Tube quiz (29)Zone to zone Here's a little tiny quiz, especially for those of you who read this blog in the wee small hours. Let's see if you can have it complete before I wake up. Some tube trains nip through entire travelcard zones really quickly, pausing at only one or two intermediate stations along the way. So this morning I'm asking you to identify the intermediate station (or stations) in these zone-to-zone journeys. A) Zone 1 → two intermediate stations → Zone 3 B) Zone 1 → two intermediate stations → Zone 3 C) Zone 1 → one intermediate station → Zone 4 D) Zone 3 → two intermediate stations → Zone 5 E) Zone 4 → one intermediate station → Zone 6 F) Zone 7 → one intermediate station → Zone 9 n.b. none of the stations involved in these journeys are on the boundary between zones Just one guess each, thanks.
Tube quiz (28)Gateline There aren't many stations left where you can still exit from the London Underground without passing through a ticket barrier. Roding Valley is one. How many more do we know of?
Ungated station: Roding Valley, Finsbury Park, South Kenton, Mill Hill East, Kensington Olympia. One ungated exit: Chorleywood (westbound), Waterloo (W&C), Bank (via lift), Chalfont & Latimer, Finchley Central, Sudbury Town (westbound?), Woodside Park (northbound), Farringdon (rush hour). Ungated exit on special event days: Sloane Square (Chelsea Flower Show), Oval (cricket), Fulham Broadway (Chelsea FC), Arsenal (Arsenal), Putney Bridge (Fulham), Westbourne Park (Carnival). Exit via Tramlink: Wimbledon. Exit via DLR: Bank, Canning Town, Stratford. Exit via London Overground: West Brompton, Willesden Junction, Richmond, Kew Gardens, Gunnersbury, Highbury & Islington, Blackhorse Road. Exit via National Rail: several - including Farringdon, Greenford, Ealing Broadway, West Ruislip (via car park), Amersham, Moorgate, Old Street.
Tube geek/watch (28)Roding Valley Of all the stations on the London Underground, the one you're least likely to visit is Roding Valley. It's on the Essex/London border at the eastern end of the Central line on the Hainault Loop, roughly halfway between Woodford and Buckhurst Hill (but not actually served by trains on that main branch). Three trains an hour, if you're lucky. And maybe that's why this station sees only 210,000 passengers a year (which is half the total of the second least visited station - neighbouring Chigwell). Roding Valley is the tube's most overlooked destination. So, obviously, I had to go and take a look.
Took a while. I had to let five Central line trains go past before a "Woodford via Hainault" train finally rumbled along. I was taken on a circuitous route around the London borough of Redbridge, eventually rumbling across the M11 and over a river whose name you can probably guess. I was surprised that there were still as many as nine passengers in my particular tube carriage as Roding Valley station approached. But I wasn't surprised when the doors opened and I was the only person on the entire train to step out onto the platform.
An entire TfL station to myself - this surely doesn't happen very often. But I did get a very definite feeling that I was being watched. There are a ridiculous number of security cameras at this station, pointing this way and that, ensuring that nobody can even pick their nose without being scrutinised from ten different angles. Loudspeakers are even more numerous, most of these planted on closely-spaced metal stalks, meaning there's absolutely no escape from announcements about engineering works and unattended luggage. So dense is the electronic forest sprouting from Roding Valley's platforms that I can only assume the Hainault Loop is some asbo hotspot (or else tube infraco Metronet were a bunch of scamming swindlers fleecing TfL's budget for every penny they could screw).
Or maybe all the CCTV is a revenue protection scheme. Roding Valley is one of the few ungated stations on the tube network, meaning it's perfectly possible for the criminally-minded to slink in or out without waving an Oyster card. Instead the two entrances are protected by an enamel sign warning of a £50 penalty fare, which is a lot cheaper to install than a full-time member of staff. Incidentally these are also step-free entrances, recently enabled, meriting Roding Valley a rare wheelchair blob on the Central line tube diagram. Just be aware that it's not possible to wheel from one platform to the other via the footbridge - a 500m trek along local backstreets is required.
When the next train arrived I was watching from the footbridge, looking down across the tracks curving beneath me. This particular service from Woodford was a little busier, this being the quicker route to/from central London, and a quartet of passengers disembarked and rapidly dispersed. I was then surprised by something I wasn't expecting to see at a reputedly unstaffed station - a TfL member of staff. There was me wandering around with my camera like I owned the place, and all the time I was being watched by the bloke paid to keep an eye on things. I gritted my teeth and walked down to the ticket hall to try to take some more pictures under his surveillance.
I needn't have worried. While I was snapping away the station manager popped over for a chat and was politeness personified. He said he'd seen somebody else taking photos of the tree-flanked platforms earlier, and wondered what the attraction was. He was also particularly keen to show me Roding Valley's unique front-of-station topiary - the hedge beside the bike rack that's been clipped and coerced into the shape of a steam locomotive. There's more than enough spare time inbetween trains for him to ensure its immaculate upkeep, and if I come back next year it might even have four new wheels. As head gardener he also maintains the station's hanging baskets, in season, and pointed out the three "second place" certificates displayed proudly on the station wall. Woodford's the local station to beat, apparently. Maybe next year.
At this point in the conversation there was another customer to deal with, wanting to know which platform to use to get to London (answer: either of them). This gave me the chance to take a final look around before heading off down the street into surrounding suburbia. But Mr Station Bloke stopped me before I left with an interesting proposition. He said he had something in his office that someone like me might like, and would I wait while he went inside to fetch it. So I waited, and what do you know, he was absolutely right. It's easy to bash TfL and point out small niggly faults that make our everyday tube journeys less than perfect. But at a very human level, in this remote under-visited outpost, the organisation's true quality shone through.
Tube quiz (27)Platforms Most London Underground stations have an even number of platforms. But can you identify any stations with an odd number of platforms? (That's platforms currently in use by Underground trains)
1 platform: Chesham, Heathrow Terminal 4, Mill Hill East, Kensington Olympia 3 platforms: Amersham, Chalfont & Latimer, Stanmore, Edgware, High Barnet, Finchley Central, Seven Sisters, Woodford, Hainault, Leytonstone, Upminster, Dagenham East, Plaistow, Tower Hill, Mansion House, Gloucester Road, Putney Bridge, Richmond, Morden, Hammersmith H&C, North Acton, North Greenwich. 5 platforms: Ealing Broadway, Stratford
Tubewatch (27)The Little Book I'd like to apologise to you if you've bought a copy of "The Little Book of the London Underground". This is a stocking-filler hardback, recently launched, which offers 200 pages of "wacky" tube facts for £9.99. It's been written by Times journalist David Long, who's written three other books about the capital including one particular volume that Amazon keeps urging me to purchase. David's latest densely-packed book contains chapters on Mapping the Underground, Heroes & Villains and Stories, Songs & Films. And look, I'd just like to apologise for the bits I wrote, because they're mostly inaccurate.
I was quite surprised to find bits in the book that I'd written, because nobody asked me if it was OK to include them. To be fair, David has tweaked them and written around them and applied his own take on things. But I take full responsibility for writing them in the first place, and for them not being entirely correct. If you want to ask for your money back, don't let me stop you.
When my annual Tube Week started, way back in 2003, one of the first lists I published was "the number of tube stations in each London borough". It was a lot like the list you can see in the post below, only a 2003 version. I sat there with a map and tried to tally up how many stations there were in each borough, and I made a list, and I published it on the blog. And blimey, what do you know, there's that same list on page 104 of David's book. OK, so he's listed the boroughs in alphabetical not numerical order. OK, so he spotted that Lewisham now has no stations rather than the two it had in 2003. And OK, so he's accidentally omitted Westminster, which is the single most station-packed borough in London. But I recognise most of the rest of the numbers in his list because I counted them myself six years ago. Even the ones that are wrong. Tower Hamlets doesn't have 12 tube stations any more, because the East London line's closed. Hillingdon now has an extra station at Heathrow, which makes 15 not 14. And Hammersmith & Fulham actually has 15 tube stations not 13 because online mapping was rubbish in 2003 and I couldn't be sure whether two of them were over the border or not. You may have added a few errors of your own, David, but I got it wrong first.
