Not a club I'd care to join..

Much amused by this report in the Going Underground blog, as indeed I have been watching respectable adults wondering if they dare elbow a five-year-old out of the way to get to the front seats on the DLR.

I don't mind, really, as long as they don't go "Woo-woo!" all the time.

On me hols again...

In Paris for a few days. Interesting to see it with someone who's never been before, indeed was rather overcome at the sight of some of the grander bits this morning.

Oh that we could have as many litter-bins and streets as clean as central Paris..


and I wish the powers that be luck with adopting the Vélib bike rental idea (I'm not sure it would work over more than an area roughly about the size of the cental congestion zone in London: but if, as in Paris, it's all run by a private company and they want to take the risk, then bring it on).

Channelling Hitchcock?

Does someone at the BBC have ambitions to treat the female talent like Hitchcock?

First they put Julia Bradbury in the charge of a hunky instructor to be terrified on some fearsome rock climbs.

Then they put Kate Silverton in the charge, etc., etc., to be terrified on some dangerous waves and whirlpools.

All credit to the two of them for facing and overcoming their fears (I couldn't and wouldn't have done it), but I wonder quite what was going on in the minds of whoever dreamt these programmes up.

Roses, castles and sacred books

I wasn't sure what to expect from the Canal Museum.

It turns out to be two floors of static panels explaining in outline how and why the canals were built and developed, with part of a narrowboat (showing the cramped living quarters squeezed in behind the freight area, all cupboards, cubbyholes, lace curtains and "castles and roses" painting) and some cases of artefacts, particularly the familiar flower-painted furniture and tools; in one corner, a small TV shows a 1920s film of the Regent's Canal, contrasting with a more recent (but now some 15-20 years old) documentary about it. There's also a bit about the building, which was set up as an ice-house by an Italian in the 19th century (and some panels about Italian immigrants to the UK). There's a shop with the kind of books, postcards, maps and tea-towels you might expect, and some traditional Measham and novelty narrowboat teapots.

But I didn't get much sense of what life was like for families living and working on the canals. I seem to remember reading somewhere that there was a high level of literacy problems among the children of canal people because they were never settled in school: not a whiff of that here. Likewise, the number of people who moved across the country as "navigators" (= navvies, a word you don't hear much any more) must have led to all sorts of social changes. I don't suppose there's much in the way of either written or spoken records from the people who worked the canal boats - and I only vaguely know of AP Herbert's "Water Gipsies" - but it would enliven things a bit to have something about, and if possible from them.

It's an interesting example of how hard voluntary organisations like this must find it to keep up with the way museums have developed over the last 20 years or so. It costs £3 and perhaps an hour of your time.

Outside, in the Battlebridge Basin, the residential boats seemed to be all locked up and deserted. I suppose by now I shouldn't be surprised at a heron coming so close to people - this one kept a wary eye on me, but didn't seem too bothered by my presence. (Yes, I did note the serendipitous name on the boat).

Afterwards, I thought I'd have a cuppa at the British Library, only to discover the exhibition devoted to the sacred books of the Abrahamic religions. There are beautiful things in this thought-provoking display, but it was getting late, so - as it's free - I'll go back to give it some serious attention.

Omphalomantic obsession*

I've started checking you out, gentle reader(s). Those free reader-meters are fascinating.

So góðan dag, þakka þú fyrir heimsókn! to the 4% of you whose language (I'm told) is Icelandic, and goede dag en dank u weel voor het bezoek! to the 4% who are Dutch-speakers. Well, all right, one person each.

Can I tempt someone to feed back just a little something? I mean, I'm used to talking to myself, but sometimes it's nice to know someone's paying attention. And/or if what I'm saying isn't worth paying attention to.


*Navelgazing

Tick tock (or not)

Intrigued by this site of forlorn hope - I say forlorn hope because there's a reason why public clocks don't get repaired (with this notable exception, the one stopped clock that hits the headlines).

