Tube quiz (18)Long and short
Name that tube station... a) The name has more than four syllables. (You found Heathrow Terminals 1 2 3; Highbury and Islington, Kensington Olympia; Caledonian Road, Chalfont and Latimer, Elephant and Castle, Heathrow Terminal 4, Piccadilly Circus, Totteridge and Whetstone... and nine other five-syllable names) b) The name has fewer than seven letters. (You found Bank, Oval; Angel, Upney; Balham, Debden, Epping, Euston, Kenton, Leyton, Morden, Pinner and Temple)
District Line: Minor delays are occurring due to an earlier faulty track at Ealing Common and late finish of engineering work at Upney
The tube doesn't always run smoothly. Sometimes trains break down, sometimes signals fail, and sometimes unhappy men hurl themselves headlong onto the tracks. And problems create delays. Transport for London have got much better at informing the travelling public about these delays, now with whiteboards at most station entrances and a webpage where you can keep track of every underground annoyance. And what a lot of delays there are.
Or are there? I thought I'd check just how delayed the Underground is. I've been keeping track of the state of the network at 7:30 every morning since the start of September, noting down every reported incident and the extent of the disruption. That's nearly two months of data across 12 different lines, snapshotted at the start of every morning rush-hour. And here's what I've discovered...
1) Number of disruptions
• Over 37 mornings, there were 57 separate disruptive incidents. That's an average of 1½ incidents every morning.
• Out of 37 mornings, only 7 had no disruptions anywhere on the network. That's roughly one hassle-free morning each week.
2) Severity of disruptions
• Only 12 of the disruptions (21%) involved the suspension of services. That equates to roughly one suspension every three days.
• Just 15 of the disruptions (26%) were described as "severe delays" (involving "significantly increased journey time").
• The other 30 disruptions (more than half of the total) were only "minor delays". A pain, but nothing terrible.
3) Causes of disruption
• 32 of the disruptions were caused by "signal failure". That's more than half of all delays caused by malfunctioning electrics and dodgy points.
• Just over 10% of disruptions were caused by faulty trains, and a similar number by the "late finishing of engineering work".
• Other disruptions included "faulty communications equipment", "faulty track", "fire alert", "obstruction on the track", "non-availability of staff", "police investigation" and "passenger taken ill on a train". None of these delays occurred more than twice over a two month period.
4) Lines disrupted
• District 12 times, Piccadilly 7, Metropolitan 7, Circle 6, Hammersmith & City 5, Bakerloo 5, Northern 5, Central 4, Victoria 3, Waterloo & City 2, Jubilee 1, East London 0
• The District line is by far the most disrupted - on average almost twice a week. Other lines average no more than one disruption a week, with the East London line recently achieving early morning perfection.
Conclusion: Tube disruption isn't as bad as I thought it was. Not at half past seven in the morning, anyway. And before you wonder quite how sad I must have been to collect all this information, don't worry, I got Transport for London to send it to me. I've subscribed to their Alerts service, which updates me regularly with all the disruptions along my daily commute. TfL send me a personalised travel alert in an email at 7:30 every morning (just before I leave for work) and then a text message summary on my mobile in the afternoon (just before I head home). The service is extremely useful, it's very flexible, it's free, and you can opt out at any time. If you're interested you can read the FAQ here, or just sign up here. Don't delay.
Tube geek (17)New stations by 2010
• Hammersmith & City: Wood Lane [details]
• Piccadilly: Heathrow Terminal 5 [details]
• East London: Dalston Junction, Haggerston, Hoxton, Shoreditch High Street [details]
• Metropolitan: Ascot Road, Watford West [details]
• DLR: Stratford International [details]; Stratford High Street, Abbey Road*, Star Lane [details]; Woolwich Arsenal [details]; Langdon Park [details]
[* Please note that this is not the famous Abbey Road of Beatles fame, which is 8 miles away. That'll confuse the tourists!]
Tube quiz (17)Topologically equivalent
It's a well-known fact that the tube map distorts reality. All the lines on the map have been stretched and tweaked to appear simpler than they really are. For today's quiz I've stretched and tweaked each of the 12 lines a little more, as if they'd been drawn on a rubber sheet. Then I've shrunk them down, keeping all of the original intersections intact. Five lines have no connections or branches at all, but the other seven are a little more complicated. How many can you identify? Here are the 12 lines you need to match up.
Have a guess which is which, then check your answers against those given in the comments box. How many did you get right?
Tubewatch (17)Where not to stand a) Outside the station entrance fiddling with your umbrella. b) In front of the ticket barrier trying to find your Oyster card at the bottom of your handbag. c) Stuck in the ticket barrier with your rucksack trapped in the gates. d) On the far side of the ticket barrier putting your Oyster card back in your handbag. e) To the left of the escalator. f) To the right of the escalator with a huge suitcase. g) Anywhere on the escalator with a pushchair. h) Dithering at the bottom of the escalator trying to work out whether to turn left or right. i) Halfway down the stairs to the platform with three screaming toddlers in tow. j) Right in front of the entrance to the platform because you can't be bothered to move along. k) One metre along the platform because you can't be bothered to move any further. l) In front of the yellow line (stand behind the yellow line). m) In the gap (mind the gap). n) Directly in front of the opening doors of a just-arrived train (stand back). o) Inbetween the doors of a just-about-to leave train (ouch!). p) Not quite far enough inside the train so that nobody else can get on board. q) On top of somebody else's foot with your elbow in their ribs. r) Pressed up against somebody else's armpit. s) Breathing last night's curry into somebody else's face. t) Immediately in front of the doors so that nobody else can get off. u) On the platform immediately in front of the "way out" passageway. v) To the right of the staircase (keep left, keep left!). w) At the ticket gate, trying in vain (several times) to get your Oyster card to work. x) Immediately behind someone at the ticket gate hoping to run through after them without paying. y) In the station doorway checking your mobile phone for new messages. z) Just outside the station trying to hand out leaflets and free newspapers.
Tubewatch (16)Accessibility
London's tube map is getting uglier. A plague of blue splodges is spreading steadily across the map, slowly destroying the elegance of Harry Beck's original design. To blame is Transport for London's crusade to make the underground network as accessible as possible. Every station accessible without using stairs or escalators must now be marked on the map by a small wheelchair symbol inside a dark blue circle. There aren't many accessible tube stations, still only about 50 out of 275, but the overall effect is still highly offputting. Most tube lines aren't blue, so big blue blobs just look wrong. The 100%-accessible Docklands Light Railway (another 37 blobs) has become a tentacled beast in the south east corner of the map and is now visually highly distracting. And the four lines which meet at Waterloo have recently been realigned on the map in a particularly ugly way, merely so that the distinction can be made between accessible and inaccessible interchanges. It's not looking good.
Don't get me wrong, tube station accessibility is a very good thing. It's not the Victorians' fault that they built all of central London's tube stations without due regard for 21st century accessibility legislation. It's just incredibly expensive to add lifts everywhere, especially underground, so it's not surprising that progress in opening up the network is slow. But do we really need a big blue spot to show where the special lifts are? Normal tube interchanges are still marked by empty black circles, which are far less obtrusive. And interchanges with National Rail stations are marked by a discreet red BR symbol, which is just as useful but not as blatant. Why can't we have something similar for accessibility?
Conspicuous as they are, the blue blobs don't tell the whole story. From the map a wheelchair user might assume that they could ride from Heathrow to Stratford by changing at Holborn. But no, the interchange at Holborn is a stepped and escalatored nightmare, to be avoided at all costs. Instead they should make the journey by changing at Barons Court and then Mile End, but that's not obvious from the map either. And not all the blue blob stations are truly accessible. Take Uxbridge, for example. You can wheel a wheelchair from the station entrance to the platforms, no problem, but you might find getting onto a train rather harder. It's more than 8 inches up from the platform if you want to board a Metropolitan line train, and about 6 inches down if you want to board a Piccadilly line train. The Uxbridge blob represents impossibility, not accessibility.