Then there's page 142, where David publishes a list of average speeds on various tube lines. That's a nigh-perfect copy of my original list, also from Tube Week 2003, where I divided the length of each line (in miles) by how long a typical journey was from end to end. Desperately unscientific stuff, and in no way related to the top speeds that trains on these lines actually reach, but David's published it all the same. My apologies, I should have researched it better.
Then there's page 60, which is the classic "it's sometimes quicker to walk" section. David's been kind enough to give me a namecheck here (I am the "popular Tube-blogger known as Diamond Geezer"), and then used exactly the same six examples of journeys that I used in Tube Week 2003. Unfortunately this time he's copied them wrongly, making the perhaps understandable error of assuming that metres are the same as yards. They're not. So I'd like to apologise, again, because Regents Park to Great Portland Street isn't 220 yards it's 220 metres.
I also had more than a flicker of recognition on page 92 - "Stations with lifts instead of escalators" (but no, David, you really shouldn't have added East Ham, Finchley Central, Hammersmith, Hillingdon and Wembley Park).
So look, I'd hate you to think I was ungrateful. And I'd hate you to think that I have any sort of rights over this sort of information, because it's freely available on the internet and anyone can use a blog for inspiration if they so wish. But I would like to apologise for providing incorrect information which has now been immortalised in print, thereby adding to a number of other inaccuracies stated as fact in David's book. So if you bought The Little Book of the London Underground, sorry, that could have been ten pounds better spent. And if somebody buys you this book for Christmas, please take all my bits with the huge pinch of salt they deserve.
Tube geek (27)Borough How many tube stations are there in each London borough? Lots. Or maybe none.
Westminster (30); Brent (20); Camden (17); Hammersmith & Fulham, Hillingdon (15); Ealing (14); Barnet (13); Kensington & Chelsea (12); City of London (11); Harrow, Redbridge (10); Islington (9); Hounslow, Lambeth, Tower Hamlets [Essex] (8); Southwark (7); Haringey, Newham, Wandsworth (6); Barking & Dagenham, Merton, [Herts] (5); Enfield, Havering, Waltham Forest (4); [Bucks] (3); Hackney, Richmond (2); Greenwich, (1); Bexley, Bromley, Croydon, Kingston, Lewisham, Sutton (0) (This is an updated, hopefully now correct, version of a list which first appeared in Tube Week 2003)
My borough-by-borough list perfectly sums up the inequitable geographical spread of the tube network. Westminster, not surprisingly, fares the best. All of the top eight boroughs in the list are to the north or west of the capital (along an approximate Metro-land-ish axis). Meanwhile all but one of the bottom nine boroughs in the list are to the south of the Thames. Six of these southern boroughs have absolutely no tube stations at all (although Lewisham used to have two until the East London line changed hands). Hackney's the most glaring exception to the north-south rule with a mere two tubestations, both of which are located unhelpfully on the borough boundary. But otherwise this may be the true reason why the river's so important on the tube map - it divides the haves from the have nots.
Tubewatch (26)Non-priority seats The ten people you least want sitting beside you on the tube: • The accordionist. • The extremely chunky fat man. • The bloke who hasn't washed since September. • The woman attempting to read a broadsheet newspaper in your airspace. • The flustered parent with a whiny kid who wants to crawl across and sit on your lap. • The shouty girl gossiping across the carriage to her six mates, know what I mean. • The shift worker eating something oozy, drippy, slurpy and honking. • The adolescent with a frisky pitbull on a short lead. • The girl who thinks the entire armrest is hers. • The blogger taking notes.
Tube quiz (26)Name that station Here are the names of 30 tube stations with all the consonants replaced by 'c' and all the vowels replaced by 'v'. Can you identify them? For example, Neasden = consonant vowel vowel consonant consonant vowel consonant = cvvccvc
Tube geek (26)Re-rivering the tube map A couple of months ago, you may remember (of course you remember, even people who live in Lerwick probably remember) there was an incredible furore about the new clutter-free tube map. The River Thames went missing, and the general public went apoplectic. Never mind that nobody catches trains down the Thames, nor that the tube crosses the river without obstruction. The media screamed, Boris pronounced, and the Thames will be back on our tube maps next month.
Which creates an awkward problem. It'll be fairly simple to squeeze the Thames back into west and central London because there's plenty of room for manoeuvre. But out east it's a very different story, and two conflicting blue lines are to blame. One is the DLR, which insists on having umpteen stations every few hundred metres, and the other is the river's whopping great meander around the Isle of Dogs.
Here's the Docklands chunk of the latest tube map. It's noticeably simpler than used to be the case, with no East London line replacement buses, a single-blob interchange at Canary Wharf and a slimmer-than-before curve through North Greenwich. But now this elegant layout and spacing are under threat. Look at the gaps through which the restored Thames has somehow got to weave its way. First between Rotherhithe and Wapping (squish), then bending sharply south to the left of Canary Wharf. From here it's all the way down to squeeze between Island Gardens and Cutty Sark, then all the way back up and over the top of North Greenwich before flowing right back down again. Tight fit indeed. There's always been an unwritten rule on the tube map that station names must never be written across the Thames, but I wonder if they'll have to break that this time. Or maybe those IoD DLR stations will have to be compressed even closer together... which would be far easier if (cough) all the blue accessibility blobs were removed from the map.
Replacing the Thames won't help 99.9% of passengers to make their journeys, but it is going to make East London travel look far more complicated than it ought to be. The December tube map will be forced to sacrifice clarity of vision for political correctness, and all because people who rarely use the Underground say it must. Only a few weeks to wait and we'll see how good a damage limitation exercise the designers have managed.
Time once again for diamond geezer to go totally tubular with another week devoted to the London Underground. Prepare for five days of quizzes, quirks, commentary and obscure statistics. Six years ago I looked at the busiest stations and journeys where it was quicker to walk. Five years ago I investigated tube line colours and the easiest interchanges. Four years ago I discussed overcrowding and precisely where the underground is underground. Three years I wrote about accessibility and why people never move down the platform. Two years ago I examined the agonies of Bank/Monument and taking your bike on the tube. And last year I spent the entire week wondering why 'next train' indicators are installed by cretins. I hope there's still something left to write about this year. Mind the doors.
LONDON A-Z An alphabetical journey through the capital's museums UCL Collections - Petrie Museum
Location: Malet Place, University College London WC1E 6BT [map] Open: Tue - Fri, 1pm-5pm (& Sat, 11am-2pm) Admission: free Brief summary: academic Egyptological hoard Website:www.ucl.ac.uk/museums/petrie Time to set aside: an hour
The University of London is reputedly the third oldest in England, after Oxford and Cambridge, established in Gower Street during the reign of George IV. It's old enough to boast (count 'em) eight different museums, most of them small, and several open by appointment only. Only one of these is open at the weekend, and then for only three hours, so I took my chance and that's where I headed. Back in time to the age of the Pharaohs, to an upper room where eighty thousand catalogued Egyptian artefacts are stored.
They don't make museums like the Petrie any more. No buttons to press, no £3 audio guides, just a heck of a lot of very old things in gloomy glass cases. The collection's primary function is to serve the needs of classical and archaeological students, and don't you forget it. Admittance is via a dead-end backstreet, through a not-entirely obvious door, then upstairs to an admissions desk in what looks like one of the campus's forgotten offices. Prepare for items-on-shelf overload, and step inside.
The first short gallery, which is not entirely typical, houses fragments of carved stone. Few are wholly intact, but several slabs are carved with strip upon strip of exquisite hieroglyphics. As languages go, the Egyptian's intricate pictorial script may have been woefully inefficient (and entirely inappropriate for web-based communication), but it doesn't half look good. Another narrow gallery is located alongside, opening out into a larger space beyond, and all bursting with rammed-full glass cases. Don't expect glittering mummies and whopping sarcophagi, these tend to be much smaller more commonplace tomb-raided treasures. Votive tablets, serpentine caskets, and signet rings once worn by Nectaneto II - that sort of thing. Every item in the museum is labelled with a painted serial number plus a short written description, and here you'll find regular reference to dynasties, cartouches and "faience pendants". Ssh, try not to mention that all these objects were thieved from their country of origin by Empire-building 'collectors'.