For one thing, not only are stopped clocks correct twice a day (ho ho), they're only really wrong for the half hour or so until it's obvious that they must be wrong: and then only for people who are actually relying on them.

What this is about is not inaccuracy. As Alfie of the Stopped Clocks site says, they are a sign of disconnect from and loss of our past. This is about the decline of the public realm: on the part not only of the owners of the clocks, but also of the rest of us, who no longer lift our eyes up to the turrets and cupolas of old-fashioned civic pride.

It's not just that we are no longer without timepieces of our own; time itself is more flexible, elastic and personal for more people. The measurement of time was shared when what it regulated was shared: factory shifts, church services, early closing day, chucking-out time, the six o'clock or nine o'clock news, the big picture, the must-see TV programme. Now, this is all so adjustable to individual needs and wants - "just in time", indeed - that time itself has become privatised: like the railways, whose needs were what "nationalised" time in the first place.

Enough sententiousness: how about this for a clock?

Did I hear aright?

The US Ambassador, Robert Tuttle, in a radio interview this morning on the Government's request for the release of non-citizen residents of the UK from Guantanamo, appeared (to me) graciously to concede that they would not be subject to ill-treatment in the UK.

What a gratifying vote of confidence. And how reassuring that the welfare of the people held there is in the forefront of US thinking.

I note, though, that that quote wasn't reproduced in the BBC website's news report.

Mavericks for Mayor!

What is it about the London Mayoralty that seems to make it the perfect target for apparent mavericks?

Livingstone won it against the Labour Party (and having rejoined them is still a bit semi-detached), Boris Johnson (though by no means a certainty for the Tory nomination) is a standing embarrassment to his party, and now Brian Paddick is being heavily touted for the Lib Dem nomination.

He's an interesting proposition, especially in contrast to both Livingstone and Johnson: I'm no position to judge whether his willingness to speak truth to power is a foolhardy transparency or publicity-hunting, and I'd be worried if this turned out to be all about a private row within the Met; but his approach to difficult questions certainly appears more thoughtful than either Livingstone or Johnson, and more honest than at least one of them.

I wonder, though, whether he could possibly have what it takes for such a strange job. On the one hand, the Mayor has the largest single direct electoral mandate in the UK; on the other, the Mayor doesn't have that much direct executive power, just a share in some power over some local services (the big exceptions being road traffic management and the buses). For the job to work, you have to be good at knocking heads together, twisting arms and charming the pants off a very wide range of people and agencies who do have the executive power: and at persuading them that your idea was what they were thinking of all along.

That much may be common to most political processes, but it says something that, clearly, the Mayoralty just doesn't seem to fit into the conventional political career ladder: most people already in local government in the London boroughs don't have the political profile, most people who are already MPs probably see it as a side-show.

That can only be a good thing if it opens up conventional thinking and expectations about the political process: but forcing potential office-holders to be tested and tried in the boring details of government is the strength of our present system. The individualist outsider, surfing in on the wave of "None of the above", hasn't always been a great advertisement for the US system: but then, that's no doubt why the Mayoralty has been designed the way it has.

Card or cad?

Boris Johnson obviously thinks he's a bit of a card, but anyone else who's read Arnold Bennett (and if you haven't you should) will know that, in addition to being identified with the great cause of cheering us all up, Denry Machin wasn't exactly a model of civic virtue.

And at least he put some thought into his enterprises. On the other hand, "recruiting the ablest people across London, of whatever political affiliation, to formulate new policies...." doesn't sound like the outcome of prolonged or deep strategic thinking. I mean, we'd all get someone in to do the dirty work if we could.

Not very green, but...

spectacle often wins out, doesn't it?

Qualifying heats for the Red Bull Air Race today:


But diamondgeezer has a much more exhaustive account of it all for people who really like that sort of thing.

We also had an unexploded bomb* turn up the same day, which closed a lot of roads around.

Isn't life exciting?