There is a tube map with all this additional information about changing lines and platform heights - it's called the Tube access guide and you can download it from here. It's complicated and it's inelegant, but it does the job. Why can't TfL give out copies of this map to travellers with wheelchairs, pushchairs and other mobility impairments, without inflicting their semi-useless blue blobs on the rest of us. The ordinary tube map is visually complicated enough as it is - there's no need to make it even less accessible.
Tube quiz (16)Name that station a) The name includes a colour. (You found Blackfriars, Blackhorse Road, Golders Green, Goldhawk Road, Redbridge, Shoreditch, Stanmore, Whitechapel and a lot of Greens) b) The name includes a number. (You found Epping, Harrow & Wealdstone, Heathrow Terminals 12 & 3, Heathrow Terminal 4, Leytonstone, Marylebone, Seven Sisters, Stonebridge Park, Tottenham Court Road, Tottenham Hale and Totteridge & Whetstone) c) The name includes a chess piece. (You found Barking, Barkingside, Blackhorse Road, Elephant & Castle, Kingsbury, Kings Cross St Pancras, Knightsbridge, Queensbury, Queens Park, Queensway, Snaresbrook and Stamford Brook)
Time once again for diamond geezer to go totally tubular with another week devoted to the London Underground. Prepare for five days of quizzes, facts, commentary and obscure statistics. Three years ago I looked at average speeds, the busiest stations, picking the right carriage and journeys where it was quicker to walk. Two years ago I investigated the closest stations, the easiest interchanges, shortest possible journeys and the growth of the network. And last year I wrote about overcrowding, carriages, ticket barrier codes and precisely where the underground is underground. Amongst other things. I wonder how much I'll manage to cram in this year. Mind the doors.
The Bloomsbury Festival is taking place this weekend. If you've never heard of it before that's because it's new, and because it wasn't terribly well advertised (unless you just happened to be wandering the backstreets behind Russell Square tube station). The festival purports to be a celebration of the arts, although in reality it's been sponsored by the local shopping centre. It's not a bad little shopping centre either, so long as you've come to admire the Modernist terraced architecture and not the revamped parade of trendy mainstream shops therein. Various stalls and arty activities were on offer in the local park yesterday, as well as blokes on stilts and a farmers market. Also as part of the festival a couple of local museums which usually charge a fiver were open for free, so I went along.
In amongst Bloomsbury's Georgian terraces stands the unassuming facade of 48 Doughty Street, once home to the great novelist Charles Dickens. He lived here with his new wife Catherine between 1837 and 1839 - only a brief spell but long enough to write The Pickwick Papers, Oliver Twist and Nicholas Nickleby. This is the only one of Dickens' many residences which still stands, and today it's home to the Charles Dickens Museum. The house is quite narrow but spreads upwards over four floors, from the dark basement scullery to the airy upper bedrooms. Plenty of memorabilia has been packed inside, including portraits, correspondence and the desk at which Charles wrote the final unfinished page of Edwin Drood. A small exhibition brings to life the author's deep-seated concern in ending social injustice, including an obsessive interest in the running of a home for "the redemption of prostitutes". And of course there are original editions of Dickens' much-loved novels, each originally published in 20 monthly parts and snapped up by an eager public. You can take a virtual tour of the museum here - you may find that this sufficiently satisfies your Old Curiosity that you need have no Great Expectations of visiting in person. [map]
Well hidden off Brunswick Square, the Foundling Museum is an unusual collection of 18th century treasures. The building was once part of the Foundling Hospital, established on this site 250 years ago to care for the welfare of London's abandoned children. Poverty in the capital was rife, and three quarters of children never lived to see their fifth birthday. Fortunate orphans ended up here in Bloomsbury Fields to train as apprentices or domestic servants. The story of the hospital and its founding philanthropist Thomas Coram is well told on the ground floor. On the first floor, and throughout, several impressive portraits adorn the walls. Many are by William Hogarth, one of the hospital's original benefactors, and through his efforts this became London's very first ever public art gallery. The top floor of the museum is given over to the life and work of George Frideric Handel, another generous patron of the hospital. He gave benefit performances in the chapel, kicking off with the newly-written Messiah, and bequeathed a manuscript of his masterwork to the hospital. In the upper room today you can see Handel's will and a small selection of memorabilia, and even sit in red leather armchairs to listen to the great man's music. Meanwhile outside in the original grounds are Coram's Fields, a very special children's playpark where no unaccompanied adults are admitted. You can read more about the history of the Foundling Hospital here, or bring a child and take a look for yourself. [map]
I've been watching, and enjoying, the TV series Lost for a couple of years now. Which is unusual, because it's exceptionally rare that any American drama takes my fancy. I really couldn't give a toss about Friends, or the West Wing, or ER, or any of the other transatlantic shows that people rave over. But Lost I like. So I've invested 48 hours of my life watching the first two series on Channel 4, and I was planning on spending another 48 enjoying the final two series. But no. The third and fourth series have been bought by Sky, and therefore won't be available on terrestrial television. I've lost Lost.
Imported TV series are always at risk of channel-switching, sold off to the highest bidder. Sky paid £20m for Lost, which is just over £400K per episode, so they must think it's worth the effort. But as soon as Lost moves to Sky its audience will tumble. About 2 million people were watching on Channel 4, whereas on Sky One they'll be lucky if half a million viewers tune in. Overnight the show will drop off the cultural radar, becoming the series nobody's talking about (rather like 24 a couple of years back). The real loser is the casual viewer, forced to make alternative viewing arrangements if they want to follow their favourite show to its new home. And I can't be bothered. Here's why.
Option 1: subscribe to Sky TV for two years But Sky TV is crap. Sure there are some gems tucked away in amongst the dross, but they're vastly outnumbered. I really don't want to pay for twelve channels of pet makeover shows, 20 channels of bare-chested bingo and fifty channels of back-to-back R&B videos, just so that I can watch an hour of Lost a week. Even Sky's cheapest package comes in at £15 a month, and that's for only one-third of the channels, no sport and no blockbuster movies. An ordinary TV licence works out almost £100 cheaper. Cost: £15 a month × 12 months × 2 years = £360
Option 2: buy the next two series of Lost on DVD But DVDs aren't the same as watching television. Sure you get to watch every episode without annoying commercial breaks, but you also lose all sense of occasion. I much prefer a steady drip of episodes, one a week, to a six hour splurge of box-set DVD-ing on a sofa-bound Sunday afternoon. And once I control when to watch, there's no chance of discussing the show with anyone else, because they won't be at the same point in the story as me. And have you seen the price of DVD box-sets? Ouch! Series 1and 2 of Lost retail at £59.99 each, unless you shop around, and quite frankly no single TV programme is worth that kind of outlay. An ordinary TV licence works out only £12 more expensive. Cost: £59.99 (series 3) + £59.99 (series 4) = £119.98
Option 3: watch Lost via BitTorrent Many UK Lost fans have already watched the first three episodes of the third series of Lost, even though these have so far only been screened in the US. There are pirate copies swanning round the internet, available for download weeks before Sky get round to showing them, and they're free. Hurrah. But the picture isn't as good as you get on a real TV screen, is it? And this sort of copyright-theft file-sharing is illegal too, as every upstanding citizen knows, so obviously I wouldn't even consider doing it. Cost: nothing but your conscience
Option 4: read episode-by-episode transcripts online Oh now that's useful. A full script of each and every episode, line by line, immediately after it airs in the US. You don't get the dark brooding atmosphere of the TV show, but you do get all the twists and turns of the plot. In fact, having just read through the opening transcripts ofseries three, I now know everything that happens in the first episodes I won't be able to see. So, no point in watching them now, problem solved. Sorry Sky, you'll be Lost without me. Cost: I think I just saved 47 hours of my life!
