The London Maze is a local history fair for London. It doesn't come round very often, roughly every 2½ years by my calculations, and it came round yesterday for the first time since 2008. Did you go?
There's something rather brilliant about holding a local history fair in the Guildhall. No musty church hall for these stallholders, but instead a medieval Grade-I listed Great Hall, one of the oldest surviving buildings in the City. Here they set up their display stands on the ancient floor and laid out their wares beneath the stern gaze of Gog and Magog. You might think it'd be tricky to flog books about minor suburban history under such overwhelmingly diverting circumstances, but by golly they did.
I enjoyed wandering around and being courted by local history groups from various different parts of London. No, sorry, I don't live in Wandsworth. I only nearly live in Hackney, but give me your leaflet anyway. Oh go on, you've put a lot of effort into that booklet on Wanstead Flats, I'll buy one. Top marks to Barking & Dagenham council who'd not only brought along a lady in period costume but were also handing out envelopes stuffed full of information on the borough's Heritage Sites. I've filed that particular package away as a lifesaver when my jamjar finally delivers. One of the inner London history societies sold me a booklet I'm tempted to use as the basis for this blog's local history month in 2013. And, following an animated conversation with one of their volunteers, maybe I really should join up with the East London History Society to take advantage of all their excellent research into my home patch.
As well as advice and selling stuff, there was plenty of other Maze-y stuff going on at the Guildhall yesterday. Guided walks, lectures and poetry readings, for a start. The chance to dress up as an ancient Roman, especially if you were little. Down in the Livery Hall I sat entranced by an hour-long documentary about Thamesmead, in which today's residents were shown two over-optimistic public information films from 40 years ago, and invited to pass comment with the benefit of hindsight. Now there's social history for you. Alas one particular "medical history" event had to be cancelled due to illness, but the poster apologising for this quite made my day.
And never let the opportunity to explore the Guildhall slip you by. The crypt has vaulting to die for. The Old Library boasts several portraits of royal banquets. And the Guildhall Art Gallery, which recently scrapped its admission fee, has a lot more than several rooms of old paintings. A marble statue of Margaret Thatcher, for example, which has to be displayed behind toughened glass in case anyone else pops in and attempts to decapitate it. A temporary exhibition of 'Marf' financial cartoons. And, greatest of all, the remains of Londinium's Roman Amphitheatre in its basement. Gets me every time, that does. So if you can't wait until autumn 2013 for the next London Maze, rest assured that there's enough amazing around here to fill the gap.
I was asked, earlier in the week, for an Olympic ticket recommendation.
"If I wanted to see SOMETHING, didn't really mind what it was, as long as I could say 'I was there' for the Olympics, what's your hunch on what might be the best thing to bid for?"
Which I thought was a good question. The ticket ballot system makes it really difficult to guarantee a seat, especially for the more popular sports. If you only apply for a handful of events, there's a real risk that they'll all be over-subscribed and you'll walk away with nothing. But you don't want to apply for too many sessions in case you're accidentally over-successful and end up forking out a fortune. So what's the ideal 'dead cert' event?
Some Olympic events are free. Who cares whether you get a ticket or not, you can go along and watch anyway. The marathon, of course, and the race walk. The cycling road race, which heads all the way out to Surrey, and the biking bit of the triathlon. The sailing off Weymouth, so long as you find yourself a non-ticketed bit of foreshore. Or, my top tip, the ranking rounds of the archery, which are two unticketed sessions on the morning and afternoon before the Opening Ceremony. But none of these free events really fit what my questioner required. To truly 'be there', it's going to cost.
The Olympic Ticket guide helpfully highlights all the sessions that organisers think they're going to have trouble selling tickets for. These are the sessions where the "Ticket limit" is 20, not 4 or 6. They're usually sessions where special prices for children and senior citizens are available, and are all for the preliminary rounds of something, never a final, For the best chance of actually winning an Olympic ticket in the 2012 lottery, apply for one these. But be warned. Some £20 sessions have been subsidised to appear generous, when in fact they would have sold out at a much higher price. Don't think you'll get into the athletics for £20, for example, because everyone else will have had the same idea.
Football's probably a very good bet. There are more than a million tickets to Olympic football matches up for grabs, all over the country, where you can go and watch two as yet unnamed countries kicking a ball around for 90 minutes. A Great Britain team is scheduled to take part next year, although few Britons give a damn about Olympic football because we haven't officially entered a team since 1960. And football's so common, so everyday, so ordinary, isn't it? So somehow this doesn't feel like properly 'being there' either.
What you're looking for are the sports that nobody really cares about. That's where the sure-fire ticket opportunities are. Badminton, fencing, handball, judo, table tennis, taekwondo, volleyball, and wrestling - these surely won't be over-subscribed. Or aim for sports with large arenas to fill and plenty of preliminary rounds, sports such as basketball, boxing, canoeing, hockey, rowing and weightlifting.
But some of these won't have a true Olympic feel, because of where they're taking place. Badminton has lots of tickets, but at Wembley Arena, which isn't special. Boxing, fencing, judo, table tennis, taekwondo, weightlifting and wrestling are all being held at ExCel, a cavernous venue with all the charm of a supermarket warehouse. And the volleyball will be hosted at Earl's Court, so that's doubly boring. To be able to say "I was there", you don't want to have gone here.
So here are my top 3 "I was there" choices.
Bronze: Rowing (Eton Dorney, capacity 30000) It's not in Stratford, it's near Windsor, but there's something very Olympic about the rowing. Eton Dorney will host £20 sessions on each of the last four days of July, the first of which (on Saturday 28th) lasts for nearly five hours. Rowing will be a popular ticket choice, but the lake is so huge that there'll be plenty of standing room to cram in lots of spectators, and the view should still be good.
Silver: Handball (Handball Arena, capacity 7000) Nobody gives a damn about handball. I mean, you never see it on the TV. It's nothing but water polo without the water, and where's the fun in that? But London's built a dedicated Handball Arena in the Olympic Park, and its seven thousand seats need filling on the cheap every morning for ten days. Hundreds have gone to Thomas Cook, that's how desperate organisers are to shift these tickets. But there should still be plenty for you.
Gold: Hockey (Hockey Centre, capacity 16000) The hockey's taking place on 14 consecutive days, and all the morning sessions are £20 specials. You'll need to turn up by 8:30am, which is damned early, but all the sessions run past noon, so you're getting a lot of spectating for your money. Best of all, the Hockey Centre is inside the boundaries of the Olympic Park, so you'll be able to spend the rest of the day there soaking in the atmosphere. Bargain. And a dead cert?
Don't blame me if you don't get in, but hopefully these three will boost your chances. Ten days left...
Walk London CAPITAL RING[section 5] Streatham Common to Wimbledon Park (5½ miles)
Some sections of the Capital Ring are glorious, linking points of interest via a string of green open spaces. And some are merely filler, meandering from A to B along random backstreets via nowhere special. Sorry, 5's filler.
Even in bright spring sunshine, the streets round the back of Streatham Common station aren't lovely. But three needlesmiths from the Streatham Knitting Ninjas have done their best to brighten the Potters Lane railway underpass by creeping out in the middle of the night to wrap wool around the barriers at either end [photo]. Multi-coloured stripes now adorn the parallel bikebars, while a dashing pink and blue sleeve cloaks the lone sapling guarding the eastern entrance. London needs more Ninja Knitters. Over on Conyers Road is a peculiar building which looks like it could be a Gothic mosque but is in fact the Streatham Pumping Station, built by Victorians who believed in aesthetics over utility [photo]. A first suburban slog follows, up a pleasantly mixed street where the civilised homes can be identified by their garden waste recycling bags, and the squatters abode by a swastika daubed on the front door.
