Londoners have fallen in love with a new pet. These special travelling companions go everywhere with their mistresses and masters, always following very close behind. They come in all shapes and sizes, they stand alert by one's side when not required and they have to be carried on escalators. Some haven't been trained as well as others and so get under the feet of passers by. They're distinctly territorial, and some owners couldn't imagine life without them. I am of course talking about wheelie suitcases.
These instruments of the devil are everywhere across the capital, usually directly in front of you. I'm sure they weren't around in any great numbers a year ago, but now all of a sudden it appears that everybody has to have one. Stand in any tube station or on any street corner, particularly on a Friday or a Monday, and one of these beasts will come lumbering into view within seconds. I blame the new Argos catalogue, or whatever posh department store it is that travelling people visit in order to buy trendy new luggage. Many of those people manoeuvring wheelie suitcases around town have clearly never passed a driving test in their lives. They cut you up, they decelerate without warning, they fail to signal before swerving out in front of you, they block the path of oncoming traffic and they collide with your nearside without ever stopping to give you the address of their insurance company. I suppose we should be grateful that a wheelie suitcase over the toes is better than a rucksack in the teeth, but in my view this invasion must be stopped, and stopped soon.
London is full of people trying to get somewhere else. Locals love to escape the capital for a weekend break, having seemingly packed the entire contents of their house in their suitcase. Tourists stumble out of airports laden with heavy baggage, then head off on an epic cross-country expedition to find their hotel. Everybody then struggles onto public transport, heaving bags across the entire width of an escalator, dumping a pile of suitcases just inside the door of a train, or forming a wall of canvas across a busy street. London was not designed with oversized baggage in mind.
On first glance the wheelie suitcase appears the perfect solution to a difficult problem. Heavy weights can be transported with ease, so it is possible to pack the kitchen sink after all. Unfortunately some people appear to have decided to do exactly that, carrying twice as much as they might otherwise have done, purely because they now have wheels. At the other end of the spectrum a disturbing number of people seem to have bought what I can only describe as mobile-handbags, tiny containers on long handles which quite frankly could and should be carried instead. Wimps, the lot of you.
And there's worse. Imagine if you will a typical traveller carrying a suitcase. The traditional suitcase is carried by the side, adding only width. The new wheelie suitcase trails behind, adding depth instead. The surface area of ground covered is therefore noticeably greater with a wheelie suitcase than it is with the traditional handheld model. Even worse, this surface area increases the shorter the traveller pulling the suitcase along. If you're six-foot-something then the handle of the wheelie suitcase points pretty much straight up, which isn't too bad. However if you're four-foot-nothing then the handle is much closer to the ground, so the wheels lag a lot further behind. It's a simple matter of trigonometry. Put bluntly, a group of tiny tourists can clog up a tube station in seconds. And often do.
I fear that the battle against the advance of the wheelie suitcase may already be lost. There's certainly no sign yet of the government organising a special terror attack simulation to rid the Underground of these weapons of mass discourtesy. It appears that many people just want their own travelling to be easy, and they don't give a damn that their actions might have negative implications for others. The wheelie suitcase is just a physical manifestation of an inner malaise, obviously. So look, if you really have to have one, please just hold it upright won't you? Or get a taxi.
This is the Night Bus crossing the city,
Thirty minute gaps between, more's the pity.
Taxis for the rich, buses for the poor,
Queueing in a mob, then a rush for the door,
Stumbling upstairs, an unsteady climb:
The traffic lights against her, a snail's pace time.
The stench of kebab and half-cooked burger,
Shovelling chips as the bus crawls further,
Arguments blaze and mobiles bleep,
Drunken passengers fast asleep.
Friday, September 05, 2003
There's tons going on in the capital this month, including...
• David Blaine in a suspended tube(Sept 5 - Oct 19): Starts today, the dullest stunt in the world. Expect regular reports from nearby. Although I can't see what's so special here. Thousands of Londoners spent 44 minutes in a suspended tube last week...
• The Great River Race(Sept 6): 150 boats attempt to get from Richmond to Greenwich without having to pay the Congestion Charge.
• Brick Lane Festival(Sept 7): Who says curry, bagels and pie and mash don't mix?
• Chemical attack on Bank station(Sept 7): Don't worry, it's only an exercise, and the City is pretty much dead on a Sunday anyway. This exercise is to make sure the City is never pretty much dead in the future.
• Totally Covent Garden Festival(Sept 7-14): This'll be the usual bunch of street entertainers spray-painted silver standing around not doing very much and hoping you'll throw them money, I expect.
• Uncle Ken'sThames Festival(Sept 13-14): What would happen if those nice local government people were allowed to devise a weekend of riverside entertainment? Face-painting, folk music, fireworks and a few old boats, of course.
• Greenwich and Canary Wharf Festival(Sept 20-21): Looks like an excuse to promote the opening of the new Jubilee Place shopping centre underneath Heron Quays station to me. How many more of these <insertplacenamehere> festivals can London cope with this month?
• London Open House Weekend(Sept 20-21): Is this fabulous or is this fabulous? Lots of top historic buildings open their doors to the public, just for one weekend a year, and all for free. Last year I was thrilled by Westminster Hall, Portcullis House, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, the Cabinet Office, the Midland Hotel (St Pancras), the brand new City Hall and the view from the 18th floor of New Zealand House. This year, not sure yet. Any suggestions? (Oh, and the website's crap, I'm afraid, totally unskimmable. You want to go down to your local library and pick up the full 500-building catalogue instead. My local librarian nearly wet herself with excitement yesterday when I asked for a copy.)
Thursday, August 21, 2003
London Flash Mob ##2 - Singing in the rain(click on picture to enlarge)
The sky above Aldwych may have been almost cloudless, but there were a suspicious number of people carrying umbrellas walking the streets in the area earlier this evening. This was the second (official) London flash mob, or at least it was one of them. The organisers had been careful to split us up into at least two different mobs according to starsign and dispersed us around the Embankment. I was in the smaller group, instructed to turn up with an umbrella at one of four pubs off Aldwych by 6:10pm, precisely.
The bar staff in the George IV pub were overwhelmed by brolly-carrying punters. Us potential mobsters stood around waiting to get served, gulped down our drinks and waited for further instructions. At 6:10pm precisely one of the organisers entered the pub and handed out the tiny flyers to everyone carrying an umbrella. On one side, the words to Gene Kelly's classic Singing in the Rain. On the other side was our mission statement. We were to take our umbrellas to the public courtyard of Somerset House by 6:25pm precisely, text someone asking them to ring us at 6:30pm precisely, and click our fingers every (click) time anyone (click) used the letter Y (click).
If you've ever been to Somerset House before (and I have) you'll know that the centre of the courtyard contains 55 water jets which spring from the flagstones. On a hot summer's day it's a damp four year-old's paradise. It's also a lot of fun for a bunch of over 100 twenty-and thirty-somethings armed with umbrellas. At 6:25pm the mobsters from each of the four Aldwych pubs arrived right on time and strode into the middle of the fountains, brollies raised. Just as happened at the last flash mob, everyone suddenly looked at each other as if to say "Are we really doing this? Excellent!" And then we started acting like damp four year-olds.
It soon became apparent that the organisers had omitted one crucial piece of information from their instructions. They hadn't told us what to do when while we were standing in the middle of the fountains. Perhaps it was supposed to be obvious that we should dance round the fountains like famous Hollywood movie stars, but they'd forgotten to tell us that. Eventually one group was brave enough to start singing Singing in the Rain and everyone joined in, but they skipped a chunk of the first verse which sort of threw the rest of us partway through. It still sounded good though.
A number of the mobsters were really enjoying splashing in the water, running through the fountains and getting their suits wet. As the jets shot up into the air sometimes they caught the underside of an umbrella and water shot out across the crowd. Some wished they'd not brought their laptops, videophones and digital cameras with them. Ten minutes we stood there, getting slowly wetter, until at 6:35pm precisely it was time to leave. As we vanished out into the Strand the three security guards stood and watched the departing crowds, scratching their heads and mulling over what it was they might just have witnessed.
There was one last finale, a "Bonus Mob", as our group were then directed to pop up onto nearby Waterloo Bridge and face upstream. There in the distance across the Thames was tonight's other flash mob, spread out across the new Hungerford pedestrian bridge, doing goodness knows what. (Ahh, report here, photos here) We waved. They may have waved back, it was hard to tell. And then, trainers still squelching, it was time for everyone to disperse.