Definition: The number of days you can comfortably live without hoovering your house.
Example: If you hoover your house today and then, next Friday, you want to hoover it again, your Hoover Number is 7. Notation: HN=7
Hoover Number personality types: HN<1: Cleaning obsessed, you just can't rest unless your carpets are spotless. Should anyone ever drop even a breadcrumb on your floor, you'll have the hoover plugged in before it hits the ground. HN=1: Every day? Do you have a life? 1<HN<=2: Even that groove along the edge of your skirting board is immaculate. Round of applause. 2<HN<7: You like a clean carpet and unblemished surfaces. You probably wash up your dirty dishes (or fill the dishwasher) immediately after eating, and stick bleach down the toilet with every tenth flush. Aren't you good? HN=7: You've got a regular cleaning routine, you have. Or a lady who comes in and does. 7<HN<=14: How clean is your house? Clean enough - those nice ladies from Channel 4 won't be coming round to yours. 14<HN<=28: Don't tell your mum. But you might just get away with it. 28<HN<=50: Hope you've got a dark-ish carpet. 50<HN<=100: Have you tried looking under your furniture to see what colour your carpet used to be? 100<HN<=365: Really? Even that mucky patch just inside the front door, the bit by the sofa where you spill your TV dinners and the shag pile along the side of the bed? Ugh. HN>365: It's not just your carpet that's dirty is it? There's thick dust on every surface, your kitchen's caked in layers of fat, and the bathroom just doesn't bear thinking about. HN=infinity: I have at least one regular reader whose HN is infinity. Hello. That's why, the first (and last) time I came round to your place, I sat very gingerly on the emptyish part of the sofa, I accepted only a canned drink and, when I went to use the toilet, I decided to wait and go later when I got home. Must be an awful lot worse there by now too.
Hoover Number relationship compatibility test: My HN is a lot higher than my partner: They're obsessed, aren't they? I mean, the floor really doesn't need cleaning that often! My HN is a bit higher than my partner: They've probably done all the hoovering before you get round to wanting to do it yourself. Hurrah. My HN is very similar to that of my partner: Perfect harmony. You two probably share the chores without any fuss. My HN is a bit lower than my partner: They never pull their weight, do they? Can't they see those surfaces need cleaning, now? My HN is a lot lower than my partner: Useless bloody layabout. We'd be living in a tip if they had their way. I have to do everything! Both of our HNs are infinite: Ever wondered why you two never have any visitors?
How many visitors have you had this year? Not online, but in real life. Through your front door, over your threshold, and into your living space. Because I haven't had any. Not a single one. The only person who's walked through my front door since January is me. And I suspect that's not normal.
Actually that's not quite true. My landlord sent somebody round a couple of weeks ago to give my boiler its annual service, but I wasn't in at the time so that doesn't count. Other than him, nobody. I haven't had anyone in for a chat, or any mates round for a drink, or any friends over to watch telly, or even any neighbours at the door trying to borrow a cup of sugar. My flat has gone unvisited, unexplored and unscrutinised since the start of the year. I'm living in a social ghetto of my own creation, and it shows.
One of the things you do when you're expecting visitors is to tidy up a bit. Run the hoover down the hallway, declutter that tabletop, and make sure the bathroom is fresh and sparkling. It's important to make a good impression, otherwise visitors are going to be distracted and possibly disturbed by that layer of dust on the coffee table, that pile of washing up in the sink and that interesting stain on the carpet. Unforunately the converse of this is also true. When you're not expecting visitors you don't tidy up quite so often. There's no urgent need to tidy away that paperwork, or pick that towel off the floor, or give the skirting board a good rubdown. We should all be doing this sort of housework anyway, obviously, but having visitors gives the whole thing a far greater urgency.
So, by not having any visitors all year, I've tidied up less often. And that's OK. I can live with the odd smear on the bathroom mirror, and piles of magazines on the sofa, and used mugs left out on the draining board, and a carpet with randomly-scattered speckles. I don't want you to get the wrong idea here. If you came here visiting you'd not recoil in horror at my unhygienic living conditions. You might wonder why I hadn't made a bit more of an effort, especially if you're the type who has to have everything spick and span and 'just so' at home. But I don't care what you think, because you're not coming round, are you?
However, I need to be careful not to descend into a vicious circle of decline. If I stop tidying up, my flat will get messier and messier. If my flat gets too messy, I'll be too ashamed to invite any visitors round. And if I don't have any visitors round, I'll have no incentive to tidy up. Before I know it I'll be living in a flat full of piled-up boxes, rotting binbags and rampant vermin, just like Mr Trebus. Which would be bad.
So I've decided that I really ought to tidy up my flat, just a little, just in case anybody ever does come visiting. It must still be a vague possibility, surely. So this evening I'm planning a mini cleaning blitz of dusting, disinfecting and decluttering, on the off chance that this might make a slight difference. There's still some of this year left, and maybe a few gleaming surfaces will help me break my duck.
July 1991: Find nice flat. Consider buying nice flat. (This is back in the days when flats were sort of affordable) August 1991: Meet with mortgage adviser. Suggest taking out repayment mortgage. He says no, an endowment mortgage would be so much better. Agree, because he's the financial expert, isn't he? October 1991: Buy flat. Move in. Fork out first of 300 monthly mortgage payments. November 1991: Hmmm, massive debt hasn't decreased - I'm just paying off the interest. Still, that's endowment mortgages for you. I'm sure it'll all be fine come 2016.
June 1999: Move out of flat. Rent it out, because it's a good investment. June 2000: Life insurance company assures me that my plan is 'on track'. That's a relief, because lots of other people's policies aren't. July 2003: Life insurance company warns me there's a high risk that my policy won't pay out enough. Damn them. September 2003: Life insurance company says I might want to write in and complain. Can't be bothered. 2016 is a long way off.
July 2006: Life insurance company tells me that, if I want to complain, I have to do it by the end of September. August 2006: Still can't be bothered. September 2006: Still can't be bothered. 3 weeks ago: Oh go on then, I might as well. Use generic letter of complaint downloaded from Which website. Dead easy. 2½ weeks ago: Receive lengthy but straight-forward questionnaire to fill in, with a 2 week deadline. 1½ weeks ago: Still procrastinating. 1 week ago: Fill in questionnaire. It's mostly factual, and not too scary. Point out that I was single with no dependents when the evil money-grabbing mortgage adviser bastard sold me a life insurance policy (but in more polite language). 2 days ago: Receive letter from Sales Complaints Manager. He is unable to satisfy himself that the endowment policy was suitable for me. My complaint is upheld. Hurrah! Yesterday (first envelope): Receive letter from Endowment Redress Assistant. Am being offered financial settlement equivalent to 10% of value of mortgage, in line with Financial Ombudsman's calculations. Hurrah! Thank goodness I finally complained. Yesterday (second envelope): Latest statement shows that endowment is now on course for a 25% shortfall in 2016. Bugger. Today: Anybody want to buy some life insurance?
