Seaside postcard: Newhaven When spring arrives and the seaside beckons, you'd probably not choose to head to Newhaven. It's a ferry port for a start. Its beach is small and pebbly. And there's Brighton ten miles up the coast, which is much more of a draw. But there's enough going on in this East Sussex town to keep you entertained for, well, a few hours.
Newhaven Harbour: Newhaven's a long-established port astride the mouth of the River Ouse (well, a River Ouse, England has so many). The river used to meander to the sea round a shingle spit, but an artificial channel put a stop to that, hence the name New Haven. This was one of the first towns in England to get a lifeboat, and there's still an orange monster tied up on the quayside near the RNLI shop. The harbour's deep enough for cross Channel ferries to berth, but the majority of river traffic now comes from motorboats using the new upmarket marina. I was pleasantly surprised to see a small trawler by the quayside, with three fishermen aboard tweaking their nets in readiness for another catch. But the sea doesn't bring prosperity to the town quite like it used to. Freight traffic's down, unemployment's up, even the Parker Pen factory has closed down. There's a giant new waste incinerator nearly completed upstream, but that won't bring as many jobs as were lost over the last few decades. Newhaven needs to stay a working town to survive, so here's hoping current investment pays off.
Newhaven Marine: Newhaven has two stations - Newhaven Town and Newhaven Harbour. Everybody uses the former, because its closest to the swing bridge across to the main side of town. The Seaford train nips from one to the other in under a minute, so there's barely any need for the second station at all. But there used to be a third, less than another minute further on, called Newhaven Marine. Holidaymakers used to pour off trains from London onto its single platform to board the ferry to Dieppe. No more. These days there are only two ferries a day, one mid morning, one late evening, so there's not the demand. The main ferry terminal has shifted, closer to the main road and to Newhaven Town. And that's left Newhaven Marine as one of the strangest, most contrary stations in the country.
Newhaven Marine really ought to have closed down by now, but hasn't quite. The last passengers used the station in August 2006, at which point the platforms were deemed unsafe and sealed off. But it's damned awkward to close down a railway service, even one that's never used, because parliamentary rules throw up all sorts of impenetrable red tape. So trains still run from Newhaven Marine, even though nobody's allowed to get on board, which notionally keeps this tiny branch line open. There's only one train each weekday evening, the 8:15 to Lewes, and it only runs in one direction. You won't find it in the timetable, and it doesn't accept passengers. Yell through the fence as much as you like, the driver won't let you on. And this charade continues, and will continue to continue, for as long it's easier to run the train than hold a public consultation on the line's closure.
I arrived in town at Newhaven Harbour, one stop past the busy Newhaven Town. Only two of us got off the train, both seemingly more interested in local transport peculiarities than nipping over to France. From the footbridge there was a good view of the regular tracks taken veering off towards Seaford, and the ghost railway running straight ahead into oblivion. It's only a couple of minutes walk, via the nearby level crossing, to the abandonedTransmanche Ferries terminal. You'd have to be really heavily laden with luggage not to be able to manage this walk, not that anyone with luggage comes this way any more. Peer across the tracks and there's the mothballed platform, empty but for a couple ofold signs (mmm, Network SouthEast) and the odd pigeon. The station canopy's seen better days, and it's the supposedly perilous state of this roof which has been used as an excuse to end passenger services.
Never fear, if you're really keen to make a journey from Newhaven Marine there's a sign outside suggesting that you call for a complimentary taxi. One problem, you have to be in possession of a ticket from Newhaven Marine, and nobody sells those. I would direct you to a Radio 4 documentary on the subject, in which the presenter actually manages to wheedle a cab ride out of Network Rail, but that's no longer accessible. It's ludicrous, but Newhaven Marine station remains on an administrative life support machine, and nobody quite has the nerve to turn it off.
• Since I wrote this, Geoff and Vicki have been down to Newhaven Marine and encountered the daily ghost train. Their excellent video report is here.
Alternative ways to get London 2012 tickets, number 2
Fancy guaranteed tickets to both the Opening and Closing Ceremonies? They're up for grabs now if you're a major company or large organisation with a bottomless budget. London 2012 (under the mantle of 'Prestige Ticketing') are selling luxury corporate Event Packages with access to VIP seating, hospitality boxes and backstage entertainment. In addition to the two ceremonies, companies also have to sign up for at least four of the premier athletics sessions (the ones at which medals are awarded). A bargain at £4500 per delegate per session, I think you'll agree. Here's what a typical itinerary looks like... (this for the lucky sods invited to schmooze at the Opening Ceremony)
This June, when your own personal ticket application for the Opening Ceremony is refused due to massive public over-subscription, remember it's your own fault for not being important enough. But remember too that the profits from these mammoth corporate packages are helping to subsidise free tickets for London schoolchildren, and indeed the Games themselves.
Alternative ways to get London 2012 tickets, number 1
Fancy a ticket to the Opening Ceremony? You can guarantee yourself one, come September, if you book an Olympic "short break" with Thomas Cook. For just £6499 per person you can get to see...
...along with three nights at a 5 star West End hotel. Meals are thrown in, as is a coach to whisk you to and from your Olympic event. What with Thomas Cook being official London 2012 sponsors, your coach might even get to whisk along the segregated lanes of the Olympic Route Network (you VIP you). But at a price almost £5000 greater than the total face value of the three tickets, your guaranteed seats come at a huge premium.
...along with one night at a budget Heathrow hotel? There's no coach this time, only a free Travelcard, but boy is that Travelcard going to be necessary. The basketball ends at midnight (in Stratford) and the athletics starts at 10am (in Stratford), so somehow you'll have to exit the arena, catch the specially-extended late-night tube, return to the hotel (20 miles away in Heathrow), get some sleep, have breakfast, check out, ride the tube back to the Olympic Park and get through security, all in ten hours flat. You don't have to wait until September to book this clunker, you can book it now.
Rest assured, most of Thomas Cook's 800 Olympic package holidays aren't quite this eye-wateringly expensive or impractically compact. And they do guarantee official tickets and a hotel room for the night, which may be in short supply in London at Games time. But Thomas Cook do seem to have a lot of tickets for the less desirable preliminary rounds of non-premium sports, so you will be paying well over the odds to see some fairly bog standard events.
If you're not successful in the Olympic ticket ballot, you live outside London and you have money to burn, you might want to bear Thomas Cook's short breaks in mind. But if you're not successful in the Olympic ticket ballot, that could be because thousands of the tickets aren't available to the general public at all, only to corporate packages and official sponsors. Best not complain, because ticket sales are an important part of the funding for the Games, and without big business hospitality we'd be contributing even more of our taxes to the event.
(Today's post is especially for the two readers who complained yesterday that I'm writing too many Olympic posts at the moment. Have another one. And keep your fingers crossed for tomorrow)
Publication of the ticketing terms and conditions gives us the first glimpse into what it'll be like to attend a session at the 2012 Olympics. When you offer to buy a ticket, you also sign up to a Spectator Policy. If the following sounds extreme, that might be because you haven't been to a major stadium event recently and don't know what's the norm. Or it might be because this goes well beyond the norm. You decide.
Be warned. There'll be a security friskdown before every Olympic event, during which your personal belongings will be scrutinised. And all unacceptable items may be removed, permanently, never to be seen again. Let's see what London 2012 will be throwing away.
This doesn't mean no eating or drinking at your seat - there'll be plenty of catering suppliers inside each venue. But it does mean no food or drink will be consumed at the Games apart from that sold by official merchandisers. McDonalds Quarter Pounder and Coke, yes. Packed lunch and carton of Aldi apple juice, definitely not.
