and there do seem to be rather a lot of packs of sausage rolls and sofa nibbles left over. A small number of families are here with me, and several foreign nationals, and a few mixed couples in which the non-football supporter is clearly the dominant partner. I sail through the checkout faster than I've ever managed before, even with three quarters of the tills shut.

Whilst waiting for the bus home in time for the final whistle, I muse again on the remarkably light traffic. Earlier in the day I've seen countless cars and vans with flags on top, but tonight they've all but vanished. Throughout my match-length journey I've seen only two vehicle-top flags - one on a taxi (who presumably didn't want the night off) and one on a car driven by a woman in a hijab.

It strikes me that Stratford probably isn't the best place in the country to experience the England curfew effect. There are so many people round here whose home team is a completely different nation, so why on earth would they care that eleven sweaty Englishmen are running around on the other side of the world. And yet this great local diversity is one of the main reasons why the Olympics are coming here. The world already lives in Stratford, so when the rest of the world arrives in 2012 they'll find proud supporters already in place to cheer them on. Just pray they don't bring those bloody horns.

England 1 USA 1 [FT]

posted 08:00 :

Saturday, June 12, 2010

This being June, there are lots of top events coming up in and around the capital over the next few weekends. So I thought I'd make a list of some, before I forget. And in case you were interested. Almost all of them are free.

Weekend of 12/13 June
Sat 12: London World Naked Bike Ride - More than 1000 cyclists (weather permitting) parade their saddlesore bits around the heart of town
Sun 13: Marylebone Summer Fayre - Activities and relaxation, set out across various coloured zones (in aid of the Teenage Cancer Trust)
Sun 13: Twickenham Carnival - Song and dance by the river (starts at 1pm)
Sun 13: 19 Princelet Street - rare opening of a crumbling Huguenot house/synagogue in Spitalfields, a monument to diversity and tolerance through the ages (also open Thursday and next Sunday, then closed until 2011)
» all weekend: Open Garden Squares Weekend - 200 London Gardens, most not normally open to the public, are open to the public (green-fingered nosiness encouraged) [Ian shows you what you missed]
» all weekend: Blackheath Bike and Kite Festival Keep fit and active up on the heath (or just stand around with a bit of string in your hand)

Weekend of 19/20 June
Sat 19: Tottenham Carnival - Parade starts at 11am, festival kicks off at noon (football not obligatory)
Sat 19: Croxley Green Revels - A Metro-land tradition that stretches back to 1952 (as immortalised by Betjeman) (I went last year)
Sun 20: Exhibition Road Music Day - Over 100 free musical performances as part of London's contribution to European Music Day
» all weekend: London Festival of Architecture - Nash Ramblas Every two years, different bits of London celebrate architecture old and new. On this opening weekend it's Nash's Regent's Park/Regent's Street axis under scrutiny, with walks and talks and workshops, and a lot of standing around and admiring things. Some of the best tours are already sold out, but there's always something worth attending.
» all weekend: Paradise Gardens - annual arty pleasure garden in Victoria Park, featuring circus big top, tea dances, a shed-sized nightclub, live music, Carter's Steam Fair, a village fete, Pearly Queens, street theatre, sideshows, beer and the Ken Fox Wall of Death (always delightfully diverse)
» all weekend: Covent Garden Street Party - Celebrating a 180th birthday smacks slightly more of PR than a genuine event, but hey, you might love the chance to have fun in an old fruit and veg market.

Weekend of 26/27 June
Sat 26: Bank of England Open Door Twice a year the Old Lady throws open her doors for a half-hour interior tour. See the Governor's Office, and the room where they decide mortgage rates, and explore the museum afterwards. Also open next Saturday, 3rd July, in case the queues get too bad (part of the City of London Festival, which lasts until 9th July)
Sun 27: London Bikeathon - Charity cycle ride, all places already taken.
» all weekend: both: London Festival of Architecture - High Street 2012 For the festival's second weekend, the emphasis shifts to the road where I live. Out east, from Aldgate to Stratford, including two well-pretentious artworks almost on my doorstep. I'm looking forward to this one (and next weekend, Bankside Urban Forest)
» all weekend: Elephant Parade - Herd Viewing See (almost) all of London's 300 artistic elephants gathered together at the Royal Hospital Chelsea (before they're auctioned off on Wednesday)
» all weekend: Biggin Hill Air Show - Lots of big planes (and long traffic jams) down Bromley way. The aerial action's free if you can find a pub or a grassy patch somewhere outside the perimeter.
» all weekend: Greenwich+Docklands International Festival - Unparalleled spectacular artiness, always amazing. This weekend's big events are in Greenwich and Woolwich (while next weekend, Millwall Dock and Canary Wharf get a look in)

posted 07:00 :

Friday, June 11, 2010

ING!!
ER!!
LAND!!!!!

See my flag!
Flag in the window, flag on the car, four flags on the van.
You gotta drape your house with flags, for the boys.
For St George. For Ingerland!