Somewhere famous: The Crystal Palace In the beginning this was plain old Sydenham Hill, and nobody paid it much attention. And then in 1851 the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park opened, and closed, and there was a giant iron and glass building in need of a new home. The CrystalPalace was relocated here on the ridge, high above southeast London, and a new park of entertainment and enlightenment opened up in the surrounding fields. It was a great success, attracting huge crowds by road and rail, although a gradual decline set in after a few decades. In 1936 the palace burnt to the ground in an unexpected and spectacular fire. Head to the top of Sydenham Hill today and you'll find just the artificial terraces where the Italian Gardens once stood [photo], and a few headless statues [photo], and some stone sphinxes [photo]. Be thankful that Bromley Council didn't have their way a few years ago, else there'd now be a 20-screen multiplex cinema and leisure centre on top of the hill in a building resembling an airport terminal. The only thing Londoners can see atop Sydenham Hill today is a giant 200m television mast, built on the site of John Logie Baird's TV studios. Here's hoping nothing uglier is ever slapped down beside it.
Somewhere pre-historic: Crystal Palace Dinosaur park[photo] "Please Mummy, can we go and see the dinosaurs?" "Yes certainly. They're over here in the corner of the park, down by the lake." "But Mummy, that's not a dinosaur, that's a big fibreglass mammal hanging onto a tree." "It's a Megatherium, darling, a giant sloth. And there's a family of Anoplotherium under those trees." "But Mummy, they're not dinosaurs either. Take me over the bridge past that waterfall." "Look dear, there are some artificial rock strata in that artificial cliff-face." "I'm not interested in fake geology, Mummy. I want to see the dinosaurs that Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins built." "Heretheyare! The Iguanodon is so big that Ben held a 20-strong dinner party inside it when the park opened." "That's just an old wives tale, Mummy. Why has it got a thumb sticking out of its head?" "It's not anatomically accurate, darling. These dinosaurs were designed 150 years ago before scientists knew any better." "And the Icthyosaur has seen better days, and that Megalosaurus has pigeons sitting all down its spine, and those Labyrinthodons are just plain dull." "OK son, I know it's not Jurassic Park, but at least it's free." "They're brilliant, Mummy! Can we come again next weekend?"
Somewhere sporty: Crystal Palace Athletics Stadium[photo] In the beginning there was just a park. But no park is complete without sport, and over the years this park has seen greater sport than most. • WG Grace used to wander over from his house on Crystal Palace Road to play cricket here. • A football ground was built in the park, and all 20 FA Cup Finals from 1895 to 1914 were played right here. More than 120000 spectators watched Aston Villa beat Sunderland in 1913. • The England rugby team's first match against the All Blacks was held at Crystal Palace in 1905. Not atypically, England lost fifteen nil. • Crystal Palace FC was formed here in 1905, and remained until 1914 when the army took over the park. • A race circuit for motorcycles opened around the park in 1927, and was also used for motor racing between 1953 and 1973. Parts of the circuit are still clearly visible today. • The Crystal Palace Athletics Stadium was opened in 1964. It's capable of hosting world class events, although it doesn't get to hold many these days. You can peer down at the tracks from the grassy bank to the south. The surrounding buildings include a 10 storey accommodation block, and are a bit ugly. The sports complex houses London's only 50m swimming pool, and the whole thing will soon be utterly superseded by the new Olympic Stadium in Stratford. by train: Crystal Palace (where else?)
I SPY LONDON(14) the definitive DG guide to London's sights-worth-seeing Somewhere historic: Down House Location: Luxted Road, Downe BR6 7JT [map] Open: 10am - 6pm (closed Mondays and Tuesdays and January) Admission: £6.90 5-word summary: where Charles Darwin created evolution Website:English Heritage Time to set aside: a couple of hours
One of the most important, or most dangerous, houses in the world is located in Downe - a small village on the southeast fringe of London. It was here, five years after his voyage round the world aboard the Beagle, that Charles Darwin set up home [photo]. And it was here that he stayed for 40 years until his death, carrying out experiments which would shape our future. I just wish he'd lived somewhere slightly more accessible.
Getting to Down House by car is easy - it's not far from Biggin Hill off the M25. Buses are rather more infrequent, however, and if you miss one then it's at least an hour until the next. Entrance to the house is via the car park, through the big front door into the hallway and then into the obligatory giftshop. I handed over a small rectangular portrait of Charles Darwin and received £3.10 in change, then entered the ground floor to see where the great man lived and worked. All the fixtures and fittings have been restored just as they would have looked in the late 19th century. An audio guide narrated by David Attenborough provides full background information, both of Darwin's scientific discoveries and of his everyday life here at Down House. You really get the atmosphere of a comfortable but happy Victorian family home in which something extraordinary was being thought through.
The highlight of the tour is the opportunity to stand inside Darwin's wallpapered study. Here he examined thousands of specimens he'd brought back from around the world, using that microscope on the table, and here he mulled over the importance of his many findings, sat in that chair beside the desk. There's the board on which he wrote up his notes, and that's the pen he used for answering his correspondence. Right here is where On The Origin of Species was written, the very spot where men suddenly turned into apes. In this very room evolution was intelligently designed. Even 150 years later Darwin's central argument, created here, still reverberates on.
Charles was a creature of habit and took a walk round his extensive grounds three times each day. He laid out a long tree-lined 'sandwalk' between two meadows to give himself time and space to think, surrounded by the nature he sought to understand. He used his garden as a laboratory, the perfect spot for cultivating earthworms or growing different strains of apple. In his wooden greenhouse he experimented with carnivorous plants and the cross pollination of orchids, experiments which have been recreated today. The grounds of Down House are still both immaculate and productive. I could have come home with a marrow fresh from the kitchen garden, but made do instead with a recently fallen sweet chestnut picked from the lawn. I think I'll plant it round the back of my flat... after all, given where it was born, it's surely fit enough to survive. by train (& bus): Bromley (then 146) or Orpington (then R8)
Somewhere random: Orpington I didn't mean to end up in Orpington, it's just that I missed one bus to Down House and it was a long wait for the next one. [And then when it arrived, blimey, it was just a tiny cross-country minibus]. Just in case you should ever find yourself stuck in this market town with time to kill, here are some random places you could visit. • Orpington used to be in Kent, and it still looks rather more Home Counties than metropolitan. So there are lots of quite ordinary shops. • Orpington Priory was founded in 1032. Many of the old buildings survive beside the library, and there are some nice gardens. • BromleyMuseum is situated in the old Priory. It's probably full of all sorts of thrilling local ephemera, but it has one of those big wooden doors which looks closed and uninviting even when the museum's open, so I gave it a miss. • There's a proper Roman villa next to the station, or at least the remains of one, except it's closed on Saturdays. • In Poverest Road there's an old Roman bathhouse dating back to AD270, but it's not open very often. • The War Memorial is one of the most prominent landmarks in the town, but it's in the middle of the main roundabout and quite dangerous to get to. • There are lots of 1850s coal posts in Orpington - you could go looking for them. • Oh please, hasn't that bus arrived yet? by train: Orpington by bus: anything starting with R
Yesterday I ended up in the south eastern corner of London in the randomly selected borough of Bromley. This is the big one. Bromley is the largest borough in the capital, greater in area than the eight smallest boroughs put together. A lot of it is green belt, and the southern fringe is unexpectedly rural and remote. The rest is classic suburbia, filled with two-car households, leafy avenues and the occasional commuter railway. It wasn't easy getting around, but I hope I managed to pick out several interesting parts of the borough all the same.