If it rains, don't bring a brolly to the venue. Even if you only plan to use it on the journey there, you'll lose it immediately. Plastic raincoats rule.
I hope Boris sorts out cycle parking outside all London's Olympic venues, because you won't be allowed to take yours in. Don't arrive at the Stadium by Borisbike either. The Cycle Hire zone is being extended east but not quite as far as the Olympic Park, because Barclays aren't official sponsors.
Aside from Afghanistan, Kosovo and Vatican City, pretty much every independent country sends a team. Are London 2012 expecting the Pope to turn up with a big flag?
Hang on, have I read that right? Mobile phones may not be taken into a venue?! Mobile phones are a restricted item?! Mobile phones will be confiscated and not returned?! They can't mean that, surely? But that's what it says.
Don't panic, your Nike t-shirt is fine, and your Emirates football top won't be banned. It's only deliberate attempts at ambush marketing which will be forcibly restricted.
I can hear the security guard now. "Excuse me Sir, I have reason to believe that your Rolex is a fake, hand it over please." They can't mean all counterfeit products, even that £3 designer jacket you bought from Walthamstow Market, surely? But that's what whoever wrote these terms and conditions has written.
"of any kind..." what sort of ambiguous catch-all phrase is that? I mean, you stop almost anybody in the street and they'll have some kind of promotional material on them - back page of a magazine, IKEA-sponsored Oyster wallet, whatever. I know what London 2012 are trying to stop, and rightly so, but this over-vague phrase appears to give them carte blanche to impound almost any branded object.
How large is a large bag? This is important because most of us can't survive without carrying a bag around, and we need to know in advance how large a bag we can get away with.
Essentially then, when you come to the Olympics LOCOG have the right to remove lots of relatively normal objects from your possession. I can't believe they're going to steal all mobile phones, large handbags and chewing gum, but by signing up you're effectively saying that they can. Whoever compiled this list was either being excessively draconian or wilfully vague. Still, at least they don't appear to want your camera...
This is important. Yes you can take photos or make a video of what you see at an Olympic event. But no you can't sell them to anyone and no you can't give them to the media. And yes you can post pictures on your own website, but no you can't upload any videos to the internet. That's yes to Flickr, Twitpics and photo-blogging, but no to YouTube or Audioboo. I wonder how the Facebook generation are going to react to enforced non-sharing of Olympic videos and audio. More interestingly, I wonder if London 2012 can stop them.
Olympic update 10 more ticketing tips (the last ten are here)
1) You can only apply online if your Visa card expires in August or later. This is ridiculous, and potentially incredibly annoying. The Olympic ticketing procedure is so protracted that the Visa card you have now might expire before London 2012 want your money. So they won't let you use it. Visa cards expiring in March 2011, April 2011, May 2011, June 2011 or July 2011 are being refused by the ticketing software. Instead, and I quote, "if your card expires before August 2011 please contact your bank to renew your card." Millions of potential ticket purchasers are likely to give up at the first hurdle. 6pm update: This has now been fixed. Cards which expire in May, June or July will be allowed to apply from next Monday onwards. Cards which expire in March or April will have been replaced before the 26th April ticketing deadline.
2) Your money will be taken before you find out which tickets you've got. It's perverse, but it's true. The ticketing process is so cumbersome and long-winded that London 2012 won't email you before attempting to take your money. They need a full month (10 May to 10 June) to sift through all the applications and work out who's got what. They may even take money for different events at different times - it's not been confirmed that your bank account will be raided only once. Only by 24 June, a fortnight later, do they guarantee you'll have received confirmation by email of which events you'll be attending. But watch out earlier for a telltale twelvepence. If (and only if) the amount withdrawn from your account includes pence as well as pounds then congratulations, you've won a cheap seat for the Opening Ceremony.
3) Keep your bank account topped up for a month. I can't emphasise this one enough. At the moment you apply for tickets, London 2012 will warn you of the maximum amount you could end up paying. Keep this amount of money in your Visa-related account at all times between 10 May and 10 June. On some unspecified unannounced day, London 2012 will attempt to take money from your account, and it could be the maximum. If this transaction fails, you'll get nothing. "If payment cannot be taken, LOCOG reserves the right to refuse any Ticket applications or Ticket orders." Even if you're only £1 short, you'll lose every ticket on your shopping list. It'll be like winning the lottery and then realising you forgot to enter. But how many people can genuinely afford to maintain a ticket-sized bufferzone in their bank account for a full month? I guess we'll start finding out in May when the unlucky "winners" start to complain.
4) There's a £6 ticket-handling charge. Come on, this system is run by Ticketmaster, so what did you expect? The £6 is to pay for registered delivery (and to make a tidy profit, I don't doubt). And don't think of having the tickets delivered to work, or to your auntie, or to your nextdoor neighbour, because that's prohibited. "Tickets will be delivered via secure carrier to the billing address of the Purchaser. Tickets will not be delivered to any other address." If you move house any time between now and summer next year, when the tickets start arriving, then you need to let London 2012 know... or miss out.
5) If you end up with tickets you don't want, you can sell them on. But you can only sell them on via London 2012's official resale site. There are no precise details yet, but this website will give ticket holders the opportunity to sell unwanted tickets "at no more than face value". Don't think of flogging the official bits of paper on eBay or anything, because that's banned. Don't raffle them for charity, because that's banned too. And don't sell them in a public place, because that's a criminal offence. The official resale website will be a "secure environment", ensuring that London 2012 still know who the official purchaser is at all times. But it won't be operational until next year, so you'll have to sit tight on that hole in your bank balance for at least six months.
6) Don't try buying tickets as a gift for someone else. According to the terms and conditions, if you're the one that buys the tickets, you have to be one of the people who uses the tickets. "If more than one Ticket is issued to a Purchaser, those Tickets may only be used by the Purchaser and a family member, friend or colleague who is known to the Purchaser personally and who is intended to accompany the Purchaser to a Session." So if you buy two tickets as a gift for Bob and Carol's wedding anniversary, Bob and Carol may be turned away from the venue for not being you. Will officials really be this strict? Best not to risk finding out.
7) Smile, some events are free. Not every event needs a ticket or a sturdy bank balance. The initial rounds of the archery are free. The cycling road races are free (apart from spectating at the finish). The sailing in Weymouth harbour is free (unless you want to sit in what's normally a public park beside a video screen). And then of course there are the two marathons, which you can watch for free from my front doorstep (except, bugger, sigh, grrr).
8) Get a brochure. If you're serious about planning your Olympic experience carefully, don't try to do it all online. Negotiating umpteen pdfs or interactive schedules isn't easy, and makes it incredibly hard to gain an overview of what's available when. Instead pop into your nearest branch of Lloyds TSB and pick up a copy of the official ticketing brochure. It's massive - a full 70 pages on thick glossy paper (but then it was paid for by bankers and they have money to burn). No need to queue or anything, the brochures are lying around ready to take. Then you can scan through the entire schedule at your own pace, ticking off possibles and definites, and optimise your application. Makes a nice souvenir too, if you're that way inclined.
9) Read the Terms and Conditions. Nobody ever reads the terms and conditions. But this time you really should, in case you find yourself agreeing to something you didn't think you were agreeing too. The terms and conditions aren't very easy to find on the website, at least up front, but do hunt them down all the same. Things like "LOCOG cannot guarantee adjacent seats if separate Ticket Application Forms are submitted." And "if a Ticket Holder leaves a Venue for any reason, the same Ticket may not be used to re-enter a Venue." And "upon request, a Ticket Holder must show their Tickets and/or proof of his or her identity with appropriate Photographic Identification." Worth knowing in advance, I think.
