That's Christchurch in Dorset, not the city in New Zealand. Until 1974 it was marginally in Hampshire and since 2019 has been part of a unitary authority uninspiringly called Bournemouth, Christchurch and Poole. Geographically it's the easternmost of the three, nudging the New Forest, and also by far the oldest thanks to the allure of its natural harbour. I last visited on holiday in the late 1960s when my chief memory is of leaving a teddy bear behind in a seafront cafe, then forcing my parents to go back and search and being disconsolate when nobody could find it. It still wasn't there this time but thankfully there was plenty to see, also my advance rail sale ticket accidentally delivered me to a glorious coastal town on the hottest bank holiday ever. [Visit Christchurch][25 photos]
10 things to see in Christchurch
1) Christchurch Castle
From the Stone Age onwards settlers have been drawn to the strategic point where the River Stour meets the River Avon. Here the Normans upgraded the site of an Anglo-Saxon wooden fort to a proper motte and bailey, later adding a chunky stone tower on top, some of which survives in ruins. English Heritage don't charge because there's not enough here, it's more a town centre sideshow, also all that remains of the adjacent Constable's House is a few walls. I yomped up some wiggly steps between two family groups, hoping for a better view than I got because a lot of town centre rooftops get in the way, but you do get a good idea of how long the parish church is. Blimey it'senormous.
2) Christchurch Priory
About 20 English cathedrals are smaller, that's how massive Christchurch Priory is. It used to be part of an Augustinian monastery but it was huge even before that, founded by one of William II's chief ministers. It's said he wanted to build it on a hilltop two miles away but one morning the workers found all the construction materials had mysteriously relocated here. It's also said that one particular beam was accidentally cut too short and would have gone to waste, except a mysterious carpenter somehow lengthened it and raised it into place while nobody was looking. Could it have been Him? So pervasive was the legend of the 'Miraculous Beam' that the building became known as Christ Church, eventually edging out the town's original name which used to be Twynham.
There's no charge for entry and from what I heard every first time visitor says "oh blimey it really is big", or words to that effect. Staring down the arched nave through the choir to the lofty altarpiece it does indeed feel much more like a cathedral, whereas in fact it's merely the longest parish church in England. One sightseeing bonus is St Michael's Loft Museum, an unexpectedly large room located above the Lady Chapel and accessed via a one-way system of 72 narrow spiral steps - yours for an additional donation of £1. The church was recently in the news for updating its gargoyles, one of which I spotted high on the exterior at the eastern end - a Covid-era NHS nurse complete with facemask, lest we forget. For a similar medieval take check out the 39 beastly carvings (or misericordia) on the stalls in the choir, some thematically based on Aesop's fables. On the sign outside it says the 8am service is Holy Communion (BCP), and it took me a while to realise this wasn't a reference to the local council but to the Book of Common Prayer.
3) Red House Museum
The town's museum is based in an old workhouse, a long redbrick building hence the Red House Museum. It's not normally open on Mondays but thankfully they make an exception for bank holidays otherwise I'd never have seen all the treats inside. Downstairs is mostly bygones, much local but some merely evocative of a past era. Upstairs is full-on archaeology, the area being extremely rich in pre-Roman settlements and consequent finds. Another wing focuses on the workhouse itself while a modern annexe does a fine job of bring the surrounding suburbs to life with a series of historic aerial photos. I confess I hadn't known that the WW2 concept of a Bailey Bridge was originally tested here in Christchurch at the Experimental Bridging Establishment.
The gardens are splendid with umpteen specimens carefully labelled, the rosebushes just coming into their own and also a surprising number of dinosaurs lurking in the shrubbery. The lady on the front desk said 10 green-fingered volunteers come in twice a week and yes it shows, also another 40 keep the museum ticking over which is a benefit of Christchurch being a town a heck of a lot of people retire to. So it saddened me somewhat that I was the sole visitor, this despite the town being rammed with bank holiday footfall passing within sight of the building while shuttling between two one-off retail attractions. It seems people prefer fudge stalls and charcuterie to a free dose of heritage, lovingly curated, or perhaps they all visited years ago and history just can't keep up.
not 4) Museum of Electricity
Sorry you're too late for this, it closed in 2012 and the remaining contents were auctioned off last year.
4) High Street
The High Street was bypassed in 1958, removing a historic pinchpoint and returning a little civility to the town centre. It also allows the street to close each Monday for a market, and I don't know if it's bigger on a bank holiday but I was impressed by the extent, the variety and the patronage. I'd never seen a stall populated by multicoloured 3D-printed dragons before. It did however make it harder to see the old buildings behind, like the classical Midland Bank, ye olde coaching inn and the pristine Art Deco Regent cinema. All that remains of the old town hall is the Victorian frontispiece, the remainder now a 1980s shopping precinct called Saxon Square because they found a 7th century cemetery on site during reconstruction. The Celtic Cross outside the discount book shop is thus entirely fake.
5) The Ducking Stool
Most medieval towns had a ducking stool for the punishment of mouthy women, with Christchurch's first recorded in 1350. What's unusual is that a full-size replica has been built and placed by the millstream at the end of Ducking Stool Lane. It looks much too pristine but is also evocative of disturbingly unenlightened times, that is until you spot it couldn't physically lower anyone into the trickle of water except at times of major flood. The Ducking Stool is also stop number 3 on the Christchurch Cultural Trail, a pleasingly short loop designed to help visitors not miss anything important.