**(except that it turned out not to be).

Seats upstairs, guv

Once upon a time, when exposing my knees in public was considered only normal (because I was a child and Long Trousers were grown-up), there used to be people called conductors (and, yes, conductresses) on buses.

And one of the things they did was to chivvy people upstairs to a seat, rather than let them block the lower deck and gangway.

Nowadays, of course, drivers have got their hands full driving. On some models of bus, I rather think, they have no way of knowing whether or not there are seats empty upstairs, even if they felt inclined to get into managing passenger behaviour, which understandably they don't.

For those of us who manage to get upstairs, it makes for a rather pleasantly uncrowded ride (provided there aren't too many teenagers who treat it like party central). But why do people herd together downstairs like that?

I'm not grumpy (much), just puzzled.

Of the Naming of Names

I wouldn't normally bother with this sort of thing, but here's a real YCMIU.

On the other hand, perhaps you could.

It seems to me this is getting like the naming of pedigree dogs: a series of pedigree names and then the everyday pet name in brackets, like Champion Godalming Liontamer Fluffybits III (Oi you)

I can see it becoming more formalised:

Braindead Footballer and Silicone-Enhanced Model announce the arrival* of

Lafifilisha Frangipani Valrhona/Freixenet/Brabantia/Tenalady** (Doris)***

The President of the College of Branded Personalities and the Chief Sneerer of the League of Chat-Show Hosts, Comedians and Associated Scoffers have graciously consented to register the child in the Annals of Celebrity (usual terms and conditions apply).


*it will be bad form to reveal whether this was by normal conception and birth, Caesarian, turkey-baster, IVF, adoption or abduction, in order to protect the TV documentary rights
**Depending on sponsorship negotiations
***Nobody disses his Gran. She's not speaking to hers.

How sweet....

I've just received this at my office email address:

Subject: Re[5]: Nice to meet you! |
Hello to you

I need someone to make the stars brighter, to make the rainy days not so
dull.
I need someone to make me smile, someone who will love me.
I need someone who will give me a hope and love when I am feeling down.
I need someone who will support me and help me reach the top of happiness.
I need someone who will care, someone who will never betray and go away.
I need someone who will comfort me, someone who will cheer me on, and hold my hands through night, noon and dawn.
I need only you! My intuition is so strong that I don't believe that it can say lie.
You are a man of my dream.
I will wait for your reply here [URL removed: I'm not that daft]

Sincerely yourth
Sole

Well, I was tempted to start a little light flirtation by email, if only to see if there's the makings of something like this in it. But honestly, would it have been worth it even if some entirely sincere stranger had sent it?

On The Tour (Part 2)

Now I'm sure the people who decided the locations for the National Gallery Grand Tour are 'avin' a larf. This is Caravaggio's Salome receiving the head of John the Baptist. You can make up your own jokes.

Where to go with a visitor from Australia ...

(especially in the weather we've been having)? Fortunately, he's an ex-Londoner and had his own ideas - so in the last few days:

we've walked along the river from Richmond to Kingston and found a heron without any apparent fear of humans



we've had a cream tea at the Mudchute City Farm (highly recommended - not as a genteel, tablecloths and lace doilies social experience, but the scones and jam are to die for)



we visited the Royal Festival Hall to look at the new panoramas opened up by the refit


we got caught in Friday's torrential rain, went into the V&A for an hour or so, emerged into bright sunshine and visited Prince Albert



From there, we went on through Hyde Park



We came across the Serpentine Gallery and were intrigued by the current exhibition of Hreinn Fridfinnsson. I'm not that good with conceptual art, but I liked the play of reflections, and the inside-out house. The Guardian pronounced itself "baffled but strangely moved", which is about as much as I could say.

And we went to Portobello Road market, not buying anything.
I nearly bought an old edition of Jacob Faithful by Captain Marryat, all about a hard upbringing in Victorian London, and full of moralisms that would produce the opposite reaction today: Locomotion was not to her taste - gin was (attagirl!)

