Time once again for me to take another random trip to one of London's 33boroughs. Brent, at the heart of northwest London, is the only local authority in the UK to have a majority of its residents born overseas. Communities and high streets around Wembley and beyond now boast a diverse mix of cultures, religions and cuisines. It wasn't always this way. A century ago Metro-land carved a genteel domestic swathe through the heart of the area, where once were only fields and villages. Suburban semis still rule, but the place is changing fast. Yesterday I attempted to catch up.
Somewhere to begin: Brent Museum I doubt that the old Brent Museum had many visitors. It was situated in a converted stable block in the middle of an extremely busy roundabout, just off the North Circular, in the middle of Neasden. Not a location especially conducive to major tourist influx. So the council moved the entire collection, a couple of years ago, and plonked it inside the brand new Willesden Green Library. And what do you know, when I visited on Saturday morning, I was the only person there. Not one other visitor, nor even a single member of staff on duty. Now that's my kind of museum. And I was unexpectedly impressed by the contents. It's not an enormous gallery, but the curators have crammed in all sorts of aspects of Brent-ian life, as it was lived then and as it's lived now. Enough to get you interested, if not deeply satisfied. Read about the world's first speaking clock, and the old Guinness brewery, and Graham Young the schoolboy "Teacup Poisoner". See Neasden FC's Cup Final appearance commemorated on the front cover of Private Eye, and learn about the politicalhomeland of Rhodes Boyson and Ken Livingstone. There's quite a bit about the history of Wembley Stadium, as you might expect, including an actual Olympic torch from 1948. Oh, and in the "special exhibition" room nextdoor, a special exhibition about saris. No really, it was a lot more interesting than it sounds. As I would have told the curator on the way out, had they existed. by tube: Willesden Green by bus: 52, 302
Somewhere random: Chamberlayne Road Few natural events are more random than a tornado. One minute you're sitting at home in your dead ordinary terraced house, and the next the wind is ripping your roof off and hurling tiles through your bedroom window. That's what happened to the residents of Chamberlayne Road in Kensal Rise on the morning of 7th December 2006. You must remember, it was bignews, and surely not only because the tornado touched down within two miles of BBC Television Centre. So how are the residents coping now, just over a year later. Very well, by the looks of it. Most of the damaged houses look completely back to normal, although there are still a well-above-average number of roof repairs being carried out along the western side of one short section of the street. For at least the next few months the path of the tornado is still just about traceable, in scaffolding . And take a closer look at the side of the house at the junction with Whitmore Gardens . The exterior wall appears to change from new brick to old brick two-thirds of the way down, because this is the house that had its side completely ripped off by the T4 twister. The poor owner returned home after work that fateful Thursday to find a gaping hole in the side of her largest investment. But time, and insurance, heals all. A very ordinary wind whipped down Chamberlayne Road yesterday, and nobody seemed particularly concerned. by train: Kensal Rise by bus: 6, 52, 302
Somewhere pretty: Kingsbury The great majority of modern-designed homes are routine identikit boxes with limited character. But in Kingsbury, to the north of the borough, a couple of architects once went out of their way to give local residents somewhere really special to live. The aircraft industry came to this part of rural northwest London during World War 1, and workers had nowhere to live. Sir Francis Baines was commissioned to rectify the situation. He designed a compact "garden village" of 270 flats and houses, just over the road from the de Havilland works on Stag Lane, and Roe Green Village was the result. There are a variety of charming buildings, some timber-faced and others plastered, each divided up into two, three or more dwellings . The homes were cutting edge at the time, though perhaps a little small by later standards. Roads on the estate are narrow and homely, clearly not designed for the motor car, and a sense of rural community still remains. The aircraft industry has long since moved away, of course, but these houses remain an aspirational enclave for those who want to live somewhere with real character.
And then there are Ernest Trobridge's houses on Buck Lane. Oh boy. Whatever was he thinking when he created this handful of eccentric residences? Up on the hilltop, around a single crossroads, are a small cluster of striking individual castellated follies. Some merely have round towers and gothic staircases , but one is a full-on white-painted castle with battlements . John Betjeman came to pay homage to Highfort Court in his Metro-land documentary, you may remember. These bizarre creations all look like they've seen slightly better days, but it must be a joy to live in one of these houses or maisonettes today. Trobridge's other fascination was grand detached cottages, and there are a fair few of these dotted around the area too. He was a firm believer in the importance of social housing, as was Sir Francis down the road, and in modern Kingsbury it's easy to see where their special influence stops and the "ordinary" interwar semis begin. by tube: Kingsbury by bus: 204, 302
Somewhere retail: IKEA Wembley Because Brent Cross isn't actually in Brent. Who'd have thought. So I travelled instead to Brent Park in Neasden to visit that other retail colossus - the big blue IKEA on the North Circular Road . Me and thousands of others of northwest Londoners, all spending our Saturday in Swedish furniture purgatory. It's possibly the slowest, least efficient form of shopping anywhere on the planet, but that never seems to stop us turning up in search of yet another lampshade or cheap bookcase. Why did I go, why?
IKEA Wembley doesn't exactly welcome those who turn up by public transport. The walk from Neasden tube is long and tortuous, involving dubious road crossings and a seriously mucky footbridge. Even by bus you're directed through the murkiest, dampest corner of IKEA's multi-storey car park. Only car drivers are welcomed with bright shiny blue and yellow frontage, because only car drivers can drive away with three sets of flatpack furniture in their boot . Come on in, but only if you have two hours to spare.
At the top of the stairs there's a choice of a trolley or a big flappy yellow bag. Please, take neither. You won't need the trolley on the first floor, this level is full of furniture that can only be collected downstairs. And you don't need that bag either. The management sprinkle candle holders and coathangers amongst the fitted kitchens and bunk beds, just to tempt you, but they're all available downstairs too. The rest of us will find it much easier to negotiate our way around the tortuous winding pathway if you're not blocking the way with a huge metal basket on wheels. It's bad enough trying to walk past toddlers in pushchairs, and dithering wives uncertain quite which shade of wardrobe would look best in their bedroom, and bored shoppers sitting on every comfy sofa like they're part of the exhibit. Come on, where's the shortcut?
Don't divert into the cafe/restaurant. The queues are terrible, the table-clearing service is non-existent, and you don't really like meatballs anyway. Head back down to the ground floor, into the Market Place, to be faced by a dazzling range of cheap household goods graced by a variety of obscure foreign names. And this is where IKEA's marketing brilliance kicks in. You weren't really planning on buying very much, but look over there. You need a storage jar like that, don't you? And that mat would go nicely by the back door, and you don't have enough dinner plates, and don't those pillowcases look jolly, and all at such reasonable prices. By the time you reach the exit you'll almost certainly be carrying more "essentials" than you expected.