I think Flash Mob ##2 worked rather better than Flash Mob ##1 a fortnight ago, not least because we were in a public place and not apparently hounded by the press. Perhaps the organisers should give up on their fixation with mobile phones and letters of the alphabet, because I have yet to see those ideas work in practice. Just standing in the middle of a fountain with an umbrella was quite surreal enough for most participants. And the chances of there being a successful Flash Mob ##3? Odds on, I reckon.
Here are ten fascinating facts about the board game of Monopoly.
• Monopoly evolved from The Landlord's Game, the invention of Maryland resident Lizzie Magie. Her game was intended to teach players about the property ownership system, the object being 'to obtain as much wealth or money as possible'. Original 1904 patent here, rules here and board here.
• The game of Monopoly was first patented by Charles Darrow in 1933. Folklore tells how, jobless and destitute, he thought up the rules one night in a flash of inspiration, hand-painted the board on a tablecloth and used old trinkets around the house for game pieces. Rather more likely is that Charles already worked for Parker Brothers and merely nicked the idea from homemade versions of Lizzie's original game. Conspiracy theories abound.
• Darrow, who was from Pennsylvania, based his version of Monopoly on the properties of Atlantic City, New Jersey. This supposedly reminded him of happy family holidays he had spent there before the Great Depression. Or else he stole the idea again. The street names in the American version of the game are still based on Atlantic City, from Mediterranean Avenue ($60) right round to Boardwalk ($400).
• Monopoly remains the best-selling board game in the world, licensed or sold in 80 countries and produced in 26 languages. Over 200 million games have been sold worldwide, containing more than five billion little green houses.
• The London version of the game was licensed to Waddingtons in 1935. Managing Director Victor Watson and his secretary Marjorie made a special trip from Leeds to London to decide which streets in the capital would be used on the UK board. They concentrated on the West End, with only the light blues located to the north and the cheap old browns to the east. The story of the London board is well told in the book Do Not Pass Go by Tim Moore, a capital travelogue and one of last year's bestsellers.
• Each UK Monopoly set comes with 20 £500 notes (orange), 20 £100 notes (beige), 30 £50 notes (green), 50 £20 notes (blue), 40 £10 notes (yellow), 40 £5 notes (pink) and 40 £1 notes (white). Total amount of money per game = £15,140.
• There are 16 Chance cards, ten of which move you elsewhere, two of which give you money and three of which take money away. There are 16 Community Chest cards, nine of which give you money, four of which take money away and two of which move you elsewhere. Each pack contains one legendary Get out of Jail free card.
• The most landed-on square in Monopoly is the jail, whether you're banged up or just visiting. The best cards in the game to own are the stations, which players tend to land on roughly one in every ten throws. And the best properties to own are the orange set, including good old Bow Street (or St James Place, to American readers). Orange earns the highest rate of return because it lies, on average, exactly one dice throw further round the board than the jail. All the statistics you could ever want here, here, here and here (in the Strategy Wizard in the Tips and Tricks section).
• As for me, I can't ever remember winning a game of Monopoly. Or finishing one for that matter.
Sunday, August 10, 2003
Heatwatch • So, today really has been the hottest day ever recorded in the UK, with temperatures nudging 38°C at Heathrow.
• It's the first time ever that the temperature in the UK has reached 100°F, and bookies face a six-figure payout.
• Highest temperature of the day was 38.1°C at Gravesend, a full degree higher than the previous record.
• Britain's previous record temperature of 37.1°C was recorded 13 years and one week ago in Cheltenham.
• For anyone with an anorakky interest in these figures, the Met Office provides meteorological nirvana here.
• Temperature in London: 7am 22°C; 10am 29°C; 1pm 36°C; peak 37.9°C; 4pm 37°C; 7pm 30°C; 10pm 26°C.
Thursday, August 07, 2003
London Flash Mob ##1(click on picture to enlarge)
The first London Flash Mob took place this evening at the Sofas-UK showroom in Tottenham Street, off Tottenham Court Road. Over 200 people turned up, very suddenly. To say that the shop assistant was taken unawares would be an understatement - the shop was closed because he'd locked up ready to go home early. It's normally very quiet round here, you see. Not tonight. Here's the story of what happened (and don't worry, he was persuaded to unlock the door and let us in eventually, although he may have wished he hadn't...)
6pm onwards: Everyone assembled, gradually, at one of three designated pubs near Goodge Street tube station. Being a Pisces I was directed towards the Rising Sun in Tottenham Court Road, which appeared to be unnaturally full for that time of the evening. Rather a lot of, how can I put it, people who probably use computers at work, but not as unphotogenic as that might sound. Buy drink, look casual, wait.
6:17pm: Our top secret instructions were written on tiny pieces of paper left on top of the fruit machine. This was bad news for anybody under 5 foot 4, but we coped. Only now did we learn that our intended destination was factory showroom Sofas-UK, just up the road, where we were to assemble at 6:30 (precisely) and gaze in awe and wonder at the assembled soft furnishings, muttering the words "Oh wow, what a sofa". There were some other instructions about texting a friend at 6:33 (precisely), and not using the letter 'O' while the flash mob was underway, but they seemed somehow secondary. At 6:40 (precisely) the mob was to disperse as quickly as it had appeared. Magic.
6:27pm: Watches synchronised, we left the pub and walked up to nearby Tottenham Street. It still wouldn't have been obvious to any of the passers-by that something big was afoot.
6:30pm: Three groups converged on the sofa shop, just opposite Heal's. Everybody looked at each other as if to say 'blimey, it worked then', then started taking pictures of the crowd (maybe that's why they're called flash mobs) and then turned to look at the sofa shop. It was shut. This rather wrecked all the instructions we'd been given, so we all stood around in the street, smiled a lot at each other, took some more photos and waited.
6:32pm: By this point the solitary shop assistant appeared to have woken up to the fact that he had customers, lots of them, and unlocked the door. The crowd surged inside, in that very British way of just nudging forward very slowly and politely. A TV crew were one of the first through the door, preparing to film the scene inside. The organisers had bungled their choice of venue, not because it had been shut (because it was supposed to be late-opening on Thursdays) but because the showroom only had one narrow door. And it takes a very long time to get more than 200 people inside a showroom, especially when the space just inside the door is already teeming with leatherette. And so we queued.
6:38pm: At last I reached the door to the showroom and managed to squeeze inside. The place was absolutely packed, not least with people taking even more photos to record the event. All thoughts of 'texting a friend' or 'ignoring the letter O' had disappeared, as everyone just stood there and soaked in the sheer incredulity of it all. Some sat on the sofas, some played up for the cameras, but most just smiled. The shop assistant stood by the door, astonished at the number of people taking an sudden interest in his products and at those still trying to enter behind me. "You wait til my boss hears about this," he said. Given the obvious press presence in that shop, I suspect his boss will be hearing a lot more about it, and soon.
6:40pm: There was a spontaneous round of applause, and then it was time for the flash mob to disperse, suddenly. Again, this was nigh impossible given the large crowd now inside the shop and the Knebworth-esque bottleneck by the single exit. Having been one of the last in I managed to be one of the first out, but as I looked behind me it appeared as if many of the mobsters were there for the duration. I followed instructions and left the area immediately, with just a 'goodbye' to a stranger (as requested in Rule 7), but I wonder how many people were still there long after the event was due to finish. And I wonder if Flash Mob ##2, planned for August 22nd, will manage to maintain the momentum of this first instant event, without becoming too popular, too crowded and too overground.
Friday, August 01, 2003
This month is local history month on diamond geezer. I shall be your tour guide round some of the famous locations within 5, then 10, then 15 minutes walk of my house. You can expect chemical poisoning, Votes For Women, organised crime, Murder She Wrote, poverty, Dickens, Shakespeare and Gandhi, amongst others. Some of it should even be interesting. And for those of you who don't live around here (which would be all of you) don't worry, because there'll be all the usual stuff this month as well.
See the whole of local history month on one page by clicking on the sign below...
Sunday, July 27, 2003
Cruel Summer
I went along to a fete in a local park yesterday. It rained, which was a shame. In fact to say that it rained would be an understatement because the organisers had clearly deliberately scheduled their event for the wettest Saturday afternoon of the entire summer. It started raining quite early in the proceedings, continued to chuck it down at various intensities as the afternoon wore on, and ended up with the sort of downpour that Noah must have faced on ark-launching night. The assembled public made the best of a bad lot, struggling to enjoy the festivities as if it were one of those fantastically sunny weekends that we enjoyed earlier in the year, but somehow the event wasn't quite the same standing under a tree in a plastic raincoat.