6) Christchurch Harbour
The Avon and the Stour are significant rivers with over-used names, one flowing down from Salisbury Plain and the other from Stourhead, obviously. They meet off Christchurch Quay, merging to form a substantial estuary/harbour combo that meanders for almost two miles towards the sea at Mudeford. It's perfect for messing aroundin boats, awash with yachts and motorcraft and also local youth on stand-up surfboards, or perhaps I just caught things on a perfect bank holiday afternoon. The building that best catches the vibe is The Captain's Club which looks like it ought to supervise regattas but is actually just a luxury hotel and spa. The cheapest way to take to the water is the Wick Ferry, just £1.50 to briefly cross the Stour to Tuckton Tea Gardens rather than endure a mile's walk to the lowest bridging point and back.
not 7) Tucktonia
Sorry you're too late for this too. Inspired by Bekonscot, a local racing driver built a 3 acre model village on a former golf course near Tuckton Bridge. Everything was to 1:24 scale including a substantial number of London landmarks and a runway from which Concorde would take off hourly. Tucktonia was opened on 23rd May 1976 by Arthur Askey, but only because Bernie Ecclestone wasn't available. Visitor numbers were initially strong, fuelled by considerable celebrity endorsement, and even more models were squeezed onto the site. Alas maintenance costs proved excessive, a takeover by Grand Metropolitan stunted investment and nobody had quite anticipated the furious nimbyism of the Fairway Drive Residents' Association, thus the entire project wound up at the end of 1986. Some exhibits transferred elsewhere but most were lost (or burnt in a fire), and the entire site was subsequently redeveloped as a residential development called The Meridians. What a sad waste. 11-part history here, 32 photos here, 10 minute documentary here.
7) The Quomps
The prize for the best name locally goes to the Quomps, the greensward where town meets river. Until the 1920s it was an unenclosed common, then the land was raised and levelled to create a pleasure park. I saw it under entirely atypical conditions as the venue for the weekend-long Christchurch Food Festival, thus covered with stalls, tents and vans selling everything from loaded fries to truffle-infused streetfood. And it was packed, a genteel pilgrimage to calorific consumption which confirmed the utter Middle-Englandness of this southwest conurbation. Also I was well chuffed to find a Chucklehead cider stall, now £6 a pint but a chilled bargain given it won't be coming anywhere near Brockwell Park this year, dammit. Come back on 1st August for Christchurch's annual outdoor jazz festival, Stompin' on the Quomps.
8) Stanpit Marsh
Downriver from the town centre, just past the boarded-up former council offices, the estuary's edge opens out to a considerable swathe of saltmarsh. Largest of these is Stanpit Marsh, 160 acres of creeky flatness, salt pans, reed beds and sandy scrub. The Visitor Centre is a raised viewing platform with a specimen-packed fieldwork room, a great step up from the original caravan, where the ranger was pointing out highlights to a handful of spotters. I walked out onto the cracked expanse and had the long track all to myself, bar the birdsong and a small newt who scuttled silently across my path. Always read beyond the usual list of tourist attractions if you want a special experience on your gadabout.
9) Another brilliant place 10) The other brilliant place
Of which more tomorrow.
Last week I went to Chipstead station.
Mmmmm, chips, I thought.
Alas there isn't a chippy in Chipstead, the nearest is Mr Chips on Chipstead Valley Road in Coulsdon, and that's much nearer Woodmansterne station.
But it made me wonder how many other UK stations have food in their names.
I've created four lists, from 100% to dubious.
PREMIER LEAGUE One word is food
Berry Brow
Bournville
Bramley
Caerphilly
Cherry Tree
Ham Street
Liverpool Lime Street
Pineapple Road
Pudding Mill Lane
Rice Lane
Peckham Rye/Rye/Rye House
Sandwich
Sole Street
Strawberry Hill
Sugar Loaf
Turkey Street
CHAMPIONSHIP The name is part food
Appleby/Appledore/Appleford
Appley Bridge
Battersby/Battersea Park
Berrylands
Chipstead/Chippenham
Codsall
Cressing/Cressington
Dumfries
Eggesford
Fishbourne/Fishersgate/Fishguard
Hathersage
Honeybourne
Musselburgh
Nutbourne/Nutfield
Peartree
Plumley/Plumpton/Plumstead
Saltash/Saltaire/Lelant Saltings
Shippea Hill
DIVISION 1 The name makes you think food
Banbury, Bath, Dundee, Eccles, Gloucester, Leicester, Lincoln, Melton Mowbray
DIVISION 2 Arguably there is food
Ambergate, Aylesham (and everywhere else called -ham), Bangor, Bayford, Caterham, Cookham, Egham, Fareham, Headcorn, Hungerford, Market Rasen, Mouldsworth, Nuneaton, Pye Corner, Rock Ferry
The temperature record which fell yesterday, the UK's hottest ever day in May, was last broken at Camden Square on 22nd May 1922.
It still holds the record for the hottest ever days in two other months, that's 29.4°C in April 1949 and 35.6°C in June 1957.
But there's no longer a weather station at Camden Square so why was it there then, and where exactly is this record-breaking spot anyway?
Unsurprisingly it's in Camden but not the touristy bit, more to the northeast, parallel to Camden Road and a five minute walk from the station of that name. The 'square' is long and thin, maybe 200m in length, and surrounded by mostly Victorian villas. Most of the square is public gardens, a much smaller part is given over to the exercising of dogs and the southern end houses a children's play centre. It's perhaps best known for Amy Winehouse's last home at number 30 where she died in 2011. But we're interested in number 62 at the southern end where one of the great meteorologists lived, that's the cream one in this terrace between the grey and the pink.
George Symons was born in Pimlico in 1838, a quiet boy who took an increasing interest in meteorological observations. While still a teenager he delivered an investigation of thunderstorms to the Meteorological Society, this encouraging him to focus on the accurate collection of rainfall statistics. In 1860 he published a leaflet listing rainfall totals at 160 stations across the country, the following year upped this to 500, and in 1863 resigned his job at the Board of Trade so he could focus on collecting and disseminating rainfall data. His publication 'British Rainfall' was published annually and relied on the contributions of thousands of amateurs taking regular readings using standardised equipment. Symons thus became founder of the British Rainfall Organization, and I doubt there's ever been a more British organisation than that.