Next it's time to be confronted by shelf upon shelf of wood-in-a-box, as you pass through the vast interior of the flatpack cathedral. And then the pace slows, and the throng of customers ahead grows deeper, as you approach the interminable inefficiency of the checkouts. There are 38 checkouts at IKEA Wembley. On Saturday afternoon, one of the busiest times of the week, fewer than half of them were open. Be warned, they're staggered in two rows, so the queue that looks shorter may actually turn out to be longer. I waited 15 minutes in my queue while the shoppers in front slowly unloaded and paid for a motley assortment of unnecessary consumer goods. The lady behind me caved in and sent her kids off to the "Bistro" to buy 35p ice creams to keep them quiet. Their queue was longer than ours.
And then the final indignation - having to pay for your own carrier bags. Obviously it's great not to be littering the environment with unnecessary plastic landfill, but it's also an expensive pain if you've forgotten to bring sufficient receptacles with you. I'd not planned ahead before leaving the house so I ended up with a weeny 15p carrier, whereas most other people were purchasing (and filling) several 30p sacks. And I got a very funny look from the cashier, and the surrounding shoppers, when I unloaded my handful of purchases onto the conveyor belt. I'd waited just over quarter of an hour to buy almost nothing, for less than a fiver. But then you can never have enough tealights, can you? by tube: Neasden by bus: 92, 112, 206, 232, 316, PR2
After a long hiatus for redevelopment, it was good to stride up Wembley Way on Saturday afternoon amidst a crowd of expectant spectators. They poured from the tube station, past the hot dog stalls and the ice cream van, heading south towards the epicentre of English football. But quite a strange crowd to be attending a big match, I thought. Almost all female (with just the odd bewildered husband tagging along), most over 50 or under 15, and not a stripy scarf in sight. So I wasn't entirely surprised when we reached the twin ramps up to the stadium and they continued onward at ground level and around the corner towards Wembley Arena. To attend the matinée performance of Strictly Come Dancing Live, as it turned out. The strictly macho stadium remained mostly untroubled by visitors, bar a few of us curious souls keen to view the arched wonder up close.
The wind whipped round the elevated concrete promenade. Up on level two the bronze figure of BobbyMoore stood watching over the stadium approach, a large St George's flag fluttering limply behind behind his right shoulder . Every 15 minutes or so a group of paid-up tourists emerged from the glass doors of "Club Wembley" to stand at his feet as their guide related the tale of our glorious 1966 World Cup victory. I understand that the rest of their £15 tour included rather more exclusive locations such as the Royal Box, the changing rooms and the Wembley Stadium Tour Cafe. Plus, of course, the official shop where you can purchase a souvenir tankard, a teddy bear or a patch of turf to remember your visit. Not for me. I held back for a few minutes to attempt to take a photograph that didn't contain a shaven-headed fan gawping in excited adulation . And then I continued on my free circumnavigation of the giant glass bowl. Which was closed.
The stadium has several entrances, all of them securely fastened with impregnable shiny metal doors when no event is underway. A long list of regulations informs spectators what they can and can't bring inside . No darts, air horns or explosives (obviously). No cameras, radios or umbrellas (good grief, I wonder how many unwitting visitors get those confiscated when they attempt to attend a concert or match). And no balls. One hopes that the England football team aren't required to abide by that last one.
What you can see from the outside of the stadium is the curved glass wall that rises up several storeys into the sky , and the great white arch above. Ahh, the Wembley Arch, a simple enough idea but so magnificently realised. It rises out of the walkway on opposite sides of the stadium, bolted into the ground with a big concrete plug, and launches into the sky in a sweeping white-piped curve . You don't really get a sense of its enormity from up close, but you do get some excellent arch-y reflections in the building as you walk round the perimeter . And you get some mighty fine views out across the surrounding area, just as they can see right back towards the arch even from several miles away .
Time your visit right and you might end up sharing most of your walk only with a couple of bored-looking security guards. Or time your visit right and you might end being swept along by a crowd of jubilant spectators celebrating a glorious national victory. It's all or nothing at the New Wembley. by tube: Wembley Park by bus: 92, PR2
Somewhere historic: Grand Union Canal [A three mile walk from Harlesden to One Tree Hill, Alperton] Whenever I explore a random borough, I always attempt to go for a long walk. Ideally a long walk that the local council has flagged on its website. Good old Brent Council provided a choice of four, each supplied by the London Ecology Unit. Excellent, I thought, I'll have one of them. So I printed out the map and instructions and prepared myself for a delightful three mile stroll along a 200 year old canal. "London Ecology Unit", eh? I should have spotted the clues before I set out.
I haven't been to Harlesden for almost 25 years, back when I was doing a summer job on the Park Royal trading estate. If you bought any Marks and Spencer clothing during the latter half of 1983, I probably helped to produce the little hole-punched swing ticket that hung from the label. So I subconsciously recognised the first part of the walk from my teenage commute. Right out of the station, round the McVities factory (mmm, Harlesden smells nice) and down onto the towpath. Then past the tied up barge and westward, towards Alperton. My printed pdf advised me to look out for a purple bellflower, some blue tufted vetch and a patch of red campion. Not a sign. All I could see was a grassy green verge with no flowering vegetation at all. I should have guessed that a guided walk produced by the London Ecology Unit would be rather heavier on flowers than on history. And that perhaps such a walk was better suited to July than January. Never mind, ever onward.
Next I was advised to enjoy the "pleasant smells" nearby, probably emanating "from the Heinz factory" on the opposite bank. Erm, there was no Heinz factory on the opposite bank, just a long row of shiny white warehouses containing various non ketchup manufacturing businesses. I was sure I remembered an oppressive grimy factory last time I was here, with big pipes and sheer grey walls. And yes, as it turns out, I was right. But the Heinz Factory closed down in 2000 and the site has since been comprehensively redeveloped. My printed walk was seriously out of date... and with good reason. The London Ecology Unit also breathed its last in 2000, absorbed into the new Greater London Authority. So, I was following a walk that was at least eight years old, and already historically obsolete. Never mind, ever onward.
Two pages of A4 description later and I'd seen almost nothing of what was being described. Just a lot of Park Royal industrial units and a few ducks. There was, however, a bit of a treat ahead as the canal passed over the North Circular Road on an aqueduct. Because aqueducts are cool. But unfortunately the view from this aqueduct was of a stream of rushing traffic and a very modern Travelodge. Even the aqueduct itself , with a magnificent Middlesex Coat of Arms lodged inbetween the twin channels, turned out to be nothing more than a 1993 replacement. There were a few highlights ahead. A couple of quietly puttering narrowboats . A modernised footbridge being well frequented by locals. An extraordinary tumbledown old shed-like building beneath a Piccadilly line rail bridge . A swan . But on the whole this was a canalside walk where the canal was the only thing worth seeing, and not the stuff to either side. Never mind, ever onward.
