london

The Greatest Broadcaster Comes to London

It has happened again: Just when autumn is setting in and things are beginning to get a bit dull, something absolutely incredible crops up. I think I have blogged about my respect for Sir David Attenborough before. As far as I am concerned, he is the greatest broadcaster to have ever graced our screens. To think that he started making natural history programmes before either of my parents were born but is still going strong, is utterly, utterly incredible. Given that he turns a hundred next year, you would think he would be enjoying a well-deserved retirement, but you’d be wrong. I just got wind that he is set to present a new series of natural history TV programmes this winter, including one called Wild London, about the wildlife in the metropolis. As fascinated as I also am by this vast, urban microcosm, that is something I now cannot wait to watch.

“Having lived in London for 75 years, David has an intimate knowledge of the city’s natural history and there’s no better guide to introduce us to its most spectacular wildlife secrets….Whether it’s pigeons commuting by tube, snakes slithering along Regent’s canal, parakeets raiding city parks or beavers building a home next to a busy shopping centre, David reveals the incredible wild encounters to be experienced across his hometown.”

Quite frankly, that sounds incredible. Every day, when I go out on my trundles in my powerchair, I head through pretty green parks and along quiet urban streams. London is greener than you might assume, and also a good deal prettier. Over the last fifteen years, I have begun to get to know this vibrant, wild side to the capital, teaming with life. The prospect of watching the greatest of all broadcasters reveal that side of the city to the world, in the fascinating, methodical, immersive way he has always had over the last seven decades, is something I now can’t wait to see.

Trying Out The Bakerloop

The main piece of news I have to share today is that I have ridden a bus. I realise that might not sound particularly exciting, but today I thought I would try out the new Bakerloop bus route. If you haven’t heard of it, the Bakerloop is a new express bus route from Lewisham to Waterloo station. I had been hearing quite a bit about it but on various London public transport YouTube channels, and I thought it might be worth checking out.

Of course, if I had simply wanted to go to Waterloo I would just have taken the good old Jubilee Line: a tried and tested route, and probably a bit quicker. What I found so enticing about this new bus route, though, was that it was instated as a test route ahead of a possible extension of the Bakerloo Line to Lewisham. To be honest that’s a prospect I find rather exciting: Not only would such an extension help to open up south London even more, making getting in to the city centre even easier, but presumably it would also mean that the existing part of the line would be redeveloped and made wheelchair accessible. Whenever such extensions have been created before, the obvious example perhaps being the Jubilee Line itself, the rest of the line has been updated in the process. I really think that is something to be encouraged, which is why I went to Lewisham and caught the bus earlier.

In the end it wasn’t much to write about. The trip just took about half an hour, and before I knew it I was at Waterloo station.  From there I thought I’d have a little trundle along the river,  the Palace of Westminster looking radiant in the sunshine, before crossing the Thames and catching the tube home. Perhaps the biggest advantage busses have over tube lines, though, is that you get to see more of the city you’re passing through, and on my way I caught a glimpse of the vast amounts of building work happening along the Old Kent Road. London is developing ever more quickly. It’s also shrinking, thanks to the initiatives like the one I tried this afternoon. A metropolis which once seemed so vast and daunting now feels increasingly accessible and homelike. 

I’m sure that won’t be the last time I use the Bakerloop: the possibility that it might eventually give rise to something even more substantial really is exciting. Getting across the city is becoming easier and easier, but that slow shift towards modernity will only continue if guys like me actually try out and start to use the improvements being offered.

A Dark Day For London

I am very, very pissed off about what happened here in London yesterday. London is an open, tolerant, welcoming world city, home to thousands of different cultures and people from all over the world; yesterday afternoon saw it’s streets hijacked and trampled by 100,000 mindless morons with no understanding of diversity or value for cultures other than their own. Of course, being me, I went up there yesterday afternoon, although I now wish I hadn’t. At about 11 I set out, taking the Jubilee Line up to Westminster. I had intended to go directly to the counter-protest, but as soon as I got out of the tube station I found myself surrounded by countless flag-waving idiots, many carrying banners which wound me up instantly.