Tooting Bec Common ought to be a highlight of the walk, but sadly isn't. The Capital Ring manages to miss all the interesting bits, like the famously photogenic Lido on the eastern flank, or the central lake, by driving directly and unapologetically between the two. I passed by on a Friday afternoon with the common invaded by what looked like the entire local secondary school, taking advantage of fine weather to pad out the last day of term. Some kicked balls around, some perched precariously on top of goalposts, a few took the opportunity to climb trees, but most just sat around on the grass in large groups being passively social. In my day we brought board games.
Back to the road trek, left then right then left then right then left. The back of Balham isn't especially visitworthy, but attention to detail means I bet estate agents don't have much trouble selling properties round here [photo]. That's especially true at Du CaneCourt - a monolithic Art Deco apartment block on the Balham High Road [photo]. It's reputedly the largest private block in Europe, with 676 flats inside, yet still an exclusive address that's been home to several top flight entertainment stars over the years. The blossom in the main courtyard is impressive at the moment - a riot of pink and white - which softens the line of the frontage somewhat [photo]. Our walk heads up one side, in Du Cane's shadow, along Balham Park Road.
Then through an alleyway onto Wandsworth Common, which is divided into several recreational fragments by a series of criss-crossing roads. The Ring hugs the railway line and even passes through the station ticket office, although it'd be much more interesting to trek across the grass a few metres to the left. The view only gets properly pretty beyond the first pelican crossing, at a series of green-edged lakes ruled by angry geese. Look carefully into the shallow depths and there are some fairly massive black fish - currently making the most of the angling close season. It's much more mumsy by the cafe, with a greater concentration of floral dresses, tousled toddlers and pregnant bumps. "Put that sunhat back on, Noah." "Try not to crash your scooter into the nice man, Alice." "When I say stop, Felix, I mean stop."
I followed a pushchair convoy off the common, past a bright pink van promoting "pre/post-natal fitness" and "lifestyle MOTs" for local princesses. But life in southwest London isn't all sugar and spice - on the next corner came Wandsworth Prison. This is brightened somewhat by a display of windowboxes and hanging baskets, but still has the fearsome look of a Victorian asylum-cum-castle.
The Ring then follows arrow-straight Magdalen Road for three-quarters of a mile. Ludicrously the official path hugs the pavement all the way, while an unsigned "alternative route" enters Wandsworth Cemetery and follows that parallel downhill instead. The cemetery's lovely - more than a plain of gravestones deserves - and its well-tended grounds are blessed at present by a riot of spring buds [photo]. It's unusual for London to see gravestones dated within the last few months, as there are in the top corner, but also heartbreaking when one's to Baby Frankie who "Lived 14 hours". And OK no, you couldn't even get a baby buggy through the cemetery's bottom gate, let alone a wheelchair, but the other 95% of Ring-followers would surely appreciate being directed through the nice bit.
Earlsfield has a safeguarded library (hurrah), a rather busy high street, and the Wandle. That's one of London's not-lost rivers, which in places is rather picturesque, but not in this place. Look down from the bridge on Penwith Road and all you'll see is two segregated concrete channels... plus, ooh look, there's a heron, so maybe not so ugly after all [photo]. If you find Amy's Ray Bans which she left under a tree in Durnsford Recreation Ground on Mother's Day, please give her a call. You might then need a pair of sunglasses when looking at Wimbledon Mosque - it's very white, and a bit Moorish [photo]. And that's it, apart from a traditionally pristine shopping parade in Arthur Road, leading up to the Ring's first tube station at Wimbledon Park. That's 5's filler finished. Rest assured, 6 looks glorious.
There are some damned stupid feats in the Guinness Book of Records. The heaviest chocolate rabbit. The fastest half marathon dressed as a vegetable. The largest gathering of people dressed as leprechauns. Indeed, some would assert that this best selling book has dumbed down so much over the last decade that to earn a place in its pages is now utterly worthless. But there is one damned stupid feat which still excites the hearts of many here in the capital, and that's the record for the fastest time to travel to all London Underground stations.
This is a record whose conditions regularly change, as new stations open and old lines close. Shoreditch, Ongar and Aldwych no longer have to be ticked off, which helps speed things up, but Terminal 5 now has to be reached, which slows things down. Meanwhile challengers are getting better and better at planning their routes. Twenty-five years ago (today), Robert Robinson managed to get round all 272 stations in 19 hours, 51 minutes, 14 seconds, whereas the current record is 15% quicker. Can today's time be broken? There's many believe it can, and all that's needed is the perfect route under non-disrupted conditions.
One such tube challenger is Geoff Marshall, former joint holder of the aforementioned record (275 stations in18 hours, 35 minutes, 43 seconds). His place in the Guinness hall of fame endured for two years before being narrowly pipped, by just five seconds, and he's been attempting to grab back victory ever since. But a tube challenge isn't undertaken lightly. It requires planning, and research and several dry runs, plus a support team to ensure that things could possibly just maybe run smoothly enough. Dedication, that's what you need, and Roy Castle would have been proud.
This time last Thursday Geoff was at it again, on his 13th attempt, careering round London via a top secret route. Somewhere out in the wilds of zone 6, I dropped in. All the telltale signs of a tube record attempt were present in the carriage. Three athletic souls were standing around in sports kit flexing their leg muscles. One was pointing their camera out of the door at every station to take a photo as official evidence. Another had a notebook for the scribbling down of times to the nearest second. I noticed several bottles of energy drinks - full, empty or refilled - essential for keeping everyone appropriately hydrated. Much technology was evident amongst the support team, including a laptop and a walkie talkie, ensuring that everybody was up-to-date on what was happening elsewhere on the network. And there were smiles all round, because you have to, even when things aren't going great.
A piece of paper was thrust into my face, the top half of which explained what was going on to bemused bystanders, while the bottom was a tear-off slip for witnessing purposes. My signature and email address would be used later by Guinness to confirm that any successful attempt had been genuine, and hadn't been deceitfully concocted by Geoff with the aid of fake photos and a fictional notebook. But it didn't look like my verification would be necessary. The Piccadilly line had played up earlier in the morning, scuppering best laid plans, and then the District line had stalled, scuppering the back-up. Alas tube challenge attempts only succeed if every connection works smoothly, so a signal failure or even "minor delays" can mess the whole thing up, and they had. "But I reckon we can still get back to Olympia if we go via Shepherd's Bush, later on, that might work." It's no use sticking to your perfect plan if the network won't play ball, so adaptability to prevailing conditions is the key.
I didn't stay with the team for long, because they were getting off a few stations later to go for a run. You don't get a record-breaking time by staying on the train all the way from zone 1 to the outskirts and back again, you find a shortcut from the end of one line to the end of another via public transport. In this case Geoff & Co were running it, which I thought was insane, not least because the temperature was sweaty-warm and the distance was "how far?!" Off they charged (out of a perfectly-aligned door), up and over the footbridge, then disappeared through the gates in search of station number 78. I followed by bus, which took simply forever, and by the end of the ride I was so far behind that their decision to jog had been firmly vindicated.