10) You can only apply once, so don't rush it. My brother's already submitted his application form online. By lunchtime yesterday he'd requested four tickets for the Opening Ceremony (the cheap £20.12 ones) and nothing else. So that's it. "Once submitted, a Person may not be able to alter, amend, withdraw or cancel an application." Given how horribly oversubscribed those £20.12 tickets are going to be, my brother's not going to be going to the Olympics at all. He can't apply a second time, either online or on paper, because the rules forbid it. "A Person may only submit one (1) Ticket Application Form." So please, don't rush your application. You've got until 23:59 on Tuesday 26th April to apply, so take your time picking and choosing. (Don't worry little bruv, because there is an option to withdraw your application, any time up to 26th April, and tweak it and apply again. But come 27th April your application is set in stone, and there's no going back)
Dear Mr and Mrs Smith, Thank you for applying for tickets for London 2012. You applied for
✖ ZO001 Opening Ceremony (27 Jul 19:30-22:30) 2 tickets @£20.12 ✖ AT005 Athletics - 100m final (6 Aug 18:50-21:55) 2 tickets @£50 ✖ DV016 Diving - 10m platform final (11 Aug 20:30-22:10) 2 tickets @£50
You were successful in none of your bids. We have not taken any money from your account. You will not be coming to the Olympics, loser. Perhaps you should have considered the laws of supply and demand a little more carefully before you applied for the three most popular sessions on the list. Love Seb
Dear The McTavish Family, Thank you for applying for tickets for London 2012. You applied for
✖ BD021 Badminton - semi-finals (4 Aug 09:00-12:00) 4 tickets @£30 ✖ GT002 Trampoline - men's final (4 Aug 14:00-16:15) 2 tickets @£20, 1@£13, 1@£8 ✖ HO021 Hockey - preliminaries (4 Aug 19:00-22:45) 4 tickets @£20 ✖ CT005 Cycling - women's sprint (5 Aug 10:00-11:25) 2 tickets @£20, 1@£13, 1@£8 ✖ SY001 Synchronised swimming (5 Aug 15:00-16:40) 2 tickets @£20, 1@£13, 1@£8 ✔ TT025 Table Tennis - women's semi-final (5 Aug 19:00-22:00) 4 tickets @£20
You were successful in one of your bids. We have taken £80 from your account. You thought you were being clever planning a full weekend of events. But all you won in the ballot was an evening of ping pong. Enjoy your long weekend down from Scotland. Hope you find something interesting to do for the rest of it. Love Seb
Dear Sandra and Bob, Thank you for applying for tickets for London 2012. You applied for
You were successful in all eight of your bids. We have taken £1520 from your account. You really wanted to see a swimming final, any swimming final. So you thought you'd better apply for all of them. Unfortunately you forgot to read the smallprint. The smallprint says you're obliged to pay for every ticket you win in the ballot, and you were unexpectedly lucky. So we're screwing you for a grand and a half, and there's nothing you can do to stop us. Good luck selling the unwanted tickets next year. Love Seb
Dear Arthur, Thank you for applying for tickets for London 2012. You applied for
You were successful in none of your bids. We have not taken any money from your account. You only wanted to see one event. You only wanted to be able to say that you were here. Unfortunately tens of thousands of other people also wanted to see the same event, and you were unlucky. I'm sorry that, as a mere pensioner, £16 was all you could risk paying. But remember, you can always apply for Paralympic tickets from September. Or watch it all on TV. Love Seb
Dear Phil, Jenny and family, Thank you for applying for tickets for London 2012. You applied for
✔ ED004 Equestrian - individual dressage (9 Aug 12:30-16:30) 6 tickets @£275 or £175 or £95 or £65
You were successful in your bid. We have taken £1650 from your account. You really really wanted to see this event, so you ticked all the boxes for the full range of ticket prices. Bad luck, the cheapest tickets were oversubscribed and the most expensive weren't. So we picked the most expensive tickets for you, and charged you full whack. Don't look so surprised. Love Seb PS It's worse than that. Our terms and conditions state that "payment will be taken from all successful applicants between Tuesday 10 May 2011 and Friday 10 June 2011" but that "you will be notified of any tickets you have been allocated by 24 June 2011." So we actually took the £1650 out of your account six weeks ago. Sorry we didn't warn you in advance. Sorry we removed the money the day before your mortgage payment. Sorry for hurling you unexpectedly into overdraft. We're proud to have tipped you into the red with Visa.
Dear Ahmed and Mina, Thank you for applying for tickets for London 2012. You applied for
You were successful in one of your bids. We have taken £70 from your account. You chose carefully, and you chose well. You've only got one event but it should be a cracker. You'll remember being part of the Olympics for the rest of your lives. Thanks for giving us your money. Love Seb
In six months time, on a precise date in mid-September yet to be confirmed, London's second Westfield shopping centre will open. You might think their Shepherd's Bush mall is huge, but that's nothing compared to what's coming out east. Westfield Stratford City will be Europe's largest urban shopping centre, transforming some old railway sidings into nearly 2 billionsquare feet of retail opportunity. It's going to change East London in ways that East London hasn't yet begun to recognise. Make the best of half a year of normality while you can.
Westfield's already structurally complete, near enough. Stand outside Stratford station and the shiny mall looms large across the tracks. A huge windowless box designed for maximum merchandising. A tall office block awaiting pioneering tenants. Beaten gold-effect panels to glitz the whole thing up a bit. And somewhere beyond the façade is a central curved thoroughfare lined with three storeys of not-yet-fitted-out shops. All still wholly inaccessible, but when the footbridge finally opens and the shopping hordes swarm in they'll become an integral part of the fabric of local life.
Coming soon to Stratford E20 - a huge John Lewis, a mega Marks and Spencer and a whopping Waitrose. Three less likely retail brands its hard to imagine in the neighbouring shopping centre across the tracks. Stratford's existing mall (pictured) is no luxury customer magnet, not by any stretch of the imagination. Goods and prices are aimed low, because the local clientèle don't have much surplus cash to splash around. They need a 99p Store, not a Louis Vuitton, and a Wilkinson, not a Jimmy Choo. Many Newham residents are likely to wander round Westfield once for the experience, then return to the old mall to buy the stuff they need at prices they can afford. Or so the old mall hopes.
Westfield's core audience will be coming in from further out - not getting the bus from Plaistow but catching the train from North London or driving in from Essex. The planned catchment area covers approximately 4 million people, who up until now have had to journey to Brent Cross or Lakeside for the supermall experience. Westfield fills a geographic hole where no John Lewis, Marks and Spencer or Waitrose currently exist. Throw in a 14 screen cinema, several restaurants and (heaven protect us) a casino, and the plan is to create an irresistible day out for non-local non-poor people. Even mid-depression, there are still plenty of aspirational folk with money to burn.
A series of new roads has already been built to cope with the expected onslaught of passenger traffic. Stratford High Street has been upgraded, with a new multi-lane junction at the foot of Warton Road. This turn-off used to be a completebackwater, but soon it'll be the gateway for Westfield traffic approaching from Bow and the west. To the east, AngelLane has been completely remodelled and now crosses the main railway line with a kink. A brand new set of traffic lights has been installed, currently halting vehicles at red for no good reason, but guarding what'll be the main entrance to the car parks once the barriers come down. Expect long queues, but not quite yet.