Rooney, Crouchy, Coley!
Gerrardy, Wright-Phillipsy, Terryy!
Three lions!!! Capello's golden boys!! We proper love you (but in a manly way).
Shame about Becksy though. And Rio, bloody tough luck Rio, inspiration to the team, twist of fate, first his groin then his ligaments, cruel innit, should have been up there in his moment of glory, leading out the team at the World Cup, always a great honour, you gotta feel for the lad, must be gutted, when we lose it'll be his fault.

Got me lager, got me nibbles, got me replica shirt, got me HD TV.
Gonna drink myself comatose. Nipped down the supermarket, got 20 cans for a fiver, bargain!
Gonna stuff my face during every match. Maccie D takeaway for the first half, sixpack of Walkers for the second half, pizza at half time. And a Mars Bar, cos they're well patriotic ain't they?
I love my replica shirt, it makes me look just like one of the boys, only fatter obviously.
And yay for big tellies, any match is better bigger, see the lads close up, every kick, every dribble, every gobbet of spit towards the touchline.
So much telly to watch, hours of pre-match speculation, mega-pundit-city, let's go back and look at that again, what did you think Gary, even for crap matches with Honduras in, even gonna watch those, for days and days, luvvit luvvit, can't wait.

Brings the nation together, dunnit? Just like the Olympics, except people are actually interested. Like religion, only better cos there's more gods. True patriots always believe, every four years, without question. Proper tribal. I've been reading everything about it. Back pages of the newspaper every morning, dissecting every word. All the internet forums, lapping up the baseless speculation. I got every Panini sticker bar three, I have. I even got the Nationwide building society account. Blind devotion, no excuses.

It's Ingerland's year, innit?
» First match USA, grudge match, gonna thrash the Yanks, two nil.
» Second match Algeria, dunno where that is, bet it's a walkover, two nil.
» Third match Slovenia, gonna take a sickie off work, proper needle match, two nil.
» Then we're deffo up against the second team in Group D, that's Serbia innit, we can beat them, although it might be Ghana, whatever, or maybe Australia, like they're anything to worry about, just gotta avoid meeting Germany, mustn't end up second in our group or we might meet the bloody Germans, beaten 'em five one before, can do it again, puts us into the quarters, let me check my wallchart, probably Argentina, time to get revenge for the Hand of God, two nil, or could be France, we hate the French, they're a bit pants at the moment, we'd beat them in extra time, storming into the semis, fantastic, bound to be Brazil, bit worrying that, but our lads are proper good, unless it's Portugal, we always get Portugal, would be penalties for sure, kick it good Wayne, left hand side of the net, way to go, then it's Ingerland in the Finals oh yes, spirit of 66, us against North Korea, and they're crap, two nil! Championes!

You've got to hold and give, but do it at the right time, you can be slow or fast, but you must get to the line, they'll always hit you and hurt you, defend and attack, there's only one way to beat them, get round the back.

Flag on the roof, flags on the pub, two painted stripes on the face.
And still time to stick another flag on the car.
Because you can never have too many flags on the car.
ING-EEEERRRRRRRRRRR-LAAAAAAH-AH-AH-AND!!!

posted 07:00 :

Thursday, June 10, 2010

I said, when I pulled Hounslow out of my random jamjar three Novembers ago, that I'd have to come back. The borough's dripping with elegant stately homes, none of which I managed to get inside at the time because they were all closed. So, true to my word, I waited for "a warm sunny summer's day" and went back to two of them. Yes, I said Hounslow. Don't look quite so surprised.

Osterley Park
Few of the National Trust's London properties are whoppers. But Osterley Park is a proper stately home of indecent size surrounded by its own farmland estate, just like you might find in the heart of Bucks, Lincs or Wilts. That'd be because its location used to be in deepest Middlesex, at least until the capital grew and swallowed the surrounding countryside whole. The house remains extremely well hidden, even from the major motorway which carves inelegantly through the remaining estate. But plenty of folk make the effort to come and enjoy, be that the mansion, the tearooms or simply the surrounding lakeside park.

Osterley Park is a large Jacobean mansion, remodelled in the late 18th century by architect Robert Adam. The National Trust have sought to recreate the interior as it was at that time, when banker Robert Child and his wife Sarah lavished their City fortune on art, furnishings and entertainment. Today's tour concentrates on the house's extravagant decor, taking in a panelled long gallery, a tapestry-walled drawing room and a dome-topped eight-poster bed. All the usual NT staples are included - including the obligatory wander round the kitchen and servant's quarters in the basement as a reminder that not everybody had it so good.

Visitors get to sling a ground-breaking audiovisual guide around their neck, which not only recounts the history through headphones but also displays relevant scenes on a small colour screen. I'd not seen anything quite so hi-tech in the heritage industry before, but kept forgetting to look at the pictures because the objects were in front of me anyway. The headphones also cut me off from the NT stewards patrolling each room, who stood around looking rather more bored than usual now that no plugged-in visitor wanted to ask them any questions. Instead some moaned to one another about the lack of attention, and how badly they thought the rota had been organised, and wasn't it time for lunch yet - all under the misapprehension that I couldn't possibly be listening.