I caught up with Geoff, Vicki and Anthony later in the day, on a completely different line. They were going to Cockfosters, I was going to Cockfosters, so it made sense to share the journey north. A little more perspiration was evident, although I bet nowhere near as sweaty as things would be later in the day. By now one of the team had an injured foot, no doubt from all that jogging, which wasn't going to make careering between future platforms any easier. Never mind, everyone's sense of optimism still prevailed. Until, that is, the driver unexpectedly announced that this train would be terminating one station early. Rude words were spoken. My photo shows the team discussing their untimely options after ejection at Oakwood, which is somewhere that no tube challenger ever wants to alight. There were only a few minutes delay before the next Cockfosters train rolled in, but that would likely be enough to destroy a series of crucial connections and wreck the entire attempt. And so it turned out.
Better luck next time, Geoff. So much can be planned in advance, but the tube's random quirks and breakdowns mean that a winning time is also down to pure chance. Will the Mill Hill shuttle be in the platform or are there 18 minutes still to wait? Will the Hainault Loop require one train or two? Will a good service be operating on all London Underground lines or have you unwittingly picked a day of tube hell? And you'd better hurry up, because beating the record's going to get hugely harder in December when the District line timetable changes. There'll be no more trains to Olympia on weekdays, apart from a couple of services early morning and mid-evening, and if you miss those you're doomed. I'd wager that whoever holds the Guinness chalice at Christmas is likely to keep it for some considerable time. Eight months remain, whether you're Geoff or another team convinced you can do better.
Which 999 service do you require? Ambulance please. I'm sorry, we nolongerrun ambulances in your part of London on Wednesdays.
Which 999 service do you require? Ambulance please. Incorrect, please guess again.
Which 999 service do you require? Ambulance please. If you could just go outside and wait by the kerb, one of our drive-by collection vans will be with you shortly.
Which 999 service do you require? Ambulance please. Sorry, we're only accepting pre-booked emergencies at the moment.
Which 999 service do you require? Ambulance please. Should have had that heart attack a year ago, you'd probably have survived it then.
Which 999 service do you require? Ambulance please. I can do you a fire engine. Perhaps you could set your kitchen alight, then we'll be able to get you to a hospital real quick.
Which 999 service do you require? Ambulance please. I'm sorry, but we're suffering from natural wastage at the moment. And so, by the sound of it, are you.
Which 999 service do you require? Ambulance please. While you're waiting, perhaps you'd like to take part in our Cost Improvement Programme customer satisfaction survey. Question 1...
Which 999 service do you require? Ambulance please. It's probably only a headache. If it hasn't cleared up by the morning, go and see your doctor.
Which 999 service do you require? Ambulance please. Let me book you in for the 3:30am slot. Please make a note of the following 16-digit reference number.
Which 999 service do you require? Ambulance please. For BUPA patients, please press 1. For NHS patients, please hold.
Be telling me please the 999 you is wanting thankyou. Ambulance please. Sorry your street is not appear in my Bangalore road atlas.
Which 999 service do you require? Ambulance please. Really, you wouldn't want us to whisk you to your nearest A&E, they're massively understaffed too.
Which 999 service do you require? Ambulance please. Before we go any further, burial or cremation?
Which 999 service do you require? Ambulance please. What's that, you're drunk and you've slightly cut your finger? We'll be right round - see you in six minutes!
(I wish he'd do this some other time, like Saturdays when nobody's reading)
• Bow Riverside: If you've looked down into the River Lea from the Bow Flyover recently, you'll have noticed a metal armada has invaded. The entire river's now blocked to traffic, unless you're kayak sized, brushed aside by a platform of flat barges topped off with tall metal pipes. These'll be here for five months during the construction of a new footbridge across the Lea, plus a floating towpath which'll finally allow cyclists and ramblers to cross the Bow Interchange in safety. This will be similar to the floatingtowpath on the Limehouse Cut only prettier, if this design mockup is to be believed. I've also found a model of what the final scheme's meant to look like, and there's rather more being built here than I expected. The eastern riverbank is being artificially widened where the new footbridge lands, while opposite a new zigzag path will be driven up to road level through a "complimentary waterside habitat" (as the dyslexic press release has it). And the whole thing looks to be one link too excessive, to be honest, because this extra exit emerges a few yards from the existing ramp on the same side of the road, thereby providing no useful additional crossing of either river or roundabout. The floating towpath will be fantastic for those following the River Lea Walk, and about time too, but it's bugger all practical use to us locals who want to cross the roundabout without being mowed down by traffic. This is a High Street 2012 project, in conjunction with British Waterways and the Thames Gateway Development Corporation, and their £2.5m investment in my local area is to be applauded. But as for their laughable suggestion that the Bow Riverside project "will reconnect communities", I can guarantee that nobody who lives around here wrote that. [photo]
(I didn't understand a word of that, what was he on about?)
• Water Chariots: While we're talking local Lea, you've probably heard that there are plans for a waterbus service to the Olympic Park during the 2012 Games. What you probably haven't seen is the company's website. They're promising a ferry service to Old Ford Lock every twenty minutes, from either Tottenham Hale or Limehouse, the latter of which seems a perversely inaccessible launching-off point. A return trip will set you back all of £20, which sounds like somebody's jumping on the profiteering Olympic bandwagon. Or maybe you'd prefer to take one of the company's pleasure cruises to Victoria Park, price unspecified, during the months leading up to the Games. A canal trip's always lovely, except that the Limehouse Cut perhaps isn't the loveliest of waterways for sightseeing purposes. According to the blurb, the route involves "cruising serenely under the Blackwall Tunnel Approach Road" (you what?), then passing Three Mills, "an area of exceptional beauty, right in the heart of the city" (apart from the giant Tesco on the west bank, sure). The boat trips are "due to start in March 2011", apparently, although the blockage I mentioned in the paragraph above means there couldn't possibly be any cruises before July. I'd love to see a local waterbus float, but if this business model survives eighteen months without sinking I'll be amazed.
(Even the Isle of Sheppey was more riveting than this)
• High Street 2012: Even more pre-Olympic money is being thrown at a cluster of buildings around Bow Church to spruce them up and reverse years of neglect. About a dozen historic buildings between 161 and 205 Bow Road are benefiting from restoration work, with a special emphasis on "crumbling pointing, peeling paintwork, cracked render and eroded brickwork." The scaffolding's been erected only just in time to preserve number 199, which is on English Heritage's At Risk register, and until recently looked more like a slum clearance than a 17th century shop. Up the road I'm dying to see what enforced renovation will look like at the King's Arms, once the local pub, now a tawdry guest house with the most ghastly unprofessional stickyback-plasticlettering flapping across the front. Repairs continue until November, in line with long-planned restoration deadlines. And by Olympic Marathon Sunday the scrubbed-up heart of Bow should be ready to face the world's TV cameras... if only any of them were passing by.
(If you keep up this local tedium, I'm off to the mainstream commercial world of the new Time Out blog and never coming back)
• Cycle Superhighway 2: Aren't they making a mess trying to drive a blue bikelane along the A11? Weeks of digging up pavements, merely to make the road one metre wider. Traffic lights disassembled, fractionally shifted and realigned. Paving slabs relaid so that the surface level is no longer flat. Titchy strips of off-street cycle lane that'll improve rider safety for approximately six seconds. Etc etc etc. Next week a month and a half of reconfiguring starts on the Bow Roundabout, and I for one am fearing the worst. Expect a much longer post on this subject when managers finally claim the project to be complete.