The fete had started off promisingly. A large crowd turned out, despite worries that nobody would come this year after they made a real mess of organising last year's event. A lot of people had turned up in fancy dress and there was also the chance to bump into a number of people from the local community that you hadn't met for ages. The police seemed to be in attendance not so much for reasons of crowd control but to hand out balloons and to encourage people to sign up to join the force. There was beer, there was music and there was undercooked greasy food at extortionate prices. The queues to buy beer were almost as long as the queues to get rid of it again (you know what I mean). When not drinking, people seemed to be spending most of their time taking photos of each other. Mobile phone companies need not worry that their investment in 3G networks has been in vain - it appeared yesterday that the British public are preparing to embrace picture messaging with a vengeance.
And then it rained. Just one droplet to start with, but the sky was leaden grey and there was much more fallout in store. At the first sight of rain out came the umbrellas that the more pessimistic amongst the crowd had brought with them. And, alas, up went those umbrellas amongst the crowd watching the musical entertainment, completely obliterating any view of the stage for those of us standing behind. The appearance of heavy drizzle also encouraged many in the park to sport that fashion disaster, the rain poncho. It may be lightweight and foldaway but covering yourself in a sheet of plastic is not the way to sartorial elegance, especially for those wearing fancy dress. A large proportion of the crowd took shelter in the few tents provided on site, which then became impossible to use for their intended purpose due to the huge numbers packed inside. The small stalls run by community organisations suddenly became unexpectedly popular, even if it was now all too clear which of them had forgotten to print their information boards using water-resistant ink. A number of people made a beeline for the shelter of one of the few trees on site, hoping that the rain would go away. It didn't, and as the leaves dripped it soon became just as wet under the trees as around them. And the rest of us, brolly-less, poncho-less, tent-less and tree-less, we just carried on wandering around the park in the rain, because it's only water isn't it?
And so the afternoon carried on into the evening, and so did the rain. It was wet, we were wet, but we remained of good cheer right up to the close of proceedings. A local dignitary ushered off the last musical act and wished us a safe journey home. Then, as we turned to make our way to the exits, the heavens suddenly opened. It was as if Niagara Falls had relocated immediately above us. There was no escape, no shelter, and we were all drowned within a minute. The nearest tube station now seemed a very long way away, and so it proved. There were streams of rainwater flowing out of the park gates by the time we got there, and it looked at one point as if my waterlogged mobile phone would never work again. I headed home sitting on the underground train like a drowned rat. The rain had cleared by the time I got there, of course, but any thoughts of heading on elsewhere to continue the night out had evaporated. Don't you just love the British summer?
Saturday, July 19, 2003
Giraffes: Coming home from town late yesterday evening on the bus, I was more than surprised to see six giant illuminated red giraffes standing on a bridge over the Mile End Road. I perhaps shouldn't have been quite so amazed. This was after all the legendary Green Bridge that carries Mile End Park over the busy A11, complete with grass and trees. And we are currently in the middle of the Greenwich and Docklands Festival, an annual outdoor performance-arts-fest with an international flavour.
So I got off my bus and followed the giant giraffes on their night-time puppet procession through the park, complete with music, pyrotechnics and a supporting ensemble of French redcoats. Huge crowds of gobsmacked locals followed the performers as they processed to the dramatic finale at the top the park near the Palm Tree pub. The fishnetted heroine reached an operatic climax while a mad red-wigged ringmaster climbed a lamppost and the redcoats fed the grazing giraffes from bowls of dry ice. It was surreal - half-inspired and half-insane. They frittered away my council tax on this international arty nonsense, you realise? And I'm delighted that they did.
Tuesday, July 15, 2003
Light at the end of the tunnel
At long last, after years of stalled planning below the streets of London, things are on the move Underground. Two long-long-awaited new projects have finally been given the go-ahead in the last week, after many years of nobody quite deciding to do anything about either of them. Both Crossrail and the East London Line extension should make a real difference to transport in the capital, eventually at least. And, as of midnight this morning, the tube network is now under the control of Ken Livingstone and his new management team. There'll be no visible changes overnight, but there's now the real promise of changes to come. Transport for London have just issued a new 27-page document outlining their plans for all 12 Underground lines, and dates for the upgrade of all 275 Underground stations. I'm delighted to see that my local station is due to be one of the first to be improved, but even that's two years off and might turn out to be nothing more than a new coat of paint. Fingers crossed.
Crossrail: There have been plans for a fast East-West rail link across London since 1989, but prohibitive tunnelling costs have always kept those plans on the drawing board, until yesterday. A fast-track service between Paddington and Liverpool Street is promised, extending outwards to link suburban routes to the west and east of the capital. Canary Wharf to Heathrow on one train is a definite winner, even if Romford to Richmond or Dartford to Aylesbury are rather more unlikely journeys. You can see the proposed routes here, here or maybe here. There's a much more detailed map of the central section here, which suggests that Crossrail will go nearly past my house just before it enters its new tunnel under London. But it's not all good news. The nearest station to me will be at least a mile away for a start, plus Crossrail may not even be finished by 2012 in time for a potential East London Olympics. And the rebuilding of Tottenham Court Road station will mean the closure of London's Astoria nightclub, home to... OK, so it's not all bad either then.
East LondonLine Extension: The East London Line is the runt of the Underground system, a mere 5 miles, 9 stations and 7½ minutes long. It links Shoreditch to Southwark through the historic Thames Tunnel, completed in 1843 and the first tunnel ever to be built under a navigable river. This engineering miracle marked the the beginning of Isambard Kingdom Brunel's construction career and is now to be the centrepiece of London's first 21st century tube line. To the south the line will continue to Clapham and Croydon, down into a swathe of London previously untouched by the Underground. To the north the line crosses old disused viaducts through Hackney to Highbury, bringing trains to trendy Hoxton for the first time since Broad Street station closed back in 1986. Extension plans here have been delayed because of objections to bulldozing the new line through the Bishopsgate Goodsyard, another example of early Victorian railway history, objections overturned only last week. The extended line may just be in operation by 200678, but the two stations at Wapping and Rotherhithe could then be forced to close because they'd cost too much to upgrade ready for the proposed increase in traffic. London's first semi-orbital tube line should finally become a reality by the end of the decade but, if you live beside the river, don't hold your breath.
Saturday, July 12, 2003
Something for the weekend?
It's a fantastic sunny summer weekend here in London, the sort of weekend that come November it'll be all too easy to forget could ever have existed. And there are so many things to do in London this weekend, as ever...
Musical things: The Human League were playing in Hackney last night. Missed them. Shania Twain is performing in Hyde Park today. Definitely missing her. (If there were any justice in the world surely those two artists would be the other way round?). Goldfrapp are playing in the courtyard of Somerset House tomorrow which sounds rather more appropriate, but they're sold out. (Shania sold out years ago, of course).
Theatrical things: Tonight's the last chance to see the revival of Abigail's Party at the Whitehall Theatre. Damn, too late. I'm still determined to see Jerry Springer the Opera at the National Theatre before it transfers to the West End, but not without someone to go with.
Arty things: There's the impressive Art Deco exhibition at the V&A, except that it'll be packed on a Saturday and everyone else seems to have gone already. Then there's the Bridget Riley retrospective at the Tate Britain, except that I'm waiting until I can take my Dad to that.
Big screen things: London has more cinemas than anywhere else in the country, except that all the new films out this week are worsethanawful, so having a large number of cinemas doesn't actually help.
Event things: Canary Wharf is hosting an international programme of outdoor dance this afternoon, but that may be just a bit too arty for my tastes, even the choreographed skateboarders. BW really rated the Hampton Court Flower Show, but I only have two geraniums in need of inspiration at the moment.
Outdoor things: London has more than its fair share of open spaces, all no doubt filled this weekend by lazing tanning bodies, which really isn't me. All the tables outside pubs will already have been hijacked by extended familes nibbling and picknicking, which is just unpleasant. The river looks always fantastic in this weather, even the really ugly bits, but I've walked most of that before. London's just dripping with fascinating places to walk, to visit and to be, but they're all dripping hot at the moment.
So, what have I actually planned to do this weekend? Well, none of the above, alas. And no alternatives yet either. Any other suggestions?
Thursday, July 10, 2003
Tubeway Army(no 1 - May 1979)
Thanks for all your help with yesterday's challenge. I'm therefore pleased to present our list of the top ten UK hit single artists to contain the name of a London Underground station. Only one entry per station, and the highest-charting song gets the place (which may be why your suggestion isn't here, sorry).