Outside, in the old stable block, are the obligatory NT cafe and shop. You can grab a nice slice of cake or a tea towel, depending on which you visit, or enjoy a jar of locally-sourced preserve in either. Close by is the entrance to the Osterley Park's enormous private garden, plus a man from whom you can hire a mobility scooter. The more formal beds are nearest the house, and emerging into a riotous blaze as summer approaches. More adventurous visitors can attempt the Long Walk - an elongated curve of woodland leading round to the Child's lakeside boathouse. Steps lead down to a gloomy tunnel quayside, from which a small private boat would once have whisked the wealthy estate owners back to their house.

Alternatively, a large chunk of parkland is available for public use for free. Just don't walk too far up to the far end of the lake, otherwise your peace and quiet may be spoilt by the M4 churning past behind a hedge. Other than that - if you've never been here, or indeed had never heard of the place before, you're missing out.
by tube: Osterley by bus: H28, H91 Admission: £8.80

Boston Manor House
This Jacobean house is on a slightly smaller scale, but impressive all the same. It's Hounslow's oldest building, allegedly, which explains the near-permanent scaffolding propping up the southwest corner. They won't let you into the library any more, nor to anywhere on the top floor, but there are still some fine rooms and a historic staircase to see. All hail the volunteers who open up the building for a few hours a week, and sit around waiting for any visitors to turn up and peer inside. The ground floor room is the site of the house's finest moment, when proper royalty turned up for a meal. Householder James Clitherow was a good friend of King William IV, no less, whose visit on the evening of 23rd June 1834 was a rare honour for a mere commoner. This £50-all-in banquet being the only event of major interest in the house's 400 year history, rather too much fuss is made of it throughout.

Take the creaky stairs and you'll find some seriously old wallpaper on the half-landing. None of your Homebase stripes here, but plenty of intricate classical ruins as painted in the 18th century. The other impressive bit of interior design is the ceiling in the first floor state drawing room. Its plasterwork is assembled from various high-relief panels, each featuring some form of goddess or earthmother at its centre, and the overall effect is quite overpowering. Even older is the Cedar of Lebanon tree out on the back lawn, with reputedly the biggest girth of any tree in Greater London. And beyond that the house's estate is now a riverside park, which is as lovely as any small park can be when the M4 cuts straight through the middle on a concrete viaduct. Hounslow's such a world of contrasts. But this is one of the good bits.
by tube: Boston Manor by bus: 195, E8 Admission: free

posted 07:00 :

Wednesday, June 09, 2010

Dear Citizen,

The cuts are coming. It's inevitable. There is no alternative. There is no escape. But where, precisely?

Her Majesty's Government thinks it would be a jolly wheeze if you chose where the public spending axe should fall. Then our nation's imminent social carnage will be your fault, not ours, which sounds good to us.

So we intend to consult on the best way to make savings, and to offer up a selection of service options for imminent culling. Two choices, one of which we'll keep and one of which we'll sacrifice. Pick carefully. The choice, and the blame, are entirely yours.

Freeze benefits, because dole scroungers deserve nothing
Freeze pensioners, by ending winter fuel allowance

Raise VAT to 20%
Raise VAT to 40% (and 50% on Saturdays)

Axe middle class child benefit
Axe middle class firstborn

End final salary pensions, because why should other people have them if you can't?
Cut red tape for bankers, because the economy depends on private sector dynamism

Shut a large successful hospital 100 miles away
Shut a small ineffective hospital around the corner

Kill off Crossrail, because only losers take trains
Raise tax on petrol by 0.1p per litre

Shrink the wasteful Welfare State
Support Our Brave Heroes

Cut MP's salaries by 50%, and allow them to be sponsored by big business instead
Permit low-key advertising on Big Ben (for example a holographic screen on each clockface)

Raise the retirement age, because your 69th birthday is too far away to worry about
Install bunk beds in care homes

Turn the BBC into a charity, financed only by donations
Send Cuddles, the Downing Street kitten, to the vet be put down

posted 07:00 :

Tuesday, June 08, 2010

Remember six months ago there was a lot of fuss about extending the Circle line to Hammersmith? How the Circle line was no longer a Circle, and how there'd be far more trains out beyond Paddington. Well I hope you weren't planning to take advantage next month and travel out towards Hammersmith. Because that might be difficult.

Remember how 18 months ago a brand new station opened at Wood Lane. How it served the fledgling Westfield development and brought shoppers from far and wide. Well you weren't thinking of travelling this way during the first half of the summer holidays, were you? Think again.

Because, if I read the signs right, there are plans to shut down the entire western end of the Circle and Hammersmith & City lines for three entire weeks (and four weekends). There'll be no trains at all between Hammersmith and Paddington for 23 days, starting on Saturday 24th July. It's for your own good.

Sometimes when engineering work needs to be done, a weekend shutdown isn't enough. By the time the contractors have moved in, and tidied up afterwards, there's not enough time left inbetween to get anything done. So on this occasion it's bad luck West London, but upgrading your railway comes first.

New longer trains are on their way to the H&C & C, so Hammersmith's platforms have to be extended to cope before they arrive. And Crossrail's budget hasn't been stopped yet, so tweaks need to be made around Paddington to allow it to emerge from underground. A three week suspension is for the common good, because it'll help the future to arrive on time.