With six months to go, Westfield Stratford City is already an integral part of the local environment. It's visible from the town centre, it's visible from Leyton Road, it's even visible from the far side of the Olympic Park. Soon it'll be the driving economic force round these parts, upping Stratford from a one-HMV town to a luxury brand destination. Then the gleaming gold of Westfield's exterior will gradually disappear behind a curtain of office blocks and post-2012 housing projects, as business and the upwardly-mobile choose to move into a neighbourhood they'd never previously have considered. Within a decade it may be hard to remember the pre-Westfield era, when Stratford existed only to the south of its railway station. Let's hope the balance doesn't tip too far the other way.
uʍop ǝpısdn plɹoʍ ǝɥʇ ƃuıuɹn┴ (please imagine that I'm writing this review six months ago, and not on the installation's last day)
Four of Anish Kapoor's warped mirrors, plonked in the middle of a famous London park. That's art that is. And a lot of fun. Each attracts curious spectators, jostling for position and peering into the reflected image. And each day is different, as the clouds come and go and the sky lightens and fades. I'd been meaning to go on a bright sunny day, but winter's weekends conspired against me. I finally ventured to Kensington Gardens yesterday, but arrived just as the morning's blue sky was being unceremoniously shunted over the horizon by a curtain of white. Never mind - thesedistortions merit playful investigation whatever the weather.
Sky Mirror: This is the big one, 10 metres in diameter, plonked down on a lawn beside the Long Water. It's well travelled too, having reflected the sky in such diverse locations as New York and Nottingham. Pick the right day and the mirrored steel reflects a bowl of azure fluffiness - the intimate detail's all heaven-sent. The waterside setting adds to the visual drama, at least viewed from the convex side. The concave obverse is more intimate, reflecting a patch of badly re-turfed grass and a bed of daffodils. It's a shame that the mirror will be removed before more than a handful of the springtime flowers have opened. Photos: mine, GanMed's, Stuart-Lee's, jadiela's, Martin-James's
Non-Object (Spire): Here's one of Anish's trademark horns, rising from the grass to an upturned point. Think of a Cluedo playing piece in shiny silver, or the bell of a giant metallic flower. It's been cunningly designed so that the tip reflects in the surrounding skirt, which your senses tell you should be impossible but clearly isn't. It's the surrounding trees which bring this surface to life with thin bare branches, which look almost like black veins on a robot's leg. Come on, this is art, I can think what I like. Photos: mine, jadiela's, Simon's, failing angel's
Sky Mirror, Red: Having hit on a winning construction, Kapoor adds a new twist by colouring it red. Smaller than its silver counterpart, this mirror has been placed in the shallow waters of the Round Pond. Pick the right weather and it reflects crimson clouds. Pick an overcast day and it's nothing but a ruby dish with ducks sheltering beneath. Photos: mine, stradders's, David's, Arianna's, James's
C-Curve: Like those distorting mirrors in fairground, this one's the true visual attraction. The outside of the curve's interesting enough, but it's the inside which has spectators lining up to stare at themselves. Courtesy of the laws of optics, Anish has somehow conspired to flip his panorama so that the audience appears to be hanging upside-down. Try to deduce which of the reflected line-up is you, but inverted. Watch as dogs scuttle by like spiders on the ceiling. All this plus an impossible background of green-grass sky and tree-branch roots. Like the rest of Kapoor's quartet, our senses our being toyed with and our perceptions challenged. Nip down before dusk tonight, bring your camera, and pray for sunshine. Photos: mine, Ian's, Keith's, Pat's, Neil's
Route 46: Lancaster Gate - Farringdon Street Location: inner London north Length of journey: 9 miles, 75 minutes
Another birthday, another numerically significant bus journey. Four years ago I took the 42 to Dulwich, three years ago the 43 to Barnet, two years ago the 44 to Tooting and last year the 45 to Clapham. So this year, obviously, I took the 46 to Farringdon. Who said middle-age wasn't exciting?
The 46 is London's Lost River tour bus. It starts on the banks of the Westbourne near Hyde Park, heads up the Tyburn towards Hampstead, then turns tail and runs almost the full length of the Fleet. I'd like to think this river-hugging was deliberate, but in truth it's nothing but a quirky coincidence. The number 46 follows a most unusual V-shaped path - first four miles out from central London and then five miles back in again. Take the Central line and you could travel from Lancaster Gate to Chancery Lane in ten minutes flat, whereas by this bus it takes well over an hour. You'd have to be mad to ride the entire route. So, obviously, I did.
The Westbourne The Royal Lancaster Hotel is an ugly thing - a tall white tower enlivened only by the symmetrical arrangement of curtains and lampshades in its windows. At its base, outside Lancaster Gate tube station, the 46's drivers pause and rest and wait for their allocated time of departure. Then it's out into the traffic and round the corner to pull up in front of a bus shelter full of foreign tourists, none of whom want to get on. They don't want Maida Vale and Swiss Cottage, they want the West End, its restaurants and its bright lights. There are plenty of spare seats aboard the 46, at least to begin with.
These aren't glamorous buses, they're ten-year-old single deckers which judder and whine their way through the backstreets of London. First up on my journey was Paddington - not the front of the station but lateral Eastbourne Terrace, where digging for Crossrail has reduced one entire pavement to a cable-filled chasm. Then a canal got in the way. The 46 has to nip across the water once, twice, thrice, four times... first via Bishop's Bridge, second beneath the gloomy concrete pillars of the Westway, and finally (three, four) around the eastern edge of Little Venice. Our lengthy zigzag through the white stucco villas of W9 then ground to a halt in a self-imposed traffic jam at the foot of Abbey Road. This isn't the end with the famous zebra crossing, only a set of traffic lights, so our bus caused five minutes of static honking chaos by being too big to slip down a road lined with parked cars.
The Tyburn Onward to the lofty courts of St John's Wood, past what used to be Marlborough Road tube station (more recently a Chinese restaurant, now boarded up behind a screen of blue hoardings). Any hint of suburban elegance faded as we approached Swiss Cottage, swinging off the Finchley Road and pausing outside a tiny dry cleaners to take on more passengers. The top of the Tyburn valley is long and steep, at least for London, so a number of Freedom Pass holders took advantage of our bus to save them a tiring ascent. Close to the river's source a shaven headed bloke in a grey hoodie hopped on, pit bull in tow, and bounded up to the back seat of the bus with a grin. Nobody scattered, some even cooed.
Half an hour in, and it was time for the 46 to dog-leg right and head back towards central London. Hampstead's cosmopolitan shopping streets were thronged with weekend shoppers (or at least with local folk out for a cappuccino). We edged slowly through the upmarket swarm. Two American tourists hesiatated by the bus's door to engage our driver in lengthy conversation, before eventually deciding "no, we're gonna get a cab instead thanks" and firing up their iPhone. Others were keener to climb aboard, including a shaven headed bloke in a blue hoodie tugging another pit bull on a thick gold chain. The 46 had suddenly become its own class at Crufts, as the two dog owners yelled compliments at each other down the length of the bus. "She's lovely, how old is she?" "I bought her off this bloke in Wales after my last English bull terrier died of cancer." "My sister's got one too but he's mental."
The Fleet By now the bus was rammed, with standing room (breathing in) only. Not just two dogs but a big pushchair, a man with an industrial carpet cleaner and a family with two scooters. At South EndGreen another pushchair appeared at the front door, and its owner attempted to push it forcefully towards the centre of the bus. It's amazing how many Londoners, and their possessions, can be crammed into thirty square metres. A few stops later our driver had to play the "Please move down inside the bus" message to squeeze another family on board. The obese parents struggled to keep control of their brood of toddlers ("sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down!"), then hopped off after a distance so short it explained their waistlines.