Initially Symons lived at 136 Camden Road, just round the corner, but in 1868 moved to 62 Camden Square and made daily observations here until his death in 1900. His weather station was in a walled back garden - a particularly urban environment compared to later London weather stations at St James's Park, Kew Gardens or the Air Ministry Roof, hence arguably it delivered slightly higher temperatures than might be recorded today. Symons was however a stickler for accuracy, for example encouraging experimentation into the most reliable form of rain gauge, indeed it's thanks to him that the Met Office standard became a five-inch funnel with its rim one foot off the ground checked daily at 9am.
Such was the importance of Symons' record that readings continued at 62 Camden Square for many years after his death. The meteorologist Hugh Robert Mill supervised proceedings (and the annual publication of British Rainfall) until his retirement in 1920, at which point the British Rainfall Organization was subsumed into a department of the Meteorological Office. The Royal Meteorological Society acquired 62 Camden Square in 1922 - the same year the record May temperature was recorded - with daily observations continued by housekeepers until 1957. The station was then moved a short distance to the gardens in Camden Square where it continued until 1969, at which point an 111-year span of record keeping in the vicinity came to a close. Yes there is a plaque.
Here from 1868 to 1900 lived George James Symons FRS, pioneer in the scientific study of rainfall, founder of the British Rainfall Organization, twice president of the Royal Meteorological Society. 1838-1900.
Camden Square continues to hold the UK record for the warmest day in April (29.4°C) and shares the record for the warmest day in September (35.6°C). It also holds the daily records for 16th April, 12th 16th 18th 21st 22nd 28th 30th May, 5th 7th 22nd 29th June, 7th 8th 13th 15th July, 29th August and 18th 19th 23rd September. Of these only the 35°C on 15th July 1881 was recorded by George Symons himself, but I do like the fact that the great man who gave us accurate rainfall records is still directly responsible for the warmest St Swithin's Day of all time.
In an amazing turn of meteorological good fortune, at least for those of us in south and east England, a heatwave has aligned with the late May bank holiday weekend.
We don't normally get temperatures of 30°C and above in May, even late May, because it's still officially spring no matter how you classify it.
The last time England reached 30°C in May was 25th May 2012 and the time before that 27th May 2005. That's only twice this century and just once in the last 20 years. In the 20th century there are reports of hitting 30°C on 21st May 1922, 29th May 1944 (a week before D Day), 12th May 1945 (just after VE Day), 29th May 1947 (after a punishingly cold winter) and 25th May 1953 (a week before the Coronation). 30°C in May is rare and highly intermittent but not unheard of.
The earliest that 30°C has ever been recorded in the UK is 12th May, whereas June is more likely, July is more normal and in some years it never happens at all. If we take the modern definition that a 'heatwave' requires three consecutive days of elevated temperatures, then Britain's never seen one in May until this weekend.
Over the last decade we've averaged twelve days over 30°C each year - fifty years ago it was only four. But it's not all about recent climate change... the only year when 30°C has been recorded from in every month May to September is 1947.
If you tot up all the 30°C days in the last fifteen years, about 45% of them were in July, about a quarter were in August, another 20% in June and just 10% in September. May doesn't really get a look in, even with this year's heatwave factored in.
Today may be the hottest UK bank holiday of all time. The current record holder is August Bank Holiday Monday 2019 when the temperature reached 33.2°C at Heathrow, beating the previous record of 32.8°C on the Late Spring Bank Holiday Monday in 1944. The absence of bank holidays between late May and late August is mostly responsible here.
More extremely, today should break the record for the UK's hottest day in May. The current record is 32.8°C, first achieved on 22nd May 1922 and then equalled on 29th May 1944. That is a very long time for a temperature record to have stood, and at time of posting has six hours left. It's also a fairly complex record shared between four locations - Camden Square in 1922 and Horsham, Tunbridge Wells and Regent's Park in 1944.
Meteorologists keep records not just for months but also individual days of the year, so we can also list the maximum temperatures ever recorded on 23rd, 24th, 25th and 26th May.
23rd May: 31.7°C on the Isle of Grain in 1922 24th May: 32.2°C (90°F) at Camden Square in 1922 25th May: 31.7°C at Farnham and Heathrow in 1947 26th May: 29.5°C at Inverailort (Highland) in 2010
Nowhere on Saturday beat the daily record for 23rd May, with Frittenden in Kent reaching only 30.5°C. But Kew Gardens yesterday reached 32.3°C, becoming (marginally) the warmest 24th May ever recorded. Somewhere today is almost certain to beat the daily record for 25th May, and the daily record for 26th May also looks like being smashed tomorrow, probably by several degrees.
Unlike many warm spells, this one's not due to hot air blowing north from Africa. Instead it's classic high pressure behaviour, a huge blob of air being compressed as it moves downward leading to warming through a process known as adiabatic compression. The great heatwave of 1976 occurred for much the same reason, but that was in late June/early July, not at the end of May.
Here are the years in which the UK's monthly temperature records were last broken. For May that's currently 1922 but is about to be 2026.
When the UK maximum monthly temperature record was last broken
Jan
Feb
Mar
Apr
May
Jun
Jul
Aug
Sep
Oct
Nov
Dec
2024
2019
1968
1949
1922
1976
2022
2003
1906
2011
2015
2019
Years in the 21st century are underlined. There are seven of these, and are about to be eight, i.e. two-thirds of our monthly records have been broken since the millennium. Five have changed in the last ten years. Every month from October to February has been upgraded since 2011, suggesting that winter extremes are being affected more than summer extremes.
The elusive monthly records that haven't been broken recently are as follows.
Mar: 25.6°C Mepal (Cambs) 29 Mar 1968 Apr: 29.4°C Camden Square 16th Apr 1949 Jun: 35.6°C Camden Square 29th Jun 1957 / Southampton 28th June 1976 Sep: 35.6°C Bawtry (South Yorks) 2nd Sep 1906
The monthly record being broken today is older than all but one of these.
Meanwhile at the cold end of the spectrum...