I SPY LONDON(13) the definitive DG guide to London's sights-worth-seeing Somewhere pretty: ChislehurstCaves Location: Old Hill, Chislehurst BR7 5NB [map] Open: 10am - 4pm (tours on the hour, closed Mondays and Tuesdays) Admission: £5 5-word summary: a lantern-lit underground mine tour Website:www.chislehurstcaves.co.uk Time to set aside: an hour
There may be no tube stations in the London borough of Bromley, but there is an underground. Twenty-two miles of underground tunnels, to be exact, carved into the chalk beneath Chislehurst Hill. Nobody's sure quite how long they've been there, but they're definitely not natural. Maybe the Druids built the tunnels as a temple, maybe the Saxons dug them to extract chalk and lime, or more likely post-medieval Britons came down here in search of flint for weapons. But the end result is a vast labyrinth of artificial catacombs - not so much caves as a network of interconnected mines. And, as you'll discover if you visit, thousands of wartime Britons had good reason to be thankful it was here.
Your underground tour begins beyond the cafe and gift shop (cheques made payable to Kent Mushrooms Ltd) at the entrance to three interlinked cave systems. Adults get a flickering oil-lit lantern to carry, which adds greatly to the whole experience. Not far along the tunnels there's a fully consecrated 'church' (number of baptisms: one) and also a low stone concert stage. A surprising number of famous names once played down here, including Lonnie Donegan, Jimi Hendrix, David Bowie, Pink Floyd and some local lads called (appropriately enough) the Rolling Stones. On, deeper into the chalk hillside, with a succession of shadowy passages leading off in all directions. The guide may know precisely where he's going, but before long you'd not have a hope of finding your way out without him.
At one of the deepest points, 30 metres beneath the local cricket pitch, there's a raised stone alcove which may (or may not) have been a Druidic sacrificial altar. In another cavern there's a pool of crystal clear water, dripped and filtered through the chalk above, which may (or may not) be haunted. And every now and then you pass a sign on a brick wall which reads "Ladies Toilets" or even "Citizens Advice Bureau", or something else equally incongruous. During the Second World War these caves were used as a vast underground shelter, and thousands paid a penny a night to sleep in bunk beds far from the bombs falling overhead. A subterranean settlement the size of a small town grew up, complete with its own canteen, barber shop and even hospital. It was stuffy and it was spooky, but at least it was safe.
I enjoyed my hour-long tour of the caves far more than I was expecting. Most of this was thanks to our tour guide, a young black-clad gentlemen who'd clearly spent far too much of his life in the dark and who kept us entertained with dry wit and drama. It was also a masterstroke to be on the same tour as a group of teenage boys celebrating one of their number's 13th birthday - the perfect age for mixing bravado, awe and downright terror. Judging by the way these lads attacked the gift shop afterwards, I wouldn't be at all surprised if a couple of them started turning goth within weeks, then came back to play real-life role playing games in the tunnels at weekends. If you own some wide-eyed adolescents who need to be kept occupied for an hour, or if you just fancy a bewitching Hallowe'en-tide day out, I'd heartily recommend a visit. by train: Chislehurst by bus: 162, 269
Somewhere retail: Bromley High Street Every time I make one of these 'random borough' visits, only one of the six locations I visit is ever full of people. And it's always the shops. Bromley High Street was no exception. You can tell shopping's important round here because they make a special announcement the second you get off the train - "This is Bromley South. Alight here for the Glades Shopping Centre". There must be little else of any importance in the town centre. The long High Street looks just like any other, although we're talking major chain stores rather than pound shops. Single-sex gangs of youths stalk the malls, the girls striding purposefully from fashion outlet to shoe shop, the boys out for a laugh beneath gelled haystack hair. Out in the street there's an upmarket market where pushchairs jostle with shopmobility buggies. It's not too late to buy a shrub for the garden, and it's not too early to buy a homemade teddy bear for Christmas. In Market Square the wall beside Argos has been painted with a giant green mural depicting Charles Darwin's 'tree of evolution' (more from him tomorrow). Until last year the mural featured the life and works of HG Wells instead, which is perhaps more appropriate given that he was born in Atlas House just across the High Street. His birthplace is now a department store, until recently an Alders but since metamorphosed into a featureless Primark. And HG's upstairs window, marked by a small blue plaque, now looks out over a kiddies' mini-fairground ride and a garish pink Ann Summers. No one would have believed it in the last years of the nineteenth century. by train: Bromley South, Bromley North
Random borough (11): It's time once again for me to take another random trip to one of London's 33 boroughs). Can you believe I'm still only a third of the way through the list? As I write I have no idea which one of the 23 remaining names will be revealed when I unfold the slip of paper I'm about to pick from my "special jamjar". I could pick any of London's other boroughs - inner or outer, urban or suburban, small or large, fascinating or dull. I just know it won't be Merton, Islington, Enfield, Sutton, Lewisham, Southwark, Kensington & Chelsea, Hackney, Hillingdon or the City because they're the ten (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already. Five of the last six boroughs I've visited have been very central, rather small and thereby a bit on the easy side. Maybe today I'll end up somewhere further out, sprawlier and a bit more of a challenge. Or maybe not.
Once I've researched my randomly-chosen borough online then I'll head off and visit some of its most interesting places (assuming it has any). As usual I hope to visit somewhere famous, somewhere historic, somewhere pretty, somewhere retail, somewhere sporty and somewhere random. I might even takelotsofphotographs while I'm at it, if the borough's photogenic enough. Then after I've made my grand tour I'll come back tomorrow and tell you all about it. Let's see where I'm going this time...
TheHistoryBoys(15): A film about early 80s grammar school boys preparing for Oxbridge entrance exams ought to have limited mass appeal. Even when the film is based on a play by Alan Bennett, and has come to the big screen via rave reviews on Broadway, it still doesn't sound particularly mainstream. But The History Boys is a bit special. This is a film where the dialogue is the star - simultaneously erudite, comic, touching, well-observed, literary and insightful. And the cast of teachers and sixth formers, all of whom have been with the play since I saw it at the NationalTheatre two years ago, sparkle just as much as the script. So long as you're expecting something theatrical rather than a series of car chases, you'll enjoy the film.
I was an early 80s grammar school boy preparing for Oxbridge entrance, so the film had a particular resonance for me. I remember the extra lessons, and cramming for the exam, and going for interview beneath a dreaming spire up some creaking wooden staircase. I didn't recognise the forced intellectual conversation between the boys in the film - my classmates were always more likely to be discussing Not The Nine O'Clock News than Wittgenstein. But I did recognise the library, and the playground, and even the green and black tie all the boys were wearing. Because, much to my surprise and delight, many of the scenes in the film were shot at my early 80s grammar school. What are the chances?
In my first year at secondary school I was assigned to a formroom on the top floor of the squat modern English block. My classmates and I had the room at the end of the top corridor overlooking the playing field. Here they'd throw pencil cases (often mine) out of the window onto the top of the dining hall roof, and lock other members of the class (often me) out on the fire escape. This was also the room where our form teacher taught us English. She read us bits of Shakespeare, and got us acting our hearts out, and tried (sometimes in vain) to get me to write something "a bit more serious". And this was also the very same room in which the History Boys were taught history. What are the chances?
So if you go to see this film, and I hope you do, keep an eye out for the back story of my life. When you see the boys studying in the library, that was where I used to do my homework. When you see the boys striding purposefully across the playground, that was where I used to dodge between flying footballs. When you see the boys standing outside the school gates, that was where the ice cream van used to park at lunchtime to sell us 6p cornets. And when you see the boys in a plain white classroom discussing Stalin, practising their interview technique and seducing their embarrassed history teacher, that was my extremely ordinary formroom. Oh, and when you see the class heartthrob standing in a college quad after his successful interview, that was my Oxbridge college. But that's another story.