The sight was utterly repugnant. I’ve been to quite a few protests here in London over the years, about a variety of issues. Most of those issues were just and sensible. The gathering of idiots London saw yesterday was neither of those things, but the venting of bile and hate by those too stupid to direct their thoughts and feelings elsewhere. Obviously, I know we should be open-minded and tolerant of those whose views we disagree with – part of valuing diversity is valuing diversity of thought. Yet what I saw yesterday was an insult to those values: most of the people there had been bussed in from across the country; people I doubt had ever met anyone who didn’t speak English as their first language. They were just here to shout and scream, drink larger and hurl abuse. For most of the men I saw yesterday, it was just an exercise in looking ‘hard’: I doubt you could have had any kind of meaningful debate with any of them about the politics at hand. As I found when I went to Canary Wharf a couple of weeks ago, for such people, it seemed to be all about whipping up animosity and social division: demonstrating that they were better than ‘the elites’ – ie those they unconsciously feel inferior or subordinate to. Frankly, it felt like an abject intrusion upon everything that I feel is wonderful about London, like shit being trampled into it’s very streets.

I stayed up there for most of the afternoon. I tried to find the counter-protest, but got lost, eventually crossing the river to the south bank. When I eventually found my way back to Westminster I found the station shut, so I set off for Green Park, trying to avoid the showers. It had been a disturbing, sickening afternoon: I felt very angry indeed about what I had seen, and still do. Such acrid xenophobia has no place here in London, and it felt like the metropolis had been intruded upon by morons with no idea what they were saying. The capital had been hijacked and misrepresented. Surely the country is better than such thuggery; surely we cannot allow the wider world to see us like this. My biggest fear now is whoever organised this gathering of halfwits will feel emboldened and try to do so again. If that happens, those of us capable of rational, independent thought must be ready to show our opposition.

Cable Car Vindication!

I’m suddenly feeling quite pleased with myself, albeit for a fairly random reason. You may remember, a year or two ago, I started talking nonsense about London building new cable cars. I was at least semi-joking, but my reasoning was fairly solid: urban cable-cars would be cheaper and easier to build than brand new tube lines, and probably cause less disruption. Well, it seems I have been vindicated, by Paris no less. According to this video, the Parisians have decided to build a new urban cable car in the south of the city, rather than extending the metro. Their argument goes that it would be cheaper and more efficient than either extending the existing metro line or implementing new bus routes. I think that is a great idea, as gliding over a city is certainly cooler than being driven through it on a crowded bus, or thundering under it on a cacophonous tube train.

Mind you, the cynical teenager voice in the back of my mind is saying that this is just a case of Paris wanting what London has: The cable car in East London glides over the Thames, connecting North Greenwich to The Royal Docks, the O2 Arena to the Excel Centre. Not only is it an efficient way of getting people from one place to the other, it is also a great tourist attraction. The Parisians have clearly looked at it and said “We’ll have some of that!” More to the point, whereas the London cable car crosses the wide Thames River, making the only alternative a bridge or tunnel, the one in Paris won’t cross such an impenetrable geographic feature. The same goes for the cable car in Barcelona, which apparently ferries people up and down quite a steep mountain. In other words, the one in Paris would be pretty much entirely for show, with no physical, practical need for it.

Such cynicism aside though, I still think this is pretty cool, and another reason to go back to the French capital in the not-too-distant future. Who knows, maybe this could be the beginning of such cable cars – even entire networks of them – springing up all over the place. Might they even be the future of urban public transport?

Bare Bums And Blue Powder

This is resoundingly not the entry I thought I would be writing this afternoon. I thought I’d be writing a short, jolly entry about London still clearly knowing how to party, and about never having seen so many bare women’s arse cheeks, having taken myself up to the Notting Hill Carnival. My parents had warned me against going, but as usual my curiosity had got the better of me. After all, having gone to last year’s carnival and the one before it, I was thirsty for more.