When the UK minimum monthly temperature record was last broken
Jan
Feb
Mar
Apr
May
Jun
Jul
Aug
Sep
Oct
Nov
Dec
1982
1956
2018
1917
1979
1975
1978
1964
1915
1973
1919
1995
Years in the 21st century are underlined. There's only one of these, indeed the monthly minimum temperature record has only been broken twice in the last 40 years, whereas in the same period the record for maximum temperature has been broken eight times.
In summary, when it comes to monthly temperature records we've been breaking a lot more maxima than minima recently. It doesn't prove the climate is heating up, not in itself, but it is self-evidently the direction of travel you'd expect if it was. I wonder which monthly record will fall next.
8am update: Last night the temperature at Kenley didn't dip below 19.4°C. This is the warmest night ever recorded in May (beating 18.9°C in Folkestone in May 1947). noon update: Heathrow has just reached 32.9°C, breaking the record for the hottest day in May. And still rising. 1pm update: Heathrow has reached 33.5°C, making today the hottest bank holiday ever. 5pm update: Kew Gardens has topped out at 34.8°C, breaking the previous record for the hottest day in May by 2°C. That is an incredible margin. 5pm update: Until today 34½°C had never been reached in the UK before 26th June, so we're an entire month early! 6pm update: Wales has also beaten its record for the hottest day in May (was 30.6°C, is now 32.2°C). 7pm update: The Channel Islands have beaten their record for the hottest day in May or June! 8pm update: Also reaching 34°C today - Heathrow 34.4°C, Northolt 34.2°C, Iver 34.1°C and Teddington 34.0°C. 9pm update: ...and it might be even hotter tomorrow.
7am update: Kenley has again had the warmest night ever recorded in May with an overnight minimum of 21.3°C. This is two degrees warmer than yesterday's record! 3pm update: Heathrow and Kew Gardens have broken the May record again, this time reaching 35.0°C. 5pm update: Kew Gardens peaked at 35.1°C, 2.3°C above the previous May record and only half a degree off the UK maximum for June.
My next alphabetical destination is Keston, a rural suburban outlier not to be confused with Kenley which was never in Kent. We're in the London borough of Bromley where things tip over from avenues to country lanes, further out than Hayes but not as far as Biggin Hill. Keston has an exceptionally ancient history, also one of London's handful of windmills, also biodiversity that Darwin appreciated, also the former homes of two of our most consequential Prime Ministers. It's also impressively unfocused so expect a lengthy wander.
The key thing about Keston is that it's where the River Ravensbourne begins. The waters emerge from a natural spring at the top of the common, this at the point where the overlying gravels meet the impermeable clay underneath. It's called Caesar's Well, based on the easily disprovable legend that Julius Caesar's men paused here in 55BC after being led to a source of water by a raven. Did not happen. This was however the source of water for a much older Iron Age fort and was also used by Georgian gentry for secluded bathing purposes. These days the spring bubbles up inside a ring of bricks and is funnelled towards three large ponds dug 200 years ago, a glorious haven for ducks, lilies and yellow iris. The footpath past the top lake is briefly all mud, even after several dry months, which is why London Loop section 3 sensibly offers an alternative route.
Keston Common is just glorious, 100 undulating acres of mixed habitats and much of it registered common land. Most visitors cluster round the ponds for car-parking reasons, also this is where multiple fisherfolk will return once the close season ends next month. Elsewhere are patches of acid heathland (where I spotted conservators at work), shady cone-strewn pebbly banks and also one of London's six lowland bogs. Keston Bog was often visited by local naturalist Charles Darwin whose study of the native sundews inspired his seminal work Insectivorous Plants. One particularly up-and-down section includes a lengthy Iron Age bank and ditch abutting what more recently was a gravel pit, this with banks of wooden stairs installed. Hats off to the Friends of Keston Common who've installed several themed information boards around the site and also reproduced them on their website so you can see how excellent they are.
Across Westerham Road a single public footpath enters the estate of local stately home Holwood House. This was once the pride and joy of PM William Pitt who had John Soane in to tweak the interior and Humphry Repton to do the grounds. Alas all was to no avail because the next owner knocked the lot down and built a fifteen-bay Grecian-style villa in white brick and Portland stone, which still stands. But it's only visible if you walk a long way up the path, the body of the estate otherwise shielded by barbed wire, thick woodland and the occasional keypadded gate. The circular building you can almost see through the trees is a loop of 78 luxury apartments called The Crescent, built on the industrial footprint of a former lab erected by Seismograph Services for England, another former owner. Even less visible are the remaining ramparts of the Iron Age Fort on the northwest flank, and if you'd just paid£20m for the place you wouldn't want anyone looking in either.
Six minutes up the path is Keston's most historic spot, a forked stump known as the Wilberforce Oak. It was here after a country walk in 1787 that William Wilberforce, MP for Hull, sat down with PM William Pitt and made a world-changing decision.
Both men were still in their late 20s at the time and the slave trade wouldn't be ended until they were mid-40s, but that's still quite some breakthrough to commemorate. A beautiful stone bench was added at the site in 1862, including that quote from Wilberforce's diary set inside a lozenge. Alas for the bicentenary in 1987 the seat was relocatedjust behind the perimeter fence so mere mortals can no longer sit on it, nor thankfully carve their initials. But a weathered stump remains on the public side, partway down a grass bank bright with foxgloves, even if I don't think that's from the actual Wilberforce Oak either, long cleared away.
To the north of all this is the Keston Lodge Estate, 143 acres of former Holwood land sold off to a property developer in 1923. Here Frederick Rogers built 200 luxury homes down seven wide leafy avenues and renamed it ‘Keston Park’, also gifting residents two private woodlands for their recreation. A few ultra-modern boltholes have since been added amid the rustic mega-lodges, and every entrance is now secured by grand electronic gates and signs warning of CCTV and ANPR. I was hoping to snoop because a single public footpath traverses the length of Holwood Park Avenue but alas this is closed for six months "due to utility works and construction development". I thus cannot show you a surreptitious shot of Dormers where Margaret Thatcher raised her children, having spotted it for sale in a 1957 edition of Country Life.