Indeed it's not a good summer to be attempting to travel on the Circle or Hammersmith & City lines, especially at weekends. I've tried interpreting the latest (well-hidden) list of TfL track closures, and these two lines appear to be over-represented over the next four months. Here's my best-estimate summary of yellow and pink shutdowns...

Weekend closures on the Circle and Hammersmith & City lines
Circle Hammersmith & City
Jun 12/13 closed Hammersmith - King's Cross closed
Jun 19/20 closed Hammersmith - King's Cross closed
Jun 26/27 open Hammersmith - - Whitechapel closed
Jul 3/4 closed Hammersmith - Edgware Road closed
Jul 10/11 closed Hammersmith - Edgware Road closed
Jul 17/18 closed Hammersmith - Edgware Road closed
Jul 24/25 closed closed
Mon Jul 26
to
Sun Aug 15 circle! closed
for 3
weeks Edgware Road - - Barking
Aug 21/22 closed Hammersmith - - - Barking
Aug 28-30 open Hammersmith - Moorgate closed
Sep 4 open Hammersmith - - Whitechapel closed
Sep 5 closed Hammersmith - Edgware Road closed
Sep 11/12 open Hammersmith - - Aldgate East closed
Sep 18/19 closed Hammersmith - King's Cross closed
Sep 25/26 closed closed

The Circle line is fully open for only 3½ out of the next 16 weekends. When there's engineering work to be done, the poor old Circle is first up against the wall. But look, there'll also be three full weeks when the Hammersmith branch is closed and the Circle line will revert to being a circle again! It'll be just like the old days - trains rumbling through Edgware Road, and fewer hassle-filled journeys as a result.

The poor old Hammersmith & City is getting stuffed too. It's only running end-to-end for one single weekend over the next sixteen - the weekend before the Notting Hill Carnival. Most of the time it's the City end that gets curtailed, with ten closures lopping off the link to East London. And then there are those three full weeks when the line abandons Hammersmith altogether. Because you didn't want to go that way next month, did you? Think again.

posted 07:00 :

Monday, June 07, 2010

I went to the Camden Green Fair yesterday. I was disgusted. A mob of namby pamby eco-activists had set up camp in Regent's Park - A Royal Park I'll have you know - and were busy hawking their dangerously liberal views to all and sundry. Her Majesty would have been be appalled.

Apparently this isn't the first Camden Green Fair. I can only assume the organisers again sneaked in while nobody in authority was looking, and set up their militant brainwashing circus overnight. An entire section of the park had been taken over, preventing hard-working families from practising touch rugby or opening their picnic hampers on the grass. What's more one of the park's roads had been hijacked by cyclists, no doubt peddling stolen bikes in full view of all and sundry. My heart went out to some of the local residents who'd not be able to take their Jags and Rollers for a spin around the Inner Circle while this Bikefest debacle continued.

Entrance to the fair was free! I mean, how will we ever instil good capitalist values in our citizens while such needlessly charitable practices continue? Visitors were welcomed by some racket I believe is classified as music, at least in certain foreign countries. In the central arena, needlessly tagged 'The Village Green', the main entertainment appeared to be a tug of war competition and some morris dancing. It was like stumbling upon some backward medieval civilisation, as if the Industrial Revolution and the invention of the Play Station had never happened. Frighteningly, several middle class children appeared to be enjoying the experience.

But it was in the tents around the perimeter that some of the greatest thought-crimes were being carried out. Does Camden really need a clothing 'swap shop' promoting 'sustainable fashion', when there are perfectly good boutiques in Primrose Hill whose recession-hit owners are staring bankruptcy in the face? Do children really need to hear tedious tales from Africa told by street-theatre collectives when they could instead have their souls stirred by the legend of St George? And could there be any justification in a rational society for the appearance of a 'Homeopathic' First Aid Tent? I'd like to see these people try to fix a broken ankle with a dab of crushed bladderwort.

Various ne'erdowell traders had set up stalls to flog undesirable services and dodgy homemade produce. I shuddered at the sheer pointlessness of urban beekeeping, and my stomach turned at the thought of 'real nappy making'. Some traders were even selling hemp-derived products in plain sight of teenagers and impressionable children! I was equally suspicious of those selling potted herbs, fake henna tattoos and 'real bread'. What's wrong with a good old sliced loaf, or even a Starbucks muffin for heavens sake? As for the catering tents, real English cider I can see the point of, but surely nobody in London would be interested in a tray full of falafel, tagine or vegan tiramisu. The waste afterwards must have been appalling.

It was refreshing, therefore, to see the world of banking so heavily promoted by the public-sector minions at Transport for London. Their new Cycle Hire scheme is to be sponsored by kindly philanthropists at Barclays, who in return get their good name plastered all over the bikes and associated publicity. One can only hope that cycling socialists will be inspired to open bank accounts and start share-dealing like the rest of us, or maybe even put their offspring through college and turn them into high-flying futures traders.