For a relatively obscure museum, the building was busier than I expected. Some visitors were young couples, quite possibly UCL freshers taking time out to see what their new university had to offer. The rest tended to be older and more scholarly, or were at least pretending to be. A couple of earnest Egyptologists were wandering around, busy telling an ever-decreasing crowd of hangers-on about their favourite Petrie exhibits. It was entertaining to watch their beleaguered audience attempting politely to slip away before their nemesis dived into yet another lengthy anecdote about a big dig or the object of their PhD thesis. "You have to go do you? Pity, but thank you for your attention."
A second, lower, gallery contains an unfeasibly high number of different kinds ofpot, plus a few hundred tiles for good measure. If Egyptian earthenware is your thing then there's even a table for personal study, or alternatively where visitors under the age of 10 can colour in some pictures in crayon. One one particular wall there's a rack of torches - do take one, because the lighting's kept low throughout the museum to preserve the exhibits from permanent decay. And don't forget to check out the rear staircase, where yet more objects (including a fair number of ornamental cats and a sandstone jackal's paw) have been stashed. No space in this historical repository is underused.
If you want dazzling Egyptian treasures, then head instead for the British Museum. But for a clearer sense of the ancient everyday, or simply for the opportunity to potter round a musty academic backwater, try the Petrie. by tube: Euston Square
U is also for... » UndercroftMuseum(in Westminster Abbey) » erm, that's it for London museums, innit?
Four weeks on from the Evening Standard's giveaway rebirth, how is its distribution network doing? You may remember that free copies were originally available only outside central London stations and in scattered suburban supermarkets. Have things got any better? I've taken a look at the Evening Standard's newly-updated distribution map to find out.
Hmm, better. But could do better.
In the centre of London the story is pretty much the same as before. Full coverage at tube stations and mainline termini, which is great so long as you work or travel via one of them. And quite a few W H Smiths, even the bookshop in the basement of Selfridges (which isn't normally the sort of place I associated with picking up a freesheet newspaper). But still no vendors in tube-free Clerkenwell, as I noted a month ago, and no Standards available on Fleet Street. At my local workplace tube station, the one I commute home from, The Evening Standard is being given out by the nice bloke who runs the newsagents kiosk outside. No special Standard hander-outers here, just a whopping pile of zero-priced papers securely positioned beneath a metal weight for anyone to take. This probably boosts sales at the kiosk as more people stop by, which is nice. But having to make an effort to seek, lift and remove one's own copy definitely diminishes the Standard's potential readership by a significant factor.
Head a little further out, say to Zone 2, and there's been a bit more progress. The Evening Standard is now increasingly available in the one type of shop where you'd expect to find it - in a newsagents. ES management have done a distribution deal with various independent stores and paper shops, widening availability to plug several previous gaping holes in the network. Residents of Blackheath, for example, can now pick up a Standard from Nicky's News on the Old Dover Road, from Shepherd Foods in Blackheath Village or from Platform News inside the station. That's a big improvement. And in Kilburn, previously an ES-desert, there's now distribution at Rainbow News, Pelican News and Smoker's Junction. Like I said, getting better. But, erm, is it just me, or are the huge majority of these newsagent-type places in the western half of London, not the east. From the map it doesn't half look like they're concentrated in affluent areas like Richmond, Maida Vale and Barnes, not in less advertiser-friendly locations like Dalston, New Cross and Bow. Let me check by doing a tedious map-based survey of outlets in the W and E postcode areas... <goes away and checks>... I'll disregard postcode W1, because it's too central. Across postcodes W2-W14 there are 64 Standard dispensing outlets, one-third of these independent retailers. Whereas across the 18 E postcode areas there are only 34 distributors, every single one of them either at a station, a Smiths or a supermarket. Not one independent East End newsagent gives away the Standard. And that stinks.
Head further out, to the commuting suburbs, and the picture is as sparse as ever. If you want an Evening Standard in Zones 4, 5 or 6, you're probably going to have to head to your nearest major supermarket. We're talking major, the ones with the big car parks, so they're few and far between. And out here there's been almost no attempt whatsoever to broaden the distribution network since relaunch four weeks ago. In Romford you still have to head for Sainsburys or Asda, in Ruislip to a single southern Sainsbury, and in Purley a lonely Tesco Extra. Who's going to bother? in Bow, where I live, the only place I can get a Standard is my local Tesco in Bromley-by-Bow. It's not somewhere I'd ever go daily, even if I worked from home. Even worse, the pile of Standards is located in a box beyond the entrance barrier, so popping in for a freebie paper and then leaving would make me look extremely shifty. As part of a supposed 'distribution network' this supermarket option is bloody useless, even tokenistic.
One more thing. The Standard's availability map now includes additional information about which edition of the paper you'll get where. In Central London you'll get both versions - the First Edition which hits newsstands at lunchtime and the West End Final which appears later in the afternoon. But step outside Zone 1 and you'll only find a copy of the First Edition, even if it's six o'clock in the evening. If Prince William gets engaged at lunchtime, readers at Kings Cross will read about it in their evening paper but readers in Islington will still see the earlier headline. Ditto there's a world of difference between Vauxhall (both) and Oval (first) only, and between Baker Street (new news) and St John's Wood (old news). Essentially, if you're not a homebound Central London commuter then you're a second class ES citizen. I remember the days, not so long ago, when an orange and white van would pull up outside Bow Church DLR in the evening rush hour to deliver extra copies of the latest edition for the local populace to read. Those days are gone.
Having switched to publishing an un-paid-for freesheet, I guess it makes economic sense for the Evening Standard to cut its distribution costs to the bone. But the end result, even after a month of improvement, remains unimpressively parochial for a supposedly pan-London newspaper.
And finally, in this week of anniversaries, a pre-anniversary.
There are precisely six months to go until Thursday 6th May 2010, which is the most likely date for the next General Election. Today is also precisely 4½ years since Tony Blair triumphed in the UK's last General Election. Which makes today precisely 90% of the way through this Parliament. With 10% still to go.
Here's that "10%-to-go" in a meaningful graphic. Not long. And yet ages.
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
When the election comes round, it's a pretty sure bet that we're in for a change of occupant at Number 10. This means that Gordon Brown will have survived just over 1000 days running the country before the country kicks him out. He only became PM in the middle of 2007 (I know, seems longer doesn't it?), so there's still one sixth of his Premiership to go.
2007
2008
2009
2010
As for the current Labour Government, which kicked off with Tony Blair's red dawn way back in 1997, that's now 96% complete and only 4% remains. New Labour is now Very Much Approaching Retirement Labour, and remains in power only because no General Election need be held until the PM's forced to hold one. That's how democracy works in this country - you don't have to be the most popular party to govern, you just have to have been the most popular on the one day when the electoral snapshot was taken.
97
98
99
00
01
02
03
04
05
06
07
08
09
10
The UK's political pendulum has already swung back into the blue, in one of those great mood shifts that comes along every half-generation or so. Unless David Cameron is suddenly outed as Adolf Hitler's grandson (and even that might not be enough), he'll be celebrating a landslide election victory in precisely six months time. There'll be rapturous applause from the press, and a honeymoon period with the public that might last months or even years, and then all the usual scandals and crises that beset every government we've ever had until eventually everybody hates the Conservatives as much as they hate Labour now and the whole utterly predictable cycle goes round again.
70 years of political power
1945
1951
1964
1970
1974
1979
1997
2010
Six months until everything changes. Which will either fill you with joy or with fear. Hold tight.
Hurrah! Britain's favourite department store is celebrating its centenary today.