The parish church is some way from the heart of things, way down south by the turnoff to Downe. It's small, flinty and Norman, supposedly with Saxon structures within, more recently appended by a long L-shaped set of rooms masquerading as a cloister. The gnarled yew out front looks pretty ancient too, its girth now comfortably over 4 metres. But something even older survives in the fields beyond, down in the valley, where the remains of a Roman villa and mausoleum are located. Both are off-limits, even by sight, but one of the three tombs is a substantial circular structure measuring 9m across with six radiating buttresses, according to those who've been fortunate enough to get a tour.
Follow Westerham Road and you may catch a glimpse of KestonWindmill, one of six in London, thus not (as many sources quote) "the oldest post mill in Kent". It's jet black and was built in 1716, making it an unlikely survivor, and still has two pairs of millstones and four atypically thin sails. Alas it's only open on occasional days but hasn't been for years, also it's located in the private grounds of a cottage behind high trees so annoyingly well screened. My attempts at taking a decent photo were thwarted by foliage and also by the owners doing some gardening by the roadside, so you'll have to make do with the version on the village sign instead.
I should point out that Keston also has some properly normal bits, normal that is for a village rather than for mainstream Greater London. Its heart is arguably the village green at the southern tip of Hayes Common, this where the aforementioned sign is, also the original drinking fountain from Bromley Market. There are two pubs, The Fox and The Greyhound, both currently behind scaffolding so somewhat unphotogenic. Residents also have the option of two independent cafes, with Heathfields smaller but more chi-chi than Triple Two on the green. The handful of shops offer the chance to get your hair cut, your car fixed or your parcel posted, and if that's not good enough the 146 and 246 buses connect to Bromley town centre three times an hour.
If my Keston ramblings have tempted you to visit then London Loop section 3 passes the Wilberforce Oak, the ponds on the common and the pubs on the green, which are basically the highlights. Alternatively if you come in a fortnight's time you can enjoy KestFest, the village's annual shindig on the green, with food stalls, a dog show, 'fun stalls' and ice cream from Shirley's van. Also live music from DJ Dave and a band called Roof Raisers, all from 1pm on Saturday 6th June... and if you time that walk right you can enjoy the lot.
Hi channel. Today we're going on Britain's shortest train journey, that's right, the shortest train journey in Britain.
That's because every other train journey is longer than this one - I should say longer in terms of distance rather than time. No other train journey traverses fewer metres than this journey, that's how short it is.
You might think I should be at Covent Garden but no, Covent Garden to Leicester Square is merely the shortest tube journey and we can beat that. Those two stations are 260m apart, a tad shorter than Charing Cross to Embankment, and at both distances it's better to walk. But the London Underground is not where Britain's shortest train journey is because Britain's shortest train journey is somewhere else.
The shortest train journey is not on National Rail either because I checked. Lots of rail journeys are really short like Newhaven Town to Newhaven Harbour or Ryde Pier Head to Ryde Esplanade or City Thameslink to Blackfriars. But those are all over 500m so not them, they're much too long. Closest of all are Ty Glas and Birchgrove in south Wales which are 340m apart, or alternatively Rotherhithe and Canada Water on the London Overground which are 320m apart. But Covent Garden to Leicester Square beats all of those, so they're not the shortest either.
I should say we're not counting heritage railways because they're a law to themselves and often have halts in close succession. Also we're not counting miniature railways because that would be stupid, even if some of those distances would be titchy. For this query it's proper trains only, not even trams, and trams wouldn't actually be the shortest journey either.
I'm here at Canary Wharf station because this is where Britain's shortest train journey begins. Not on the Lizzie line or the Jubilee line, obviously not, but on the Docklands Light Railway because Britain's shortest train journey starts here.
Here we are looking south towards Heron Quays, but no that's not Britain's shortest train journey either. Canary Wharf to Heron Quays is 280m, so shorter than every proper rail journey but beaten by the tube and also by Britain's actual shortest train journey which is in the opposite direction.
Yes Canary Wharf to West India Quay is Britain's shortest train journey. It's only 199m which is ridiculously short, indeed short enough to be Britain's shortest train journey. For comparison an Elizabeth line train is 205m long so this journey is shorter than walking from purple carriage 1 to purple carriage 9. Amazeballs.
I should say we're measuring like to like here. If you get on a DLR train at Canary Wharf and get off at West India Quay you will have travelled 199 metres. It is NOT the case that the platforms are 199 metres apart, in fact the gap is only about 100 metres, but it's also above water which is why people take the train.
The amazing thing about Britain's shortest train journey is that there's a choice of routes. You can get a Bank train from platforms 5 and 6 OR you can get a Stratford train from platforms 3 and 4, and they both do Britain's shortest train journey. Sometimes two trains are doing Britain's shortest train journey at the same time! This of course doesn't work in the opposite direction because trains from Bank skip West India Quay, but it's still amazing northbound.
So come on then, let's ride Britain's shortest train journey. Starting here at Canary Wharf and finishing over there at West India Quay at the end of Britain's shortest train journey. Doors are beeping, start the stopwatch!
Actually no, the doors beep separately on either side because these are double platforms. So we need to wait for the Passenger Service Agent to close the doors on the other side before Britain's shortest train journey can begin. Doors are beeping, start the stopwatch!
And we're off, admittedly not very fast, but wow this is it, this is Britain's shortest train journey. We're edging out from the giant canopy at Canary Wharf, the lady beside me is jabbering into her phone, look it's all bright daylight out here, the train continues to move forwards, we're past the first office block now, look there's a giant rubber duck down there in the dock, also several big cranes, we're past the 20 second mark now, imagine sitting in the driver's seat for Britain's shortest train journey, that's Crossrail Place over there, yes it has a lobster restaurant on top, ooh here come the platforms at West India Quay, here they come, here they are, we're still moving forwards, I swear that huge office block wasn't here last year, the signs on the platform say 'for Museum of London Docklands' but it's actually London Museum Docklands now, do you think they'll ever change it, we're slowing down now, almost at a stop, now stopped, just waiting for the doors, there's the beeps, stop the stopwatch!