And yet how hypocritical to see so many supposedly green organisations distributing leaflets to all and sundry. I shudder to think how many trees had been needlessly murdered so that they could dish out their patronising tips on conscientious recycling. What is the justification for killjoy conservation activists frightening our children with stories of 'life after oil'? And why are there still so many volunteers attempting to give away reusable jute carrier bags with an earnest exhortation to 'save the planet'? Can there be anybody left in London who doesn't own one, or more likely ten, stashed unused and unfilled in the cupboard under the stairs?

What London needs next year is a Wealth Generation and Limousine Fair to balance out this one-sided eco-indoctrination event paid for out of council taxpayers' pockets. On such important initiatives the very future of our country depends.

posted 07:00 :

Sunday, June 06, 2010

When the Daily Telegraph sent a journalist to Cromer in 1883, the newspaperman ended up forever changing the place he came to write about. The man was Clement Scott, and he'd been sent by his newspaper to explore the town at the end of a new railway line. Rather than seek accommodation in busy Cromer he turned east to head up onto the cliffs, and kept walking. He passed the small fishing village of Overstrand and continued to Sidestrand, where he holed up for the night in the mill cottage. The farmer's daughter who made him welcome proved as beguiling as the surrounding countryside, and Clement sent back to his paper in London a love letter to 'Poppyland'.
'In aimless fashion I strolled ... wild flowers in profusion around me, poppies predominating everywhere, the hedgerows full of blackberry blossom and fringed with meadowsweet; the bees busy at their work, the air filled with insect life, the song-birds startled from the standing corn as I pursued my solitary way.... There was no sound but the regular click of the reaping machine under which, the golden grain was falling.'
As Clement explored further, he found more rural charms to report back on. A windmill to climb, a chain of clifftop villages, and a church tower by the coast. He was particularly intrigued by St Michael's church in Sidestrand, which had been rebuilt inland a few years previously when the sea eroded too close. Only the tower and a graveyard had been left behind, and these inspired a poem entitled 'The Garden of Sleep' which became one of the popular favourites of the day.
"On the grass of the cliff, at the edge of the steep,
God planted a garden - a garden of sleep!
'Neath the blue of sky, in the green of the corn,
It is there that the regal red poppies are born!
Brief days of desire, and long dreams of delight,
They are mine when Poppy-Land cometh in sight."
Scott's writings inspired many Londoners to come visiting, and soon 'Poppyland' was attracting more than its fair share of wealthy incomers. Many stayed at the mill to enjoy the hospitality of young Louie Jermy, while some even chose to build holiday cottages or second homes in the area. Famous summer visitors included a young Winston Churchill, who brought his family here regularly until the outbreak of World War I took him away. Arthur Conan Doyle came for a golfing holiday on the links in 1901, and it was here that locals told him the tale of Black Shuck - a ghostly black hound with terrifying blazing eyes who haunted the clifftops. This legend emerged the following year as 'The Hound of the Baskervilles' - the action shifted to Dartmoor, but the inspiration supposedly North Norfolk.
"...standing over Hugo, and plucking at his throat, there stood a foul thing, a great, black beast, shaped like a hound, yet larger than any hound that ever mortal eye has rested upon. And even as they looked the thing tore the throat out of Hugo Baskerville, on which, as it turned its blazing eyes and dripping jaws upon them, the three shrieked with fear and rode for dear life, still screaming, across the moor. One, it is said, died that very night of what he had seen, and the other twain were but broken men for the rest of their days."
Scott died in 1904, while Poppy land's reputation was at its height. But his once-rural idyll had already been tarnished by commercialisation, and further coastal erosion soon took a greater toll. Sidestrand's lone church tower tumbled into the waves during a fierce storm in 1916, and at least one of the area's goldrush hotels followed over the edge in the 1950s. By then the Poppyland legend was long faded, with the only physical reminder a commemorative stone drinking fountain on the road between Cromer and Overstrand.

Today's visitors come to the North Norfolk coast for very different reasons. Buckets and spades are still de rigeur on the sandy beaches below the crumbling clay cliffs. Cromer's Victorian pier attracts youngsters for crabbing and pensioners for an end-of-the-pier show. Landlubbers drive out to Overstrand to eat their sandwiches in the clifftop car park. The county's would-be mountaineers have to make do with the broken ridge running parallel to the shoreline (hell, even Hampstead Heath is higher than that). Conan Doyle's golf links are still there, providing a dramatic arena for folk in tartan shorts to thwack balls into the bracken. Meanwhile those staying overnight are more likely to pitch up in the caravan park above the old railway, where dinner is a few Calor-grilled sausages and beans rather than home-made pie baked by the miller's daughter. A century after Scott's secret Arcadia last blossomed, alas, even the poppies have disappeared.

posted 08:00 :

Saturday, June 05, 2010

There's a hair on my neck. At the front, to one side. Below the beard line, well below where I'd normally need to shave. A rogue whisker. A single black hair that bends back on itself. How long has that been there?

It must be an inch long, which makes it at least a few months old. How could it have grown so long? It's thin, but dark. And it stands out really clearly, in this light, in this mirror. Everybody must have noticed it growing out of my neck, except me. So why have I never spotted it before?