The walk ended away from the canal, just before the scenery got good. My printed guide apologised for the detour, but the pretty stretch beneath Horsenden Hill was in Ealing, not Brent, and therefore off limits. Instead I was diverted along a busy road and up a lesser hill on the outskirts of Alperton, with semi-screened views over west London and the City. One Tree Hill, as it was called, boasted more trees than strictly permitted under the Trade Descriptions Act . Wembley Stadium was perfectly visible from the single bench at the summit , as were the stone pinnacles of an astonishing Hindu temple under construction at the foot of the hill . This was certainly the high point of the journey, in every way, but not a true peak. It had been more an anachronistic stroll than a historic walk. Never mind. by tube: Harlesden → Alperton by bus: 224
Somewhere un-famous: Sudbury & Harrow Road station London's most useless railway station is in Brent. It has fewer paying passengers than any of the other 300-or-so stations in the capital. According to official statistics it's used by only 2500 passengers a year. It's no remote halt in the middle of a field, it's in a proper urban location on a busy high street. It's served by trains only during the weekday rush hour, and then only in one direction at a time. It has just nine trains a day - four into town in the morning and five back again in the evening. It is a sorry apology for a station and owners Chiltern Railways clearly treat it with complete indifference. It is Sudbury & Harrow Road. And yes, of course I had to pay a visit.
I wonder if it's a coincidence that the number 18 bendy bus terminates on the Harrow Road precisely outside the entrance to this forlorn station . Catch the nasty evil articulated bus from here and you could be in Marylebone in less than an hour. Wait for a train and you could be waiting for up to three days. A lone British Rail sign and a tiny purple nameplate mark the station entrance for any would-be passengers. There's no ticket office, just a "Permit to Travel" machine and a pair of freshly-installed Oyster readers . I suspect that just the one reader would have been sufficient. The bike rack has just four spaces (don't all fight at once). Turn left to enter the dark concrete passage beneath the railway embankment. In a busier station this might smell of urine and sicked-up curry, but not at Sudbury & Harrow Road. I stepped inside, and headed up the central staircase to the station proper .
There are two parallel platforms, a few metres apart, with the top of the stairs forming a small island between the two. If it's raining you can hide beneath the red arched plastic roof, or maybe take a seat on the single central bench. There's room for two, maybe three if you squeeze up close. To the right I spotted a padlocked cupboard containing "Adverse Weather Equipment", and to the left a yellow box labelled "Passenger Help Point" (singular, not plural). Oh, and also a couple of TV display screens transmitting flickering information from Chiltern HQ. These informed me that, not only were there no trains stopping today, there were also no trains running due to planned engineering work. Fantastic, I had this entire remote outpost completely to myself, with no interruptions.
I took a silent stroll from one end of the station to the other . Each platform was little more than a long wooden boardwalk, about a metre off the ground, with a spiky slatted fence rising up behind. Between the two lay a forgotten grassy trench, littered with discarded bottles, cans and the odd deflated football. A handful of thin blue lampposts broke the emptiness, on which were stuck scrappy stickers warning the occasional patron not to smoke . From Platform 1 I had a fine view down into the back gardens of Sudbury, towards rickety sheds and washing lines pegged out with damp undergarments. And down in Harrow Road were scores of people rushing around, buying this and that, rushing hither and thither, and queueing to catch a bus to somewhere else.
It's a shame that so few local residents look up to the embankment for a means of escape, but perhaps not surprising given that this station merits such a pitifully irregular service. 45 trains a week is no way to build up a regular clientèle, and so the vicious underfunded circle of transport decline continues. "The next train to London Marylebone will depart in 2500 minutes." I headed back down the stairs to the bus stop, and the station returned to timetabled hibernation. by tube: Sudbury Town by bus: 18, 92, 182, 245
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Amy Winehouse exclusive
ohmigod it's AMYWINEHOUSE. she has the voice of an ANGEL but she is not pure. she is always being seen with the powder and the rocks, sometimes in her car and sometimes up her nose. she is in the gutter oh yes, like a dirty woman. and she is MY NEIGHBOUR! well, sort of. i live in bow in east london and what do you know she lives IN BOW TOO! it is, like TOO EXCITING! and a scandal, obviously.
amy is an E3 girl now. she bought a pad here last month up by the river canals, and now she is never away from the place. well, it is dead convenient for the local magistrates court, innit? i was walking past the court on the bow road the other week and there was paparazzi ALL over the pavement waiting for amy to turn up. they had cameras and they had notebooks and they had those little ladders that they stand on to get a better photo of a lady's head. but there was no amy around yet. i should have waited to watch the scarlet jezebel shambling up the steps into the court to plead for her dipsy husband but instead i went home. but hey i was WELL CLOSE to fame and misery.
amy lives in these posh flats beside the river lea, on the corner where it meets the hertford canal. the area is called fish island, which is appropriate because she drinks like one LOL. amy lives inside a big modern apartment block made of shiny glass, behind a security gate which helps to keep the tabloids out. she probably has wooden floorboards and a balcony and a large open space pretending to be a loft. i bet she has a cracking time there, know what i mean. and her place directly overlooks the olympics, so she'll have a great view of the basketball stadium in 2012, but only if she's still alive and hasn't dropped DEAD of evil overdoses.
because i live in bow i could bump into amy AT ANY TIME. if i go to the corner shop i could easily find amy there buying vodka and rizlas. if i go to the mcdonalds drive-thru i could see amy lolling beside the pay window guzzling an egg mcmuffin. if i go out up the A12 after dark i might come face to face with her scrawny red bra and scruffy tattoo flesh. and if i stand on the canal towpath i might be able to sell her a bag of lemon sherbet which she will take home and snort in a crazed POWDERBINGE. so i keep my eyes peeled for a dazed blonde waif wandering the bow streets, or staring blankly through a car window with pinhole eyes. i haven't seen her yet, my e3 sister, but it can only be a MATTER OF TIME.
On the western edge of the City of London, tucked out of sight behind Fleet Street, are two of the capital's great Inns of Court. One is the Inner Temple, the other the Middle Temple, and together with the Law Courts over the road they form the nucleus of legal London. Temple's hidden precincts are the stomping ground of barristers and other legalfolk, and have been since 1608 when King James I granted a Royal Charter to the land and buildings on this site. Which makes 2008 the 400th anniversary of the great founding event. Any excuse for a festival.
You can gain restricted public access to the Temple complex on weekdays, and some of the buildings within are open occasionally, but this is the first weekend in 400 years when the gates have been flung wide to the public. A shame that the weather's been rather drizzly, and a pity that the award winning gardens don't look anything like their best in January, but this is still an opportunity not to miss.