(He doesn't even ride a bike, you know)
• Them Olympics: It's still damned busy up on the Greenway overlooking the Olympic site. On Sunday you couldn't move for elderly coach parties having their arenas pointed out, and families riding bikes to get coffee, and general inquisitive gawping. A reminder, if you'd like to see events from closer up, that there are now only two weeks left to buy tickets. Hurry hurry. [photo][photo] [photo]
As I was passing through Stratford International at the weekend, waiting for a High Speed train to Kent, I couldn't help but notice how not-very-busy the station is. Completed 2006, fitted-out 2007, opened 2009, and still an echoing vault of nothing-much come 2011. It may be busier at rush hours, but I've never seen more than a handful of people waiting on the platform. Such a lonely place - standing in the concrete canyon watching Eurostar services whizzing by without stopping, or pacing through the ticket hall where almost nobody buys a ticket. How the bloke at the coffee cart ever makes a living is beyond me, and the underused staff must be either very fortunate or very bored.
Part of the problem is that Stratford International is still in the middle of nowhere. Escalators roll optimistically into the Westfield shopping centre, but that's not open yet. A DLRstation stands mothballed across the road, but as yet there's no planned opening date. The Olympic Village is very close by, but that's not important until the athletes have left and the first proper tenants have moved in. It's currently impossible to walk anywhere outside the station under your own steam, thanks to scary pre-2012 security. So the only option is to catch the meanderingshuttle bus to the end to one of Stratford Regional station's most far-flung platforms, then trek down a long passageway to rejoin the real world. It's not surprising, perhaps, that so few Kentish travellers bother.
When Westfield opens in September all this should change. Suddenly Stratford International will be on the edge of the biggest shopping centre in Western Europe, and a mass of bag-laden passengers may start flooding in. Or they may not. Because, alas, Stratford International suffers from one additional crippling problem other than isolation. Southeastern's High Speed surcharge makes it incredibly expensive to travel there.
Say you're coming in from Kent, from the closest station Ebbsfleet International. That'll be £13.90 single, please, for travelling one stop in under ten minutes. An off-peak return's slightly better value at £14.30, but if any part of your journey is in peak time then expect to pay over £20. That's not an appropriate fare for an everyday shopping excursion, not from Kent, not in times like these.
But the real traffic killer is illustrated here...
The railway from St Pancras International to Stratford International isn't part of the Oyster system. Every other rail line in London is (with the exception of express services to HeathrowAirport), but this line's exempt. Southeastern are so determined to get a return on their High Speed investment that they're allowed to charge a premium on all tickets via Stratford International. Got a normal ticket, or an Oyster card, sir? Best get off now and take the slow train via somewhere else.
A single ticket from St Pancras International to Stratford International will set you back an astonishing £5.40. That's for a five mile journey scheduled to take six minutes. And that's whether you travel at the height of the rush hour or in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. No other London rail journey from zone 1 to zone 3 costs more than £5 with Oyster. Off-peak that price ceiling comes down to £3.20, while by tube the fare's less than £3 all the time. Indeed St Pancras International to Stratford International works out as the most expensive one-stop rail journey in the whole of Greater London (the Heathrow Express excepted). And a return fare's just as scary, as you can see from the table below. Is this legalised extortion, or simply Southeastern's attempt to price random travellers off their precious new trains?
off-peak single
peak single
off-peak return
peak return
St Pancras → Stratford (High Speed, 6 mins)
£5.40
£5.40
£7.30
£9.20
St Pancras → Stratford (Underground, 25 mins)
£2.50
£2.90
£5.00
£5.80
Uxbridge → Epping(Underground, 100 mins)
£2.70
£4.50
£5.40
£9.00
For a Travelcard holder, it's even worse. If you've paid upfront for travel in zones 1-3, you can normally travel from Stratford into town 'for nothing'. Not so on the High Speed line. If you want to avail yourself of Southeastern's fast reliable services to St Pancras you have to fork out the full extra £5.40, and waste time buying a ticket - none of this convenient swipe-and-go. No thanks, I'll take the tube, even if it takes 400% longer.
So when Westfield flings open its doors, don't expect the High Speed rail rush to be great. Central Londoners won't be hopping on the fast train to the shops without a second thought, it'll be the ordinary Underground for them. What should be a fantastic infrastructure connection from St Pancras to Stratford is being wasted, underpromoted, ignored, because the company running rail services would prefer you not to use it. All that effort to build much-needed capacity, and then it's deliberately priced out of everyday reach. What sense does that make?
And I have to ask, does anyone know what the fare model for Crossrail will be? Will anyone with Oyster be allowed to use it, come 2018, or will it join the special list of premium prohibited rail services? We're promised it'll be London's transport saviour, but let's hope we don't all end up paying for it. Update: "Crossrail will be integrated into TfL's existing zonal system, all existing ticketing options such as Oyster will apply, and a premium fare above TfL zonal ones will only operate for the extension to Heathrow." - so said Ken in 2007. Fingers crossed this is still the case a decade later.
Seaside postcard: Sheppey High on a list of places you wouldn't go for a day out is the Isle of Sheppey. An isolated patch of North Kent, nine miles by six - what could possibly be of interest? Well, quite a lot actually, assuming you have the means to nip around the island and search out its more interesting history. A Norman abbey, a naval dockyard, Henry VIII's secondhoneymoon, even the earliest origins of British aviation - they're all here. A couple of bird/nature reserves can be found amid the marshy flatness to the south, while if it's loud brash seaside you like there's an ideal sandy resort on the eastern coast. Access to the island improved five years ago with the construction of the Sheppey Crossing, a gently arching viaduct which removed the need for vehicles to queue at the Kingsferry lifting bridge. Both structures coexist - the railway still crosses via the latter - and are the only non-waterborne ways to access the island. Should any of the following tempt you across The Swale then the Sheppey Tourism Alliance will be well pleased, and you'll likely find their welcome leaflet useful.
Sheerness: On exiting the station, the town's less-than-lovely welcome is a McDonalds, a by-pass and a giant Tesco. Head for the seafront and you may not be much more impressed. The sea wall is steep, the beach is all pebbly, and the offshore waters are the last gasp of the Thames estuary [photo]. You can't walk too far to the west without encroaching on Sheerness's modern docks (Private, keep out), through which your car probably passed on arrival in the UK. On the public side of the dockyard's Georgian brick wall is Blue Town - once the dockworkers' shanty town, now attempting regeneration[photo]. The whole area was put at risk by the naval dockyard's closure fifty years ago, and the landmark church is now a burnt-out shell which developers would like to turn into (sigh) 22 flats [photo]. One delightful survivor is the Criterion Music Hall, part of the Blue Town Heritage Centre[photo]. As well as housing a historical archive, and occasional cinema screenings, the main hall is usually set out as a large but cosy tearoom. I can't believe many island tourists accidentally stumble upon this gem, but it's well worth the meagre £1 entrance charge. Half the price, back in the hubbub of the main town centre, is the Sheerness Heritage Centre. This weather-boarded cottage is 200 years old, and stacked out inside with an endearingly amateur hotchpotch of homely and historic artefacts. No space is underused, no item too insignificant, but the overall effect still somehow sort-of works. The visitors book revealed evidence of a distinct lack of visitors, which is a shame because the lady curator was the friendliest soul I met all day.