1) John Leyton - Johnny Remember Me (no 1 - Aug 1961) 2)All Saints - Never Ever (no 1 - Nov 1997) 3) Detroit Spinners - Working My Way Back To You (no 1 - Apr 1980) 4) True Steppers & Dane Bowers featuring Victoria Beckham - Out Of Your Mind (no 2 - Aug 2000) 5)Grange Hill Cast - Just Say No (no 5 - Apr 1986) 6)Hi-Gate - Pitchin' (In Every Direction) (no 6 - Jan 2000) 7) Jon & Vangelis - I Hear You Now (no 8 - Jan 1980) 8)Arsenal FC - Hot Stuff (no 9 - May 1998) 9) Radha Krishna Temple - Hare Krishna Mantra (no 12 - Sep 1969) 10)West Ham United Cup Squad - I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles (no 31 - May 1975)
Honorary mentions: Northern Line - Love On The Northern Line (no 15 - Mar 2000) Central Line - Nature Boy (no 21 - Jan 1983)
Meanwhile, here's our updated version of the top ten tube single titles. Much happier with this:
1) There Must Be An Angel (Playing With My Heart) - Eurythmics (no 1 - July 1985) 2)Waterloo - Abba (no 1 - April 1974) 3)Baker Street - Undercover (no 2 - August 1992) 4)Temple of Love - Sisters of Mercy (no 3 - May 1992) 5) The Only Living Boy In New Cross - Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine (no 7 - April 1992) 6)Finchley Central - New Vaudeville Band (no 11 - May 1967) 7)Bankrobber - The Clash (number 12 - August 1980) 8)Camden Town - Suggs (no 15 - October 1995) 9) Good Old Arsenal - Arsenal FC First Team Squad (no 16 - May 1971) 10) White Man (In Hammersmith Palais) - The Clash (no 32 - June 1978)
Unless of course you know better...
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
Sound of the Underground(no 1 - December 2002)
London's Metro newspaper (if you don't live here, this tells you all you need to know) has published a list of the top ten UK hit singles to contain the name of a London Underground station. Only one entry per station, song titles only, and the highest-charting song gets the place. Here's their list.
1)Angel - Shaggy (no 1 - June 2001) 2)Waterloo - Abba (no 1 - April 1974) 3)Baker Street - Undercover (no 2 - August 1992) 4) The Only Living Boy In New Cross - Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine (no 7 - April 1992) 5)Finchley Central - New Vaudeville Band (no 11 - May 1967) 6)Camden Town - Suggs (no 15 - October 1995) 7) Good Old Arsenal - Arsenal FC First Team Squad (no 16 - May 1971) 8)Piccadilly Palare - Morrissey (no 18 - October 1990) 9) White Man (In Hammersmith Palais) - The Clash (no 32 - June 1978) 10)Victoria - The Kinks (no 33 - January 1970)
Now, I'm not 100% happy with this list. Not just because the number 1 is rubbish, but because I think the list is incorrect. Number 8 has got to go because the real station is called Piccadilly Circus, not just Piccadilly, and I'm sure they've missed a number of other stations out. With your help I'd like to try to update the list and publish a correct one. If you have any suggestions, please stick them in the comments box and I'll make the appropriate changes later. You might find this website invaluable.
Plus it would be good to try to compile another top 10 where the tube station is in the name of the artist, not the song. Any ideas? I'll kick that list off with Just Say No by the Grange Hill Cast (no 5 - April 1986). Over to you...
Sunday, July 06, 2003
Know your neighbours
It's been two years since the last national census, but they've only just got round to releasing detailed statistics for all the electoral wards in England and Wales. It's fascinating to be able to compare the area where you live with the rest of your local authority and with the rest of the country. As a resident of a Suffolk village at the time the census was carried out, it's also illuminating to be able to compare rural life up there to my new urban life down here in Bow.
• Where I live now, the average flat costs just over £200,000. Where I used to live in Suffolk, the average flat costs just under £50,000. That explains where all my money's going then.
• In three months time I shall be older than the average age for people in England and Wales. Bugger. Here in Tower Hamlets I'm older than the average by 7 years already, but if I'd stayed where I was in Suffolk I'd still have 6 years to go.
• In the ward where I used to live, which covered 12 square miles, there were only 50 non-white people. Now, in an area of 1 square mile, there are fifty times as many.
• 58% of us Bow residents survive with no car, whereas nationally it's only 27%, and in the public transport black hole where I used to live it's only 11%.
• Nationally 72% of people identify themselves as Christian (it's less than 40% in Tower Hamlets), while 15% of the population of England and Wales have no religion, not even Jedi.
• The most atypical ward in England and Wales is Holywell in central Oxford, which has the lowest average age (23), the fewest under 5s (½%), the fewest retired people (½%), the fewest home owners (8%), the highest qualified residents (98½%) and, aha, the most economically inactive students (86%). Yup, I remember it being like that when I lived there.
Of course, you don't care about where I live, because you don't live here. You'll want to type in your own postcode instead. Go on then.
Today sees the end of my month-long Capital Numbers project, an attempt to list as many interesting number-based London-related facts as I possibly could. I was intending only to go from 1 to 30 but, as you can see, I got rather carried away and went up to 33 instead (mainly because there were still some really good facts around that I hadn't used yet). It's been frustrating trying to find something interesting for every number, sometimes desperately so. Thanks for your help if you contributed any of the facts that I used. It's been intriguing to discover how much more interesting some numbers are than others (17 is far more interesting than 18, for example, and 25 beats 24 by miles too). It's also been pretty challenging to link all these facts to other London-based websites, just to make the list hyper-dimensionally interesting, so I hope you've managed to click on a lot of those as well.
I've decided that all this effort throughout the month deserves to be commemorated in some way, so I've assembled all the facts onto their very own Capital Numbers website. You can click here (or on any of the other links in this post) to find your way in. There's also a new link at the top of my sidebar to the right. As a bonus for website readers I've gone a bit further than 33 on one of the pages, just to use up a few more ideas that wouldn't fit on this page, and I've finally managed to find another vaguely interesting fact about the nigh-impossible number 18 too. I hope you enjoy all of it. And I shall look forward to having a rest in July, from all the numbers at least.
Yes, there really is a direct connection between Big Brother and raw sewage. It's just probably not the connection you're thinking of...
You'll remember that a few weeks ago I wandered down to the site of the old Big Brother house in Bow. Just a few hundred yards away from that site lies a startling Victorian building, shaped like a cross, topped by an ornate dome. Is it just an extravagant folly, or is there a reason that someone appears to have built a cathedral in the middle of an industrial wasteland? For the answer to that question you have to go back to the 1850s. A cholera epidemic swept London in 1853, spread by the appalling sanitary conditions in the capital. Cesspits emptied into streams that fed straight into the Thames and often overflowed into the streets. Diseases from insanitary drinking water killed thousands each year. Then in 1858 came the 'Great Stink', when the combination of an unusually warm summer and an unbelievably polluted Thames made living conditions in the capital almost unbearable. A solution to this foul-smelling solution was required, and urgently.
The man who cleaned up London was called Joseph Bazalgette. He was the Chief Engineer of the Metropolitan Board of Works, and his solution to London's sewage problems was nothing short of revolutionary. He ordered the building of 85 miles of new sewers to intercept the many smaller sewers that ran into the Thames, redirecting the effluent to East London where it was discharged into the Thames and flowed out to sea. (map here) North London's waste was conveyed to Abbey Mills Pumping Station in Stratford, the magnificent building in the photograph above, completed in 1868. From here the Northern Outfall Sewer continued eastwards to a huge treatment works at Beckton. That huge sewer still exists and still carries North London's effluent to the sea. The embankment covering the sewer is now the 'Greenway' - a footpath and cycle route at roof-top height through east London - although perhaps the name 'Brownway' would be more appropriate.