Middle Temple is the older of the two Inns of Court, but only because most of it wasn't destroyed by bomb damage during WW2. The main Hall is a magnificent Tudor construction, all wooden panelling and hammerbeam roof , with golden shields along each wall and stained glass ablaze in the windows. It was filled yesterday with helpful volunteers waiting to be asked questions, choral groups performing acapella Grensleeves, and wandering visitors gawping down from the gallery. Outside the hall you'll find a network of terraced rooms, gardens, courtyards and passageways, very much like an Oxbridge college, and clearly a delightful location in which to work and study. Inner Temple is slightly less special, comprising mostly postwar replacement buildings surrounding a town-hall-like main hall. But the sense of tradition and ceremonial is strong, and there are fine views across the gardens down towards the Embankment and the Thames beyond.
Temple business takes place inside countless legal chambers across the site, a few of which were open to the public yesterday for a bit of a look around. The most interesting of these were the chambers in Crown Office Row, where I joined a small group on a short tour led by a smiling QC. We were taking into the meeting rooms where barristers discuss cases with their clients behind soundproof doors, and got to meet the junior clerks who'd come in on their day off. (Hey kids, if you have a minimum of qualifications but still fancy a really well-paid job, then solicitors' clerk sounds just the ticket) On through the glass security door to glimpse the privileged world of the barristers beyond. Crammed into tiny offices with overflowing piles of red-ribbon-wrapped legal files, each representing a different courtroom case, it's not quite the glamorous world depicted in This Life.
And then, one of the highlights of the day, a chance to peer inside Temple Church. The round Norman church is a national rarity, founded by the Knights Templar in the 12th century, and was once part of a monastic compound. There are ten marble effigies at the centre of the circular nave, each depicting a knight reclining in deathly repose. These feature in chapter eighty-something of Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code, so this historic church has become a bit of an international literary tourist mecca. The church's vicar loves to speak on the subject, although the crowds who arrived to hear his talk yesterday were treated more to a sermon than a history lesson. They packed out the slightly more modern end of the church, known as the Oblong , and no doubt flocked to buy his book (only £5) on the way out.
There's one more day of the Temple Open Weekend today, should you be tempted to attend. Pick your time of arrival carefully. Temple Church doesn't open until 1pm (it being a Sunday they're holding Choral Mattins at 11:15), while Inner Temple Hall is closed for lunch (and lunch preparations) until half past three. Otherwise there's plenty to see, including theatricals, guided tours and police dog demos, from half past ten onwards. Even better, they're holding mock trials in the Royal Courts of Justice across Fleet Street, and if you (and your camera) have never been inside that great Gothic building before then you're in for a treat. Be warned, this is the first Temple Open Weekend for 400 years, and you don't know how long you might have to wait until the next.
Back in 1543, King Henry VIII was getting on a bit and had become more than a bit of an obese lardarse. This made climbing onto a horse, let alone hunting the royal deer, rather difficult. What was Henry to do but construct a great big three-storey platform in the middle of Waltham Forest from which he could shoot at things. He called this building his Grand Standing, although it was probably more of a Grand SittingDown. Even the central staircase was built less steeply than usual to give Henry a fighting chance of being able to climb it. Out in the forest expert huntsmen tracked down deer, then penned them up, before letting them run loose across Chingford Plain past the monarch's steely gaze. One crossbow shot later and the deer would conveniently drop dead, whether the King had hit it or not. Damned fine shots, those covert royal archers. But not really proper hunting.
King Henry died a few years after the lodge was finished. It was Queen Elizabeth who later ordered that the decaying building be repaired, and that's how it came to be named after her instead. The lodge continued to be used for the 16th century equivalent of corporate hospitality, as a special hideaway where influential nobles wined and dined on the day's carnivorous spoils. The middle floor was the posh one, with lesser noblemen posted up top and the servants confined as far as possible to the lower floor. There were no glass windows at the time, this was very much a grandstand open to the elements, gaudily painted and draped with fluttering banners. Not a good place to stay the night, hence everyone having to lodge elsewhere after nightfall.
In the 17th century the building became a forest keeper's residence, with the local crown court installed on the upper floor. The Victorians insisted on slapping gallons of plaster all over the walls, semi-wrecking the place in the process, and then a tearoom moved in to cater for day-trippers from London arriving via the new-fangled steam railway. For most of the 20th century the building doubled up as a museum packed with stuffed animals and almost-thrilling historical artefacts. I think my uncle took me there once, back when I was quite little, although I don't remember the interior very clearly. So I thought I ought to go back.
No, that huge Tudorbethan mansion beside the golf course wasn't the hunting lodge, it was a rather large Victorian Harvester-type pub. So I tried the bijou limewashed buildingnextdoor, the one wth the Corporation of London sign outside. It's only open from 1 til 4 at weekends at this time of year (and attracts a mammoth seven visitors per hour, according to the tally chart on the desk inside). I'd like to thank the lady at the desk for her highly informative talk about the history of the house, and also for not commenting on my heavily mud-splattered trousers. It's damned squelchy out in Epping Forest at the moment, and I'd taken a rather ill-advised route through the woods from Buckhurst Hill to get here.
On into the kitchen/scullery, where there's a not quite convincing display of fake foods (such as fruits and spices) like what Elizabethan aristocracy would have eaten. And then up the stairs (ooh yes, very gentle) to the shooting room on the first floor. There are a couple of appropriately dressed mannequins in the near corner, as well as a box of clothes so that children (and childish adults) can attempt to dress themselves similarly. It's quite an empty room otherwise, and therefore not especially easy to imagine as the heart of the royal hunting party's festivities. At least the view from the window is pretty much as Henry might have remembered it (apart from the golf course where the deer would have been kept, that is, and a rather out-of-place suburban dwelling nextdoor).
And finally up to the top of the building, beneath a magnificent timbered roof. In fact if you like woodwork you'll really enjoy a visit to the Lodge, not just because it was assembled by master carpenters but also because a surprisingly high proportion of the exhibits and information panels are about joints and carving and superior timber-based craftsmanship. Up here on the second floor there are also a couple of stuffed deer left over from the building's more museum-y days - one just an antlered head peering beadily down over the stairs. And, of course, there are a few more displays about hunting. Seen enough? Spiral back down to the entrance, and don't think you're escaping without filling in one of the nice lady's photocopied questionnaires. It's a small price to pay for free admittance to this fascinating survivor from a long-gone era of violent excess. by train: Chingford by bus: 97, 179, 212, 313, 379, 444
Marsh Lane is just a temporary set-up while Olympic construction occurs. Sometime after 2012 every allotment holder will be relocating once more, this time back to sustainable new premises within the Olympic Park. For the best part of a decade, however, this uninspiring patch of Waltham Forest will have to do. And I doubt that this windswept space beneath the pylons will ever reclaim the sense of community cultivated back at ManorGarden. diamond geezer 05/01/08
That "uninspiring patch of Waltham Forest" was our wild life meadow. Now it is gone, and most likely forever. SteveE10 10/01/08
Bleak and characterless the allotments may be, but the Birse Civils contractor who had to help the plotholders move their possessions onto the site in November was really proud of their uninhabited perfection. "This shouldn't be allowed," he said as corrugated tin, old garden gates and dismantled greenhouses were unloaded, "the place looks really nice and they're going to ruin it with all this junk".