Minster: It's no surprise that Saxon tribes settled on the highest point of Sheppey, keeping guard over the mouth of the Thames, though more unusual that the Abbey's founder's name was Queen Sexburgha. The Norman building which remains isn't the Abbey, it's the smaller Abbey church, along with a medieval gatehouse which would have been open yesterday if only Easter had been earlier. [photo]
Leysdown: If Southwold is the epitome of coastal chic, then Leysdown is very much the opposite. A nucleus of "holiday villages" (think caravan sites) stretched out along the main road almost as far across the Isle of Sheppey as it's possible to drive. A proper resort, for sure, with a street full of arcades, its own brand of seaside rock and a decent sandy beach[photo]. Ron Wood's fish and chip shop provides sustenance during the day, while Merlin's entertainment complex feeds the soul at night. But still a very specific bolthole aimed square at, dare I say, the working and not-working classes. If you're a grandma under 50, or parent to a daughter named Lacey, or proud owner of a tattoo on the side of your neck, then Leysdown's sunrise strip may well be for you. Take the coast road beyond the chalet line to the marsh's edge, and the view changes completely [photo]. The beach thins, then widens again, this time with a far greater concentration of shells underfoot. The first significant habitation is a series of ramshackle wooden beach houses, followed swiftly by Sheppey's official nudist beach[photo]. Remote enough that almost nobody could accidentally be offended, most of Saturday's strippers had set up camp in the dunes rather than risk the full blast of the beach. There's nothing titillating here, as can be evidenced by the very ordinary couples walking back to their cars, fully clothed, with a towel over their shoulder. A short distance further on is the private hamlet of Shellness, hogging the very tip of the island looking out across The Swale towards Whitstable. Birdwatchers and ramblers should turn right here for the joyful isolation of the Isle of Harty, which is possibly as remote as anywhere in Kent gets. If Boris Johnson gets his way the road and rail access to his estuary airport will scythethrough this peaceful backwater before launching out into the Thames. It's almost impossible to imagine, and yet somehow oddly appropriate because nearby Muswell Manor is the site of Britain's very first aerodrome. Not just that but the world's first aircraft factory was here, and the first HQ of the Royal Aero Club, and the first recorded passenger flight by a pig. And you thought Sheppey was boring - how wrong were you?
I've spent the afternoon at the seaside - sandy beach, amusement arcades, the lot. Given how far you have to drive to get here, and how early in the season it is, I'm amazed the resort's so busy. Local businesses know their audience well - pie and mash, 50p pool tables and boxing-themed fish and chips (which was delicious thanks). Fashionwise there are lots of grandparents in t-shirts, daughters in candyrock pink, and promenading teens in JJB grey. I've long since escaped down the seafront, past rows of silent anglers, to the private village at the end of the ness. Nobody's risking the nudist beach this afternoon, but there are plenty of brave souls airing themselves behind windbreaks in the dunes. Now I face a long bus ride back to the station, through the yellow rapefields, via three prisons. I'm glad I never lived here, but staying for a day's been reassuringly pleasant.
I was expecting it to be flatter round here, but the abbey's on top of a decent sized hill. They only host 30 weddings a year, apparently, but I've arrived bang on time for one. With a mass of hats and suits milling in the garden outside there's no chance of getting up close, let alone peering through the door at the ancient interior. Down on the shingly beach, conditions are ideal for wetsuited windsurfing (beginners not recommended). Many of the benches looking out to sea are bedecked with bouquets, as if these memorial seats form the secular equivalent of a cemetery. I'm now waiting at a bus stop to continue my journey east, but so far all that's gone by is a distant container ship.
It's not upmarket this place, as was obvious from my fellow passengers the second I stepped off the train. Had I ever moved here, I'm not convinced the tattoos and loose-fitting sportswear look would have been for me. Since arriving I've been for a dead-end walk along the waterfront, with a fresh wind whipping in so I'm glad I dressed warmly. You'd think this place was a tourist void, but I've been round two heritage centres already (both with negligible entrance charges) and there's plenty of local history to be proud of. The main shopping street could best be described as "it'll have to do", and is the first place I've ever had to dodge both mobility scooters and a unicycle. Time for a bracing walk along the north wall, and to hope that the bright sun eventually helps the temperature to lift.
dg's Moblogged Mystery Tour: I'm exiting London by train, setting off on a journey of discovery to an anonymous part of southeast England. I should arrive in 90 minutes or so, assuming the second train's connection holds. I've been to this particular place only once before, on the morning of Maggie's third election victory, on my way to an early job interview. When I arrived and found out what the place was like I deliberately underperformed to ensure I didn't get offered the post but could still claim travelling expenses. Lucky escape, I think, and today's visit should confirm that. Hopefully there'll be decent mobile reception and I'll be able to report back during the day before my battery runs out. But I'm not going to tell you where I am, because it wouldn't be a mystery tour otherwise. See if you can guess...
Only a week after Church FarmhouseMuseum closed its doors, another North London museum closes down today. That's the Museum of Domestic Design & Architecture, or MoDA for short, which is hidden away on the Cat Hill campus of Middlesex University. That's near Cockfosters tube, which explains why visitor numbers are low, and why you've probably never been. Less than 10 hours remain to rectify that situation.
I've written about MoDA before, so I won't repeat myself and run through all its charms again. But I thought I'd go back, one last time, as part of my ongoing mission to visit London's museums just before the life support cord is pulled. It wasn't empty, which was good for midweek lunchtime, but I still enjoyed the opportunity to get nostalgic about fireplaces, kitchen design and wallpaper in relative peace. Even though the main gallery's not huge, its contents always manage to drag me back to my childhood. The tiles and drapes and soft furnishings remind me of my grandparents' suburban homes, never quite up with the latest trend, but still unmistakeably of their time. To anybody younger the collection must seem oddly archaic, the designs ridiculously over-fussy, and with today's widescreens and magnolia strangely lacking.
Upstairs there's already been a clearout, with the last big exhibition (of tapestry) moved out in favour of some Year 9 portraits from a local school. It's worthy but not especially worth trekking to see. That's a shame, because this upper gallery housed what's probably the best one-room exhibition I've seen since I moved to London - The Shell Guides: Surrealism, Modernism, Tourism. Display cases chock full of Betjeman prose, fifties iconography and geographical quirks - somebody here sure knew how to put a winning retrospective together.
The shop outside was running down supplies, with an eclectic collection of design-related books at half price and Art Deco fridge magnets at a bargain 10p each. Same 10p price for a red MoDA rubber, because 'everything must go' because there won't be a museum next week. The visitors book was full of last minute praise, as well it should be, from folk who'd greatly appreciated everything they were about to lose. And "we love MoDA" was the scribbled message from several local schoolchildren who'd come on educational trips to learn about their creative heritage. No more trips to the university for them.
This closure's supposedly not about cuts, because the museum's not directly funded by government or the local council. Instead it's Middlesex University who are closing down not just the museum but their entire Cat Hill campus. They'll still have five other campuses, including one in Dubai and one in Mauritius, whose non-Middlesex locations hint strongly at the financial priorities UK universities now face. Come September, all of Cat Hill's students will be relocated to a new art, design and media centre on the Hendon campus (just across the road from Church Farmhouse museum, no less). And the Cat Hill campus is, of course, to be sold off for housing, so I guess that'll be the new art, design and media centre paid for.
And the museum's moving to Colindale, where it won't really be a museum any more. MoDA's collections will be available to students and researchers, which is only right and proper, but members of the public will have to make an appointment to dig through the archives. There'll be no permanent gallery space, nothing you can drop in and view, and no more access for school groups either. The collections will only be available online, on tour and on request. Packing starts next week, so the current Museum of Domestic Design & Architecture has to shut down as of 5pm this afternoon. By this time next year, expect the Flats of Mediocre Design & Architecture to be rising in its place.
Ten years ago tonight I met BestMate for the first time. There was no inkling that he was BestMate at the time, nor that he'd ever turn out to be, but that's the way things happened. It took a while, as these things do. But here we are ten years later, and the friendship's strong as ever. How surprised am I?