It had started well enough: a nice, easy journey up to Paddington followed by a short roll. When I found the carnival itself everything seemed fine, and I was once again fascinated by all the people in all kinds of weird costumes. After watching things for a while, though, I decided to follow the parade. That was a mistake: things become more and more crowded, and less and less pleasant. It became harder and harder to move my chair. It soon stopped being fun, and the music being played around me was far too loud.

When sticky, coloured powder started being thrown around, I decided I had had enough: I went into Red Alert, getting out of the situation as quickly as possible, battling my way through the thousands of people who had gathered by then. That certainly wasn’t the predicament I had expected to find myself in.

By the time I had got back to the station I had had chance to reflect a little. To be honest it was quite incredible to see such a large area of London, usually swarming with traffic, given over to such an enormous cultural event. On the other hand, given that the carnival was supposedly a celebration of Caribbean culture, I couldn’t help wondering how much of a role imperialism or cultural appropriation had had to play in its origins. After all, Notting Hill is a white, very affluent area of London.

Such questions, however, would need to wait, as at that moment I was far more concerned about whether I could get all the blue powder off my clothes. Having returned from Paris just two days ago, it has been quite a week; but I suppose today goes to show that I really need to listen to my parents more.

Another Way To Camden

I have just made a discovery which I am rather happy about. I’ve described here before how fond I am of trundling along the Regents Canal. One of the areas the canal passes through, Camden, looked essentially interesting. The thing was, I never had a chance to explore it properly as, by the time I got there, I would already have been wheeling, along the canal for a couple of hours and would need to press on to get home a sensible time.

A couple of days ago though, I noticed that Camden Town had a stop on the Northern Line, and was struck by the idea that if I just got the tube there, exploring the area would become much more straightforward. This morning, then, I headed to North Greenwich tube station, intending to get the jubilee line to London Bridge and then the northern line up to Camden. The problem was, the staff at Greenwich told me that Camden Town station was not wheelchair accessible.

However, the lady helping me then started to look for an alternative route I could use, and soon found that a could take the Mildmay overground line from Stratford to Camden Road. While ramps would need to be arraigned, it would be just as straightforward as my original route. This seemed quite an innovative idea to me though, as the overground is still something I have to get the knack of.

As it turned out, it was a complete non-issue, and I was in Camden within an hour ready to explore. It’s one of those thriving, fascinating areas of the metropolis, the air full of music and delicious smells. Some of the architecture by the canal is intriguing. As soon as I got there I was enthralled; and now I know how easy it is to go back there I certainly intend to.

London, it seems to me, is constantly opening up and becoming more accessible. I’ve been living here for fifteen years, but even during that time things have improved considerably. Using the overground was once totally off limits to wheelchair users; but although I’d still personally prefer it – and indeed the entire tube network – to be completely step free, experiences like today’s demonstrate how far it has gone in the right direction. Thanks to the overground, as well as the Elisabeth Line, which I used to get home, Central London is more accessible than it ever has been. It almost feels like the city is shrinking: what once felt like a vast, unwelcoming urban sprawl now feels more and more like home.

Pride 2025

It has been an afternoon which has simply reinforced my now deep conviction that London is the greatest, most awesome city on earth. A couple of days ago, I of course heard that the annual pride march was this weekend, so I thought I would head up there to check it out. You know how fascinated I am by such big cultural events. To be honest, as I headed into central London this morning, I had my political head on, wondering how much evidence I might find of the kind of cultural intrusion or usurpation I often get so wound up about. However, as soon as I got to the pavement of Piccadilly, it became clear that such concerns were totally and utterly irrelevant. If what I saw today was about anything, it was about inclusion and the celebration of diversity; politics had nothing to do with it.

Having said that, the march started slightly late apparently due to some sort of protest, but when it got going I was almost instantly overwhelmed by the energy and vibrancy of what I was watching. Thousands of people, all cheering and whooping, but above all expressing love for one another. The procession was formed of groups of people representing organisations around London. There was a vast array, but they all had an LGBT aspect, giving the afternoon a feeling of variety and diversity, but also solidarity and unity. What better metaphor could there be for London as a whole?