I hope Birse Civils are better at building nuclear power stations than allotments. After £1.5million and 10,000 tons of soil replaced, you'd expect an ideal growing environment ready for cultivation. But it's so waterlogged and poorly draining nothing wants to grow except moss and algae, and bulbs planted to cheer the place up are just rotting. There's no worms to break up the heavily compacted soil - and no way for them to get in due to the plastic barrier protecting the site from surrounding contamination. Charlie C 11/01/08
Another group of evictees are the Clays Lane residents who have been scattered to the four winds. They too have lost their community. The LDA actually said we were not a community, unlike the Travellers, who were moved as a community... Residents are considerably worse off in financial terms and some are worse off in terms of the quality and size of their new accommodation...
In evidence to the Compulsory Purchase Inquiry the LDA also claimed we were 'isolated' by our neighbouring green space, the Eastway Cycle Track, which was a sign of how desperate they were to rubbish everything to do with our estate and community to justify its demolition. Clays Lane is to be the site of the Athletes' Village and the LDA claimed this would create 9000 new homes. This has now been altered to 4,500. Either way much of the Village will be built at Stratford City and is not new housing but housing which would have been built anyway and modified. The LDA/ODA still claim it as an Olympic benefit...
But then who can be surprised by this? Our former MP, Lyn Brown, goes around telling her local party she was visiting the estate when she never came near us, the Mayor of Newham apparently said we were 'peasants' even though he also said he would come but never did. Livingstone and Higgins of the ODA failed to respond to invitations while Coe said he would come but never followed up. The media couldn't get past our human interest value so it was impossible to discuss anything of substance. That's politics! julian cheyne 09/01/08 [more here]
The announcements are everywhere. Please, TfL urge. Please keep away from two of the busiest stations on the network. Please don't change at Bank/Monument. Please don't change trains here. Even though there's a huge great big intersection marked between Bank and Monument on every single London Underground map. Please go almost anywhere else and change there instead. Please stay away, and then we can repair our escalators in peace.
TfL have all sorts of travel advice for passengers whose journeys normally take them through B/M, some of which would take you miles and miles out of your way. Want to change to the DLR? Nah, please go to Stratford or Bow or Tower Hill instead. Want to change between the Central and Northern lines? Nah, Charing Cross is a much preferred option. Please plan ahead, TfL hope, and please plan to go very much elsewhere.
But is this nannyish redirection advice really necessary? Well, yes and no. The series of tunnels between Bank and Monument is a badly laid-out warren of narrow walkways and awkward level changes, constrained by local roads and awkwardly-placed bank vaults. Block off just one tunnel and the repercussions elsewhere can be serious. In this case there are two escalators out of action, both downward, both between the Central line and DLR platforms. Scurrying passengers are having to descend a very narrow stairway instead, which is proving fairly nightmarish in any kind of busy conditions. Let me show you on this map. The two out-of-commission escalators are between 5 and 6 and 8. [the full key to the map is back here]
It seems that TfL are once again writing their travel advice for a lowest common denominator audience. (See also "Don't use Covent Garden, get out a station early and walk") There is absolutely no reason to avoid the Bank/Monument interchange for the next couple of months, not point blank, not in its entirety. Changing between the Central and Waterloo & City lines isn't affected at all. Changing between the DLR and Northern lines is still a doddle, up/down a set of back stairs. Most other changes are perfectly OK too, as you can see from the map, because they go (or can go) nowhere near the offending escalators. During less busy periods, outside peak hours, even the narrow staircases are perfectly passable. At three o'clock on a Thursday afternoon, for example, or at any time over the weekend, there's absolutely no need to avoid 5 to 6 to 8 at all. Piece of cake.
And yet TfL still insist on warning everybody away, all the time, because giving more accurate advice might be confusing for stupid people. Stupid people can only cope with simple instructions, like "Stay away", rather than the more realistic "Avoid changing at Bank/Monument during peak hours if you're intending to get to or from the DLR platforms via the Bank side, and watch out because the Northern line platforms could get rather busy. Until March." Or even "If changing between Bank and Monument, why not exit the station and walk down the street instead." Actually, that's quite good advice even when the escalators are working. In the meantime, don't let an over-simplistic warning massage scare you away. Not all the time, anyway.
London's largest bird reserve is the London Wetland Centre, a vast swathe of marshy sogginess located in a bend in the Thames near Hammersmith. It's busy and it's delightful, but it'll cost you eight quid to get in. London's second largest bird reserve is rather different. It's hidden off the Lea Bridge road near Leyton, it's considerably more deserted, and entrance is free. It's the Waterworks Nature Reserve, and I can't believe I've only just noticed it exists.
Back in the late 19th century Victorian engineers built several filter beds in the Lea Valley to purify the capital's drinking water, helping to keep cholera at bay. A century later technology had moved on somewhat, and the beds were abandoned to natural colonisation. They're currently owned by the Lee Valley Regional Park Authority, who six years ago opened a series of bird hides and a visitors centre. Most of the visitors seem to be of the feathered variety, swooping in to swim and flap and feed in the reedy pools. But the occasional human turns up, as I discovered last weekend when I had the place completely and utterly to myself.
I stumbled across the nature reserve by following a footbridge across the road and railway from the allotments I mentioned yesterday. A short walk through an unexpected golf course and there was the visitors centre (and club house), with a car park full of pitchers, putters and drivers. I wandered inside, to general disinterest from the management, and took a look round the interactive exhibits in the large gallery to the rear. I think I was 30 years too old to enjoy the limited information on display, and slightly put off by the mildly hectoring tone throughout. "Children must be accompanied by an adult at all times in this area." "This screen is for adults only." "Why not have a go at weaving a willow basket. Take care not to hurt anyone with the sharp ends". Ignoring the cafe (and golfy shop) I headed back outside to explore the nature reserve proper.