If you look back you can see where we just came from, which perhaps isn't surprising because that was Britain's shortest train journey. And it only took 46 seconds from beep to beep, indeed if you count time spent actually travelling it was less than 40. But the important thing isn't the time it's the distance, which was 199 metres remember, and that's why this is Britain's shortest train journey.
Thank you for joining me on Britain's shortest train journey which is from Canary Wharf to West India Quay on the Docklands Light Railway. No other train journey is shorter, except for West India Quay back to Canary Wharf which is actually the same distance so not shorter either.
It's possible that nobody has ever made Britain's shortest train journey before, given how short it is, so thanks for joining me for this unique minimal safari. Seems anyone can churn out a train video these days. Like and subscribe.
A few years ago some City speculators spotted they were more likely to get planning permission if their new skyscraper included a free public roof terrace. Free access to elevated views is always a winner in my book. So yesterday I went up a few.
This was all on-the-hoof so I didn't go up the big three because they expect you to book in advance.
Sky Garden at The Fenchurch Building, aka The Walkie-Talkie Opened January 2015, 35th-37th floors, blogged here
You have to book at least three weeks ahead, but yesterday 'Closed For Private Event'.
Horizon 22 at 22 Bishopsgate Opened September 2022, 57th-58th floor, blogged here
Tickets released on Mondays, they go fast but ridiculously early slots are often available.
The Lookout at 8 Bishopsgate Opened August 2022, 50th floor, blogged here
Tickets released on Mondays, current availability in four days time, but Horizon 22 is better.
I went instead to the walk-straight-ins, starting with the newest.
The Terrace at 1 Leadenhall Opened April 2026, 4th floor, Ian Visited here(map)
Lift duration: 20 seconds, Staff on duty: 2
This one's odd. When you think roof terrace you normally think lofty and airy, but this one's merely on the 4th floor of a 36 storey skyscraper with a view to match. You walk in round the corner from Leadenhall Market, opposite Waterstones, through a door that doesn't quite scream 'come in'. A bloke at a lectern in what appears to be a service corridor then walks you over to the lifts ("press 4 for me") before returning to his purgatorial wait for almost no visitors. It's certainly quick though, I was on The Terrace less than a minute after walking in downstairs.
The terrace is about 40m long and up to 10m wide, seemingly formed by cutting a two-storey wedge out of the side of the building. At one end is the entrance to a restaurant that hasn't opened yet, so may one day bring some buzz, whereas I had the place to myself apart from a security guard with nobody to watch but me. Eight benches have been provided amid a thin line of shrubbery, but better to walk up to the far ends because the central view is somewhat limited. You can look down in which case what you see is the roof of world-class tourist attraction Leadenhall Market. However all the amazing glitzy dazzle is on the underside, thus from above this could be any Victorian arcade and a few nice finials is as good as it gets.
More awkwardly the view to the south is substantially blocked by ongoing works on 85 Gracechurch Street, a neighbouring 32-storey tower that's only just reached double figures. This will one day have a free-to-visit fifth-floor public terrace, perhaps with the chance for people to be staring back over here, but for now it's just a crane and a heck of a lot of white sheeting. A better view can be had by walking to either end, indeed the chief interest is finding yourself above street level in the heart of the City's chief upthrust cluster.
At the Waterstones end you can see 8 and 22 Bishopsgate, the Cheesegrater and right up close the Lloyds Building with minions riding the elevators on its knobbly metal shell. Then the Scalpel, the roof terrace I'm heading to next, postmodern Minster Court, Plantation Place and the Walkie Talkie. The Shard is still visible (for now), then the Gracechurch Street end has the finer silhouettes of St Paul's dome, St Michael's tower and St Peter's spire. This roof terrace is a true oddity, a public space that's nice to have but fundamentally pointless, and if you ever need a mid-City toilet or a dry spot to eat your sandwiches it'd make an intriguing diversion.
The Garden at 120 at Fen Court Opened February 2019, 15th floor, blogged here(map)
Lift duration: 40 seconds, Staff on duty: 6
This one's long-established, popular and still the largest roof garden in the City. You do have to endure a scanner chicane before being admitted but I was swiftly through, this time three minutes from joining the queue to reaching the roof. Get stuck behind a full party of teenage EU tourists and it could be rather longer. The lift brings you up mid-terrace with a large pergola close by, in 2019 bare but now with wisteria twinkling its last and a rose-bush shrubbery underneath. The gardeners did good.
But the best thing here is the 360° panorama from the jagged perimeter, some of which is open enough to have a proper long distance view. Tower Bridge is almost unobscured, also the Tower itself, also the helipad at the Royal London in Whitechapel at almost the same elevation as yourself. But spin round and there's also Docklands, the Crystal Palace transmitter and the London Eye, plus close-up the glories of the Gherkin in a convenient slim gap to the north. A few of the younger visitors seemed more interested in pouting than their backdrop but that's their loss. If you've never been up here, or even thought to, give The Garden at 120 a go.
Roof Terrace at One New Change Opened November 2010, 6th floor, blogged here(map)
Lift duration: 20 seconds, Staff on duty: 3
When a shopping centre was plonked alongside St Paul's Cathedral, someone had the sense to put a tongue of public terrace on the roof. The real motive may have been to give the rooftop bar an amazing setting for sipping frozen margueritas but the rest of us are also elevated winners. The glass-sided lift whisks you up from brand central with excellent views of the cathedral funnelled down a slim reflective notch. The upper terrace is slightly stepped with plants and benches, but if you sit down the view vanishes behind a grey bulwark labelled 'Beware Sudden Drop'. The South Bank and the London Eye get a decent look-in but it's really all about Wren's dome, perfectly framed in a way that the telescope in Richmond Park no longer enjoys. Expect a brief visit, but distinctive.