My life's not been big on friendships. I got through primary school with some good friends, though not really best. My first best friend at secondary school semi-faded away, while the next best friend turned out not to be. At university I fell in with a decent crowd of nearly-soulmates, most of whom I then completely lost touch with. I spent the next ten years entirely without anyone you could describe as a close friend, getting on with life without the need to socialise much. When things got a bit tough I found strong emotional support where I might not have expected it. And then out of the blue, in April 2001, BestMate turned up.
Before very long, my evenings and weekends changed. Rather than staying in and watching my telly, I could go round and watch his. Instead of me sitting at home on that new internet thing, we'd go out and drink beer in a variety of interesting places around town. I had someone to talk to about stuff, and he had someone to talk to about stuff too. You probably think nothing of having a friend on call, because normal people always have friends, but for me this was an inertia-busting transformation.
I saw a side of life I'd almost certainly have missed out on otherwise, not least because some things are so much better done in two-or-mores than ones. I wouldn't have dreamed of spending a week in New York by myself, or dining solo at a top Londonrestaurant, but friendship took me there. Records show that by February 2003 I was spending far more nights out than nights in, which is pretty much unheard of in my introverted world, but that's what ganging up with an extrovert does for you.
Some people collect friends like Panini stickers. BestMate has a complete albumful. He knows everyone and everyone knows him, so he can't have been lacking a posse of friends in his life. That's useful for me because I get exposed to a broad cross-section of society whenever we go out, who otherwise I'd just stand in the corner and observe. But I'm still not really good friends with any of his really good friends, because I simply don't connect like that. He's climbing the walls if he doesn't see any of his friends in a 48 hour period, whereas I can go a fortnight with no ill effects.
Our friendship was sorely tested when he suddenly upped sticks and went to live on the west coast of America. Suddenly I couldn't pop round for a cup of tea, let alone hand deliver his birthday card, so things moved onto a different level. The internet allowed us to maintain conversation, helped by the fact that late evening over there was breakfastime over here, and I was the only UK friend awake and online. Had this been ten years earlier, I don't think being long-distance penpals would have worked quite as well.
This transatlantic hiatus lasted fouryears, during which time I got to re-experience what not having a best friend in my physical environment was like. Quieter, simpler, and more opportunity to concentrate on blogging rather than socialising to fill my spare time. But we still picked up again afterwards where we'd left off, pretty much, and it's great to have that listening ear back round the corner. I'm never going to compete with BestMate's OtherHalf for his time and attention, but that doesn't stop us sharing an understanding or a bottle of wine or a trio of cinema tickets or whatever.
He puts up with the fact I count things. He puts up with the fact that I go round to his far more often than I invite him round to mine. He puts up with all the things we don't have in common as well as all the things we do. He puts up with me never answering my mobile because it never normally rings so I'm not paying attention. He even puts up with me turning down his offer of a night out because I have my jamjar on the go. He understands, and, trust me, that's rare.
I'm still not quite sure how I ended up with a BestMate, nor do I believe I could ever recreate the situation where it might happen again. To be honest, the whole set-up only works because he's the one who says "why don't we?" and I say yes. But the last ten years have been hugely enriched by me knowing him, so I simply wanted to express my amazement and appreciation. Thanks, and another beery celebratory night out tonight, eh?
It ought to be easy to pick sides. But I'm finding my decision unexpectedly difficult.
I'm tempted to vote NO. First Past The Post is simpler, faster and has tended to produce strong government. Meanwhile AV is a quick-fix sticking plaster, rather than a genuine proportional solution. Surely it's got to be better to stick to a readily understandable system ("the candidate with the most vote wins"), rather than switching to something which takes three pages to explain and leaves most citizens baffled?
And yet the NO campaign is run by idiots. Their propaganda is based on fear and spurious misinformation, as if they're trying to frighten every small-minded tabloid reader in the country into voting against. Adverts comparing the cost of AV to the price of a bulletproof vest or maternity ward are an evil misrepresentation of budgetary priorities, peddled by establishment desperados. The more I read the no2av website, the more I want to scream at its blatant and shameless fact-twisting.
I ought to vote YES. It's progressive, dynamic and maintains the direct constituency link. Why on earth should Britain stick with a medieval voting system when mathematics could deliver something superior? Surely it's got to be better to count people's second and third preferences, rather than disregard majority opinion?
And yet the YES campaign is also run by idiots. The thrust of their advertising seems to be based on the frankly nebulous idea that the alternative vote will somehow make MPs work harder. A significant proportion of the population firmly believe that all MPs are workshy double-dealing criminals, so the YES campaign shamelessly panders to this prejudice by implying they'll create a parliament full of hard-working trustworthy angels. Which is also rubbish.
I'm tending towards ABSTAIN. To vote YES is unproven while to vote NO feels dirty, so why don't I simply not vote? The more I see of the pro- and anti-AV campaigns, the less I like either of them. The whole referendum battle risks turning into a vacuous parade of celebrity mud-slinging rather than a debate about the issues. Vote YES because Joanna Lumley does, or vote NO like Winston Churchill - this is scary, manipulative, dumbed-down stuff.
And yet to ABSTAIN would also be wrong. This referendum is a genuinely important decision of lasting national importance, even though a majority of Britons don't seem to give a damn. Whether the UK chooses to keep its old system or switch to a new one will change elections, change governments, change our island's future. I need to be a part of that choice, I can't just step back and allow it to happen.
So I don't want to vote YES, I don't want to vote NO and I don't want to ABSTAIN. I might prefer a different option, a proper form of proportional representation, but that option doesn't appear anywhere on the ballot paper. I can only choose between an imperfect new system or the status quo, and I really can't decide which is the least worst option.
There's a month to go before I have to make up my mind on this one. I'm going to need it.
Somewhere historic: Red House Bexley's sole National Trust property lurks up an unassuming suburban sidestreet. Follow the Broadway half a mile from Bexleyheath shopping centre, no signs or anything, and two turnoffs will find it. The big red house on Red House Lane used to be owned by the great designer William Morris, although it wasn't surrounded by carports and semis in those days. 150 years ago this was the middle of the countryside, the only nearby settlement being four cottages across the lane at Hogs Hole. William thought it an ideal spot to live, so worked with his architect Philip Webb to create a 'Palace of Art' for himself and new wife Janey. Inside, the furniture, walls and windows reflected the burgeoning Art and Crafts movement. And outside, the steeply-pitched roof was supported by red-brick walls, from which the Red House earned its name. [photo]
The departing family I passed at the garden gate didn't sound terribly impressed by what they'd just seen. "Was that it?" they muttered, as if they'd somehow expected Morris's first family home to be a mansion. So I was pleased to be clutching my NT membership card, because that let me off the £7.20 admission fee for poking round inside. Entrance is down the garden path, via the back door, up the scullery passage. Before 1:30pm admission is by pre-booked guided tour, but after that you're on your own with only three laminated sheets to assist. Try to keep them in the right order, it gets very confusing otherwise.
The hall is high and dark, counterbalanced by a brighter passage leading off to the garden. Four seasonal stained glass mosaics fill the panes in the front door, part of the exceptional range of glasswork installed throughout the property [photo]. Most of these are originals designed by Edward Burne-Jones - not yet famous, but shortly to become a founder member of the decorative arts firm of Morris, Marshall,Faulkner & Co (conceived in the dining room one evening in 1861). Today the downstairs walls are plastered with Morris's iconic wallpaper, even though that's an anachronism, and connoisseurs will find several samples to view and coo over in the sitting room.