Access is only via a single narrow footbridge, first passing a newly constructed nature garden. There's a small pond ("Danger, deep water!") and a benched seating area("Keep off the chalk ridge!") and a specially-constructed mini willow tunnel. There's a lot of willow about, and the next three filter beds have been almost completely colonised by it. I think you're supposed to be able to walk through one of them on a raised wooden walkway, but that was sealed off with red tape (presumably because of some unseen hazard or perilous risk). Never mind, the best part of the reserve was just round the corner, past a mini-aqueduct. This way to the hides.
The main area of filter beds is square in shape, divided up into six different radial sectors (a bit like Trivial Pursuit counters). Each has been given over to a slightly different habitat (open water, reedbeds, grassland, willow marsh, etc), providing ideal conditions for a wide variety of bird, insect and plantlife. And each of the six can be viewed from behind a giant wooden screen, which runs the full radius of the site and completely round the central wellhead area. There are hatches to lift at regularly-spaced intervals, allowing visitors to peer out across each bed and observe the waterfowl's comings and goings. I moved from window to window, watched over by a single security camera, and wholly unobstructed by twitchers with huge binoculars, vacuum flasks and lunchboxes. Alas there was just a single heron flapping around, occasionally, plus a few ducks and moorhens who'd chosen not to migrate this winter. My ornithological timing could have been better, which perhaps explained why I appeared to be the only large mammal in attendance. But there was still plenty to see, both environmentally and historically, at this most underappreciated location. by bus: 48, 55, 56
Friday, January 04, 2008
Olympic update Relocation, relocation, relocation
It's now been six months since the Olympic Park was sealed off, and everybody who lived and worked there was turfed out. The outcasts had to go somewhere, of course, and quite a lot of them have ended up one mile further upriver near Leyton. The new sites are tucked in beside a bleak arterial road, in the shadow of a couple of giant gasholders, nowhere with any character whatsoever. Few pedestrians ever walk down Orient Way, but plenty of traffic thunders by (most of it setting off the wholly unnecessary 30mph speed warning sign). A few lonely horses graze in a muddy field nearby, and there's also a great big £400m Eurostarmaintenance depot whacked down in the general nothingness. But I'm sure most of the relocated businesses don't mind swapping old tumbledown warehouses for shiny modern hangars. These giant tiger-striped metal boxes are a million miles away from their former premises, and all paid for out of your taxes too.
And some other Olympic evictees have ended up here too. You may remember the huge fuss kicked up by users of the Manor Garden allotments when it became clear that the Olympic Park would not contain a special area given over to runner beans. A shame really, because those 100-year-old allotments are merely destined to end up beneath a vast temporary footpath - no ultimate sporting destiny awaits. The allotment holders had to be pacified with the promise of new plots elsewhere, which didn't really keep them happy at all, but they got new plots all the same. The replacement allotments are also along Orient Way, in the corner of a well-hidden recreation ground, but accessible only up a far-distant muddy track. It's taken a lengthy planning battle to get the new allotments established, but here they are laid out for the start of the new growing season.
They're, erm, not quite as characterful as the old allotments, are they? The old allotments had charm, and personality, and vegetation. The new allotments are formed from a rectangle of freshly ploughed earth with a concrete path down the middle, divided up into equal-sized patches of empty mud. A tall green metal fence surrounds the perimeter, with tiny saplings planted all around to provide eventual privacy. Standing guard on each plot are identikit green huts, regularly spaced, each waiting for their new owner to arrive and provide a bit of individuality. A few plots show the very first signs of cultivation - a trowel, a chair, a waterbutt - but it'll be a long time before these feel like proper allotments.
Maybe that's OK, because Marsh Lane is just a temporary set-up while Olympic construction occurs. Sometime after 2012 every allotment holder will be relocating once more, this time back to sustainable new premises within the Olympic Park. For the best part of a decade, however, this uninspiring patch of Waltham Forest will have to do. And I doubt that this windswept space beneath the pylons will ever reclaim the sense of community cultivated back at Manor Garden.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Unhappy New Year
You may, one New Year, be tempted to come to London to see the midnight fireworks. Don't bother. However much Mayor Ken may trumpet the excellence of the spectacle, however much Visit London may plead with you to attend, don't waste your time. Stay at home, party with friends and watch it all on the telly instead. Because that was the biggest pile of pants I've ever not seen.
Q. What time should I arrive for the fireworks? Experience in previous years suggests that you be at your chosen vantage point by 23:00, to avoid any last-minute rush. Note that Westminster tube station will close at 21:00, so don't leave it until the last minute, as you may be disappointed. Other nearby stations may close temporarily if they become overcrowded.
If I can get to Temple station by 22:30, I thought, that should work nicely. But no. I was forced to abandon my train at Blackfriars, along with a platform-full of drunken revellers, because the three subsequent stations were closed due to overcrowding. It took ages to escape from the platform, and then I had to negotiate the madding crowds on the Embankment. This was not easy, not least because several idiots had chosen to bring pushchairs to the event and were trying to shove their sleeping offspring through the barely penetrable throng. Never mind, it wasn't quite 11pm and I was closing fast on Waterloo Bridge.
As I watched, a temporary metal gate beneath the bridge suddenly clanged shut, blocking access to the remainder of the Embankment. The good half of the Embankment, immediately opposite the Eye, was now inaccessible. "Sorry, we're not letting anybody through any more," growled a security guard. "Not until the event is over. But there's still a decent view of the fireworks back the way you've just come. Anywhere between here and Blackfriars should do." So I turned round and headed back through a mob of people still pushing forwards, unaware that the road ahead had been closed off. There were no re-direction signs, no public announcements, no clues that they were completely wasting their time. It was like watching lab rats scurrying blindly towards an experimental dead end.
I took up position just along from Temple station, close to the river's edge. I knew that this would be a good place to watch the fireworks because the London Eye was clearly visible, and the spot was marked as an official viewing area on my official map in my official leaflet. Great, there was now 'only' an hour to wait. It turned out to be quite a wet hour, and I was worried that my view might be obscured by umbrellas wielded by wimpy boys with gelled hair. Thankfully the deluge stopped with minutes to spare. I was also stuck directly behind several 6-foot-plus blokes, one of whom had the temerity to wear a woolly hat with a floppy bit on top (a bit like the teat on the tip of a condom) which blocked my view even further. Still, at least I had a better view than the ten rows of people behind me, including the Polish youth jamming his rucksack into my side as he attempted to steady his video camera in readiness for the imminent extravaganza. Eagerly the crowd counted down the final 60 seconds of 2007.
Bong! Boom! The first fireworks of 2008 exploded from the rim of the London Eye. Oooh! Aaah! Hmmm!?! Where had the fireworks gone? A cloud of billowing black smoke had rapidly obscured our view, so utterly and so completely that only the sound of distant explosions told us that the display was still continuing. It was a bit like being in London during the Blitz - all smoke and bangs and blackout. The impenetrable darkness continued, minute after agonising minute, with only the occasional high-flying rocket trail visible above the glowing cloud. The crowd and I stood unmoved in muted disappointment. Even the Polish guy stopped filming after the first five minutes. Were we really going to see absolutely nothing at all? All that hassle to get here, all that standing around, and all for eleven minutes of invisibility. The organisers had forgotten to mention one very important additional key fact - never stand downwind of a firework display.