Silver discs(October 1981)
A monthly look back at the top singles of 25 years ago
The three best records from the Top 10 (13th October 1981) Depeche Mode - Just Can't Get Enough: If Kirsty Young ever invites me onto Desert Island Discs, this song's coming with me. You may consider it a simplistic synthpop folly, but I recognise it as a work of pure melodic genius. Yes, the lyrics are transparent and twee. Yes, you can play the introduction one-fingered. Yes, the song lacks the maturity and depth of the band's later work. But to my mind every layer meshes together perfectly, like an electronic concerto, in an uplifting anthem to teenage innocence. It's not your average pop tune, it has quirks and counterpoint and blurry swooshes. But oh dear, the video hasn't dated well has it? There are some well dodgy leather outfits on show, as well the complete range of early 80s Top Man polyester suits. And watching Dave & Co sitting around sipping fruit cocktails with paper umbrellas is all slightly too derivative of the band's Basildon nightclub roots. But the audio track is divine, as befits Vince Clarke's DM swansong. And really, genuinely, I still can't get enough. [video]
"And when it rains you're shining down for me, and I just can't get enough, I just can't get enough. Just like a rainbow you know you set me free." Dave Stewart and Barbara Gaskin - It's My Party: Just to be clear, this is not David A Stewart from the Eurythmics, this is Dave Stewart the 'leading British keyboardist'. In 1981 he joined forces with 'leading British vocalist' Barbara Gaskin, and they assembled this sparkling leftfield cover version of an old Lesley Gore hit. It had just the right mix of charm and knowing tongue-in-cheek, and it stormed to number one selling three quarters of a million copies in the process. Dave and Barbara are still together, both in the recording studio and in the Biblical sense, and they deserve our eternal respect for keeping the Birdie Song off the top of the charts. [video]
"Nobody knows where my Johnny has gone, but Judy left the same time. Why was he holding her hand when he's supposed to be mine?" Godley and Creme - Under Your Thumb: Two of the founder members of 10cc, Kevin Godley and Lol Creme broke away in 1976 to form their own experimental duo. This atmospheric ballad finally gave them a hit five years later. It's a kind of musical 'Most Haunted' - the eerie tale of a rainswept railway carriage posessed by the spirit of a suicidal woman. And it's enchanting. Kevin continues to be a renowned director of music videos, and Lol remains a less than amusing internet chat abbreviation.
"Then she rose up out of nowhere and her hair was full of steam, and she stuck her head out the window and screamed."
My most utterly all-consuming favourite record during October 1981 LaurieAnderson - OSuperman: The first time you heard this record, you knew immediately whether you loved it or hated it. Musical Marmite, it was. I first heard it on the John Peel show, and I was immediately entranced. "Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha..." O Superman was eight minutes of skeletal performance art, punctuated throughout by a repeated breathy 'ha'. Above this minimalist undercarriage was a goofball anti-war poem spoken into a vocoder, and little more. "Hello? This is your Mother. Are you there? Are you coming home?" Avant garde New York artist Laurie Anderson was the creative force behind the song. O Superman was part of a larger work entitled United States, and was accompanied by an understated video featuring shadows, swirling globes and pounding fists. Plus hundreds of hyperventilated 'ha's. "...ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha..." The single was first released on the tiny One Ten label and was never expected to be a hit. But its hypnotic swirl rapidly enticed many, and O Superman flew to number two in the charts within a fortnight. Top of the Pops deigned to show part of the video, but the producers couldn't stomach the full eight minutes. "Well, you don't know me, but I know you. And I've got a message to give to you. Here come the planes." A surefire number one was expected, except that all of us who loved the single had already bought it so it fell straight back down the charts as quickly as it had risen. O Superman wasn't just a one hit wonder, it was a one month wonder. "...ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha..." Laurie rewarded her new fans with an accessibly offbeat album called Big Science, which is still worth a listen today, and later another personal favourite - Language Is A Virus. She's since worked with Peter Gabriel, Lou Reed and (the other) Dave Stewart, as well as spending a couple of years as NASA's artist in residence. "They're American planes. Made in America. Smoking or non-smoking?" And in 1997 Laurie finally it to number one as part of the BBC's Perfect Day charity cover version. She only got to sing four words, but that still beat 1981 when she'd become famous for uttering just one. "...ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha." [video]
15 other hits from 25 years ago: Birdie Song (Tweets), Shut Up (Madness), Thunder In The Mountains (Toyah), Walking In The Sunshine (Bad Manners), Quiet Life (Japan), Open Your Heart (Human League), Good Year For The Roses (Elvis Costello), Mad Eyed Screamer (Creatures), Lock Up Your Daughters (Slade), Let's Hang On (Barry Manilow), Procession (New Order), It's Raining (Shakin Stevens), When You Were Sweet Sixteen (Fureys & Davey Arthur), Hold Me (BA Robertson), Dead Cities (The Exploited) ...which hit's your favourite? ...which one would you pick?
Would you like to restart your computer now? No, thanks. I'm in the middle of doing other stuff at the moment. I've got lots of browser windows open, and a blogpost half written, and a video I'm watching, and a spreadsheet I'm in the middle of putting together, and a set of photos I'm editing, and a conversation I'm having with somebody on another continent. Why on earth would I want to restart my computer now?
Would you like to restart your computer now? No, not now. I could interrupt what I'm doing, and patiently save everything I've got open at the moment, but I don't see why I should have to. Who's in control of this computer, you or me?
Would you like to restart your computer now? No, I wouldn't. I don't have the time to spare, staring wastefully at a blank screen while the system restarts. My computer will take ages to shutdown, and even longer to reboot, and all because you insist on installing your new update patch or whatever. You're erasing the next five minutes of my life, and for what?
Would you like to restart your computer now? No, honest. What's so important about your latest upgrade that you have to hijack my computer anyway? Does it really take total system shutdown to kickstart all these new features you've prepared for me? You're just incapable of writing decent unobtrusive code, that's all, and I have to pay the price for your sloppy incompetence.
Would you like to restart your computer now? No, go away. You may consider it urgent that I install your new helpfile, video module or security patch as immediately as possible. But I can surely live without it for another ten minutes, or another hour, or even until tomorrow. There's an optimum time to reboot my machine, and it's not right now. Please stop assuming that your program must be more important than everything else I might be doing, because it isn't.
Would you like to restart your computer now? No, bugger off. I only just stopped you in time there, didn't I? I wandered off to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, and when I got back your automatic default countdown timer was already down to 0:09. How dare you assume you have the right to shut down my computer while I'm not looking?
Would you like to restart your computer now? No... damn! I was just typing something else when your 'Restart now?' dialogue box popped up, and you've misinterpreted my next keystroke as a 'Yes'. Damn you. At least give me a chance to save what I'm in the middle of, please! Hey, stop it! You can't just shut that program down! Oi, and that one!! Stop closing all my windows... NO! ...
The River Wandle is a chalk stream in south London which flows 12 miles from Croydon to the Thames. It's a bit suburban, a bit green, a bit industrial and in places a bit of a scrapheap. It's therefore a fascinating place for a long walk - the Wandle Trail. The trail began life as an amateurly signposted footpath between Carshalton and Wandsworth, but is slowly being transformed into a fully accessible waymarked cycle route. There are now several arty installations along the way, such as metal bridges, numbered posts and even a lamppost which makes noises. A very detailed leaflet showing the entire route is available for download. You might not want to walk the whole thing in one go, but there are few better ways to see the backwater delights of Sutton, Merton and Wandsworth.
I've written an article about a walk down the Wandle Trail in this week's Time Out. And because I know that most of you can't (or won't) read it, I've also taken lots of photographs which readers of the magazine will never see. So do please take my virtual stroll along the Wandle Trail. And if my photos take your fancy then I've provided some links below to help you visit for real.
Hurrah, I've got another article in Time Out this week. And my last article is now old enough to be shared online, so here it is. Just so that those of you living outside London don't feel like you're missing out.