Level 10 at Tate Modern Opened June 2016, 10th floor, blogged here(map)
Lift duration: 35 seconds, Staff on duty: 1
Tate Modern had high hopes for the 10th floor of the Blatnavik Building with its cafe and a four-sided observation terrace with excellent views of the Thames. Alas it also had great views into the apartments at Neo Bankside whose residents ultimately sued and won, thus if you arrive by lift today you can only visit the cafe. All the exterior doors are locked and signs on the inaccessible balcony say NO PHOTOGRAPHY OR FILMING, with a grumpy looking security guy positioned to ensure compliance. I asked him "will the balcony ever open again?" and he grunted "no", not even the front bit, and basically the entire 10th floor is now a ghastly waste of architectural effort.
Roof Garden at The Post Building Opened September 2022, 9th floor, blogged here(map)
This one's by far the westernmost roof terrace, hence offers a unique view across the West End's lowrise rooftops including a close-up of the British Museum's magnificent roof. I still don't understand why it's here nor why it's open daily, nor why they insist on Photo ID "and a full written name" before they'll let you up. However I didn't get the chance to test this out yesterday because when I arrived the roof terrace was "closed due to essential maintenance work", inconveniencing probably nobody but myself. I have to say that's probably the excuse I'd use if I'd built a white elephant terrace for planning reasons and wanted to avoid paying staff costs, or alternatively maybe there is some maintenance issue and the place is cursed. At least with a ticketed venue visitors would have known this in advance. Best go up The Garden at 120 instead, or plan ahead and do one of the three really high ones.
On Tuesday evening, without kicking a ball, Arsenal became this season's Premier League champions.
A draw at Bournemouth ended Man City's chances, gifting Arsenal their triumph, as hundreds of thousands of fans celebrated on the final whistle. They whooped, they grinned, they partied, and many of then were still partying many hours later. Whereas I merely had a tab open on my laptop, and after seeing the final score smiled and went back to what I was doing.
It's been 22 years since Arsenal last won the Premiership, a period which some would describe as 22 years of pain and which I would describe as "a very long time". During that period Arsenal have won the FA Cup five times and the Community Shield six, but apparently it's the Premiership which matters most so this latest triumph tops the lot.
I should be exhilarated and on cloud nine but instead I'm merely a bit pleased. And this is because, as previously described, I don't have sport empathy.
sport empathy (noun): the ability to understand and share feelings of others' sporting achievements
I don't get it. Sport is just a bunch of people competing against others. I can see why winning matters if you're one of those taking part, but I don't understand the rush of emotion that comes from supporting someone else. Your team wins, you cheer. Your team loses, you mope. Your team concedes a goal, you shout at the television as if somehow they can hear you. Your team wins the cup, you float on air. Your team is beaten three nil in the very next match, your world almost ends. Your team fights a scrappy no score draw, you spend an hour afterwards debating with mates what went wrong and what tactics the manager should have adopted, the idiot, what does he know? Armchair football is an endless rise and fall over which you have no personal control. I don't get any of that.
Same with tennis, I never get engrossed in a five set tie break thriller. Same with racing, I never pick a horse and cheer them on to the end. Same with golf, I have zero emotional connection to whoever can hit the ball least. Same with rugby, you'll never find me hanging on every Six Nations result like the world depends on it. Same with boxing, the outcome of the next hyped match is a personal irrelevance. And yet some people are capable of watching almost any sport, picking a side and becoming emotionally invested in the outcome. I can't do that because I have no sport empathy.
I should say I've been an Arsenal fan for 55 years and 13 days. I've been to watch a game and been for hardcore pints in the Tollington afterwards. I even have several photos of myself wearing a red and white scarf while standing beside the FA Cup. I have an interest in Arsenal I have in no other football club because they are, self-evidently, the best team. But I am not excited by them when they triumph, nor do I ever sink into unconscionable depression after they've produced ninety minutes of disappointment.
However I looked at what several fellow Arsenal fans were saying on social media after the Premiership victory, and they had very different thoughts:
» I can't believe it - best feeling ever!
» I’m finding it hard to express how happy I am...
» This has made me cry. Amazing.
» It’s an ecstasy. A joy. A release.
» CHAMPIONS AGAIN OLÉ OLÉ
One even wrote about healing "the scars and wounds of three successive second place finishes", whereas viewed objectively being the second best team in England three years running is really bloody good. I mean, how can this run from 2004 to 2026 be seen as disastrous?
I'm not trying to claim that any particular approach to sport empathy is better, or indeed normal, just observing that a broad church exists. Some get passionate about sport and some don't, and it often feels like the former outnumber the latter. This seems especially evident when a significant sporting event is underway, for example the hype across the country when the World Cup is on, the collective national frisson when the Olympic medal table is updated or the widespread interest in the London Marathon, even for the also-rans.
Which made me wonder, is there perhaps a sliding scale for sport empathy? And could it look like this?
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Imagine a sport you're really interested in and how you feel when a competitor does really well, or really badly. That should help narrow down your position on the 10-point sport empathy scale. It could be your reaction to a Wimbledon Final, could be watching the Tour de France, could be the closing overs of a test match, could be an away match at Grimsby on a midweek evening. If sport ever makes your heart beat faster you're probably on the right hand side. If no sport gets your pulse racing you're probably on the left.
I can't be a zero because I am at least interested in sporting outcomes, but my indifference to success probably makes me 1 or 2. Meanwhile the Arsenal fans I saw partying round the Emirates have demonstrated their 10-ness, this because when the most ecstatic event actually happened they embraced every emotion on offer.
A particular aspect of high sports empathy is the ability to become engrossed in any sport, not just one you normally watch. Some people can switch on Sky Sports 3 and be cheering for one side or the other within ten minutes. They, I'd say, have sport empathy in spades.
I don't know what it is in a personality that allows you to latch on to sporting achievement, and likewise those who get regularly excitable probably don't understand why I can't. And not just sporting achievement either, bear with me...
Is there also perhaps a sliding scale for religious fervour? And could it look the same?