There's a mirror in my bathroom which I thought reflected me properly. It shows my face, close up, in what ought to be reasonable clarity. But it has no natural light, only artificial, because my bathroom's like that. So it must have a blind spot, or a dodgy shadow, or a lack of illumination or something. Because that hair's been growing unspotted for far too long. What must people have thought?

But now I'm staring into a different mirror. This is someone else's, somewhere else. This one has direct sunlight off to the left. This one makes my lone neck hair stand out like a flashing beacon. This mirror makes me look like a badly groomed freak. I fear this mirror's telling the truth.

And there's more. There's a tiny hair sticking out of my ear where there shouldn't be. A thin and downy hair. It's only short, but it's definitely there. Actually there might be two. In fact there might be more than two. Nothing serious, nothing like an old man might have. Well, maybe on the way to getting like that, eventually. Best not to think about it.

And those are grey hairs up there! Normally, in my bathroom, only a few are visible. Somewhere up on the temple, the occasional white strand in amongst the dark. But this mirror's brutal. This mirror shows a few more than a few, in that critical over-ear zone, maybe even a few more than a few more than a few. Still more pepper than salt, surely, but not what I wanted to see.

I didn't think I looked like that. I didn't want to think I looked like that. But using an unfamiliar mirror has revealed an unfamiliar sight. Black hairs where there shouldn't be black, and white hairs where there shouldn't be white. Everybody I know must have noticed ages ago, but my perception's been shielded by substandard reflection.

I think I need better lighting in my bathroom. Or maybe I need to reflect into other people's mirrors more often. Or perhaps I'm better off not seeing the imperfections, not worrying, not knowing they're there.

Whatever, that rogue whisker on my neck is no more. And should it ever dare to return, I hope I'll spot it long before you do.

posted 08:00 :

Friday, June 04, 2010

Epping Forest - Centenary Walk

Most people think that Epping Forest's near Epping, and the majority of it is, but a thin strip of woodland hangs down past Chingford, past Walthamstow, even past Wanstead. Indeed, unlikely as it may seem, it's possible to walk all the way south from Epping to Newham without stepping outside a preserved envelope of ancient green. That's 15 miles in total - a route celebrated by the Epping Forest Centenary Walk. This was devised in 1978 to mark 100 years since the Act of Parliament protecting the area, and it's walked every September by the Friends of Epping Forest. It's not signposted on the ground, but you can get a leaflet showing where it goes, or simply trace the route on a 1:25000 Ordnance Survey map. I took the map option, and enjoyed a very pleasant midweek stroll along the southern half. Starting in Manor Park, of all places.

Wanstead Flats: More than 300 acres of recreational space, surrounded by fortunate home-owners, where anyone can go walking, horse riding, picnicking, footballing, jogging, cycling or even model aeroplaning. Midweek it's less busy, and animals dominate. There are scores of geese around Alexandra Lake, now recovered from mass poisoning earlier in the year. A carpet of rooks cover the mown grass, while uncut tufts shield an abundance of ground-nesting birds. Keep your dogs out, warn the noticeboards - there's plenty of runaround space for them elsewhere. Gorse bushes predominate in several corners, their bright yellow flowers forming a bright strip along the horizon. Listen and there's birdsong all around, plus the rush of distant traffic around the perimeter, and the aerial whine of an aeroplane or two. A small town could be fitted in here, but rejoice that one never has been.

Leyton Flats: On the sunbaked plains east of Whipps Cross, the locals have come out to sprawl. A cyclist lies dozing in the bracken, her helmet covering her face. Ten teenagers fancied a picnic so they all went to Tesco, and now they sit beneath the first tree past the roundabout to feast on Doritos and Red Bull. One young kid cycles down to the lakeside to squawk at the ducklings, while his younger siblings throw bread. A four-legged creature is writhing in full view - two male legs, two female legs, and a humping white t-shirt up top. From the trees comes a crow to splash in the last remains of yesterday's puddle before flying off clean and refreshed. That man in the undergrowth, why doesn't he put his t-shirt back on and stop staring? A boat sculls past, its occupants reddened and giggling. No need to rush back home just yet, there's time enough to linger longer.

Walthamstow Forest: There's a forest in Walthamstow? Who knew? A mile of footpath without another soul in sight, past forgotten trees and overlooked clearings. Even in half term, even in the height of summer, nobody visits. The track rises past hidden grass-topped reservoirs, crosses unexpectedly above the North Circular, then plunges back into deep green woodland.

Highams Park: Down in the river valley to the west of Woodford, a long thin stretch of tree-lined water. It says Boating Lake on the map, but there's no evidence of floating craft today. Only waterfowl skim across the surface, or perch on logs to conserve energy in the heat. Even the local heron perches tamely on a semi-submerged trunk, before opening its wings and flapping away into the sky. The water lilies will all be open soon, but for now they poke out of the water like unfurled yellow eggcups. Three young girls on half-sized ponies are trekking round the perimeter, slowly, with plenty of stops for a gossip. Along the path trots an enthusiastic Staffie, repeatedly identified by her owner as "stop that Bella". And from the woods comes the sound of shrieking, generally merry, as a bunch of unseen tearaways lets off steam. Oh, to have the Forest on your doorstep.