London Journeys: the Woolwich Foot Tunnel
Woolwich and North Woolwich have long been inextricably linked, despite being on opposite sides of the Thames. And not just in name. Medieval men of Kent inaugurated the first ferry service in the 14th century, upgraded to the famous free Woolwich Ferry in 1889 [photo]. But dockworkers needed to be able to get across the river even during thick fog when the boats were suspended, so an alternative crossing was sought. A bridge was clearly out of the question so councillors turned their attention beneath the river instead, just as they had at Greenwich a couple of miles upstream. And so in 1912 the Woolwich Foot Tunnel was opened. It hasn't changed much since.
If you fancy risking a visit, you'll find the northern entrance to the tunnel in a paved area close to the ferry boarding point [photo]. There's a real feeling of space and isolation outside, with the river estuary stretched out ahead of you and the estates of North Woolwich stacked up far behind. Make the most of it, it's your last chance to avoid claustrophobia before you plunge headlong into subterranean confinement. Two porched entrances lead inside the glass-domed brick building at the top of the shaft [photo]. One leads to a gloomy spiral staircase, 100 or so steps down, the other to the lift. If you get the chance, take the easy option.
There's something wholly unexpected about the Woolwich Foot Tunnel lifts. For a start the fact that the lift service exists in the first place, enabling full accessibility to a little-used shortcut beneath the Thames. Then there's meeting the disinterested lift attendants, doomed to spend their days yo-yoing repeatedly into the Underworld. But mostly it's the shock of stepping back in time into a wood-panelled chamber that almost resembles a miniature Edwardian drawing room. Except for a few very modern touches. A mini hi-fi stands on the floor blaring out some lame R&B and look, there's a can of lavender-scented Glade air freshener tucked away in the corner. The lift attendant's brought his own chair and a selection of tabloids, just to block out the monotony. Meanwhile a video screen on the wall flashes up CCTV footage of the tunnels below, but nobody's watching any of it. When the lift doors finally open 50 feet later, you're on your own.
A long narrow tunnel extends out in front of you, curving downwards beneath the river. A big red sign advises No Cycling, Skateboading, Busking, Spitting or Loitering, not that you'd really want to do the latter [photo]. The walls are tiled in what once was white, now more Grimy Cream, sporadically adorned with marker pen graffiti. Several parallel cables run along the ceiling, one powering an intermittent series of strip lights. There's a dank smell reminding you just how close you are to several millions gallons of river water, but thankfully very little visual evidence of invasive damp. Take a deep breath and stride off into the subterranean gloom. [photo]
After a couple of minutes the curvature of the passage obscures the lift doors and the isolation is tangible . It's a long way back to civilisation, and even further forward. That couple approaching from the far distance are probably perfectly law-abiding, but what if they're not? And is that lively racket echoing up the tunnel behind you just a merry gang of local youths, or something more sinister? It's impossible to dial 999 down here, and by the time anybody reviews the CCTV coverage it would almost certainly be too late to respond. If you thought the London Dungeon was scary, this is the real thing. [photo]
It takes a good five minutes to reach the haven of the southern lift shaft. If you're lucky you'll find the elevator operational, otherwise you'll have to pant your way up the surrounding staircase. Eventually you'll emerge from another domed brick building into a forgotten corner of Woolwich, hidden round the back of the Waterfront Leisure Centre [photo]. It's much easier to find your way out than the way in. Indeed, the signage on the southern bank is so inadequate that it's surprising any Woolwich residents ever locate the entrance to this cross-river passageway, let alone discover it even exists in the first place.
The Woolwich Foot Tunnel may be semi-deserted now, but this underwater connection faces an even quieter future. In three years' time there'll be a new tunnel beneath Woolwich Reach as the DLR extends its tentacles further into South London. This journey will be faster and less threatening than a scurry through the Foot Tunnel, even if the convenience comes at a price. One can only hope that the old tunnel survives as a viable alternative until its centenary, and beyond.
Originally featured in Time Out Magazine London [12 July 2006]
Tubewatch (18) even more tube links
Tube quiz (18) Long and short
Tube geek (18) We apologise for the delay
Time once again for diamond geezer to go totally tubular with another week devoted to the London Underground. Prepare for five days of quizzes, facts, commentary and obscure statistics. Three years ago I looked at average speeds, the busiest stations, picking the right carriage and journeys where it was quicker to walk. Two years ago I investigated the closest stations, the easiest interchanges, shortest possible journeys and the growth of the network. And last year I wrote about overcrowding, carriages, ticket barrier codes and precisely where the underground is underground. Amongst other things. I wonder how much I'll manage to cram in this year. Mind the doors.
In amongst Bloomsbury's Georgian terraces stands the unassuming facade of 48 Doughty Street, once home to the great novelist Charles Dickens. He lived here with his new wife Catherine between 1837 and 1839 - only a brief spell but long enough to write The Pickwick Papers, Oliver Twist and Nicholas Nickleby. This is the only one of Dickens' many residences which still stands, and today it's home to the Charles Dickens Museum. The house is quite narrow but spreads upwards over four floors, from the dark basement scullery to the airy upper bedrooms. Plenty of memorabilia has been packed inside, including portraits, correspondence and the desk at which Charles wrote the final unfinished page of Edwin Drood. A small exhibition brings to life the author's deep-seated concern in ending social injustice, including an obsessive interest in the running of a home for "the redemption of prostitutes". And of course there are original editions of Dickens' much-loved novels, each originally published in 20 monthly parts and snapped up by an eager public. You can take a virtual tour of the museum here - you may find that this sufficiently satisfies your Old Curiosity that you need have no Great Expectations of visiting in person. [map]
In the beginning this was plain old Sydenham Hill, and nobody paid it much attention. And then in 1851 the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park opened, and closed, and there was a giant iron and glass building in need of a new home. The Crystal Palace was relocated here on the ridge, high above southeast London, and a new park of entertainment and enlightenment opened up in the surrounding fields. It was a great success, attracting huge crowds by road and rail, although a gradual decline set in after a few decades. In 1936 the palace burnt to the ground in an unexpected and spectacular fire. Head to the top of Sydenham Hill today and you'll find just the artificial terraces where the Italian Gardens once stood [photo], and a few headless statues [photo], and some stone sphinxes [photo]. Be thankful that Bromley Council didn't have their way a few years ago, else there'd now be a 20-screen multiplex cinema and leisure centre on top of the hill in a building resembling an airport terminal. The only thing Londoners can see atop Sydenham Hill today is a giant 200m television mast, built on the site of John Logie Baird's TV studios. Here's hoping nothing uglier is ever slapped down beside it.
"Please Mummy, can we go and see the dinosaurs?"
In the beginning there was just a park. But no park is complete without sport, and over the years this park has seen greater sport than most.
I SPY LONDON (14)
One of the most important, or most dangerous, houses in the world is located in Downe - a small village on the southeast fringe of London. It was here, five years after his voyage round the world aboard the Beagle, that Charles Darwin set up home [photo]. And it was here that he stayed for 40 years until his death, carrying out experiments which would shape our future. I just wish he'd lived somewhere slightly more accessible.
Charles was a creature of habit and took a walk round his extensive grounds three times each day. He laid out a long tree-lined 'sandwalk' between two meadows to give himself time and space to think, surrounded by the nature he sought to understand. He used his garden as a laboratory, the perfect spot for cultivating earthworms or growing different strains of apple. In his wooden greenhouse he experimented with carnivorous plants and the cross pollination of orchids, experiments which have been recreated today. The grounds of Down House are still both immaculate and productive. I could have come home with a marrow fresh from the kitchen garden, but made do instead with a recently fallen sweet chestnut picked from the lawn. I think I'll plant it round the back of my flat... after all, given where it was born, it's surely fit enough to survive.