I liked the wooden staircase with its spiky wooden banister, leading to a high raised ceiling above the upper landing. The ceilings are unusual throughout, with repeating dots and curves more 1960s Habitat than 1860s Bexley. Upstairs are the bedrooms and main study, almost entirely lacking in original fixtures and fittings so it's just as well the building's interesting enough in itself. A laddered bookcase, a reproduction embroidery, a porthole window - there's much to see. But not too much, five rooms maximum, so perhaps the grumpy visitors had a point.
But then there's William and Janey's garden, which they envisaged as an extension to the house divided up into thematic 'rooms' [photo]. A herb garden, a vegetable garden and two flower gardens, to be specific, now providing a useful strategic barrier against encroaching suburbia. The lawn's currently set out with croquet hoops and the fruit trees are bursting into fragrant blossom - Red House's 21st century custodians have done well. This was by no means the pinnacle of William's design career, merely an early staging post, but a visit here beats an afternoon at IKEA any day. [photo gallery, taken Saturday] by train: Bexleyheath by bus: 89, 96, 422, 486, B11-B16
Somewhere else pretty: Foots Cray Meadows OK, so that's my seventh Bexley visit - I lost count. But I wanted to see something of the southern end of the borough before I finished. Plus I wanted to see the park where BestMate went to eat his lunchtime sandwiches when he used to work in Foots Cray. And I hadn't been to Sidcup before. Ghastly oversight, sorry. Largest open space in the borough, these meadows, lying either side of the River Cray on a floodplain no developer would risk developing on. At its heart is the Five Arch Bridge, which looks pretty much like you'd expect, but also pretty [photo]. It's the only route across the centre of the meadows, so most visitors pass over at least once with pushchairs, puppies or whatever in tow. The lake alongside may look natural, but in fact it's ornamentally dammed. Indeed the entire grounds are an artificial Arcadia, landscaped by Capability Brown on behalf of the owners of stately North CrayPlace (long since demolished). Heading away from the lake I was surprised to bump into an old friend out walking his dog. Not half as surprised as he was to see me, though, and he queried what the hell I was doing this far out in the middle of nowhere. I considered explaining that my jamjar had sent me, but thought better of it, and quickly changed the conversation. I think I got away with it. Should have brought some sandwiches. by train: Albany Park by bus: 233, 492, B14
There's something rather brilliant about holding a local history fair in the Guildhall. No musty church hall for these stallholders, but instead a medieval Grade-I listed Great Hall, one of the oldest surviving buildings in the City. Here they set up their display stands on the ancient floor and laid out their wares beneath the stern gaze of Gog and Magog. You might think it'd be tricky to flog books about minor suburban history under such overwhelmingly diverting circumstances, but by golly they did.
Olympic update
Walk London
Tooting Bec Common ought to be a highlight of the walk, but sadly isn't. The Capital Ring manages to miss all the interesting bits, like the famously photogenic Lido on the eastern flank, or the central lake, by driving directly and unapologetically between the two. I passed by on a Friday afternoon with the common invaded by what looked like the entire local secondary school, taking advantage of fine weather to pad out the last day of term. Some kicked balls around, some perched precariously on top of goalposts, a few took the opportunity to climb trees, but most just sat around on the grass in large groups being passively social. In my day we brought board games.
I followed a pushchair convoy off the common, past a bright pink van promoting "pre/post-natal fitness" and "lifestyle MOTs" for local princesses. But life in southwest London isn't all sugar and spice - on the next corner came Wandsworth Prison. This is brightened somewhat by a display of windowboxes and hanging baskets, but still has the fearsome look of a Victorian asylum-cum-castle.
A piece of paper was thrust into my face, the top half of which explained what was going on to bemused bystanders, while the bottom was a tear-off slip for witnessing purposes. My signature and email address would be used later by Guinness to confirm that any successful attempt had been genuine, and hadn't been deceitfully concocted by Geoff with the aid of fake photos and a fictional notebook. But it didn't look like my verification would be necessary. The Piccadilly line had played up earlier in the morning, scuppering best laid plans, and then the District line had stalled, scuppering the back-up. Alas tube challenge attempts only succeed if every connection works smoothly, so a signal failure or even "minor delays" can mess the whole thing up, and they had. "But I reckon we can still get back to Olympia if we go via Shepherd's Bush, later on, that might work." It's no use sticking to your perfect plan if the network won't play ball, so adaptability to prevailing conditions is the key.
I caught up with Geoff, Vicki and Anthony later in the day, on a completely different line. They were going to Cockfosters, I was going to Cockfosters, so it made sense to share the journey north. A little more perspiration was evident, although I bet nowhere near as sweaty as things would be later in the day. By now one of the team had an injured foot, no doubt from all that jogging, which wasn't going to make careering between future platforms any easier. Never mind, everyone's sense of optimism still prevailed. Until, that is, the driver unexpectedly announced that this train would be terminating one station early. Rude words were spoken. My photo shows the team discussing their untimely options after ejection at Oakwood, which is somewhere that no tube challenger ever wants to alight. There were only a few minutes delay before the next Cockfosters train rolled in, but that would likely be enough to destroy a series of crucial connections and wreck the entire attempt. And so it turned out.
• Bow Riverside: If you've looked down into the River Lea from the Bow Flyover recently, you'll have noticed a metal armada has invaded. The entire river's now blocked to traffic, unless you're kayak sized, brushed aside by a platform of flat barges topped off with tall metal pipes. These'll be here for five months during the construction of a new footbridge across the Lea, plus a floating towpath which'll finally allow cyclists and ramblers to cross the Bow Interchange in safety. This will be similar to the floating towpath on the Limehouse Cut only prettier, if this design mockup is to be believed. I've also found a model of what the final scheme's meant to look like, and there's rather more being built here than I expected. The eastern riverbank is being artificially widened where the new footbridge lands, while opposite a new zigzag path will be driven up to road level through a "complimentary waterside habitat" (as the dyslexic press release has it). And the whole thing looks to be one link too excessive, to be honest, because this extra exit emerges a few yards from the existing ramp on the same side of the road, thereby providing no useful additional crossing of either river or roundabout. The floating towpath will be fantastic for those following the River Lea Walk, and about time too, but it's bugger all practical use to us locals who want to cross the roundabout without being mowed down by traffic. This is a High Street 2012 project, in conjunction with British Waterways and the Thames Gateway Development Corporation, and their £2.5m investment in my local area is to be applauded. But as for their laughable suggestion that the Bow Riverside project "will reconnect communities", I can guarantee that nobody who lives around here wrote that. [photo]
• High Street 2012: Even more pre-Olympic money is being thrown at a cluster of buildings around Bow Church to spruce them up and reverse years of neglect. About a dozen historic buildings between 161 and 205 Bow Road are benefiting from restoration work, with a special emphasis on "crumbling pointing, peeling paintwork, cracked render and eroded brickwork." The scaffolding's been erected only just in time to preserve number 199, which is on English Heritage's At Risk register, and until recently looked more like a slum clearance than a 17th century shop. Up the road I'm dying to see what enforced renovation will look like at the King's Arms, once the local pub, now a tawdry guest house with the most ghastly unprofessional stickyback-plastic lettering flapping across the front. Repairs continue until November, in line with long-planned restoration deadlines. And by Olympic Marathon Sunday the scrubbed-up heart of Bow should be ready to face the world's TV cameras... if only any of them were passing by.