There are now two pumping stations at Abbey Mills, pictured here from the site of the old Big Brother House. The old pumping station (just peeking out to the left) raised sewage between two levels of the Northern Outfall Sewer, and originally housed eight coal-fired beam engines. Nowadays its pumps are on stand-by to supplement the newest ones in the building on the right, its modern replacement. However, there's a more direct connection between Big Brother and Abbey Mills than merely location. The gothic Victorian pumping station at Abbey Mills was designed by Joseph Bazalgette, great-grandfather of Peter Bazalgette, the creative director of Endemol productions who produce Big Brother. Peter is the godfather of reality TV in the UK, and also the brains behind such shows as Changing Rooms, Ground Force, and Ready Steady Cook. And his family's history lies in sewage. So remember, next time someone tells you that Big Brother is basically a load of shit, they may just be correct... (Click on each picture to see it full size)
"This is my city. This is our city. When I hang up my bag on the Met Line. When I hang from the pole of a Routemaster. When I skip through the tunnels at King’s Cross. When I run for front seat on the Docklands Light Railway. When the chimneys of Battersea loom into view. When I spot Canary Wharf from a precious new place. When I walk the warm streets of Brixton. When I run round the clock tower at Golders Green. When I wake up, half-drunk, at High Barnet. When I wake up, still dreaming, at Morden. When I find a new postcode with which I fall in love. When I find a short-cut never spotted before. When my breath catches me, suddenly, as it did that first time, and all the others, when crossing Westminster Bridge." [Introduction to Smoke#1, by Jude Rogers]
Smoke is a new fanzine about London. I read about it in the latest edition of Word magazine. Smoke is all about living in the capital, then and now. It's a sort of literary/historical appreciation. It's strap-line is "London peculiar". There's a seriously tempting sample of the contents here. I want a copy, and I want it now. Available here. Can't wait.
Saturday, June 14, 2003
Sun beats down, London sweats.
Pasty white flesh, sprawled on grass.
Burnt scarlet, fevered, flushed.
Too-tight t-shirts, too short shorts.
Fat thighs, sandals, toenails on parade.
Dehydrated, flaking, Saturday roast.
Tanned hide, ageing flesh, mellow-noma.
Reeking sweat, perspire-nation.
Apologies, once again.
Bit more realistic this time though.
Friday, June 13, 2003
Sun beats down, London lights up.
Sea of bodies, ocean of heat.
Sun-blessed, barely dressed.
Short sleeves, no sleeves, tanned sleeves.
Blue days, rays blaze.
Deckchairs, grass stains, extended lunch, park life.
Pavement pints, high spirits, shorts.
Sunglasses on sun-baked sun worshippers.
Buildings gleam, ice cream, lie back and dream.
Summer's smile.
Apologies, again.
I just want to be able to look back, read this and remember in six months time.
Wednesday, June 11, 2003
Bow Road
My local Underground station is 101 years old today. Sorry, I know I'm a year late for the centenary, but I wasn't blogging this time last year. So, please forgive me while I have a quick rant about my local station. I know that this will be of no interest whatsoever unless Bow Road is your local station too, which it undoubtedly isn't, but I just want to get all this out of my system. You might want to skip past this entire irrelevant outpouring, or even just come back tomorrow instead. I know I talk about the Underground far too much anyway, no doubt because I use it every day, but just humour me on this occasion. I promise to moan about the station just this once, and then shut up about it all.
Bow Road is an Underground station, but only partly an underground station. That's because Bow Road is the station where eastbound District line trains finally emerge from their tunnel under East London and head off towards Barking and Upminster at surface level. Half the station is underground, and therefore has crap mobile phone reception. The other half of the station is open to the elements, and therefore gets wet when it rains. Pigeons appear to be happy to crap on either half.
Bow Road is a station on both the District and Hammersmith and City lines. You might think this was obvious from looking on a tube map, but it appears that nobody has yet bothered to tell anyone who works at the station. Once upon a time Bow Road used to be a station on the Metropolitan line, until this part of the line was reassigned to the new Hammersmith and City line back in 1990. That was thirteen years ago, but nobody has yet managed to update any of the signs here. The big nameplate outside the front of the station still proudly displays that Bow Road is a station on the "District and Metropolitan lines". The train indicator on the platform still lights up to announce to passengers that the next train is a "Metropolitan line train via Kings Cross". Wrong. Anyone who wanders into the station expecting to catch a Metropolitan line train is in for a very long wait.
Bow Road is a station on the Hammersmith and City line. Everyone in London thinks they live near the tube line with the worst service in the capital. Everyone else is wrong. The Hammersmith and City line has the worst service in the capital. The trains are infrequent and irregular. On the rare occasions that you might actually want to catch one, you can find yourself waiting around through fifteen minutes of endless District line trains until a Hammersmith and City finally decides to turn up. The trains are shorter than District line trains so you then find yourself having to run down the platform in order to dive headlong into the last carriage before the doors shut. However, should you be waiting to catch a District line train, you can of course guarantee that a half-empty Hammersmith and City line train will rumble into the station instead, open its doors apologetically at the platform and then rumble off into oblivion, ready to stall itself at the signals just outside Aldgate East for ten minutes while everyone in the carriage sighs, shrugs and overheats. Line from hell. Never, ever, rely on it.
Bow Road is a station round the bend. Mind the gap. You have to step carefully on and off the trains to make sure you don't slip and fall through on top of the rats scurrying around on the tracks below. Mind the gap please. More annoying is the impossibility of reading the 'next train' indicator from the far end of the platform. Please mind the gap. Not only is the next destination obscured by the bend and by a huge pillar but, in a way reminiscent of far too many other tube stations, the view is now also completely blocked by the CCTV cameras they've installed - right in front of the 'next train' indicator. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform. Please mind the gap between the ears of the station planners, more like.
Bow Road is a station with thousands of passengers every day. I know this for a fact, because every day they all seem to stand in my way and block the entrance to the ticket gates. Some of them insist on queueing up to buy tickets from the temperamental ticket machines in the entrance hall, a queue which invariably spreads out to block the two foot gap through which everyone everyone else is trying to walk. Other passengers don't bother to buy a ticket at all and instead walk brazenly up to the special gate for those with oversized luggage, open it and saunter through to the buzzing sound of the electronic alarm. Meanwhile the ticket inspector sits disinterestedly in her little booth and continues to read her newspaper, ignoring the gate even when someone with oversize luggage really is trying to get through. Could this explain why London Underground don't collect enough money from fares to invest in our stations?
Bow Road is an interchange station with the Docklands Light Railway. At least that's how it looks on the tube map. In real life, however, Bow Church DLR station is at least a three minute walk up the road, and not particularly well signposted either. You wouldn't want to change trains here carrying a suitcase (although people do, and they generally get their cases stuck in the ticket gates right in front of me too). I seem to end up at least once a week directing lost travellers from one station to the other before they stumble off lost into the back streets of Bow and are never heard from again. Tempting to send them off in the wrong direction I know, but the pavements are crowded enough round here as it is.
Bow Road is 101 years old. And blimey it looks it. The whole place could do with a lick of paint, and not that ghastly combination of green and yellow they still have down on the pillars at platform level. The station could also do with one of those nice 'how many minutes is it until the next three trains' indicators like they have at the next couple of stations down the line. Not that they're very accurate, of course, but they're better than a piece of smashed glass which lights up merely to tell you there might be a train going somewhere arriving sometime. In fact I doubt that London Underground have spent a penny on this station for years. I hear we're nearly next on the list for renovation, but they've been saying that for years and nothing's happened yet. As a result I suspect the station will continue to be the endearing dump it is today for a number of years to come. However, I've promised not to blog on and on about it again, so you may never find out unless you come visiting.
Rant over. Happy anniversary. Thank you for listening.
Sunday, June 08, 2003
The other BB House - exclusive picture
A couple of weeks ago I reported from the site of the old Big Brother House in Bow. Gone, but not quite forgotten. This weekend I wandered down to the site of the other BB House in Bow - the Big Breakfast House. Forgotten, but not quite gone.
The Big Breakfast was broadcast for nearly ten years direct from Lock Keepers Cottages, Old Ford Lock, London, E3 2NN. The Big Breakfast House nestles beside the River Lea in a quiet and peaceful backwater of East London, pretty much hidden from public view, just a short walk up the towpath from the Bow Flyover. The house used to have millions of viewers. Now its audience consists of occasional joggers, the odd dog-walker and a few disinterested ducks.
In its heyday, the Big Breakfast House was home to some of the most innovative programming ever seen on British television. It was on September 28th 1992 that Chris Evans launched himself and Gaby Roslin onto an totally-unsuspecting world, along with Zig and Zag, Paula Yates on the bed and a fledgling Mark Lamarr out on the road. When Chris went on to bigger and better things, the show faltered a little - Mark Little to be precise. It wasn't until the arrival of Johnny Vaughan and Denise Van Outen that the show really took off again, followed by sparkling chemistry between Johnny and Lisa Tarbuck. The show started haemorrhaging viewers soon after they left, until Richard Bacon led the final conga out of the house on March 29th 2002.