So much all for free: what's not to like about summer (even this summer) in London

Fight vandalism on the tube!

...with helicopters?

If Boris Johnson's the answer....

... then David Cameron must be asking the wrong question (no surprise there, then).

Johnson's a bit of a Wodehousian throwback (albeit with a chin): he comes across like Tuppy Glossop, but I think he's a bit of a Roderick Spode on the sly. Not that I think he's anything like a fascist, just that he thinks politics is only about having opinions, and that his opinions are incontrovertible simply because he has them. All he's known for managing is the house journal for self-important and self-satisfied contrarians - it would be interesting to see what sort of a fist he would make of a ladies' lingerie shop (as Spode's dark secret turns out to be): but for heaven's sake keep him away from anything big. Like buses.

I watched The Zimmers Go to Hollywood last night.

Leaving aside the evident similarities with last year's Channel 4 documentary on Young@Heart (I missed the start so there might have been some acknowledgement of them in the Zimmers programme - some hopes), I couldn't help feeling that for all its evident good intentions there was still something a bit superficial about the show. Perhaps it was the focus on getting out a single and creating just another show-business ballyhoo (for heaven's sake, smashing things up was childish when people did it in their 20s, it doesn't become any less so when people think you're well on your way to your second childhood). And we can all guess how long the ballyhoo will last, and what the chances are of its really changing people's attitude, can't we?

I'm still a long way from real old age, but I don't intend to be "wonderful for my age", I intend to carry on doing whatever I'm good at by anyone's standards for as long as I can. I'd rather rage against the dying of the light on my own terms, thank you very much. I think I can do without the chance of being patronised by the likes of George Clooney.

And on a happier note, I loved Sunday night's Prom with the performers from Soweto playing and dancing to Rameau. A wonderful evening, and not in the way one would expect from the words "French Baroque". Such joy, such life, such professionalism and artistry.

EXCEPT

the digital notes were across the bottom of the TV screen where all the action was. Doesn't anyone think about this? (I will forgive the temporary appearance of the Cbeebies smiley across the Requiem: think of it as an omen of the smiles to come).

Ode to YOY

Irritating as they can be, acronyms for conventional phrases in internet communication can be a useful way to save time. Any problem is with overuse and misuse - like adding LOL to every post however dull, or using IMHO to preface an opinion that the poster obviously thinks is universal wisdom. But it is quite handy to use AFAIK or IIRC to indicate you're not entirely sure about what you're about to say, and are willing to be corrected.

That, of course, seems to be a rare form of discourse on the internet. What one mostly sees is text-speak for da yoot, and I thought of developing a few for us grumpy wrinklies. IDBI!!!!! would be an obvious one; people who remember Mr. Growser would welcome IONTBA!!

To my surprise YCMIU is already in use, not that I'm quite in that part of the grumpy spectrum. The really elderly and grumpy might find PTSA useful.

And the only reason I can suppose why people aren't already using YOY is that you don't normally type in green ink (yes I do know that financial people use it to mean year-on-year, how dull).

Anyhow, time for bed - so TTFN.

On the Tour

No, not the Tour de France (that's so last week). We're talking art: the National Gallery Grand Tour is a brilliant idea - full-size prints of works from the Gallery's Collection on show in the streets.

But why only the West End? If the idea is (according to their press release) "Rather than the public seeking out its art - art is seeking out its public", why does it have to aim at "interrupting [people's] everyday lives and reminding them of the treasures" only when they're "just around the corner"?

Why not all over the suburbs - especially those where most people might not think of visiting the Gallery?

And what governed the choice of locations? This image is Psyche showing her sisters her gifts from Cupid. A back alley off Leicester Square - where it's been put - brings quite other "gifts from Cupid" to mind: well, maybe it's just my mind.

Still, it's a good start: but next year - what about Whitechapel, Harlesden, Colliers Wood?