The Ching: Of course there's a river called the Ching. There'd never be a Chingford without it. But it's nothing grand, just a meandering ribbon carving through earth and nettles. Its valley is shallow and green, with braided footpaths threading alongside rippling waters as it flows down from the greater forest up north. The Centenary Walk has six more miles to go to reach Epping, the river however stops short (and so did I).

posted 07:00 :

Thursday, June 03, 2010

After a 100-day closure, which is a heck of a long time to be without trains, the eastern half of the North London Line finally reopened earlier this week. Now at last you can take the train again from Gospel Oak to Stratford (so long as you don't want to travel on any of the next 50 Sundays because the engineering work's not quite done yet). During the shutdown 6km of track was replaced, several platforms were lengthened and 17km of overhead lines were strung out. It's all part of a lengthy plan to upgrade the Overground in readiness for 2012, and for the greater good of long-suffering residents who've endured a less-than-great service before now. At one station in particular, the change is dramatic.

Caledonian Road & Barnsbury is one of those stations you'll probably never need to use unless you live round here, or unless you're visiting a prisoner stashed away in neighbouring Pentonville. It also boasts the longest station name in London (unless you know better), so the signwriters have had to shrink their font substantially to make it fit inside the standard TfL roundel. CR&B has never been a lovely station, with no ticket hall to speak of and accessed via a long ramp up a side alley from the Caledonian Road. But it used to be a fairly standard two-platform affair, with two further freight lines whizzing by unseen behind a fenced-off thicket. Not any more.

Blimey they've been busy round here since February. The entire station layout has been remodelled, so that Overground trains now only use the two central tracks and not the pair nearest the entrance. A new island platform has been constructed, with the former eastbound platform becoming the new westbound, and one of those former freight lines appropriated for the new eastbound. The old westbound platform has been taken out of passenger service altogether, fenced off from passing trains and with a footbridge/lift slapped down two-thirds of the way up. This is bad news for anyone running a bit late for a train. Formerly you only had to sprint up the long ramp from the street - now you have to jog along most of a defunct platform, ascend 30 steps, cross a footbridge and descend 32 steps - by which time your Richmond service has almost certainly departed. But that's improvement work for you.

Fresh and swish though the new station looks, it's evidently not yet finished. There's a new ticket office by the main entrance, admittedly little more than a shed, but it's not yet selling anything. No, not even if you stare at the bloke inside, not even then. There are lifts on either side of the footbridge but they're not yet functional, which is 62-steps of bad news to anybody with a pushchair. And then there's the central island platform. Don't get me started.

There are only two platforms and yet they've been numbered 2 and 3. This appears to have come as a surprise to the signsmith, because both enamelled line diagrams have had to be retouched with a hand-drawn felt-pen sticker. I've seen professionaller. Platform 2 is a carriagesworth longer than platform 3, which is a bit of a mystery. There are two sets of semi-sheltered seats - one obvious and one hidden out of sight up the quiet end. But if you want to know when the next train's due, sorry, no clues. There are no next train indicators, not even one of those ancient TV screens mounted on a pole. There are no announcements, nor any loudspeakers from which announcements might be made. And there are no poster timetables, on either platform, nor any indication that there are ever going to be. There are some numbers scratched on a whiteboard by the station entrance, but that's two minutes walk away so they're unreferrable. All that would-be passengers can do is wait and see what turns up when, and hope nothing's cancelled.

Caledonian Road & Barnsbury also boasts the Overground's most inexplicable luxury - the Loudhailer Twins. Every refreshed station along the NLL and ELL has two dedicated staff to assist passengers, one on each platform, whose main duties appear to include keeping everyone behind the yellow line and answering questions about when the next train's due. Here at Caledonian Road & Barnsbury there's only one island platform but there are still two staff, each responsible for their own half. They demarcate carefully so as not to tread on one another's toes, but this arrangement still has the unmistakeable whiff of expensive overkill.

On the bright side, there are no hanging baskets filled with nasty cheap plastic flowers at this station. Yet.

When a train finally arrived and I boarded the carriage, the lady standing closest to the doors poked her head out to take a look at the newly-refurbished station. "Ooh that looks nice," she said, and she was right. But functionally, no, it's not terribly impressive at all.

» More from London Reconnections

posted 07:00 :

Wednesday, June 02, 2010

For the last four years, the Museum of London has stopped short. Immediately after the Great Fire, precisely where the ramp to downstairs begins, a historical dead end. Visitors have been denied the opportunity to discover what followed the conflagration, from Wren's rebuilding right up to Boris's mayoralty, while an entire floor has been refurbished. But last weekend the basement reopened following the £20m refit, and the timeline of the capital is now pretty much complete. So what's new?