Apart from the last time I went to Pride, I have never seen anything like it: the feelings of warmth, compassion and friendliness were palpable. As usual I got chatting with a few people and made a few friends. One man even gave me a fabulous rainbow cowboy hat, completely at random! At about four I headed home, but as I rode the Elizabeth line back, covered in rainbows and stickers, I decided that today certainly wouldn’t be my last Pride.

An Afternoon In Westminster

It must be said that yesterday was quite an interesting day for me. I really don’t want to get too bogged down in the politics of it today, as to be honest I have quite complex, ambivalent feelings on the subject; but yesterday afternoon I thought I would pop up to Westminster to check out what was going on with regard to the disability rights/PIP protests. I got up there at about four, and it took me a while to find the protest itself: it wasn’t in Parliament Square as I’d expected, but in a smaller area just off it. Broadly speaking, I went up there mostly to observe rather than protest: while I certainly want to show solidarity to my fellow disabled people, the fact is the welfare budget has grown exponentially with far more people claiming disability-related benefits now than twenty or even ten years ago. That is surely unsustainable, and I think it’s a problem which needs to be dealt with, not just on an economic level but a social one too.

Even so, I wanted to go up there to try to get a better grip of the situation. The bottom line is the welfare state needs protecting. By the time I arrived I think the protest was winding down slightly, but there was still a good number of people there, with a wide range of disabilities. I got talking to a few, and as usual got complemented on my anti-Trump baseball cap. Pretty soon, though, people started to move: it seemed that they were actually going to go into the Houses of Parliament.

That would obviously be too interesting to miss, so of course I followed along and went in with them. I was quite surprised at how simple a process it was, as after a bit of queuing and bag checking, I found myself in the Palace of Westminster, being lead along the corridors to the main lobby. I found the place fascinating, with it’s ornate medieval decorations. Believe it or not I had never been in there before, and I was in awe.

However, it wasn’t long before I began to think about going home. It wasn’t just that it was getting late and I was getting hungry, but I was nervous that if a politician I recognised and disagreed with showed up, I would end up causing a scene. If, for example, Nigel Farage somehow showed up (extremely rare as his appearances in parliament actually are), there was a distinct possibility that I would start shouting or even try to attack the p’tahk. I would then probably be arrested, and the whole evening would have been spoiled. In all, then, I decided it was a good idea for me to head home, and watch how things played out on the evening news.

No DLR Extension (This Time)

For some reason I seem to be becoming a London public transport geek. That is to say, London public transport is now one of the subjects I keep an eye on and am excited to hear news about. I want to know if there are any awesome new infrastructure projects like the Elisabeth Line in the works. I was disappointed, then, to hear yesterday that the DLR extension to Thamesmead hadn’t got the go-ahead: there was nothing about it in the Spending Review. I use the Docklands Light Railway quite regularly these days, and if you ask me it’s one of the coolest pieces of London Public Transport, as it winds it’s way over and under the east end. Best of all, all it’s stations are fully wheelchair accessible. Extending it beyond Woolwich into quite a neglected, undeveloped area of the capital could have breathed new life into it.

Then again, as many others are pointing out, that area already has a brand new Elisabeth Line station; and the fact that the DLR extension wasn’t announced this time doesn’t mean it won’t be announced in the autumn or next year. The same goes for the Bakerloo line extension to Lewisham. Such things have a funny way of getting built eventually in the capital. What I suppose I should be even more concerned about is infrastructure projects outside of the capital. The metropolis just got Crossrail, the biggest most expensive transport project in Europe; it can’t really complain. Are other areas of the UK seeing such investment? Around here I can just wheel onto a bus or into a DLR or tube station and get to wherever I want to go across the capital: I fear that that isn’t the case outside the metropolis. What about the more neglected areas of the country? I’ve heard that Manchester is getting an extension to it’s tram network, but what about Stoke-On-Trent, for instance? What about it’s infrastructure? I haven’t been there in quite some time, but from what I hear it has barely had any attention or investment in the last forty years. Such areas weren’t even mentioned yesterday. Surely places like Stoke should get the investment they need before we even start talking about yet another multi-billion pound project for the capital.