Bollocks. The hundred thousand of us standing on Waterloo Bridge or on the eastern half of the Embankment had a good view of the London Eye yet saw virtually no fireworks whatsoever. We'd been herded by officialdom into a viewing space which turned out to be worse than useless. Our journey to central London had been a complete waste of time, money and energy. We saw nothing. And to top off a miserable night we still had to face the nightmare journey home, creeping slowly along packed streets trying in vain to find a sideroad up which the police might eventually allow us to escape. No fun. No fun at all.
Best Fireworks In London The event, organised by the Mayor of London and Visit London, promises to be one of the best fireworks displays in Europe.
I think not. Not from where we were standing anyway. I only discovered what I'd missed when I got home and watched the whole smoky event on video (and, even then, I've seen better). So please, don't bother coming to London to see the 2009 fireworks next year. Celebrate well away from the centre of the capital, and spend your money somewhere more welcoming instead. And then, just maybe, there'll be room for me to squeeze into the proper viewing area in your place...
NDRandom borough (15): Hounslow
Few natural events are more random than a tornado. One minute you're sitting at home in your dead ordinary terraced house, and the next the wind is ripping your roof off and hurling tiles through your bedroom window. That's what happened to the residents of Chamberlayne Road in Kensal Rise on the morning of 7th December 2006. You must remember, it was big news, and surely not only because the tornado touched down within two miles of BBC Television Centre. So how are the residents coping now, just over a year later. Very well, by the looks of it. Most of the damaged houses look completely back to normal, although there are still a well-above-average number of roof repairs being carried out along the western side of one short section of the street. For at least the next few months the path of the tornado is still just about traceable, in scaffolding
. And take a closer look at the side of the house at the junction with Whitmore Gardens
The great majority of modern-designed homes are routine identikit boxes with limited character. But in Kingsbury, to the north of the borough, a couple of architects once went out of their way to give local residents somewhere really special to live. The aircraft industry came to this part of rural northwest London during World War 1, and workers had nowhere to live. Sir Francis Baines was commissioned to rectify the situation. He designed a compact "garden village" of 270 flats and houses, just over the road from the de Havilland works on Stag Lane, and Roe Green Village was the result. There are a variety of charming buildings, some timber-faced and others plastered, each divided up into two, three or more dwellings
And then there are Ernest Trobridge's houses on Buck Lane. Oh boy. Whatever was he thinking when he created this handful of eccentric residences? Up on the hilltop, around a single crossroads, are a small cluster of striking individual castellated follies. Some merely have round towers and gothic staircases
Because Brent Cross isn't actually in Brent. Who'd have thought. So I travelled instead to Brent Park in Neasden to visit that other retail colossus - the big blue IKEA on the North Circular Road
Don't divert into the cafe/restaurant. The queues are terrible, the table-clearing service is non-existent, and you don't really like meatballs anyway. Head back down to the ground floor, into the Market Place, to be faced by a dazzling range of cheap household goods graced by a variety of obscure foreign names. And this is where IKEA's marketing brilliance kicks in. You weren't really planning on buying very much, but look over there. You need a storage jar like that, don't you? And that mat would go nicely by the back door, and you don't have enough dinner plates, and don't those pillowcases look jolly, and all at such reasonable prices. By the time you reach the exit you'll almost certainly be carrying more "essentials" than you expected.
Obviously. Where else. But I've written about Wembley Stadium several times on this blog before. Of Watkin's folly (1896), and the Empire Exhibition (1924), and the Olympic Games (1948). But I've never yet written about the revamped rebuilt stadium (2007). So here goes.
The wind whipped round the elevated concrete promenade. Up on level two the bronze figure of Bobby Moore stood watching over the stadium approach, a large St George's flag fluttering limply behind behind his right shoulder
What you can see from the outside of the stadium is the curved glass wall that rises up several storeys into the sky
I haven't been to Harlesden for almost 25 years, back when I was doing a summer job on the Park Royal trading estate. If you bought any Marks and Spencer clothing during the latter half of 1983, I probably helped to produce the little hole-punched swing ticket that hung from the label. So I subconsciously recognised the first part of the walk from my teenage commute. Right out of the station, round the McVities factory (mmm, Harlesden smells nice) and down onto the towpath. Then past the tied up barge and westward, towards Alperton. My printed pdf advised me to look out for a purple bellflower, some blue tufted vetch and a patch of red campion. Not a sign. All I could see was a grassy green verge with no flowering vegetation at all. I should have guessed that a guided walk produced by the London Ecology Unit would be rather heavier on flowers than on history. And that perhaps such a walk was better suited to July than January. Never mind, ever onward.
Two pages of A4 description later and I'd seen almost nothing of what was being described. Just a lot of Park Royal industrial units and a few ducks. There was, however, a bit of a treat ahead as the canal passed over the North Circular Road on an aqueduct. Because aqueducts are cool. But unfortunately the view from this aqueduct was of a stream of rushing traffic and a very modern Travelodge. Even the aqueduct itself
London's most useless railway station is in Brent. It has fewer paying passengers than any of the other 300-or-so stations in the capital. According to official statistics it's used by only 2500 passengers a year. It's no remote halt in the middle of a field, it's in a proper urban location on a busy high street. It's served by trains only during the weekday rush hour, and then only in one direction at a time. It has just nine trains a day - four into town in the morning and five back again in the evening. It is a sorry apology for a station and owners Chiltern Railways clearly treat it with complete indifference. It is Sudbury & Harrow Road. And yes, of course I had to pay a visit.
There are two parallel platforms, a few metres apart, with the top of the stairs forming a small island between the two. If it's raining you can hide beneath the red arched plastic roof, or maybe take a seat on the single central bench. There's room for two, maybe three if you squeeze up close. To the right I spotted a padlocked cupboard containing "Adverse Weather Equipment", and to the left a yellow box labelled "Passenger Help Point" (singular, not plural). Oh, and also a couple of TV display screens transmitting flickering information from Chiltern HQ. These informed me that, not only were there no trains stopping today, there were also no trains running due to planned engineering work. Fantastic, I had this entire remote outpost completely to myself, with no interruptions.
amy lives in these posh flats beside the river lea, on the corner where it meets the hertford canal. the area is called fish island, which is appropriate because she drinks like one LOL. amy lives inside a big modern apartment block made of shiny glass, behind a security gate which helps to keep the tabloids out. she probably has wooden floorboards and a balcony and a large open space pretending to be a loft. i bet she has a cracking time there, know what i mean. and her place directly overlooks the olympics, so she'll have a great view of the basketball stadium in 2012, but only if she's still alive and hasn't dropped DEAD of evil overdoses.