It's now over a year since the Big Breakfast finished, and the house looks pretty much finished as well. The programme's makers were hoping to sell the house off for £1 million or so, but an arson attack last Autumn put paid to their plans. Twenty firefighters battled for almost two hours to control the blaze, and foul play is suspected. The house now sits locked behind an 8 foot wire fence, with blue sheeting covering a gaping hole in the roof. It's still possible to see see some of the props, scenery and staging lying around in the garden, but most of the windows are boarded up and the sunrise-painted wall in the back garden has been daubed with graffiti. However, I was surprised to see that the lawn had been freshly cut, and it turns out that the house is now inhabited again. A family with young children have moved in and are living in part of the house while the rest is renovated. It's good to know that a piece of broadcasting history is being restored, but the glory days of the Big Breakfast House are long gone.
For more on the Big Breakfast, check out the brilliantly-named a load of bow locks, or the vital statistics at brekkie.com.
Think of the East End of London and no doubt you think of pearly kings and queens, rhyming slang, jellied eels, the Blitz, slums, smog, bare-knuckle fighting, crime, murder, death... ah, it's not a place with the best associations, is it? Especially if you're a potential American tourist. It appears that visitors to London are foregoing the delights of the East End and are instead spending all their time (and money) in the fashionable West End instead. No doubt they're tempted by the best selection of theatre and entertainment in the world, historic landmarks, culture, shopping, the Royal Family and... well, it's fairly obvious why they're ignoring the East End really.
Enter Mary Tebje, a consultant for the new tourist body TourEast. She, along with fourunderwhelmedLondonboroughs, have decided to try whip up international interest in the East End by rebranding it under a new name. Welcome to the Eastside. Mary hopes that local residents will embrace the new name. In fact, what she actually said was "We want to promote a sustainable tourism economy for East London", which sounds rather more like a publically-accountable marketing buzzphrase to me. Her Eastside brand is designed specifically to appeal to American tourists, on the basis that it's a word they already know. The danger here is that Americans might book flights to Eastside New York by mistake, and probably have a much more exciting time as a result.
Having said all that, Eastside London has a lot going for it. Tower Hamlets is home to Docklands and Canary Wharf, as well as the Tower of London (which just sneaks into the borough outside the old City wall). Newham has the ExCel exhibition centre in the Royal Docks, as well as Green Street with its international reputation for quality Asian goods. Greenwich is, well, Greenwich, which as a world heritage site is literally dripping with history. And Lewisham has... well, no, actually you've stumped me there. The 'best' attraction in Lewisham that Mary's managed to come up with is the shopping centre and its award-winning Shopmobility scheme. I've been and, believe me, nothing else about that shopping centre is award-winning.
And there's the one big problem with the Eastside brand - much of East London just isn't up to the expectations of the international tourist. Deptford as a 'core tourist area'? I don't think so. Visitors flocking to the 'Stratford Cultural Quarter'? I think not, not for the next nine years anyway. Hordes of Americans on the streets of Plaistow? Only if they're extremely lost.
East London is a great place to live, and there are some absolute tourist gems here (try pointing your mouse at these ten links, for example ••••••••••), but I hope Mary's rebranding fails. I'd rather be an EastEnder than an Eastsider any day.
Sunday, May 25, 2003
The Big Brother House - exclusive pictures
Here they are, exclusive photographs taken this weekend from inside the Big Brother house.
(Click on each picture to see it full size)
This first picture shows the view from the Big Brother lounge, looking out over the Big Brother garden towards the entrance to the Big Brother compound. The Big Brother housemates entered here to face nine weeks of confinement, watched by countless TV cameras and the viewing public across the nation. Intrigue, drama, boredom, seething sexual tension, chickens - this patch of land has seen them all. In fact, this is one of the most heavily watched locations in the entire country. Just not this year...
As you may have guessed, this is the site of the first Big Brother house, used in series 1 and 2. This field is in Bow, East London, just 15 minutes walk from my house. Channel 4 built the first Big Brother House here right next to Three Mills film studios, the nerve centre for the first two series. However, Channel 4 weren't sure that the show would be a hit and only had planning permission for two years, after which Newham Council insisted that the house be pulled down and the site returned to a natural habitat. This has since happened and, as you can see, you'd never guess now from this green patch of wasteland that TV history had ever taken place here. Marjorie the chicken is long gone.
This picture shows the Big Brother lounge. It feels very strange to stand here now, surrounded by grass and gasworks, and to think back to everything that happened right here on this unassuming site. Nominations, evictions, weekly tasks and numerous secrets spilled in the diary room. Nasty Nick unmasked as a a liar and a cheat at the infamous kangaroo court round the dining table. Nichola and Craig's nude body-painting. Celebrity Jack's bid to escape through the fence. Dean's world record-breaking tower of sugar cubes. Helen falling for Paul and Paul falling for Helen. Brian's gasp at an unexpected victory. And not a blue plaque in sight.
This is the view today out of the old Big Brother compound, through the gate, over the bridge and off towards the Big Brother studios. The outside world was never very far away from the original Big Brother House, so the production team were always on the lookout for people standing on the other side of the fence, shouting out things that the contestants were never meant to hear. The new house built thirty miles away on a film lot in Elstree doesn't suffer from a public footpath along its southern border, which must help security no end. There's no security at all on the site in Bow now, just an unlocked gate into a deserted field.
Finally here's the legendary Big Brother bridge, leading across a particularly ugly concrete-banked water channel, part of the Bow Back Rivers. Davina would have crossed here twice on eviction night, once to collect the evicted housemate and then back again, running the gauntlet of the tabloid press and a baying crowd. Unfortunately I moved into the local area just a few weeks too late to attend any of the Big Brother evictions held down by the bridge. By the time I was setting up my home they were pulling down this one. However, two years later on it's fascinating to be able to walk down to the place where it all happened and to picture the ghosts of Big Brother still haunting a forgotten field. It's also a salutary lesson to this year's housemates. Enjoy your fleeting fame in the headlines while you can - you'll soon be completely forgotten too.
Saturday, May 17, 2003
The local Olympics
So, at last, the Government is backing a bid for the 2012Olympics to come to London. To be specific, East London. To be more specific, Stratford. To be even more specific, within walking distance of my house (OK, I know that last weekend we established that 'walking distance from my house' could be as far away as St Paul's Cathedral, but in this case I mean less than half an hour away). This is all rather exciting. Normally the Olympics are held somewhere glamorous, like Athens or Sydney or Barcelona. In 2012 they may be held at the end of my road. I just hope they manage to clean the area up in time.
Now, you might think that the Olympics were about sport, but you'd be wrong. The sport bit only lasts for a fortnight. The world's finest athletes descend like a swarm of medal-devouring locusts for two weeks, compete in loads of sports you've never heard of and would never normally watch, and then bugger off straight away afterwards to prepare for 2016.
No, the Olympics are about kudos. Countries battle to host the Olympics so that they can turn smugly to the rest of the world and say "See, we told you we were important." In the last 25 years the United States has hosted the Olympics twice (in fact, four times if you include the winter games). The USA is clearly a very important country - either that or they've been particularly good at bribing the International Olympic Committee recently. The UK, by contrast, hasn't hosted the Olympics since since 1948, and that was only as a hastily-put-together post-war compromise location. 2012 would be the first time London has ever won on its own merits, and not just because nobody else was interested.
But, most importantly, the Olympics are about legacy. It's not so much about how you get there as what you leave behind. Barcelona used its Games in 1992 to implement a wide-ranging urban renewal plan, transforming a decaying industrial city into a sought-after tourist destination. Sydney's Games in 2000 were a world showcase, boosting Australia's economic and cultural confidence (and Kylie's record sales). London hopes to benefit in all these ways and more. Some importanttransportlinks that have been stalled on the drawing board for years may finally get built. Some of the UK's most deprived boroughs would at last be regenerated by substantial financial investment. The redevelopment of run-down East London could mean the creation of an impressive 16000 new jobs and 7000 new homes. And most of those new homes would be on the site of the Olympic Village, which it's proposed would be built just five minutes walk from my house. It'd be strange having world class athletes as neighbours, although quite frankly we have a big enough drug problem round here as it is.
There's still two years to wait before a final decision is made, and then a huge bill to pay if that decision is yes, but I hope London's bid is successful. I can put up with two weeks of mixing with weightlifters and synchronised swimmers if that means that afterwards I finally get to live in the world class neighbourhood of a world class city.