Down the Fleet we trickled. In Belsize Park I watched as an unconscious young man in sunglasses was wheeled into the back of an ambulance. On Prince of Wales Road the smelly lad in the seat behind me reached over my head to open the window, brrr. And only by Kentish Town were the passengers finally starting to thin out, step off and make room. In their place we got grey-Goth Dad (aged 50) and his two black-eyeliner daughters - all very Camden. But not for us the main drag of Camden High Street - we were heading round the back to downmarket Somers Town. London's buses go everywhere, even the less touristy inner hotspots.
By the time the 46 pulled in beside St Pancras station it had been on the road for an hour. I could have walked here quicker, in a straighter line, if only I hadn't needed to complete a senseless birthday-related bus journey. And then a certain sense of deja vu. Last year's birthday-related bus journey, the 45, followed precisely the same route for the next mile down to High Holborn. I'd seen the never-ending building works beside King's Cross station. I'd wondered how bad your teeth have to be before you're sent to the Eastman Dental. And I'd reflected, at length, on the relentless unimportance of the shops down Grays Inn Road. Different bus, same old streets. Until Holborn Circus, that is, where the 46 veered right to descend into the lower reaches of the Fleet Valley. Just one stop, then terminated dead in the backwater of Stonecutter Street. It's not the sort of place anyone would normally alight, but the handful of passengers still on board had to get off here to continue their journeys by other means. Me, I was exactly where I wanted to be, three lost rivers across.
When you hit another birthday, sometimes it's difficult to get your new age into perspective. So that got me wondering, what if the human lifespan were to be compressed into just one year. Every seven years of life squashed into just one month. I think it might go something like this...
January (age 0-6 years) Celebrations. Time to welcome in the New with cheers and glasses raised. You'll no doubt sleep and gurgle through the opening hours, then it's time to explore what this new world has in store for you. Learn to stand on your own two feet and engage with fresh opportunities - these should be your resolutions.
February (age 7-13 years) Prepare to take a leap into the unknown. There's a lot of energy waiting to burst through, but not yet the right atmosphere to head outdoors and make the most of it. Expect to be shown a lot of love and affection, perhaps with a cuddle and big box of chocolates.
March (age 14-20 years) There are stirrings inside as nature wakes up. Spring fever hits, and heady irrational behaviour is likely. Is that a green shoot poking through, or are you just pleased to see me?
April (age 21-27 years) Don't be a fool. Life's warming up, and there's plenty of opportunity to get out and make your mark on the world. There must be some jobs going in the field, although don't expect to get paid much for doing them. Several activities revolve around the sharing of eggs.
May (age 28-34 years) The days are long, but the nights are alive. Burn the candle at both ends, step out beneath the stars, and party! It's time to fly the nest and see if you can find your own way through life's troubles. Mayday, mayday.
June (age 35-41 years) Full bloom. The sun is at its highest, midsummer has arrived. Life doesn't get much better than this.
July (age 42-48 years) [I am here] The dog days are here, so watch out for crow's feet and grey hares. It can be hard getting everything done while the heat's on, but keep your cool and try not to dry up. Energy levels may be slightly down from June's peak, but so far their decline is imperceptible.
August (age 49-55 years) Now that the children have broken up, this could be the ideal moment for an independent break. Maybe you'll head abroad, maybe you'll stay at home, it all depends on the plans you made earlier. Make hay while the sun shines, because there could be stormier weather ahead.
September (age 56-62 years) The second half of the year may not be turning out as badly as you once feared. So long as the clouds stay away, September brings the chance of a late burst of summer - one last flush of sunshine before autumn rolls inexorably in. Some might say you're over-ripe, but better to say you've matured.
October (age 63-69 years) Have you saved up enough for less bountiful times ahead? Cease your toil and prepare to fall back on your personal harvest. As ye sow, so shall ye reap. The clocks go back, the nights start to draw in, and it's time to retire.
November (age 70-76 years) Things are starting to turn brown, and even drop off. There's still plenty to be done, battening down the hatches and tying up loose ends, but expect to be spending a lot more time indoors. Feel the chill, try not to freeze up. A time of remembrance, and fond memories of days long past. Remember remember.
December (age 77 years plus) Advent is here, the final countdown. The midwinter festival brings long hours in front of the TV and a lot of waiting for the family to come round. As for the week after Boxing Day, it always seems to go on and on and on... but nothing holds back the chimes of Big Ben forever. Should old acquaintance be forgot.
When my alarm clock rings, something is different. It's not been light for months at half past six, but this morning shows signs of change. Weak daylight dribbles in through the curtains, where previously there was none. A mist hangs in the sky, but the light's still too dim to be certain it's burning off. A blue Monday is promised.
Breakfast complete, I walk out into the street and smile. It's not yet eight o'clock but the sky has already turned a piercing shade of blue. I cast a clear shadow for the first time in days, and set off in the direction of my silhouette. All the south-facing buildings along the street are aglow. I head for the station and its subterranean gloom.
I emerge into central London beneath a cloudless sky. That is, the part of the sky I can see is cloudless, high above the canyon of high rise offices. Alas every horizon remains obscured by a sunshade of concrete, steel and brick. I stride ahead for a few minutes through deep shadows. It's damned chilly, but maybe spring is finally here.
I'm early into the office, early enough to sneak round and raise the blinds covering the windows nearest my desk. The sun won't be swinging round here until noon, but my fellow workmates believe in blotting it out even when it isn't there. I want to nip round the entire floor and raise all forty blinds, but several grumpy souls are already at their desks and would give me funny looks if I tried.
The weather outside is glorious. It must be, although it's hard to be sure while sat indoors. We're several floors up, but the buildings alongside are taller. I have a great view of a wall, and another wall, and one of those platforms that window cleaners dangle from. If I twist round I can just make out a thin strip of blue sky above a rooftop cooling plant. It'll have to do, it's the best I'm going to get.
Late morning I have a meeting to go to, in the basement. As the sun reaches its zenith I'm trapped below ground, where no daylight has penetrated since the foundations were laid. Some smiley people try to persuade me to do something I'd rather not do before a deadline I can't meet in time I don't have. My outlook is not bright.
Back upstairs the blinds have started coming down. The slightest flash of glare on any computer screen and whoosh, a cord is instantly tugged to shade it off. No blind is ever lowered partway, even though partway would do. Instead it's straight down to the windowsill blocking all natural illumination forthwith. The philistines have spoken. We'll work by fluorescent tube this afternoon.
The sun moves on, but nobody notices. It'd no longer dazzle their screen nor burn into their eyes, but how would anyone know? The blinds stay down, because there's no atmospheric event to trigger them being raised again. Workers sit in shadows, ill-lit, in ignorance. I'd like to pull them up, but somehow it's not the done thing.
Six o'clock approaches, and I've worked the entire day sealed off from sunlight. A few minutes remain before the golden disc sinks silently beneath an invisible horizon. As I head out from the office and back to the station I catch sight of a vague pink glow to the west. This sunset must be magnificent, I deduce, but only if viewed from somewhereelse.
And finally I'm back in my home street again. I've been travelling underground just long enough for daylight to have faded completely, bar one glorious final echo of blue in a purpling sky. The sun is long gone and dusk is rolling in. I pause to admire the thin crescent moon floating high above a bright dot that can only be Jupiter. Night comes swiftly.