Frank Winfield Woolworth opened his first UK shop in Liverpool on 5th November 1909. He'd arrived in the city by liner six months earlier, fresh from establishing a successful chain of five and dime stores in the US. The idea needed translating a bit for the English market (thruppence and sixpence were the initial prices charged over here) but Frank's underlying raison d'être remained the same. Buy quality in bulk, pile it high, and they will come. And so they did, to 25Church Street that Friday morning, to see what lay behind the curved glass frontage. "The handsome premises were thronged the whole time they were open," reported the local paper on the day of opening, even though not a single item was sold. American tradition dictated that day 1 was for viewing only, although visitors were also treated to complimentary tea in the refreshment room and a variety of circus acts. A bit gaudy, thought some, but Liverpool loved FWW and stripped the shelves bare. Within five years another 40 stores had opened across the country, and a retail empire was born.
And so today there'll be centenary celebrations in Woolworths stores across the nation. Bunting will flap, brass bands will play, and there'll be special merchandise at Edwardian prices... except, damn, no there won't. Woolworths spontaneously combusted earlier this year and now exists only as an insignificant online brandname. What a pity that Frank's company didn't live long enough to still be trading today, and maybe even receive a special telegram from the Queen.
So, in the absence of any official 100 year shindig, I thought I'd ask "What happened to London's Woolworths?" There used to be just over a hundred Woolies in the capital. Most have since been filled by some other retail enterprise, although a fair proportion are still locked, shuttered and empty. I've compiled the following list using informationavailableonline, but there may be several omissions and errors, and there are definitely gaps. Can you help me to improve, update and complete it? 6pm update: I've updated the list in line with your (many) comments so far, thanks!.
Iceland: Bethnal Green, Bow, Greenford, Hackney, Harold Hill, Highgate, Kilburn, Leyton, Mill Hill, Palmers Green, Pinner (Rayners Lane), Plumstead, Poplar, Stoke Newington, Upminster, Wallington. 99p store: Balham, Camberwell, Chingford Mount, Edgware, Eltham, Enfield Town, Hornchurch, Muswell Hill, Penge, Shirley, Sidcup, Southall, Stratford, Streatham. Poundland: East Ham, North Finchley, Tooting, Uxbridge, West Ealing. Wilkinsons: Ilford, Walthamstow.
Not sure: Beckton, Burnt Oak, Elm Park, Enfield Highway, Harrow, Hayes, Hounslow, Kingston, Lee, Lower Edmonton, New Addington, North Cheam, Richmond, Romford, Sanderstead, West Hounslow.
Sorry, it would appear to be anniversary week this week. And I'm not finished yet.
It's 40 years ago today since my very first day at school. Not nursery school, because I'd been going up the road to play in the sandpit for a couple of years before that. But proper big school where all the old kids went, some of them even six or seven years old.
To start with I was only invited to go into school for a couple of afternoons a week. There was no mass enlisting of the nation's pre-infants into full time education in those days, oh no, we were generally left free to toddle about in the garden and go down the shops with our mums. But I was permitted admission a few months earlier than most because I was a precocious little thing, and going to school meant I could ask lots and lots of questions to somebody who was actually paid to answer them.
It wasn't far to walk, just a minute up the road and a couple of minutes down. Obviously on that first day I was taken by a parent, but within a few years I'd be allowed to walk home at lunchtime all by myself. You allow a six year-old boy in shorts to do that today and social workers would be down on you like a tabloid headline writer.
My teacher was called Carol, although I only ever knew her as "Miss" at the time. She welcomed me to the school and led me past the coathooks out of sight of my anxious parent. Had I realised what my mum was thinking I'd have turned round and said "Don't worry, I'm not planning on bursting into tears the minute you've gone, although obviously I still love you very much" but I didn't.
My new classroom was big and broad and tall. They no longer build classrooms like these Victorians spaces, all echoing chambers with tall windows, and hard to keep heated during the dark days of winter. There were lots of drawers around the edge of the room, some for scrap paper, some for scissors, and one of which was destined to be mine. I was a bit miffed that Miss had already written my name on it in chunky bold marker pen when I was perfectly capable of writing my own name unaided. Precocious, yeah.
I was taken over to sit next to a girl called Marianne. Such a very 1960s sort of a name, not that I realised this at the time because I was into nursery rhymes and not waspish folk singers. I wasn't initially very chatty with my new friend, sitting there in her polyester blouse and grey skirt, but within a year she'd be inviting me to her birthday party. We spent much of the afternoon bonding over a jigsaw. It wasn't the most academic start to my formal education but, despite this early setback, I still managed to knuckle down and gain a place at university several years later.
My teacher didn't attempt to teach me phonics, or assess my nascent ability against centrally prescribed Early Learning Goals. However, I was given my very first maths exercise book, which was slim and yellow and ruled with chunky squares inside. Miss personalised everybody's book by writing a selection of digits and symbols on the front cover in coloured paint. I remember being distinctly unimpressed by her choice of numerals, and insisted that she give me an out-of-curriculum 'zero' as well. I think she smiled as she painted it, but that may have been a fixed grin.
I later made acquaintance with the class guinea pig, or at least the straw-filled cage in which it supposedly lived. We didn't do pets in my house, what with my dad being allergic to all things furry, so this close encounter was quite a revelation. Several months later I'd make the mistake of convincing my teacher to let me take the cage home for the weekend, which would lead to an impromptu science lesson when an entirely predictable itchy rash broke out.
During afternoon break I learned from my new classmates that there was to be a very special Guy Fawkes treat the following day. Every child in the school was going to be given a sparkler, a whole entire sparkler of their very own, and then allowed to wave it around in the lower playground as it flashed and spluttered and fizzed. There were no nannying health & safety risk assessments in those days - teachers simply stuck a lethal weapon in our hands and let us get on with wielding it. I was extremely excited, until I remembered that tomorrow was a Wednesday and I didn't yet come to school on Wednesdays. This was undoubtedly the day's low point.
I'm sure I pestered my mum something rotten when hometime came around, but I was told point blank that I definitely couldn't come back until Thursday. If only the teachers had told me back then how rare a day off would be in the future, I doubt I'd have complained quite so much about my sparkerlessness. But my first day at school had achieved its intended goal and I was already aching to come back. It wouldn't all be jigsaws and guinea pigs on the several thousand schooldays that followed, but I wouldn't be where I am today without the education that Miss and her talented successors provided.
If it's quarter past seven on the morning of the third of November then I've been single for exactly ten years. (Yes, I know I've posted this particular post atthesametimeeveryyear since this blog started, but I always update it a bit, and it seems to resonate. And I'm not after sympathy, really I'm not, because I'm perfectly happy being single thanks. But, blimey, ten years eh? Maybe it's finally time to give this post a rest)
Some might say that we single people are missing out on the joys of coupledom, and maybe we are, but I'm convinced that there are equally many positive points to being single:
Single: You get the whole duvet to yourself. Coupled: You don't need a hot water bottle.
Single: There's half as much ironing to do. Coupled: There's twice as much ironing to do but somebody else might do it.
Single: You can hoover the carpet when you think it needs doing. Coupled: Somebody else hoovers the carpet before you think it needs doing.
Single: Nobody ever tells you that the kitchen must be repainted and the bathroom must be retiled. Coupled: Two people can repaint the kitchen or retile the bathroom far more quickly than one.
Single: You never have to waste a Saturday doing what somebody else wants. Coupled: You never sit around on a Saturday wondering what the hell to do.
Single: You can play your music collection really loud, even the track that nobody else likes. Coupled: Your music collection is double the size.
Single: You can watch whatever TV channel you like, without arguments. Coupled: There's somebody else on the sofa to snuggle up to.
Single: Nobody complains when you burp, belch or fart. Coupled: Somebody points out when you have dandruff on your shoulder.
Single: You don't have to put up with somebody else's niggly annoying habits. Coupled: Somebody else puts up with your niggly annoying habits.
Single: The toilet seat is always where you left it. Coupled: The toilet seat isn't always freezing cold.
Single: You never come home to a blazing row. Coupled: You sometimes come home to a cooked meal.
Single: You get to eat the whole ready meal for two yourself. Coupled: It takes just as long to cook for two as it does for one.
Single: You can spend all your money on yourself. Coupled: There are two salaries coming in and only one set of bills.
Single: You can walk away from a flatshare, any time. Coupled: You can afford a mortgage, together.
Single: There are no important birthdays or anniversaries to accidentally forget. Coupled: Somebody actually remembers your birthday.