Sunday, May 11, 2003
My London walk 01:00
Twice in the last week I've found myself in the City of London after the tube had shut down, trying to make my way home. No problem, usually. London has an impressive network of nightbuses, including one that stops outside my house every 10 minutes. Absolutely perfect, usually. However, on busy nights this particular bus has a nasty habit of becoming jam-packed full of drunken revellers by the time it leaves the West End. Should you attempt to catch the nightbus any further east than Oxford Street the driver just sails straight past your stop, leaving you stranded. You can wait for the next nightbus, of course, but that's probably a non-stopping sardine tin too. So, last night I found myself stranded in the City of London for the second time in a week, thwarted in my attempts to catch a nightbus home, faced by a three mile walk home. (I don't do taxis, remember?). So, I followed the route of the District Line home, above ground. It only took an hour, which surprised me. And the walk went something like this:
Bank/Monument: The City of London may be the hub of the world's financial markets but, outside business hours, the place is dead. This is especially true in the early hours at the weekend, with just a few lost souls walking the streets and some bored policemen keeping an eye on them. The 41-storey Gherkin hangs ignored in the sky, illuminating the empty streets. I walked past the occasional posh bar with chauffeured cars waiting outside to pick up young Debs and her pals, but everywhere else appeared mothballed waiting for life to restart at 8am on Monday morning. Just 3 miles to go...
Aldgate: Aldgate marks the easternmost part of the City, the edge of the historic centre of London. During the Plague in 1665 a 'Great Pit' was dug here to bury the bodies of London's dead. The place hasn't improved much since. Nowadays Aldgate is just a giant roundabout, with the tube station and a few other buildings hemmed in the middle. Pedestrians are forced to use the subways, which is very annoying when there's virtually no traffic on the roads above. One subway contains motion sensors, triggering a series of recorded directions to the local shopping centre as you walk through. It's most unnerving as a disembodied voice shatters the silence, and quite pointless at 1am too.
Aldgate East: It's only a short walk from Aldgate to Aldgate East at the start of the Whitechapel Road. This has been the main road east out of London since Roman times, heading out to an ancient ford over the River Lea and onwards to Colchester. The best nightlife round here has to be the legendary BeigelBake just up Brick Lane, home to the very best early-hour cuisine that 50p can buy. Nearby some early traders were already setting up their stalls for PetticoatLane market - it was already the start of the working day for some.
Whitechapel: Whitechapel lies at the very heart of the East End. It's no longer appropriately-named because most people here aren't white and there aren't many chapels left (although there is the highly impressive East LondonMosque). Back in 1888 very few people would have been brave enough to walk the streets of Whitechapel after dark, for this was the site of the infamous Jack the Ripper murders, and 75 years later the notorious Kray Brothers would have scared everyone indoors instead. Today the local population seem somewhat braver, with many staying out late especially to sample the local delicacy - dodgy fried chicken and greasy chips.
Stepney Green: 900 years ago Stepney was one of the first villages that grew up outside London. Parts of Stepney still retain a village-like period charm, particularly those around the oasis of St Dunstan's Church. Unfortunately I was walking home along the Mile End Road, which is the arse end of Stepney. It's no surprise that William Booth founded the Salvation Army round here in the 19th century. I walked hurriedly past numerous minicab offices, each of which offered a dodgy-looking shortcut home that would either shorten my journey or my life.
Mile End: Mile End is so named because it lies exactly one mile from Aldgate. However, the village of Mile End grew up long and thin alongside the road to Essex, so Mile End station actually lies nearer two miles from the City. It's a colourful area. Here you'll find the Green Bridge, a Millennium-funded project which is actually a yellowbridge carrying Mile End Park over the main road. After dark you'll also spot the recently-relaunched Purple nightclub fully illuminated in what can only be described as a hideous shade of pink, along with a lot of white speckled with orange on the pavements outside.
Bow Road: At last, I was on the final stretch of my long walk home. Bow was originally a small village that grew up alongside the first bridge over the River Lea. Queen Matilda (yes, honestly, check your history books) ordered the bridge to be built in the 12th century after nearly drowning in the river while trying to cross to her favourite hunting grounds. That ancient bridge has since been replaced by the hideous concrete Bow flyover, but last night it was a welcome sight for me. It had been an interesting and sobering walk home, and a reminder of how compact much of London really is. Next time though, I hope there's space on the nightbus with all the drunks and nutters.
1) Invite your American tourist to London on a wet windy day in May, trying in vain to convince them that the weather's not always this bad and that they only narrowly missed a forty-day drought.
2) Visit St Paul's Cathedral, having explained how stunning the ceiling is, only to discover that the entire central part of the building inside is encased in scaffolding for long-term renovation work.
3) Visit the crypt of St Paul's Cathedral, having explained how many famous people are buried there, only to discover that none of them are actually famous to an American.
4) Visit the Whispering Gallery 259 steps up inside St Paul's Cathedral, having explained how a whisper on one side of the gallery can be heard 100 feet away on the other side, only to discover that the excessive scaffolding means this phenomenon doesn't work at the moment.
5) Visit the Golden Gallery 530 steps up outside St Paul's Cathedral, having explained how fantastic the view will be from above the dome, only to discover that its pissing down with rain outside and that most of the view is obscured by thick grey rainclouds.
6) Descend down numerous staircases behind snail-paced tourists back to the floor of St Paul's Cathedral, only to discover that the sun has now come out and the view from up top would have been tons better fifteen minutes later.
7) Go for an open-topped sightseeing bus tour of London, sitting in rain-splattered seats, listening to a limp commentary that merely repeats all the historical facts you could have told them anyway, gently developing hypothermia in the drizzly breeze.
8) Go for a boat trip down the Thames from the Tower to Westminster, trying to explain that half of the commentary is an example of something called the 'British sense of humour' and therefore isn't actually true.
9) Go for tea at the top of the Tate Modern, where the chips are bloody good but then they really ought to be for £2.75, with a perfect view across the river of happy tourists out round the Golden Gallery of St Paul's Cathedral enjoying the bright sunshine you missed earlier on.
10) Walk across the Millennium Bridge in driving rain, explaining that this bridge was originally closed for being too wobbly whereas now it merely feels as if it should be closed for being too damp and windswept.
NDIf you've ever been to Somerset House before (and I have) you'll know that the centre of the courtyard contains 55 water jets which spring from the flagstones. On a hot summer's day it's a damp four year-old's paradise. It's also a lot of fun for a bunch of over 100 twenty-and thirty-somethings armed with umbrellas. At 6:25pm the mobsters from each of the four Aldwych pubs arrived right on time and strode into the middle of the fountains, brollies raised. Just as happened at the last flash mob, everyone suddenly looked at each other as if to say "Are we really doing this? Excellent!" And then we started acting like damp four year-olds.
Heatwatch
This month is local history month on diamond geezer. I shall be your tour guide round some of the famous locations within 5, then 10, then 15 minutes walk of my house. You can expect chemical poisoning, Votes For Women, organised crime, Murder She Wrote, poverty, Dickens, Shakespeare and Gandhi, amongst others. Some of it should even be interesting. And for those of you who don't live around here (which would be all of you) don't worry, because there'll be all the usual stuff this month as well.
And then it rained. Just one droplet to start with, but the sky was leaden grey and there was much more fallout in store. At the first sight of rain out came the umbrellas that the more pessimistic amongst the crowd had brought with them. And, alas, up went those umbrellas amongst the crowd watching the musical entertainment, completely obliterating any view of the stage for those of us standing behind. The appearance of heavy drizzle also encouraged many in the park to sport that fashion disaster, the rain poncho. It may be lightweight and foldaway but covering yourself in a sheet of plastic is not the way to sartorial elegance, especially for those wearing fancy dress. A large proportion of the crowd took shelter in the few tents provided on site, which then became impossible to use for their intended purpose due to the huge numbers packed inside. The small stalls run by community organisations suddenly became unexpectedly popular, even if it was now all too clear which of them had forgotten to print their information boards using water-resistant ink. A number of people made a beeline for the shelter of one of the few trees on site, hoping that the rain would go away. It didn't, and as the leaves dripped it soon became just as wet under the trees as around them. And the rest of us, brolly-less, poncho-less, tent-less and tree-less, we just carried on wandering around the park in the rain, because it's only water isn't it?