A blue Monday was promised, and a blue Monday was delivered, yet somehow I missed the lot. Tell me now, how does it feel.
I don't know what you did at the weekend, but I visited all this lot. For nothing.
Barbican Weekender (Barbican: 5th and 6th March) Think of it as a crèche for children and adults. Two days of music, film, theatre, art, dance and candy floss. A host of artistic activities scattered around the Barbican Centre with a bit of a funfair vibe. You've missed it now, but the Weekender kept a whole host of middle class families busy over the weekend. Especially impressive was how it kept the kids busy. The BBC Symphony Orchestra had hung bits of metal from scaffolding and were encouraging tiny folk to hit them, in rhythm. A bloke with a laptop sat downstairs converting rhythmic human movement into on-screen folded-envelope dancers. And outside there was a 30-foot pink pig with holes for udders, through which 10 lucky viewers could peer to watch some performing arts. Like I say, you've missed it now, but the Beat The Champ exhibit in The Curve goes on until May. Brooklyn artist Cory Arcangel has selected 14 video game consoles from the 1970s to the present day and recorded a ten pin bowling game on each. All 14 games are running in a loop, projected along the full length of the gallery, so you can see how video games have evolved as you walk from one end to the other. "Yes", anybody under the age of 30 was being told by their elders, "graphics really used to be that basic once". And just in case this doesn't sound arty enough, Cory's engineered his 14 games so that every single ball rolls into the gutter. No pin ever gets knocked over, nobody ever scores, and the entire series drifts slowly into obsolescence. It's fun to watch though, for about ten minutes or so, and a fascinating look back at the entertainment we used to think was cutting edge.
Maslenitsa (Trafalgar Square: 6th Mar) On the depleted list of festivals Boris still celebrates, this Russian bash still earns its place. Maslenitsa is a traditional Russian pre-Lent festival, getting in some fun before the serious fasting begins, and this is the third year London's Mayor has celebrated the event. Essentially it's an excuse to stick a lot of Russians on stage, surround Trafalgar Square's fountains with supposedly Russian food stalls and generally flog Russian culture. I arrived to the sound of an accordion duet, thankfully a bit more rocking than you might expect, while a large furry bear danced amongst the audience in front of them. It didn't take long to work out that the majority of the crowd in the Square was Eastern European, lured here by a series of popular homegrown artistes and a cheery feeling of togetherness. A lot of white, blue and red flags were being given out, half by a mobile phone company and the rest by the Russian Tourist Board. I even walked away with a free Russian newspaper, whose content made absolutely zero sense to me but was clearly reaching its target audience. Two particular food stalls had ridiculously long queues, which on closer inspection were French creperies dressed up with Cyrillic script. Just like our Pancake Tuesday, Maslenitsa is celebrated with thin batter-y "blinis" to use up all the butter, eggs and milk before Lent. Next week in the Square it's the turn of a St Patrick's Day celebration, which presumably will be a little more drunken, and then we wait to see if Boris is going to call St George's Day for the Easter weekend.
The Clock (Queen Elizabeth Hall: 6:30pm 5th Mar to 6:30pm 6th Mar) As cinematic experiences go, this 24 hour epic is hard to beat. American artist Christian Marclay has put together a series of film clips in which clocks and timepieces appear, then run them together over a complete day so that each clip appears in order synchronised to the correct time. He didn't compile it all by himself, he had a dozen researchers scrutinising thousands of films to find all the temporal bits, but he's run them together brilliantly to create a compelling chronological narrative. Could be Stan Laurel accidentally upsetting a mantle clock followed by James Bond slicing through ropes with his bladed wristwatch, if that's what the hours and minutes dictate. 'The Clock' has been screened in London before, but this weekend it's been playing in real time at the Purcell Room on the South Bank. Some may have sat through the full 24 hours, but most like me dipped in and out for a flavour of the entire epic. The action rose to a crescendo every hour on the hour, because o'clocks are so often used in movies as deadlines (for Wild West shootouts, Titanic sailings and the like). Other references were merely incidental (a fleeting glimpse of a wallclock), or subtly essential to the plot (like Robert Powell's Big Ben dangle in The 39 Steps at 11:43 precisely). It was hypnotic, watching to see which Hollywood snippet turned up next, but also frustrating wanting to know but never finding out how the plot developed. One particularly nice thing - nobody in the audience had to light up their mobile phone to check what time it was! I managed 2½ hours of Clock-watching before creeping out, but it'd be great to watch the whole thing in one day one day.
Harry Beck and the London Tube Map (Church Farmhouse Museum: until 27th March) When I visited this Hendon museum back in January I said I'd go back, so I have. I'd visited just too early to see their latest exhibition of tube maps, which is now complete and labelled and open. And it's very good, for a small two-room exhibition in a peripheral part of town with no admission charge. There are (I counted) 25 card copies of the fold-up tube map, from pre-Beck designs to the dawn of the wheelchair blob. They're displayed in glass cases so you can see the cover and reverse as well, with a minimal commentary hinting at the map's evolution and how much Beck disliked some of his successors' designs. That Hutchinson map from 1963's a bit much, isn't it, all nasty angular corners and unnecessary medial stretching. Several larger poster maps are included, along with more general tube ephemera garnered from ticket halls and platforms networkwide. If you like this sort of thing then you'll like this, and it beats waiting until next year for an official tube map celebration at the London Transport Museum. Church Farmhouse Museum seemed to be ticking over nicely this weekend, with umpteen visitors enjoying their visit. But its days are numbered, and that number is 22. Budget cuts in Barnet mean that the museum will definitely lose its funding on 1st April, so it's closing for good at the end of March. Maybe a bunch of volunteers will step up and enact a Big Society miracle, but more likely the building'll be hived off and the museum will be lost. You have three more weeks to get here, six stops up the black line along its northwest bifurcation. Don't be late.
Poor old St George. If only his saint's day had been in October he'd have had his own bank holiday years ago. But no, St George's Day is always in April, the month in which Easter usually falls. However patriotic it might be to shift the May Day Holiday to St George's Day, it'll never happen. A St George's Day bank holiday would, I'm afraid, be a wholly impractical change. And here's why. I'm assuming that the St George's Day bank holiday would be held on the Monday nearest to April 23rd, or on the following day if that's already a bank holiday.
England's bank holidays are concentrated together in two distinct clusters. One cluster is from Easter to May, when there are four bank holidays, and the other's around Christmas and New Year, when there are three. This leaves a single leftover bank holiday, in late August, which barely fills the gaping chasm between the two peaks. Take the bank holidays in 2010 as an example. Not ideal.
Jan
Feb
Mar
Apr
May
Jun
Jul
Aug
Sep
Oct
Nov
Dec
X/NY
Total
2010
B B
B B
B
B B B
8
2011 and 2012 are different. Thanks to Royals either getting married or getting old, we've gained an extra bank holiday giving a total of 9. Kate and Wills have dropped their extra bank holiday inbetween two consecutive bank holiday Mondays (Apr 25, May 2), additionally giving us two consecutive bank holiday Fridays (Apr 22, Apr 29). Imagine adding a St George's Day bank holiday inbetween too (Tue Apr 26), it'd be completely wasted. As for 2012, the late May bank holiday is being moved to June and doubled up to celebrate the Queen's Diamond Jubilee. At things stand, next year we have three perfectly-spaced bank holiday Mondays (Apr 9, May 7, Jun 5). Replacing the middle one with April 23rd would knock things distinctly off kilter.