Single: You never have to buy useless presents for your partner, just for the sake of it. Coupled: Somebody buys you presents occasionally, and it's the thought that counts.
Single: Nobody insists on coming over to yours for Christmas. Coupled: Everybody insists on coming over to yours for Christmas.
Single: You're allowed to flirt with people in the street. Coupled: You don't need to flirt with people in the street.
Single: You can still have a riotous social life in your 30s. Coupled: You can still have a riotous social life in your 60s.
Single: You have no friends to go out with because they've all partnered off and are staying in. Coupled: You don't have to go out with those annoying friends you had while you were single.
Single: You don't catch every sniffle, cold and flu bug off your partner. Coupled: When you suffer a major cardiac arrest, somebody actually notices and dials 999.
Single: You never get left all alone and desolate because your life partner's just passed away. Coupled: When you get old and infirm, you don't end up in a care home because there's nobody to look after you.
Single: If you meet the partner of your dreams, it's not too late to marry them. Coupled: Nobody ever meets the partner of their dreams, so better to get married before it's too late.
Single: Being coupled is restrictive, stifling and a sign of personal weakness. Coupled: Being single is unnatural, lonely and a sign of personal failure.
Single: You never get your heart broken. Coupled: You sometimes feel your heart leap.
Single: You can have sex with anyone you like. Coupled: You can have sex whenever you like.
Single: The bathroom is always free. Coupled: The bedroom is always full.
Single: You can lie in bed in the morning for as long as you like. Coupled: There's a very good reason for lying in bed in the morning.
Single: Nobody sees what you look like first thing in the morning. Coupled: Somebody loves you despite what they see first thing in the morning.
Single: You never get told by your partner, in no uncertain terms, to refrain from ever having any kind of emotional or sexual liaison with anybody else, otherwise there'll be shouting and screaming, even violence, except it turns out later that your partner has been repeatedly shagging around behind your back ever since the relationship began, so those same rules clearly didn't once apply to them, but then that's what happens when you fall in love with a psychopath. Not that I'm in any way bitter, you understand...
Yes, I know, it's illegal to go for a walk along a motorway. But, to celebrate the 50thanniversary of the opening of Britain's most famous road, I've been for a stroll as close alongside the M1 as I could get. From Junction 5, which is where the 1959 motorway began, all the way up to junction 6a, which is the M1's more recent mega-connection to the M25. That's a six-mile rural hike up the edge of Watford. Oh yeah, I know how to live it up, me.
Junction 5: Berrygrove Before the M1 came along, the Colne Valley southeast of Watford was a place of relative peace and calm. OK, so there was a major trunk road passing through - the A41 - but nothing visually intrusive. And then Britain's first major motorway arrived, launching off from these fields towards Luton and "The North", and the area was never the same again. A buckle-shaped roundabout was built to link the new M1 to the parallel A41, and traffic filtered off to drive on the pristine no-speed-limit carriageways. It's still possible to see what used to be here, before the concrete crash-landed, by taking a walk up from the Aldenham Road along the very edge of the motorway. The path passes first through a field, then enters thick beechy woodland - this being Berrygrove Woods after which the carved-out junction is named. It's a delightful place, all shady forest and muddy trails, currently with scrunchy brown leaves and sprouting fungi underfoot [photo]. From the central sloping trail the roar of the M1 is never too far away, though well hidden. Only by stepping deep into the undergrowth can the roundabout's embankment be seen, high above, disgorging traffic towards the backstreets of Bushey. Best not to even look, and simply to enjoy the unexpected woody solitude of Junction 5's scarred neighbour.
Munden Drive Despite being a mile from the M1, the landowners of stately Munden House risked being cut off from civilisation when the M1 was constructed. Their (very) long drive would be severed by the new road, and no alternative exit across the scenic River Colne looked practical. So the very first bridge across the M1 was a tiny thing designed to link a single mansion to the outside world. No cyclists are permitted to cross today, but pedestrians are welcome to stand high above the centre of the dual carriageway so long as they step out of the way should any Jag or Roller swan by. One wonders what drivers thundering below think when they spot somebody gawping from the overbridge. "Who is that up there?" "Why the hell are they taking photos, are they police?" "Oh no, he's not going to drop a brick on my windscreen is he?" "Don't jump!" [photo]
Meriden Estate The M1 divides residential Watford from some really very lovely countryside. I stuck to the pretty side, following untrod footpaths across meadows and through brambly copses. Every now and again the path came right up alongside the hard shoulder, sometimes beside a giant roadsign, occasionally past one of those anonymous grey boxes that monitors something. A real ale pub in the middle of nowhere came as a pleasant surprise, although the M1's concrete barrier must restrict the clientèle somewhat. Residents of the Meriden Estate aren't given too much opportunity to cross from their side to this, just a couple of gloomy subways, which tends to keep them away unless they have a dog to walk. The only bunch I encountered were a bunch of lads lurking in silhouette beneath the northbound carriageway. They might have been sweet kids who do errands for their grannies, or they might have been comparing knife sharpness, I didn't pause to find out.
Bucknalls Lane If your flat takes longer than an hour to burn down, or if relatively little heat escapes through your newbuild walls, then you probably have the Building Research Establishment to thank [photo]. They're based in Garston, up the far end of Bucknalls Lane, and in the mid 1950s the M1 came burrowing right past their main entrance. All these government scientists carrying out thrilling state-of-the-art research into pre-stressed concrete, and suddenly a genuine concrete-churning project materialised immediately alongside. BRE's thoughts today are with sustainability, low energy houses and all that tedious quality review stuff, so I doubt if the current generation of administrators are quite so excited by the engineering marvel outside the main gate. [photo]
Junction 6: Waterdale The M1 had an architectural style all of its very own, with every bridge along the 53-mile length essentially built to the same design. Flat slablike tops, bold concrete curves, and a pleasing modernity throughout. In the days before computer-aided design, it helped to have one chunky blueprint to stretch or skew to fit the space available. At Waterdale the A405 ducks beneath what was the second junction on the motorway, but is now number six [photo]. It's a very simple (and fairly cheap) junction with a couple of single-lane slip roads curving round to/from the embankment above. Catenary lighting hangs messily along the centre of the dual carriageway, ensuring that this key stretch of the UK network is illuminated at all times. I guess there can't be too many amateur astronomers living in neighbouring Bricket Wood.
Junction 6a: (M25 Junction 21) You've probably driven through here. It's where the M1 meets the M25, a triple-level free-flowing junction where the country's two most iconic motorways intersect. But I bet you haven't been here on foot. I was amazed that it was even possible. First I had to follow a non-footpath along the edge of the A405 dual carriageway to a half-hidden signpost, then cross a ploughed field up a shallow incline into a wood. No clues thus far as to what was hidden on the other side. A sudden fence corralled me alongside the southbound M1, a mere stone's throw away, then down to an unexpected viewpoint beneath a stack of three intersecting overpasses [photo]. As the traffic sped by, both above and below, I felt like an insignificant infidel encroaching into the heart of an automotive temple. But don't knock the power of the pedestrian "right of way". The Department of Transport has had to construct a traversable route through and across this multi-lane canyon, resulting in a pair of narrow footbridges suspended higher than the tops of the lampposts below. These bridges can't be used by more than a couple of pairs of walking boots each day, but they provided an excellent grandstand view as well as a route of passage. First to cross was the M25 proper, a few hundred yards down from the centre of this complex half-cloverleafjunction[photo]. A trio of mighty painted arrows reminded me just how huge road markings have to be so that they're legible through a speeding windscreen [photo]. And then to bridge number two, invisible from the first, across a gentle twin-lane chicane used by southbound M1 traffic attempting to join the M25 eastbound. Less busy, although still strangely picturesque in its own way [photo]. Fifty years on, even a pedestrian can sometimes appreciate the brutal beauty of our motorway network.
WALK LONDON The London Loop[section 3] West Wickham Common to Petts Wood (10 miles)
Last Sunday I walked another segment of the London Loop - the capital's 24-bit perimeter footpath. This time I headed southeast to walk one of the longest sections, through swathes of rolling autumnal countryside. And it was proper lovely.