As I was passing through Stratford International at the weekend, waiting for a High Speed train to Kent, I couldn't help but notice how not-very-busy the station is. Completed 2006, fitted-out 2007, opened 2009, and still an echoing vault of nothing-much come 2011. It may be busier at rush hours, but I've never seen more than a handful of people waiting on the platform. Such a lonely place - standing in the concrete canyon watching Eurostar services whizzing by without stopping, or pacing through the ticket hall where almost nobody buys a ticket. How the bloke at the coffee cart ever makes a living is beyond me, and the underused staff must be either very fortunate or very bored.
High on a list of places you wouldn't go for a day out is the Isle of Sheppey. An isolated patch of North Kent, nine miles by six - what could possibly be of interest? Well, quite a lot actually, assuming you have the means to nip around the island and search out its more interesting history. A Norman abbey, a naval dockyard, Henry VIII's second honeymoon, even the earliest origins of British aviation - they're all here. A couple of bird/nature reserves can be found amid the marshy flatness to the south, while if it's loud brash seaside you like there's an ideal sandy resort on the eastern coast. Access to the island improved five years ago with the construction of the Sheppey Crossing, a gently arching viaduct which removed the need for vehicles to queue at the Kingsferry lifting bridge. Both structures coexist - the railway still crosses via the latter - and are the only non-waterborne ways to access the island. Should any of the following tempt you across The Swale then the Sheppey Tourism Alliance will be well pleased, and you'll likely find their welcome leaflet useful.
Half the price, back in the hubbub of the main town centre, is the Sheerness Heritage Centre. This weather-boarded cottage is 200 years old, and stacked out inside with an endearingly amateur hotchpotch of homely and historic artefacts. No space is underused, no item too insignificant, but the overall effect still somehow sort-of works. The visitors book revealed evidence of a distinct lack of visitors, which is a shame because the lady curator was the friendliest soul I met all day.
Leysdown: If Southwold is the epitome of coastal chic, then Leysdown is very much the opposite. A nucleus of "holiday villages" (think caravan sites) stretched out along the main road almost as far across the Isle of Sheppey as it's possible to drive. A proper resort, for sure, with a street full of arcades, its own brand of seaside rock and a decent sandy beach [photo]. Ron Wood's fish and chip shop provides sustenance during the day, while Merlin's entertainment complex feeds the soul at night. But still a very specific bolthole aimed square at, dare I say, the working and not-working classes. If you're a grandma under 50, or parent to a daughter named Lacey, or proud owner of a tattoo on the side of your neck, then Leysdown's sunrise strip may well be for you. Take the coast road beyond the chalet line to the marsh's edge, and the view changes completely [photo]. The beach thins, then widens again, this time with a far greater concentration of shells underfoot.
The first significant habitation is a series of ramshackle wooden beach houses, followed swiftly by Sheppey's official nudist beach [photo]. Remote enough that almost nobody could accidentally be offended, most of Saturday's strippers had set up camp in the dunes rather than risk the full blast of the beach. There's nothing titillating here, as can be evidenced by the very ordinary couples walking back to their cars, fully clothed, with a towel over their shoulder. A short distance further on is the private hamlet of Shellness, hogging the very tip of the island looking out across The Swale towards Whitstable. Birdwatchers and ramblers should turn right here for the joyful isolation of the Isle of Harty, which is possibly as remote as anywhere in Kent gets. If Boris Johnson gets his way the road and rail access to his estuary airport will scythe through this peaceful backwater before launching out into the Thames. It's almost impossible to imagine, and yet somehow oddly appropriate because nearby Muswell Manor is the site of Britain's very first aerodrome. Not just that but the world's first aircraft factory was here, and the first HQ of the Royal Aero Club, and the first recorded passenger flight by a pig. And you thought Sheppey was boring - how wrong were you?
I've written about MoDA before, so I won't repeat myself and run through all its charms again. But I thought I'd go back, one last time, as part of my ongoing mission to visit London's museums just before the life support cord is pulled. It wasn't empty, which was good for midweek lunchtime, but I still enjoyed the opportunity to get nostalgic about fireplaces, kitchen design and wallpaper in relative peace. Even though the main gallery's not huge, its contents always manage to drag me back to my childhood. The tiles and drapes and soft furnishings remind me of my grandparents' suburban homes, never quite up with the latest trend, but still unmistakeably of their time. To anybody younger the collection must seem oddly archaic, the designs ridiculously over-fussy, and with today's widescreens and magnolia strangely lacking.
This closure's supposedly not about cuts, because the museum's not directly funded by government or the local council. Instead it's Middlesex University who are closing down not just the museum but their entire Cat Hill campus. They'll still have five other campuses, including one in Dubai and one in Mauritius, whose non-Middlesex locations hint strongly at the financial priorities UK universities now face. Come September, all of Cat Hill's students will be relocated to a new art, design and media centre on the Hendon campus (just across the road from Church Farmhouse museum, no less). And the Cat Hill campus is, of course, to be sold off for housing, so I guess that'll be the new art, design and media centre paid for.
There's a month to go before I have to make up my mind on this one...
At present, the UK uses the ‘first past the post’ system to elect MPs to the House of Commons. Should the ‘alternative vote’ system be used instead?It ought to be easy to pick sides.Bexley's sole National Trust property lurks up an unassuming suburban sidestreet. Follow the Broadway half a mile from Bexleyheath shopping centre, no signs or anything, and two turnoffs will find it. The big red house on Red House Lane used to be owned by the great designer William Morris, although it wasn't surrounded by carports and semis in those days. 150 years ago this was the middle of the countryside, the only nearby settlement being four cottages across the lane at Hogs Hole. William thought it an ideal spot to live, so worked with his architect Philip Webb to create a 'Palace of Art' for himself and new wife Janey. Inside, the furniture, walls and windows reflected the burgeoning Art and Crafts movement. And outside, the steeply-pitched roof was supported by red-brick walls, from which the Red House earned its name. [photo]
The hall is high and dark, counterbalanced by a brighter passage leading off to the garden. Four seasonal stained glass mosaics fill the panes in the front door, part of the exceptional range of glasswork installed throughout the property [photo]. Most of these are originals designed by Edward Burne-Jones - not yet famous, but shortly to become a founder member of the decorative arts firm of Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co (conceived in the dining room one evening in 1861). Today the downstairs walls are plastered with Morris's iconic wallpaper, even though that's an anachronism, and connoisseurs will find several samples to view and coo over in the sitting room.
OK, so that's my seventh Bexley visit - I lost count. But I wanted to see something of the southern end of the borough before I finished. Plus I wanted to see the park where BestMate went to eat his lunchtime sandwiches when he used to work in Foots Cray. And I hadn't been to Sidcup before. Ghastly oversight, sorry. Largest open space in the borough, these meadows, lying either side of the River Cray on a floodplain no developer would risk developing on. At its heart is the Five Arch Bridge, which looks pretty much like you'd expect, but also pretty [photo]. It's the only route across the centre of the meadows, so most visitors pass over at least once with pushchairs, puppies or whatever in tow. The lake alongside may look natural, but in fact it's ornamentally dammed. Indeed the entire grounds are an artificial Arcadia, landscaped by Capability Brown on behalf of the owners of stately North Cray Place (long since demolished). Heading away from the lake I was surprised to bump into an old friend out walking his dog. Not half as surprised as he was to see me, though, and he queried what the hell I was doing this far out in the middle of nowhere. I considered explaining that my jamjar had sent me, but thought better of it, and quickly changed the conversation. I think I got away with it. Should have brought some sandwiches.