Jan
Feb
Mar
Apr
May
Jun
Jul
Aug
Sep
Oct
Nov
Dec
X/NY
Total
2011
B B B
B B
B
B B B
9
2012
B B
B
B B
B
B B B
9
So if a St George's Day bank holiday were to be introduced, it'd start in 2013.
Jan
Feb
Mar
Apr
May
Jun
Jul
Aug
Sep
Oct
Nov
Dec
X/NY
Total
2013
B B B
B
B
B B B
8
And in 2013 it'd work OK. Easter Monday on April 1st, St George's Day on April 22nd, and three weeks inbetween, fair enough. But 2014 would be rubbish. Easter's once again late, this time on April 20th, meaning that Easter Monday would be April 21st. But that's the closest Monday to St George's Day, which would be displaced to the following day, Tuesday April 22nd. Add in Good Friday beforehand and this would create a bank holiday glut worse even than Wills and Kate's wedding. You might think that sounds great, but we'd have blown three of the year's eight bank holidays in five days flat.
2013
2014
Easter Monday
Mon 1 Apr
Mon 21 Apr
St George's Day
Mon 22 Apr
Tue 22 Apr
gap inbetween
3 weeks
1 day
And how about the rest of the decade? There are three decent years with sensible spacing (2015, 2016, 2018). In 2018 we'd even get the St George's Day holiday on the right day. But the other three years aren't looking so good. In 2017 and 2020 we'd get two consecutive bank holiday weekends (which almost never happens with May Day at present). And in 2019 there'd be another late Easter falling on the Monday closest to St George's Day, as in 2014, which'd mean a bank holiday Tuesday. Admittedly that would be Tuesday April 23rd, which would be highly appropriate, but again it'd mean blowing three bank holidays in a single weekend.
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
Easter Monday
Mon 6 Apr
Mon 28 Mar
Mon 17 Apr
Mon 2 Apr
Mon 22 Apr
Mon 13 Apr
St George's Day
Mon 20 Apr
Mon 25 Mar
Mon 24 Apr
Mon 23 Apr
Tue 23 Apr
Mon 20 Apr
gap inbetween
2 weeks
4 weeks
1 week
3 weeks
1 day
1 week
For a broader overview we need to look at a longer period of time. So I've investigated the entire 100 years from 2013 to 2112, and worked out the gap between Easter Monday and a St George's day holiday in each case. Here's my summary.
Gap between Easter Monday and a St George's Day bank holiday
between 2013 and 2112
1 day
17 years out of 100
1 week
25 years out of 100
2 weeks
24 years out of 100
3 weeks
24 years out of 100
4 weeks
10 years out of 100
And that's why a St George's Day bank holiday is doomed to impracticability. Easter Day can fall on any date between March 22nd and April 25th - a period which also includes St George's Day. We can't move Easter because it's fixed by the church, not by Parliament. Easter already comes attached with an allocation of two bank holidays. And it turns out that April 23rd falls far too close to Easter in approximately 40% of years, which is wholly unacceptable. By contrast our current May Day holiday, though imperfectly timed, falls within a week of Easter Monday only 3 times this century.
Gap between Easter Monday and the May Day bank holiday
between 2013 and 2112
1 week
3 years out of 100
2 weeks
26 years out of 100
3 weeks
25 years out of 100
4 weeks
20 years out of 100
5 weeks
23 years out of 100
6 weeks
3 years out of 100
The May Day Bank holiday won't be moving to St George's Day. It might still move to October. But I hope it stays exactly where it is.
Jan
Feb
Mar
Apr
May
Jun
Jul
Aug
Sep
Oct
Nov
Dec
X/NY
Total
St George
B B B
B
B
B B B
8
October
B B
B
B
B
B B B
8
status quo
B B
B B
B
B B B
8
Yesterday's May Day vote is now closed. Based on 250 responses, the results are as follows: 1) Should the UK bank holiday in the first week of May be moved? Yes (25%), No (75%) 2) If England's May Day bank holiday is moved, should it go to April or October? St George (27%), late October (73%)
Newhaven Marine: Newhaven has two stations - Newhaven Town and Newhaven Harbour. Everybody uses the former, because its closest to the swing bridge across to the main side of town. The Seaford train nips from one to the other in under a minute, so there's barely any need for the second station at all. But there used to be a third, less than another minute further on, called Newhaven Marine. Holidaymakers used to pour off trains from London onto its single platform to board the ferry to Dieppe. No more. These days there are only two ferries a day, one mid morning, one late evening, so there's not the demand. The main ferry terminal has shifted, closer to the main road and to Newhaven Town. And that's left Newhaven Marine as one of the strangest, most contrary stations in the country.
I arrived in town at Newhaven Harbour, one stop past the busy Newhaven Town. Only two of us got off the train, both seemingly more interested in local transport peculiarities than nipping over to France. From the footbridge there was a good view of the regular tracks taken veering off towards Seaford, and the ghost railway running straight ahead into oblivion. It's only a couple of minutes walk, via the nearby level crossing, to the abandoned Transmanche Ferries terminal. You'd have to be really heavily laden with luggage not to be able to manage this walk, not that anyone with luggage comes this way any more. Peer across the tracks and there's the mothballed platform, empty but for a couple of old signs (mmm, Network SouthEast) and the odd pigeon. The station canopy's seen better days, and it's the supposedly perilous state of this roof which has been used as an excuse to end passenger services.
Publication of the ticketing terms and conditions gives us the first glimpse into what it'll be like to attend a session at the 2012 Olympics. When you offer to buy a ticket, you also sign up to a Spectator Policy. If the following sounds extreme, that might be because you haven't been to a major stadium event recently and don't know what's the norm. Or it might be because this goes well beyond the norm. You decide.
Personal propertyBe warned. There'll be a security friskdown before every Olympic event, during which your personal belongings will be scrutinised. And all unacceptable items may be removed, permanently, never to be seen again. Let's see what London 2012 will be throwing away.Olympic update
Coming soon to Stratford E20 - a huge John Lewis, a mega Marks and Spencer and a whopping Waitrose. Three less likely retail brands its hard to imagine in the neighbouring shopping centre across the tracks. Stratford's existing mall (pictured) is no luxury customer magnet, not by any stretch of the imagination. Goods and prices are aimed low, because the local clientèle don't have much surplus cash to splash around. They need a 99p Store, not a Louis Vuitton, and a Wilkinson, not a Jimmy Choo. Many Newham residents are likely to wander round Westfield once for the experience, then return to the old mall to buy the stuff they need at prices they can afford. Or so the old mall hopes.
Sky Mirror: This is the big one, 10 metres in diameter, plonked down on a lawn beside the Long Water. It's well travelled too, having reflected the sky in such diverse locations as New York and Nottingham. Pick the right day and the mirrored steel reflects a bowl of azure fluffiness - the intimate detail's all heaven-sent. The waterside setting adds to the visual drama, at least viewed from the convex side. The concave obverse is more intimate, reflecting a patch of badly re-turfed grass and a bed of daffodils. It's a shame that the mirror will be removed before more than a handful of the springtime flowers have opened.
Sky Mirror, Red: Having hit on a winning construction, Kapoor adds a new twist by colouring it red. Smaller than its silver counterpart, this mirror has been placed in the shallow waters of the Round Pond. Pick the right weather and it reflects crimson clouds. Pick an overcast day and it's nothing but a ruby dish with ducks sheltering beneath.