A short distance from Hayes station, on the boundary between suburbia and countryside, I kicked off my walk by entering a thin wooded outpost of the City of London. West WickhamCommon came under the philanthropic jurisdiction of the City in 1878, and Victorian by-laws still prohibit the driving of bicycles through shrubberies, the grazing of mules, the use of disgusting language, the selling of indecent books and the erection of photographic apparatus. Thankfully walking was still permitted. Ancient earthworks lurked amid heathery ferny glades atop the chalk ridge. There ought to have been a great view to the south, and occasionally there was [photo], but a long row of ever-so exclusive homes had stolen most of it for themselves. Onward along the edge of Hayes Common, eventually re-emerging onto Kestonvillage green. Two pubs and a Post Office proved to be the limit of retail civilisation for the next several miles.
The path returned to muddy woodland and twisted round past KestonPonds. Only one of these pools is natural - the most secluded of the three - while the other two are larger and much beloved by fisherfolk. These anglers had set up stools on the banks and were casting their lines in an entirely unsuccessful attempt (at least while I was watching) to lure wily fish onto their floating hooks. I was much taken by the brightly lit autumn backdrop and by the occasional shower of yellow leaves tumbling gently into the water [photo]. Above the highest pond lies a brick-circled spring called Caesar's Pond, so named because allegedly Julius and his invading army once stopped here for a drink. This is also the source of the River Ravensbourne, rather lovelier here than at its mouth 11 miles away in Deptford Creek. Most visitors appeared to have walked no more than 200 yards from the car park - and I could see the attraction in not straying too much further.
Despite being in the middle of rural nowhere, a fairly decent bus service runs along the Westerham Road (round of applause to TfL). I crossed cautiously and started the steady climb to an unusual and historic tree stump [photo]. The Wilberforce Oak is reputedly the spot where William Wilberforce paused for a chat with PM William Pitt, and here made up his mind to bring forward the abolition of the slave trade in the House of Commons. Alas there's not much of the old tree left, having been snapped and toppled by a ferocious 1991 storm, and there's a now replacement oak bursting forth on the wooded slopes. Close by is a commemorative stone bench, but protected behind a tall wire fence so that no passing citizen could ever sit on it. I got the distinct feeling, continuing down into a spacious but inaccessible valley, that the current estate owners at Holwood House (just visible on the hilltop [photo]) prefer their ramblers at arm's length.
This chunk of London didn't feel like London at all. Rolling hills bedecked in autumn shades, light aircraft buzzing overhead on their way into Biggin Hill, and a winding country lane leading uphill to working stables. I ascended behind a chestnut mare and her squat rider, accompanied on foot by a wheezing over-stocky companion for whom the climb proved almost too much. A delightful narrow path between fields went by the less than delightful name of BogeyLane, and here again I found myself stuck behind an equine traffic jam.
After the obligatory golf course, an unusual clock tower heralded the edge of High ElmsCountry Park[photo]. This is a favoured recreational bolthole for the outdoorfolk of southern Bromley, and home to a number of elegant formal gardens as well as a variety of attractive wilder habitats. I'd accidentally timed my visit to coincide with the park's annual Apple Day, hosted at the recently opened Environmental Education Centre. It wasn't quite the exciting event I'd been led to believe, more a couple of classrooms emblazoned with apple-related laser printout. In one room members of staff were attempting to flog apple juice, and handing out sliced samples of some less common varieties of apple, and inviting visitors to guess the number of crabapples in a jar. Visitors however seemed far happier to sit in the adjacent café and eat anything other than fruit.
Back into built-up London via the suburb of Farnborough, arriving in town up the hill through St Giles' churchyard[photo]. Close by the path is buried the (supposedly) legendary Gipsy Lee, the area's last ever Gipsy Queen, but whose real name was Urania Boswell. It was strange to be walking past bus stops and shops and front gardens again, but the London Loop never strays away from greenery for too long. An open grassy slope provided some fine views towards the North Downs - a visual experience savoured only by myself and a tiny handful of local dogwalkers. I then got terribly lost in Darrick Wood. The walk had been extremely well signposted until this point, but I must have missed a turn-off and so wandered around the maze of wooded paths until I'd completely lost my bearings. Eventually escaping, I negotiated my way through the streets of Crofton - a lesser-known residential neighbour of mighty Orpington.
Yet more urban forest to explore, taking a very lonely path through the middle of Crofton Wood. "If five lads jump out with a knife I'm in big trouble," I thought, although I encountered nothing scarier than an abandoned supermarket trolley and a posh girl with an alsatian. One final lengthy estate-yomp eventually led to Jubilee Country Park, a more-than pleasant nature reserve with open common surrounded by leafy thickets. Much as I love my manor in East London, we have absolutely nothing extensive and natural like this back home, so the London Loop's a great way to rediscover brief segments of what I'm missing. And each stage always ends up back at a station, in this case Petts Wood, where there's a rather fetching Loop 3 route map etched in metal bolted to the wall. My walk definitely hadn't been a shortcut, more a devious downward meander, but all the more enjoyable for it.
4000 days to go - Tuesday 14th August 2001 • London's not planning on bidding for any Olympics, oh no. Instead all eyes are on the 2005 World Athletics Championships, which are scheduled to be held in a new stadium at Picketts Lock. It'll be a triumph, obviously. Planning is well underway, but there are funding worries (the whole project might cost - shock horror - nearly £110m!). Surely the Government wouldn't dream of pulling out... • The workerfolk at Tyrone Ltd, in their big yellow shed up Marshgate Lane, are busy making luxury lace curtains. • I'm just about to move into a flat in unfashionable Bow, less than a mile from a spot that'll be world-famous in eleven years time. Thankfully my letting agents don't yet know this, otherwise my rent could have been considerably higher.
3000 days to go - Monday 10th May 2004 • The Picketts Lock fiasco is long forgotten. Instead all eyes are on London's proposed bid for the 2012 Olympic Games. Seb Coe & Co plan to plonk an Olympic Stadium in the Lower Lea Valley, despite less-than-wild enthusiasm from the businesses on top of whom it would be plonked. • Just like any Monday, there are bits of car for sale at JJ Autos on Carpenters Road. Why worry about the future? London might not reach the final shortlist of five cities at the end of the month, and will almost certainly lose out to Paris in the big vote next year. So it's business as usual. • A London Games will never happen, obviously, but I'm still regularly out and about along Stratford's industrial riverbanks, just in case.
2000 days to go - Sunday 4th February 2007 • It's coming! The Olympics are really coming to London this time, and the Government can't possibly withdraw (however loudly grumpy budget-blasting taxpayers might complain). The Lower Lea Valley is being bought up, patch by patch, and then hundreds of acres will be sealed off in the summer so that they can be transformed from warehouses into grandstands. • At the Manor Garden allotments, hopes remain high that the ODA might want to preserve a patch of sustainable foodstuffs amongst the corporate burgershacks. But every plotholder secretly realises that this spring's planting will be the last. • I think I might go up onto the Greenway and take a photo of the emerging stadium once a month. While I still can.
1000 days to go - Saturday 31st October 2009 • We have a stadium. Its crown of white girders has been dominating the E15 skyline for a while now, reminding local residents that their communities are about to be transformed. The area around the stadium still looks a complete featurelessmess, but the skeleton of several other Olympic venues is already ascending. • Bosses at H Forman & Son now look out towards the stadium from the pinkish balcony of their state-of-the-art salmon smokery. Somewhere beyond the Lea, precisely where their not quite state-of-the-art factory used to be, there's a Royal box and a heck of a lot of ramped terracing. • In Greenwich, angry protesters flock to complain about the terrible damage 75 horses will do to their favourite World Heritage park. Other residents aren't quite so paranoid. Quick - the official consultation period ends today, so there's just time to submit your blinkered bigotry (or otherwise) online.