I didn't mean to end up in Orpington, it's just that I missed one bus to Down House and it was a long wait for the next one. [And then when it arrived, blimey, it was just a tiny cross-country minibus]. Just in case you should ever find yourself stuck in this market town with time to kill, here are some random places you could visit.
There may be no tube stations in the London borough of Bromley, but there is an underground. Twenty-two miles of underground tunnels, to be exact, carved into the chalk beneath Chislehurst Hill. Nobody's sure quite how long they've been there, but they're definitely not natural. Maybe the Druids built the tunnels as a temple, maybe the Saxons dug them to extract chalk and lime, or more likely post-medieval Britons came down here in search of flint for weapons. But the end result is a vast labyrinth of artificial catacombs - not so much caves as a network of interconnected mines. And, as you'll discover if you visit, thousands of wartime Britons had good reason to be thankful it was here.
At one of the deepest points, 30 metres beneath the local cricket pitch, there's a raised stone alcove which may (or may not) have been a Druidic sacrificial altar. In another cavern there's a pool of crystal clear water, dripped and filtered through the chalk above, which may (or may not) be haunted. And every now and then you pass a sign on a brick wall which reads "Ladies Toilets" or even "Citizens Advice Bureau", or something else equally incongruous. During the Second World War these caves were used as a vast underground shelter, and thousands paid a penny a night to sleep in bunk beds far from the bombs falling overhead. A subterranean settlement the size of a small town grew up, complete with its own canteen, barber shop and even hospital. It was stuffy and it was spooky, but at least it was safe.
Every time I make one of these 'random borough' visits, only one of the six locations I visit is ever full of people. And it's always the shops. Bromley High Street was no exception. You can tell shopping's important round here because they make a special announcement the second you get off the train - "This is Bromley South. Alight here for the Glades Shopping Centre". There must be little else of any importance in the town centre. The long High Street looks just like any other, although we're talking major chain stores rather than pound shops. Single-sex gangs of youths stalk the malls, the girls striding purposefully from fashion outlet to shoe shop, the boys out for a laugh beneath gelled haystack hair. Out in the street there's an upmarket market where pushchairs jostle with shopmobility buggies. It's not too late to buy a shrub for the garden, and it's not too early to buy a homemade teddy bear for Christmas. In Market Square the wall beside Argos has been painted with a giant green mural depicting Charles Darwin's 'tree of evolution' (more from him tomorrow). Until last year the mural featured the life and works of HG Wells instead, which is perhaps more appropriate given that he was born in Atlas House just across the High Street. His birthplace is now a department store, until recently an Alders but since metamorphosed into a featureless Primark. And HG's upstairs window, marked by a small blue plaque, now looks out over a kiddies' mini-fairground ride and a garish pink Ann Summers. No one would have believed it in the last years of the nineteenth century.
Random borough (11): It's time once again for me to take another random trip to one of London's 33 boroughs). Can you believe I'm still only a third of the way through the list? As I write I have no idea which one of the 23 remaining names will be revealed when I unfold the slip of paper I'm about to pick from my "special jamjar". I could pick any of London's other boroughs - inner or outer, urban or suburban, small or large, fascinating or dull. I just know it won't be Merton, Islington, Enfield, Sutton, Lewisham, Southwark, Kensington & Chelsea, Hackney, Hillingdon or the City because they're the ten (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already. Five of the last six boroughs I've visited have been very central, rather small and thereby a bit on the easy side. Maybe today I'll end up somewhere further out, sprawlier and a bit more of a challenge. Or maybe not.
Silver discs (October 1981)
Depeche Mode - Just Can't Get Enough: If Kirsty Young ever invites me onto Desert Island Discs, this song's coming with me. You may consider it a simplistic synthpop folly, but I recognise it as a work of pure melodic genius. Yes, the lyrics are transparent and twee. Yes, you can play the introduction one-fingered. Yes, the song lacks the maturity and depth of the band's later work. But to my mind every layer meshes together perfectly, like an electronic concerto, in an uplifting anthem to teenage innocence. It's not your average pop tune, it has quirks and counterpoint and blurry swooshes. But oh dear, the video hasn't dated well has it? There are some well dodgy leather outfits on show, as well the complete range of early 80s Top Man polyester suits. And watching Dave & Co sitting around sipping fruit cocktails with paper umbrellas is all slightly too derivative of the band's Basildon nightclub roots. But the audio track is divine, as befits Vince Clarke's DM swansong. And really, genuinely, I still can't get enough. [video]
If you fancy risking a visit, you'll find the northern entrance to the tunnel in a paved area close to the ferry boarding point [photo]. There's a real feeling of space and isolation outside, with the river estuary stretched out ahead of you and the estates of North Woolwich stacked up far behind. Make the most of it, it's your last chance to avoid claustrophobia before you plunge headlong into subterranean confinement. Two porched entrances lead inside the glass-domed brick building at the top of the shaft [photo]. One leads to a gloomy spiral staircase, 100 or so steps down, the other to the lift. If you get the chance, take the easy option.
A long narrow tunnel extends out in front of you, curving downwards beneath the river. A big red sign advises No Cycling, Skateboading, Busking, Spitting or Loitering, not that you'd really want to do the latter [photo]. The walls are tiled in what once was white, now more Grimy Cream, sporadically adorned with marker pen graffiti. Several parallel cables run along the ceiling, one powering an intermittent series of strip lights. There's a dank smell reminding you just how close you are to several millions gallons of river water, but thankfully very little visual evidence of invasive damp. Take a deep breath and stride off into the subterranean gloom. [photo]
In amongst Bloomsbury's Georgian terraces stands the unassuming facade of 
I SPY LONDON (14)
Charles was a creature of habit and took a walk round his extensive grounds three times each day. He laid out a long tree-lined '
I didn't mean to end up in Orpington, it's just that I missed one bus to Down House and it was a long wait for the next one. [And then when it arrived, blimey, it was just 
There may be no tube stations in the London borough of Bromley, but there is an underground. Twenty-two miles of underground tunnels, to be exact, carved into the chalk beneath Chislehurst Hill. 
At one of the deepest points, 30 metres beneath the local cricket pitch, there's a raised stone alcove which may (or may not) have been a Druidic sacrificial altar. In another cavern there's a pool of crystal clear water, dripped and filtered through the chalk above, which may (or may not) be haunted. And every now and then you pass a sign on a brick wall which reads "Ladies Toilets" or even "Citizens Advice Bureau", or something else equally incongruous. During the Second World War these caves were used as a vast underground shelter, and thousands paid a penny a night to sleep in bunk beds far from the bombs falling overhead. A subterranean settlement the size of a small town grew up, complete with its own canteen, barber shop and even hospital. It was stuffy and it was spooky, but at least it was safe.
Every time I make one of these 'random borough' visits, only one of the six locations I visit is ever full of people. And it's always the shops. Bromley High Street was no exception. You can tell shopping's important round here because they make a special announcement the second you get off the train - "This is Bromley South. Alight here for the Glades Shopping Centre". There must be little else of any importance in the town centre. The long High Street looks just like any other, although we're talking major chain stores rather than pound shops. Single-sex gangs of youths stalk the malls, the girls striding purposefully from fashion outlet to shoe shop, the boys out for a laugh beneath gelled haystack hair. Out in the street there's an upmarket market where pushchairs jostle with shopmobility buggies. It's not too late to buy a shrub for the garden, and it's not too early to buy a homemade teddy bear for Christmas. In Market Square the wall beside Argos has been painted with a giant green mural depicting Charles Darwin's '