On the western edge of the City of London, tucked out of sight behind Fleet Street, are two of the capital's great Inns of Court. One is the Inner Temple, the other the Middle Temple, and together with the Law Courts over the road they form the nucleus of legal London. Temple's hidden precincts are the stomping ground of barristers and other legalfolk, and have been since 1608 when King James I granted a Royal Charter to the land and buildings on this site. Which makes 2008 the 400th anniversary of the great founding event. Any excuse for a festival.
Middle Temple is the older of the two Inns of Court, but only because most of it wasn't destroyed by bomb damage during WW2. The main Hall is a magnificent Tudor construction, all wooden panelling and hammerbeam roof
And then, one of the highlights of the day, a chance to peer inside Temple Church
Back in 1543, King Henry VIII was getting on a bit and had become more than a bit of an obese lardarse. This made climbing onto a horse, let alone hunting the royal deer, rather difficult. What was Henry to do but construct a great big three-storey platform in the middle of Waltham Forest from which he could shoot at things. He called this building his Grand Standing, although it was probably more of a Grand SittingDown. Even the central staircase was built less steeply than usual to give Henry a fighting chance of being able to climb it. Out in the forest expert huntsmen tracked down deer, then penned them up, before letting them run loose across Chingford Plain past the monarch's steely gaze. One crossbow shot later and the deer would conveniently drop dead, whether the King had hit it or not. Damned fine shots, those covert royal archers. But not really proper hunting.
On into the kitchen/scullery, where there's a not quite convincing display of fake foods (such as fruits and spices) like what Elizabethan aristocracy would have eaten. And then up the stairs (ooh yes, very gentle) to the shooting room on the first floor. There are a couple of appropriately dressed mannequins in the near corner, as well as a box of clothes so that children (and childish adults) can attempt to dress themselves similarly. It's quite an empty room otherwise, and therefore not especially easy to imagine as the heart of the royal hunting party's festivities. At least the view from the window is pretty much as Henry might have remembered it (apart from the golf course where the deer would have been kept, that is, and a rather out-of-place suburban dwelling nextdoor).
Olympic update
Another group of evictees are the Clays Lane residents who have been scattered to the four winds. They too have lost their community. The LDA actually said we were not a community, unlike the Travellers, who were moved as a community... Residents are considerably worse off in financial terms and some are worse off in terms of the quality and size of their new accommodation...
Please do not change trains at Bank/Monument
Blue: station entrances
Back in the late 19th century Victorian engineers built several filter beds in the Lea Valley to purify the capital's drinking water, helping to keep cholera at bay. A century later technology had moved on somewhat, and the beds were abandoned to natural colonisation. They're currently owned by the Lee Valley Regional Park Authority, who six years ago opened a series of bird hides and a visitors centre. Most of the visitors seem to be of the feathered variety, swooping in to swim and flap and feed in the reedy pools. But the occasional human turns up, as I discovered last weekend when I had the place completely and utterly to myself.
It's now been six months since the Olympic Park was sealed off, and everybody who lived and worked there was turfed out. The outcasts had to go somewhere, of course, and quite a lot of them have ended up one mile further upriver near Leyton. The new sites are tucked in beside a bleak arterial road, in the shadow of a couple of giant gasholders, nowhere with any character whatsoever. Few pedestrians ever walk down Orient Way, but plenty of traffic thunders by (most of it setting off the wholly unnecessary 30mph speed warning sign). A few lonely horses graze in a muddy field nearby, and there's also a great big £400m Eurostar maintenance depot whacked down in the general nothingness. But I'm sure most of the relocated businesses don't mind swapping old tumbledown warehouses for shiny modern hangars. These giant tiger-striped metal boxes are a million miles away from their former premises, and all paid for out of your taxes too.
They're, erm, not quite as characterful as the old allotments, are they? The old allotments had charm, and personality, and vegetation. The new allotments are formed from a rectangle of freshly ploughed earth with a concrete path down the middle, divided up into equal-sized patches of empty mud. A tall green metal fence surrounds the perimeter, with tiny saplings planted all around to provide eventual privacy. Standing guard on each plot are identikit green huts, regularly spaced, each waiting for their new owner to arrive and provide a bit of individuality. A few plots show the very first signs of cultivation - a trowel, a chair, a waterbutt - but it'll be a long time before these feel like proper allotments.
I took up position just along from Temple station, close to the river's edge. I knew that this would be a good place to watch the fireworks because the London Eye was clearly visible, and the spot was marked as an official viewing area on my official map in my official leaflet. Great, there was now 'only' an hour to wait. It turned out to be quite a wet hour, and I was worried that my view might be obscured by umbrellas wielded by wimpy boys with gelled hair. Thankfully the deluge stopped with minutes to spare. I was also stuck directly behind several 6-foot-plus blokes, one of whom had the temerity to wear a woolly hat with a floppy bit on top (a bit like the teat on the tip of a condom) which blocked my view even further. Still, at least I had a better view than the ten rows of people behind me, including the Polish youth jamming his rucksack into my side as he attempted to steady his video camera in readiness for the imminent extravaganza. Eagerly the crowd counted down the final 60 seconds of 2007.
Bong! Boom! The first fireworks of 2008 exploded from the rim of the London Eye. Oooh! Aaah! Hmmm!?! Where had the fireworks gone? A cloud of billowing black smoke had rapidly obscured our view, so utterly and so completely that only the sound of distant explosions told us that the display was still continuing. It was a bit like being in London during the Blitz - all smoke and bangs and blackout. The impenetrable darkness continued, minute after agonising minute, with only the occasional high-flying rocket trail visible above the glowing cloud. The crowd and I stood unmoved in muted disappointment. Even the Polish guy stopped filming after the first five minutes. Were we really going to see absolutely nothing at all? All that hassle to get here, all that standing around, and all for eleven minutes of invisibility. The organisers had forgotten to mention one very important additional key fact - never stand downwind of a firework display.
Q. Where can I go to watch the fireworks?Bollocks. The hundred thousand of us standing on Waterloo Bridge or on the eastern half of the Embankment had a good view of the London Eye yet saw virtually no fireworks whatsoever. We'd been herded by officialdom into a viewing space which turned out to be worse than useless. Our journey to central London had been a complete waste of time, money and energy. We saw nothing. And to top off a miserable night we still had to face the nightmare journey home, creeping slowly along packed streets trying in vain to find a sideroad up which the police might eventually allow us to escape. No fun. No fun at all.