0000 days to go - Friday 27th July 2012 • London becomes the first city ever to host the Olympics three times. Yah boo sucks to you Paris. • The eyes of the world are on Parkes Galvanising (or, at least, the spot where Parkes Galvanising used to be). Umpteen thousand people have forked out a lot of money to watch the Olympic Opening Ceremony in the pouring rain (and are hoping it's more exciting than Leona Lewis on a bus). • Several security guards want to give me a rigorous patdown before I'm allowed into the Olympic Park to watch the First Night Fireworks from what will one day be my local park. But for the next fortnight, this park belongs to the world.
1000 days after - Thursday 23rd April 2015 • The Olympics are long gone. But there's a nice new swimming pool for the people of Stratford to splash around in, and a shiny Velodrome precisely where the old cycling circuit used to be, and some nice ex-Village flats for rich bankers to spend their bonuses on. That's proper legacy for you. • The Waterside Cafe in the Olympic Park has just opened for its first spring season. Maybe some customers will turn up one day and sit by the river and throw chunks of blueberry flapjack at the swans. • Andrew Gilligan is still complaining that one of the flowerbeds in Greenwich Park looks a bit trampled.
2000 days after - Wednesday 17th January 2018 • Everybody's talking about the Olympics... but the buzz is no longer about London. It's the Winter Games opening ceremony in Reykjavik tomorrow. Do you think Brooklyn Beckham has a chance in the Snowboard Freestyle? • West Ham are playing midweek football at their new 25,000 seater stadium in the Olympic Park. Unfortunately, now that they're floundering in the lower reaches of Division Two, the former Royal Box has been renamed the Tumbleweed End. • Just beyond the Westfield shopping centre, beneath the rusting spire of the Boris Johnson Memorial Tower, thousands of relocated Newham residents are living in elevated shoeboxes and cardboard-wall terraces amongst some of the most expensive parkland on the planet. Some of them even go swimming occasionally. £9.3bn well spent. No, really.
I'm not sure I ever said thanks properly. I think I did, maybe even several times, but it might not have have come across coherently at the time. So here it is again, with a lot more feeling, better late than never. Thanks!
You didn't have to come round, but I'm very relieved that you did. You cancelled everything you had planned, all your weekend activities, and probably woke up a lot earlier than usual too. It was quite a journey, hardly just around the corner, and I can only imagine what you were chatting about on the way down.
You don't know how glad I was to see you. It had been a long night since I phoned, a very strange and troubling night, and I hadn't slept much. So much to do, and so little actually done. And there you were on the doorstep, like a rock of normality, to give me something sane to hang onto. So very glad.
I'm not normally an emotional person, but I think I made up for it when you arrived. I reckon I should react like that more often, to be honest, although without the need for some sort of crisis to bring it about. I'm usually a lot more at ease, and a lot more in control - and I think I have you to thank for that too.
There was plenty needed to be done, and I couldn't possibly have managed it all by myself. A lot of traipsing around, here and there, in and out, and especially up and down. That bewildered kitten kept getting in the way, didn't she? And we spent far too long in the garage, but then I never did travel light.
Then we all sat down to eat lunch, all of us together somewhere other than your place for once. Ham rolls - always a safe and reliable option in such circumstances. You sat there and discussed what was going on in your lives, and I remember feeling totally disassociated from it all, in a little bubble all of my very own.
Another long journey ahead. That cup of tea at the far end was very welcoming, almost normal. I know I didn't stay long, not on that occasion, because I had a lot more falling apart to do elsewhere. But I felt like I was imposing, taking over part of your lives unexpectedly, even though I know you were only too glad to help.
Thanks for never saying "I told you so", even though I bet you were thinking it. Thanks for helping me to move forward with an absolute minimum of fuss. And thanks for your unfailing support, especially on that day when I needed it the most. For always being there, before and since, I so very thank you.
Tube quiz (29) Zone to zone
Tube geek/watch (28) Roding Valley
Took a while. I had to let five Central line trains go past before a "Woodford via Hainault" train finally rumbled along. I was taken on a circuitous route around the London borough of Redbridge, eventually rumbling across the M11 and over a river whose name you can probably guess. I was surprised that there were still as many as nine passengers in my particular tube carriage as Roding Valley station approached. But I wasn't surprised when the doors opened and I was the only person on the entire train to step out onto the platform.
Or maybe all the CCTV is a revenue protection scheme. Roding Valley is one of the few ungated stations on the tube network, meaning it's perfectly possible for the criminally-minded to slink in or out without waving an Oyster card. Instead the two entrances are protected by an enamel sign warning of a £50 penalty fare, which is a lot cheaper to install than a full-time member of staff. Incidentally these are also step-free entrances, recently enabled, meriting Roding Valley a rare wheelchair blob on the Central line tube diagram. Just be aware that it's not possible to wheel from one platform to the other via the footbridge - a 500m trek along local backstreets is required.
I needn't have worried. While I was snapping away the station manager popped over for a chat and was politeness personified. He said he'd seen somebody else taking photos of the tree-flanked platforms earlier, and wondered what the attraction was. He was also particularly keen to show me Roding Valley's unique front-of-station topiary - the hedge beside the bike rack that's been clipped and coerced into the shape of a steam locomotive. There's more than enough spare time inbetween trains for him to ensure its immaculate upkeep, and if I come back next year it might even have four new wheels. As head gardener he also maintains the station's hanging baskets, in season, and pointed out the three "second place" certificates displayed proudly on the station wall. Woodford's the local station to beat, apparently. Maybe next year.
Tubewatch (27) The Little Book
Westminster (30); Brent (20); Camden (17); Hammersmith & Fulham, Hillingdon (15); Ealing (14); Barnet (13); Kensington & Chelsea (12); City of London (11); Harrow, Redbridge (10); Islington (9); Hounslow, Lambeth, Tower Hamlets [Essex] (8); Southwark (7); Haringey, Newham, Wandsworth (6); Barking & Dagenham, Merton, [Herts] (5); Enfield, Havering, Waltham Forest (4); [Bucks] (3); Hackney, Richmond (2); Greenwich, (1); Bexley, Bromley, Croydon, Kingston, Lewisham, Sutton (0)
Here's the Docklands chunk of the latest tube map. It's noticeably simpler than used to be the case, with no East London line replacement buses, a single-blob interchange at Canary Wharf and a slimmer-than-before curve through North Greenwich. But now this elegant layout and spacing are under threat. Look at the gaps through which the restored Thames has somehow got to weave its way. First between Rotherhithe and Wapping (squish), then bending sharply south to the left of Canary Wharf. From here it's all the way down to squeeze between Island Gardens and Cutty Sark, then all the way back up and over the top of North Greenwich before flowing right back down again. Tight fit indeed. There's always been an unwritten rule on the tube map that station names must never be written across the Thames, but I wonder if they'll have to break that this time. Or maybe those IoD DLR stations will have to be compressed even closer together... which would be far easier if (cough) all the blue accessibility blobs were removed from the map.
Time once again for diamond geezer to go totally tubular with another week devoted to the London Underground. Prepare for five days of quizzes, quirks, commentary and obscure statistics. Six years ago I looked at the busiest stations and journeys where it was quicker to walk. Five years ago I investigated tube line colours and the easiest interchanges. Four years ago I discussed overcrowding and precisely where the underground is underground. Three years I wrote about accessibility and why people never move down the platform. Two years ago I examined the agonies of Bank/Monument and taking your bike on the tube. And last year I spent the entire week wondering why 'next train' indicators are installed by cretins. I hope there's still something left to write about this year. Mind the doors.
Location: Malet Place, University College London WC1E 6BT [map]
The first short gallery, which is not entirely typical, houses fragments of carved stone. Few are wholly intact, but several slabs are carved with strip upon strip of exquisite hieroglyphics. As languages go, the Egyptian's intricate pictorial script may have been woefully inefficient (and entirely inappropriate for web-based communication), but it doesn't half look good. Another narrow gallery is located alongside, opening out into a larger space beyond, and all bursting with rammed-full glass cases. Don't expect glittering mummies and whopping sarcophagi, these tend to be much smaller more commonplace tomb-raided treasures. Votive tablets, serpentine caskets, and signet rings once worn by Nectaneto II - that sort of thing. Every item in the museum is labelled with a painted serial number plus a short written description, and here you'll find regular reference to dynasties, cartouches and "faience pendants". Ssh, try not to mention that all these objects were thieved from their country of origin by Empire-building 'collectors'.