Light at the end of the tunnel
Capital Numbers
Big Brother - the sewage connection
You'll remember that a few weeks ago I wandered down to the site of the old Big Brother house in Bow. Just a few hundred yards away from that site lies a startling Victorian building, shaped like a cross, topped by an ornate dome. Is it just an extravagant folly, or is there a reason that someone appears to have built a cathedral in the middle of an industrial wasteland? For the answer to that question you have to go back to the 1850s. A cholera epidemic swept London in 1853, spread by the appalling sanitary conditions in the capital. Cesspits emptied into streams that fed straight into the Thames and often overflowed into the streets. Diseases from insanitary drinking water killed thousands each year. Then in 1858 came the 'Great Stink', when the combination of an unusually warm summer and an unbelievably polluted Thames made living conditions in the capital almost unbearable. A solution to this foul-smelling solution was required, and urgently.
The man who cleaned up London was called Joseph Bazalgette. He was the Chief Engineer of the Metropolitan Board of Works, and his solution to London's sewage problems was nothing short of revolutionary. He ordered the building of 85 miles of new sewers to intercept the many smaller sewers that ran into the Thames, redirecting the effluent to East London where it was discharged into the Thames and flowed out to sea. (map here) North London's waste was conveyed to Abbey Mills Pumping Station in Stratford, the magnificent building in the photograph above, completed in 1868. From here the Northern Outfall Sewer continued eastwards to a huge treatment works at Beckton. That huge sewer still exists and still carries North London's effluent to the sea. The embankment covering the sewer is now the 'Greenway' - a footpath and cycle route at roof-top height through east London - although perhaps the name 'Brownway' would be more appropriate.
There are now two pumping stations at Abbey Mills, pictured here from the site of the old Big Brother House. The old pumping station (just peeking out to the left) raised sewage between two levels of the Northern Outfall Sewer, and originally housed eight coal-fired beam engines. Nowadays its pumps are on stand-by to supplement the newest ones in the building on the right, its modern replacement. However, there's a more direct connection between Big Brother and Abbey Mills than merely location. The gothic Victorian pumping station at Abbey Mills was designed by Joseph Bazalgette, great-grandfather of Peter Bazalgette, the creative director of Endemol productions who produce Big Brother. Peter is the godfather of reality TV in the UK, and also the brains behind such shows as Changing Rooms, Ground Force, and Ready Steady Cook. And his family's history lies in sewage. So remember, next time someone tells you that Big Brother is basically a load of shit, they may just be correct...
Bow Road is a station on both the District and Hammersmith and City lines. You might think this was obvious from looking on a tube map, but it appears that nobody has yet bothered to tell anyone who works at the station. Once upon a time Bow Road used to be a station on the Metropolitan line, until this part of the line was reassigned to the new Hammersmith and City line back in 1990. That was thirteen years ago, but nobody has yet managed to update any of the signs here. The big nameplate outside the front of the station still proudly displays that Bow Road is a station on the "District and Metropolitan lines". The train indicator on the platform still lights up to announce to passengers that the next train is a "Metropolitan line train via Kings Cross". Wrong. Anyone who wanders into the station expecting to catch a Metropolitan line train is in for a very long wait.
This first picture shows the view from the Big Brother lounge, looking out over the Big Brother garden towards the entrance to the Big Brother compound. The Big Brother housemates entered here to face nine weeks of confinement, watched by countless TV cameras and the viewing public across the nation. Intrigue, drama, boredom, seething sexual tension, chickens - this patch of land has seen them all. In fact, this is one of the most heavily watched locations in the entire country. Just not this year...
As you may have guessed, this is the site of the first Big Brother house, used in series 1 and 2. This field is in Bow, East London, just 15 minutes walk from my house. Channel 4 built the first Big Brother House here right next to Three Mills film studios, the nerve centre for the first two series. However, Channel 4 weren't sure that the show would be a hit and only had planning permission for two years, after which Newham Council insisted that the house be pulled down and the site returned to a natural habitat. This has since happened and, as you can see, you'd never guess now from this green patch of wasteland that TV history had ever taken place here. Marjorie the chicken is long gone.
This picture shows the Big Brother lounge. It feels very strange to stand here now, surrounded by grass and gasworks, and to think back to everything that happened right here on this unassuming site. Nominations, evictions, weekly tasks and numerous secrets spilled in the diary room. Nasty Nick unmasked as a a liar and a cheat at the infamous kangaroo court round the dining table. Nichola and Craig's nude body-painting. Celebrity Jack's bid to escape through the fence. Dean's world record-breaking tower of sugar cubes. Helen falling for Paul and Paul falling for Helen. Brian's gasp at an unexpected victory. And not a blue plaque in sight.
This is the view today out of the old Big Brother compound, through the gate, over the bridge and off towards the Big Brother studios. The outside world was never very far away from the original Big Brother House, so the production team were always on the lookout for people standing on the other side of the fence, shouting out things that the contestants were never meant to hear. The new house built thirty miles away on a film lot in Elstree doesn't suffer from a public footpath along its southern border, which must help security no end. There's no security at all on the site in Bow now, just an unlocked gate into a deserted field.
Finally here's the legendary Big Brother bridge, leading across a particularly ugly concrete-banked water channel, part of the Bow Back Rivers. Davina would have crossed here twice on eviction night, once to collect the evicted housemate and then back again, running the gauntlet of the tabloid press and a baying crowd. Unfortunately I moved into the local area just a few weeks too late to attend any of the Big Brother evictions held down by the bridge. By the time I was setting up my home they were pulling down this one. However, two years later on it's fascinating to be able to walk down to the place where it all happened and to picture the ghosts of Big Brother still haunting a forgotten field. It's also a salutary lesson to this year's housemates. Enjoy your fleeting fame in the headlines while you can - you'll soon be completely forgotten too.
The local Olympics
Bank/Monument: The City of London may be the hub of the world's financial markets but, outside business hours, the place is dead. This is especially true in the early hours at the weekend, with just a few lost souls walking the streets and some bored policemen keeping an eye on them. The 41-storey Gherkin hangs ignored in the sky, illuminating the empty streets. I walked past the occasional posh bar with chauffeured cars waiting outside to pick up young Debs and her pals, but everywhere else appeared mothballed waiting for life to restart at 8am on Monday morning. Just 3 miles to go...
Aldgate: Aldgate marks the easternmost part of the City, the edge of the historic centre of London. During the Plague in 1665 a 'Great Pit' was dug here to bury the bodies of London's dead. The place hasn't improved much since. Nowadays Aldgate is just a giant roundabout, with the tube station and a few other buildings hemmed in the middle. Pedestrians are forced to use the subways, which is very annoying when there's virtually no traffic on the roads above. One subway contains motion sensors, triggering a series of recorded directions to the local shopping centre as you walk through. It's most unnerving as a disembodied voice shatters the silence, and quite pointless at 1am too.
Aldgate East: It's only a short walk from Aldgate to Aldgate East at the start of the Whitechapel Road. This has been the main road east out of London since Roman times, heading out to an ancient ford over the River Lea and onwards to Colchester. The best nightlife round here has to be the legendary Beigel Bake just up Brick Lane, home to the very best early-hour cuisine that 50p can buy. Nearby some early traders were already setting up their stalls for Petticoat Lane market - it was already the start of the working day for some.
Whitechapel: Whitechapel lies at the very heart of the East End. It's no longer appropriately-named because most people here aren't white and there aren't many chapels left (although there is the highly impressive East London Mosque). Back in 1888 very few people would have been brave enough to walk the streets of Whitechapel after dark, for this was the site of the infamous Jack the Ripper murders, and 75 years later the notorious Kray Brothers would have scared everyone indoors instead. Today the local population seem somewhat braver, with many staying out late especially to sample the local delicacy - dodgy fried chicken and greasy chips.
Stepney Green: 900 years ago Stepney was one of the first villages that grew up outside London. Parts of Stepney still retain a village-like period charm, particularly those around the oasis of St Dunstan's Church. Unfortunately I was walking home along the Mile End Road, which is the arse end of Stepney. It's no surprise that William Booth founded the Salvation Army round here in the 19th century. I walked hurriedly past numerous minicab offices, each of which offered a dodgy-looking shortcut home that would either shorten my journey or my life.
Mile End: Mile End is so named because it lies exactly one mile from Aldgate. However, the village of Mile End grew up long and thin alongside the road to Essex, so Mile End station actually lies nearer two miles from the City. It's a colourful area. Here you'll find the Green Bridge, a Millennium-funded project which is actually a yellow bridge carrying Mile End Park over the main road. After dark you'll also spot the recently-relaunched Purple nightclub fully illuminated in what can only be described as a hideous shade of pink, along with a lot of white speckled with orange on the pavements outside.