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Some people believe things to the core, totally swept along by the religion of their choice. Others have a strong faith but keep it more to themselves, and others just don't have it in them to believe in a higher state at all. I think I'm 1 or 2 on this scale too, having never 'got' religion despite being exposed to quite a lot of it.
I wonder if the same scale could be applied to political enthusiasm too. It's not about having strong political beliefs, it's about how emotional they make you, so for example when they announce the exit poll at the General Election do you resign yourself or do you explode.
I think I'm 1 or 2 on this scale too, whereas most of the folk on those marches in central London last weekend were the 9s and 10s. I have a theory that elections are often swung by the 8s, 9s and 10s because they have the ability to pick a side, often based on limited evidence, and then cheer them blindly on. Or maybe I'm just over-thinking this.
Whatever, some of us are hardwired to be emotionally enthused and some of us aren't. How much of society that explains is debatable, but you can see it clearly in fans' reactions to Arsenal's latest triumph, from muted indifference to unbridled passion.
Something unexpected happened yesterday when they announced yet another delay to HS2.
I lost interest, because I might be dead before it opens.
According to the Transport Secretary HS2 will happen, which is good.
But it will be very very expensive and very very late, which is not.
» In 2011, the first time the government provided a prediction, HS2 would connect London to the West Midlands by 2026 and onwards to Leeds and Manchester by 2033 at a cost of £37bn.
» After the legs to Leeds and Manchester were scrapped the expectation was that the remainder between London and Birmingham would open between 2029 and 2033 at a cost of £65bn.
» The latest expectation is that the line from Birmingham won't reach Old Oak Common until [May 2036 - October 2039] and Euston until [May 2040 - December 2043] at a cost of [£88bn - £103bn].
They're giving ranges for everything now, this one of the recommendations of the Lovegrove Review which has dug deep into lessons to be learned by the Civil Service. But the earliest HS2 could reach London is now 10 years from now, and the latest it could reach Euston is 17½ years from now, by which time I might be dead.
It seems ridiculous. They'd drawn a precise line on a map thirteen years ago, which they've stuck to. They started construction six years ago and have already finished much of the infrastructure. The Colne Valley Viaduct is already complete but the first crossing is ten years off, indeed nobody's ordered any trains yet. Curzon Street and Old Oak Common stations are already substantially built, if nowhere near complete. Trams already run to the HS2 terminus in Birmingham, a mostly pointless spur until HS2 itself arrives. Demolition near Euston started eight years ago, but won't become functioning platforms until at least 14 years time. Meanwhile millions of Britons are born and die, thus 15 million of those who heard HS2 announced in 2009 won't be around to see it open.
It was mention of the 2040s that jolted me. The Bakerloo line extension also has an earliest possible completion date of 2040 but that didn't hit me in the same way. I think that's because it isn't funded thus isn't currently going ahead, hence the 2040 deadline is a shibboleth. But HS2 is currently bolted down so will at some point appear, just maybe when I can no longer ride it.
Other large infrastructure projects with a deadline in the 2030s have usually made me think "ooh that'll be good", the unspoken expectation being that I'll experience them one day. But seeing [May 2040 - December 2043] as the backstop deadline here made me translate that into ages... [75 years old - nearly 79 years old] and that proved unexpectedly jarring. What if I'm dead by then?
I'm not being morbid here, I don't have an expectation of stunted longevity, merely an understanding of probability and increased risk. Only one of my grandparents made it to 75, ditto only one parent, also I know which side of my family I take after. And whilst none of us know for sure we'll be here next week, let alone next year, it's only realistic to have more doubts about ten, fifteen, twenty years hence. I wouldn't have had doubts when I was in my 30s, thus when Crossrail was first announced I expected to ride it and nineteen years later I did. But HS2 could still be a similar margin away, and as a 61 year-old I've discovered that doubts have now crept in.
Which is annoying because I have a lot of questions I realise now may never be answered.
When HS2 reaches Old Oak Common in [May 2036 - October 2039] how will Crossrail cope? How often will trains run to Birmingham? Will you see anything out of the window or will all the tunnels and environmental barriers ensure that the journey is an unenjoyable whizz? Will fares on parallel routes to Birmingham go down, relatively speaking? Will PM Nigel Farage scrap the line or name it after himself? Will one or two new Overground stations get added at Old Oak Common? Will Rishi Sunak be barred from the debut service? What will the current wastelands south of Willesden Junction turn into? And will fares be so unappealingly high that even when it's open I won't want to pay, thus rendering my wait for HS2 irrelevant?
As for HS2 reaching Euston in [May 2040 - December 2043], I may very well not know what that ends up looking like. What will they do with the space where platforms 7-10 were originally intended to go? How will the Underground station cope? Do they really intend to hide the new platforms underground to make room for commercial development? Will they link HS1 to HS2 via a blingy subway or a crappy footpath? Will all Birmingham trains stop at Old Oak Common or will some run non-stop? Will it be possible to buy a superfast ticket for under £100, at 2040 prices? Will they have to implement time-consuming security checks that negate all the supposed time saved? Will the fare from Euston to Birmingham be intrinsically higher than Old Oak Common to Birmingham? How many coffee shops will be built on the site of the Bree Louise? Will OOC-Euston appear on the tube map, and how much of a mess will it make? Most importantly, when it's all up and running will we all think it's brilliant or wonder why on earth we bothered? I may never know.
I expect to see 2030. I very much hope to see 2035. I'd be really pleased to reach 2040. I have a suspicion I may not make 2045. I'm not confident of reaching 2050. I'm not at all confident of seeing 2055. I don't expect to experience the 2060s at all.
It's jarring to realise that many of you reading this will see marvels I will never know and witness achievements I'll never see. For balance you'll also face catastrophes I will never endure, nor even know I missed. We all get a slot on this earth and for many people HS2 now falls outside that envelope.
I thank HS2's elongated timeline for forcing me to face mortal reality, not because I expect to miss its completion but because I realise I might. There comes a time when some projects take so long to complete that we may not be around to see them finished.
On Tuesday evening, without kicking a ball, Arsenal became this season's Premier League champions.