A second, lower, gallery contains an unfeasibly high number of different kinds of pot, plus a few hundred tiles for good measure. If Egyptian earthenware is your thing then there's even a table for personal study, or alternatively where visitors under the age of 10 can colour in some pictures in crayon. One one particular wall there's a rack of torches - do take one, because the lighting's kept low throughout the museum to preserve the exhibits from permanent decay. And don't forget to check out the rear staircase, where yet more objects (including a fair number of ornamental cats and a sandstone jackal's paw) have been stashed. No space in this historical repository is underused.
Frank Winfield Woolworth opened his first UK shop in Liverpool on 5th November 1909. He'd arrived in the city by liner six months earlier, fresh from establishing a successful chain of five and dime stores in the US. The idea needed translating a bit for the English market (thruppence and sixpence were the initial prices charged over here) but Frank's underlying raison d'être remained the same. Buy quality in bulk, pile it high, and they will come. And so they did, to 25 Church Street that Friday morning, to see what lay behind the curved glass frontage. "The handsome premises were thronged the whole time they were open," reported the local paper on the day of opening, even though not a single item was sold. American tradition dictated that day 1 was for viewing only, although visitors were also treated to complimentary tea in the refreshment room and a variety of circus acts. A bit gaudy, thought some, but Liverpool loved FWW and stripped the shelves bare. Within five years another 40 stores had opened across the country, and a retail empire was born.
And so today there'll be centenary celebrations in Woolworths stores across the nation. Bunting will flap, brass bands will play, and there'll be special merchandise at Edwardian prices... except, damn, no there won't. Woolworths spontaneously combusted earlier this year and now exists only as an insignificant online brandname. What a pity that Frank's company didn't live long enough to still be trading today, and maybe even receive a special telegram from the Queen.
Junction 5: Berrygrove
Meriden Estate
Junction 6: Waterdale
A sudden fence corralled me alongside the southbound M1, a mere stone's throw away, then down to an unexpected viewpoint beneath a stack of three intersecting overpasses [photo]. As the traffic sped by, both above and below, I felt like an insignificant infidel encroaching into the heart of an automotive temple. But don't knock the power of the pedestrian "right of way". The Department of Transport has had to construct a traversable route through and across this multi-lane canyon, resulting in a pair of narrow footbridges suspended higher than the tops of the lampposts below. These bridges can't be used by more than a couple of pairs of walking boots each day, but they provided an excellent grandstand view as well as a route of passage. First to cross was the M25 proper, a few hundred yards down from the centre of this complex half-cloverleaf junction [photo]. A trio of mighty painted arrows reminded me just how huge road markings have to be so that they're legible through a speeding windscreen [photo]. And then to bridge number two, invisible from the first, across a gentle twin-lane chicane used by southbound M1 traffic attempting to join the M25 eastbound. Less busy, although still strangely picturesque in its own way [photo]. Fifty years on, even a pedestrian can sometimes appreciate the brutal beauty of our motorway network.
WALK LONDON
A short distance from Hayes station, on the boundary between suburbia and countryside, I kicked off my walk by entering a thin wooded outpost of the City of London. West Wickham Common came under the philanthropic jurisdiction of the City in 1878, and Victorian by-laws still prohibit the driving of bicycles through shrubberies, the grazing of mules, the use of disgusting language, the selling of indecent books and the erection of photographic apparatus. Thankfully walking was still permitted. Ancient earthworks lurked amid heathery ferny glades atop the chalk ridge. There ought to have been a great view to the south, and occasionally there was [photo], but a long row of ever-so exclusive homes had stolen most of it for themselves. Onward along the edge of Hayes Common, eventually re-emerging onto Keston village green. Two pubs and a Post Office proved to be the limit of retail civilisation for the next several miles.
The path returned to muddy woodland and twisted round past Keston Ponds. Only one of these pools is natural - the most secluded of the three - while the other two are larger and much beloved by fisherfolk. These anglers had set up stools on the banks and were casting their lines in an entirely unsuccessful attempt (at least while I was watching) to lure wily fish onto their floating hooks. I was much taken by the brightly lit autumn backdrop and by the occasional shower of yellow leaves tumbling gently into the water [photo]. Above the highest pond lies a brick-circled spring called Caesar's Pond, so named because allegedly Julius and his invading army once stopped here for a drink. This is also the source of the River Ravensbourne, rather lovelier here than at its mouth 11 miles away in Deptford Creek. Most visitors appeared to have walked no more than 200 yards from the car park - and I could see the attraction in not straying too much further.
Despite being in the middle of rural nowhere, a fairly decent bus service runs along the Westerham Road (round of applause to TfL). I crossed cautiously and started the steady climb to an unusual and historic tree stump [photo]. The Wilberforce Oak is reputedly the spot where William Wilberforce paused for a chat with PM William Pitt, and here made up his mind to bring forward the abolition of the slave trade in the House of Commons. Alas there's not much of the old tree left, having been snapped and toppled by a ferocious 1991 storm, and there's a now replacement oak bursting forth on the wooded slopes. Close by is a commemorative stone bench, but protected behind a tall wire fence so that no passing citizen could ever sit on it. I got the distinct feeling, continuing down into a spacious but inaccessible valley, that the current estate owners at Holwood House (just visible on the hilltop [photo]) prefer their ramblers at arm's length.
This chunk of London didn't feel like London at all. Rolling hills bedecked in autumn shades, light aircraft buzzing overhead on their way into Biggin Hill, and a winding country lane leading uphill to working stables. I ascended behind a chestnut mare and her squat rider, accompanied on foot by a wheezing over-stocky companion for whom the climb proved almost too much. A delightful narrow path between fields went by the less than delightful name of Bogey Lane, and here again I found myself stuck behind an equine traffic jam.
Back into built-up London via the suburb of Farnborough, arriving in town up the hill through St Giles' churchyard [photo]. Close by the path is buried the (supposedly) legendary Gipsy Lee, the area's last ever Gipsy Queen, but whose real name was Urania Boswell. It was strange to be walking past bus stops and shops and front gardens again, but the London Loop never strays away from greenery for too long. An open grassy slope provided some fine views towards the North Downs - a visual experience savoured only by myself and a tiny handful of local dogwalkers. I then got terribly lost in Darrick Wood. The walk had been extremely well signposted until this point, but I must have missed a turn-off and so wandered around the maze of wooded paths until I'd completely lost my bearings. Eventually escaping, I negotiated my way through the streets of Crofton - a lesser-known residential neighbour of mighty Orpington.
Yet more urban forest to explore, taking a very lonely path through the middle of Crofton Wood. "If five lads jump out with a knife I'm in big trouble," I thought, although I encountered nothing scarier than an abandoned supermarket trolley and a posh girl with an alsatian. One final lengthy estate-yomp eventually led to Jubilee Country Park, a more-than pleasant nature reserve with open common surrounded by leafy thickets. Much as I love my manor in East London, we have absolutely nothing extensive and natural like this back home, so the London Loop's a great way to rediscover brief segments of what I'm missing. And each stage always ends up back at a station, in this case Petts Wood, where there's a rather fetching Loop 3 route map etched in metal bolted to the wall. My walk definitely hadn't been a shortcut, more a devious downward meander, but all the more enjoyable for it.
Olympic update
• The Picketts Lock fiasco is long forgotten. Instead all eyes are on London's proposed bid for the 2012 Olympic Games. Seb Coe & Co plan to plonk an Olympic Stadium in the Lower Lea Valley, despite less-than-wild enthusiasm from the businesses on top of whom it would be plonked.
• We have a stadium. Its crown of white girders has been dominating the E15 skyline for a while now, reminding local residents that their communities are about to be transformed. The area around the stadium still looks a complete featureless mess, but the skeleton of several other Olympic venues is already ascending.
• The Olympics are long gone. But there's a nice new swimming pool for the people of Stratford to splash around in, and a shiny Velodrome precisely where the old cycling circuit used to be, and some nice ex-Village flats for rich bankers to spend their bonuses on. That's proper legacy for you.