There are three downstairs galleries altogether, each showcasing an increasingly narrow period of time, and kicking off with the Expanding City. London grew through trade, and hundreds of Georgian artefacts are on show to get that point across. Clocks and shoes and extra-wide dresses for a start, plus tables of crockery beneath glass panels that you can walk across the top of. Some of the alcoves are dimly lit, which makes trying to match the objects to their pictorial labels quite hard. But one alcove is meant to be dark - an original wooden cell saved from from Wellclose Square Gaol on which the scratchings of prisoners are all too easily seen. Rather more upbeat is a large-scale recreation of Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. This is essentially an excuse for the Museum to show off a selection of their more outrageous period costumes, accompanied by a couple of amusing projected vignettes which greatly add to the playful atmosphere.

Next up, roundabout 1850ish, London as a People's City. It's good to see that the old maze of Victorian shops has survived the refit, but most of the other exhibits appear new. The original Selfridges lift (wow) is a reminder of the more affluent side of town, but it's London's poor who get a bigger allocation of space. The Aldgate water pump takes centre stage in a peculiar interactive exhibit inviting visitors to place their hand in virtual sewage to see what they can find. Nothing pleasant, obviously. There's also a mini-room dedicated to Charles Booth's poverty map of London, again interactive, although it's probably quicker to try to find your home street on the map printed on the wall instead. The electronic stuff's very clever, throughout, but frustratingly unresponsive at times.

After a hotchpotch of fairly eclectic assemblages, it's then time to explore a couple of themes in greater detail, The Suffragettes earn a substantial portion of display space, as does the Second (but not the First) World War. There's a particularly good audio-visual presentation of eyewitnesses' wartime reminiscences, should you have the patience to sit through it in its entirety, and an even better 'cinema' presentation of old newsreel and cinefilm footage. The flickering black and white and images are an eye-opener for visiting children, as are the old coins inlaid into the table outside a Lyon's teashop to help explain how much the one shilling and sixpence luncheon menu cost. The new galleries aren't just a collection objects in glass cases, not by a long chalk.

And then up to date, from the Festival of Britain onwards, in the World City section. Each decade is represented by a collection of cultural icons, plus a shoe, which seems fair. Stanley Green's "8 Passion Proteins" placard earns a prominent position, as those of us who frequented Oxford Street before 1993 will remember. So too does a scale model of an entire threatened Hackney Street, and an old Apple computer, and (possibly) the genuine Andy Pandy and Bill and Ben. The London connection is sometimes a little tenuous, with location-free exhibits that'd be just as at home in a museum in Bristol or Carlisle, but 90% of the on-show items here are appropriately local.

After a room devoted to interactive issue-based voting, the final small gallery has been assembled by folk from the City. It's a bit dull, to be honest, with the exception of the attention-grabbing Lord Mayor's State Coach glinting in the centre. And then there's just the café to go, because there has to be a café, it's the law. This one's both understated and futuristic, with a swathe of London-related statistics flashing away on an electric curve overhead. The place is busy already, and ought to do a roaring trade with people who can't walk round a museum without stopping for a coffee and go on, yes, a premium sandwich and a slice of cake.

Two hours the gallery extension took me, and that's without dawdling in the pre-1666 bit upstairs. I felt like the museum had left a whole heap of history out, but then London's complete story would take several complete buildings to fill, and then some. The Museum in Docklands fills some of the gap, but these new galleries are damned impressive all the same. And well worth the wait.

posted 00:10 :

Tuesday, June 01, 2010

Yesterday I
...took the fast train to Folkestone (the town will never win any awards for tourism) [photo]
...climbed up to the cliff edge behind the town (lovely view, except it was of Folkestone)
...walked along the North Downs Way (just the last six miles, not the whole lot)
...passed through the Battle of Britain of Memorial (of which more later)
...crossed the top of Folkestone Warren (in places, rather close to the cliff edge) [photo]
...found an acoustic sound mirror at Abbott's Cliff (ooh, wasn't expecting that) [photo]
...poked around in some ruined WW2 defences (and on top of a couple of them too)
...looked down onto artificial Samphire Hoe (but found no easy way to walk to it) [photo] [photo]
...strode to the very top of Shakespeare Cliff (with the Channel Tunnel underneath) [photo]
...watched the ferries chugging in and out of Dover Harbour (France was intermittently visible)
...climbed to the top of Western Heights (Dover's enormous Napoleonic defences)
...encircled Drop Redoubt (it's their Open Weekend next week, if you like old historical stuff)
...hated Dover High Street (the locals aren't in any way upmarket, are they?)
...took the fast train home (from Dover to my place in less than 90 minutes, wow)

Oh I do like to be beside the Kent/Sussex seaside.
Here's where I've blogged about so far (plus where I ought to go next):
» Kent: Dartford, Gravesend, Allhallows, Rochester, Chatham, Gillingham, Sheerness, Whitstable, Shivering Sands, Herne Bay, Reculver, Mar gate, Broadstairs, Ramsgate, Sandwich, Deal, St Margaret's, White Cliffs, Dover, Folkestone, Hythe & Dymchurch, Dungeness.
» Sussex: Camber Sands, Rye, Camber Castle, Hastings, Bex hill, Eastbourne, Beachy Head, Seven Sisters, Seaford, Newhaven, Peacehaven, Brighton, Hove, Shoreham, Worthing, Littlehampton, Bognor Regis, Selsey, Chichester.

posted 07:00 :

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