Route 46: Lancaster Gate - Farringdon Street
The Royal Lancaster Hotel is an ugly thing - a tall white tower enlivened only by the symmetrical arrangement of curtains and lampshades in its windows. At its base, outside Lancaster Gate tube station, the 46's drivers pause and rest and wait for their allocated time of departure. Then it's out into the traffic and round the corner to pull up in front of a bus shelter full of foreign tourists, none of whom want to get on. They don't want Maida Vale and Swiss Cottage, they want the West End, its restaurants and its bright lights. There are plenty of spare seats aboard the 46, at least to begin with.
Onward to the lofty courts of St John's Wood, past what used to be Marlborough Road tube station (more recently a Chinese restaurant, now boarded up behind a screen of blue hoardings). Any hint of suburban elegance faded as we approached Swiss Cottage, swinging off the Finchley Road and pausing outside a tiny dry cleaners to take on more passengers. The top of the Tyburn valley is long and steep, at least for London, so a number of Freedom Pass holders took advantage of our bus to save them a tiring ascent. Close to the river's source a shaven headed bloke in a grey hoodie hopped on, pit bull in tow, and bounded up to the back seat of the bus with a grin. Nobody scattered, some even cooed.
By the time the 46 pulled in beside St Pancras station it had been on the road for an hour. I could have walked here quicker, in a straighter line, if only I hadn't needed to complete a senseless birthday-related bus journey. And then a certain sense of deja vu. Last year's birthday-related bus journey, the 45, followed precisely the same route for the next mile down to High Holborn. I'd seen the never-ending building works beside King's Cross station. I'd wondered how bad your teeth have to be before you're sent to the Eastman Dental. And I'd reflected, at length, on the relentless unimportance of the shops down Grays Inn Road. Different bus, same old streets. Until Holborn Circus, that is, where the 46 veered right to descend into the lower reaches of the Fleet Valley. Just one stop, then terminated dead in the backwater of Stonecutter Street. It's not the sort of place anyone would normally alight, but the handful of passengers still on board had to get off here to continue their journeys by other means. Me, I was exactly where I wanted to be, three lost rivers across.
When you hit another birthday, sometimes it's difficult to get your new age into perspective. So that got me wondering, what if the human lifespan were to be compressed into just one year. Every seven years of life squashed into just one month. I think it might go something like this...
Think of it as a crèche for children and adults. Two days of music, film, theatre, art, dance and candy floss. A host of artistic activities scattered around the Barbican Centre with a bit of a funfair vibe. You've missed it now, but the Weekender kept a whole host of middle class families busy over the weekend. Especially impressive was how it kept the kids busy. The BBC Symphony Orchestra had hung bits of metal from scaffolding and were encouraging tiny folk to hit them, in rhythm. A bloke with a laptop sat downstairs converting rhythmic human movement into on-screen folded-envelope dancers. And outside there was a 30-foot pink pig with holes for udders, through which 10 lucky viewers could peer to watch some performing arts. Like I say, you've missed it now, but the Beat The Champ exhibit in The Curve goes on until May. Brooklyn artist Cory Arcangel has selected 14 video game consoles from the 1970s to the present day and recorded a ten pin bowling game on each. All 14 games are running in a loop, projected along the full length of the gallery, so you can see how video games have evolved as you walk from one end to the other. "Yes", anybody under the age of 30 was being told by their elders, "graphics really used to be that basic once". And just in case this doesn't sound arty enough, Cory's engineered his 14 games so that every single ball rolls into the gutter. No pin ever gets knocked over, nobody ever scores, and the entire series drifts slowly into obsolescence. It's fun to watch though, for about ten minutes or so, and a fascinating look back at the entertainment we used to think was cutting edge.
On the depleted list of festivals Boris still celebrates, this Russian bash still earns its place. Maslenitsa is a traditional Russian pre-Lent festival, getting in some fun before the serious fasting begins, and this is the third year London's Mayor has celebrated the event. Essentially it's an excuse to stick a lot of Russians on stage, surround Trafalgar Square's fountains with supposedly Russian food stalls and generally flog Russian culture. I arrived to the sound of an accordion duet, thankfully a bit more rocking than you might expect, while a large furry bear danced amongst the audience in front of them. It didn't take long to work out that the majority of the crowd in the Square was Eastern European, lured here by a series of popular homegrown artistes and a cheery feeling of togetherness. A lot of white, blue and red flags were being given out, half by a mobile phone company and the rest by the Russian Tourist Board. I even walked away with a free Russian newspaper, whose content made absolutely zero sense to me but was clearly reaching its target audience. Two particular food stalls had ridiculously long queues, which on closer inspection were French creperies dressed up with Cyrillic script. Just like our Pancake Tuesday, Maslenitsa is celebrated with thin batter-y "blinis" to use up all the butter, eggs and milk before Lent. Next week in the Square it's the turn of a St Patrick's Day celebration, which presumably will be a little more drunken, and then we wait to see if Boris is going to call St George's Day for the Easter weekend.
As cinematic experiences go, this 24 hour epic is hard to beat. American artist Christian Marclay has put together a series of film clips in which clocks and timepieces appear, then run them together over a complete day so that each clip appears in order synchronised to the correct time. He didn't compile it all by himself, he had a dozen researchers scrutinising thousands of films to find all the temporal bits, but he's run them together brilliantly to create a compelling chronological narrative. Could be Stan Laurel accidentally upsetting a mantle clock followed by James Bond slicing through ropes with his bladed wristwatch, if that's what the hours and minutes dictate. 'The Clock' has been screened in London before, but this weekend it's been playing in real time at the Purcell Room on the South Bank. Some may have sat through the full 24 hours, but most like me dipped in and out for a flavour of the entire epic. The action rose to a crescendo every hour on the hour, because o'clocks are so often used in movies as deadlines (for Wild West shootouts, Titanic sailings and the like). Other references were merely incidental (a fleeting glimpse of a wallclock), or subtly essential to the plot (like Robert Powell's Big Ben dangle in The 39 Steps at 11:43 precisely). It was hypnotic, watching to see which Hollywood snippet turned up next, but also frustrating wanting to know but never finding out how the plot developed. One particularly nice thing - nobody in the audience had to light up their mobile phone to check what time it was! I managed 2½ hours of Clock-watching before creeping out, but it'd be great to watch the whole thing in one day one day.
When I visited this Hendon museum back in January I said I'd go back, so I have. I'd visited just too early to see their latest exhibition of tube maps, which is now complete and labelled and open. And it's very good, for a small two-room exhibition in a peripheral part of town with no admission charge. There are (I counted) 25 card copies of the fold-up tube map, from pre-Beck designs to the dawn of the wheelchair blob. They're displayed in glass cases so you can see the cover and reverse as well, with a minimal commentary hinting at the map's evolution and how much Beck disliked some of his successors' designs. That Hutchinson map from 1963's a bit much, isn't it, all nasty angular corners and unnecessary medial stretching. Several larger poster maps are included, along with more general tube ephemera garnered from ticket halls and platforms networkwide. If you like this sort of thing then you'll like this, and it beats waiting until next year for an official tube map celebration at the London Transport Museum. Church Farmhouse Museum seemed to be ticking over nicely this weekend, with umpteen visitors enjoying their visit. But its days are numbered, and that number is 22. Budget cuts in Barnet mean that the museum will definitely lose its funding on 1st April, so it's closing for good at the end of March. Maybe a bunch of volunteers will step up and enact a Big Society miracle, but more likely the building'll be hived off and the museum will be lost. You have three more weeks to get here, six stops up the black line along its northwest bifurcation. Don't be late.