Not A Very Uplifting Experience

Something bloody stupid happened this afternoon. It’s one of those slow, cloudy Sundays, so I thought I would pop up to Stratford for a trundle around the Olympic park. Up there, to get from the station to the park you either have to go up a flight of stairs or use a lift, as I do. This leads to a large foot bridge over the railway station, which is the only way between the older and newer areas of Stratford. The two lifts are really over used, and over the years I have had quite a lot of trouble with them.

Today, however, really took the biscuit: One of the two lifts was clearly completely out of order, and I must have had to wait at least ten minutes for the second to arrive. When it did, though, it was already full of people who were obviously perfectly able to use the nearby stairs. What followed was quite a furore over who should be using the lift and who should not. Things become rather heated, and to cut a long, stupid story short it was around another five more minutes before I was eventually able to get into the lift. They seemed to think they had as much right to use the lift as I did, if not even more. I’m not sure what happened then: as I was entering the lift I might have knocked the door with my powerchair or something, because it then completely refused to go up to the floor I needed to get to. No matter how many times the button was pressed, the lift wouldn’t move.

After a few minutes two other wheelchair users got in. By then the ambulant people had got out to use the stairs, but those of us who had no choice gradually began to panic. For a while the zarking lift seemed broken. Fortunately things ended well, the lift started working again and finally went up to the bridge without the engineer having to be called out. As I trundled towards the Olympic park though, I found myself reflecting once again that such things would happen far less often if lifts in places like that were only used by people who need to use them; and that the episode would probably be good material for a blog entry.

Of Parades, Backsides and Trains

Yesterday proved to be a complete waste of time – albeit an interesting one. After breakfast, I thought I’d go up to Westminster to see what all this. VE day fuss was about. After all, it’s only a few stops away on the Jubilee line, so what would be the point of just staying at home and watching it on TV? A few minutes after leaving the flat, though, I came back for a coat; the hints of summer we had a few days ago were definitely a deception.

My trip up into London proved easy enough. Once up there however, I almost immediately saw that staying at home would probably have been the better idea: the area was teeming with people, so much so that I could barely move. Watching the parade, even getting a glimpse of it, was off the cards – all I could see from my powerchair was other spectators’ backsides. I tried to move around a bit, up and down Whitehall, to try to get a decent view, without avail. Mind you, it must be said that I lost count of the number of people who complemented me on my ‘Make America Think Again’ cap.

After a couple of hours or so I gave up. I caught a glimpse of the flyover, which was fairly cool, but that was about it. With the parade over and the crowds slowly dispersing, I decided to go for a bit of a trundle up The Mall and through St James’s Park. I rather like that area of central London with it’s parks, ponds and fountains. I initially intended to find my way to Bond Street in order to get the Elisabeth Line home, but somewhat predictably I got lost. I eventually found myself at Victoria Station: at first I thought I would just ask for directions there, but then, on the tannoy, I heard that a train would be stopping at Kidbrooke. Catching it would make getting home far easier and quicker, I presumed.

I found one of the station staff and asked, using my Ipad, if I could get on that train. They duly obliged, and I was helped to board the train, only to be asked to get back off two or three minutes later because nobody would be at Kidbrooke to help me with the ramps there. I got off the train and was told to wait for the next one.

That wasn’t so bad: I just connected to the station Wifi and checked my Facebook. Twenty minutes or so later, though, exactly the same thing happened: I was helped to board the train only to be told to get back off at the last moment. Needless to say I was furious. Back on the platform I demanded to see the station manager, only to be told, rather condescendingly, to calm down. If other people can get on and off overground trains with such ease, why couldn’t I? London public transport has come on in leaps and bounds in terms of accessibility over the last few decades, so why is the overground still so shitty?

To once again cut a long story short, I got home an hour or so later: it wasn’t late, but I was hungry. I would have been home far earlier if I had just taken the tube; although it must be said that, sat in the train carriage, I was treated to some intriguing views across South London. More to the point, if I had stayed home I would also have had a much better view of the entire parade. Yet trying out the London overground is something I had been wanting to do for a while – I now know it sucks.

The Wonders of Windsor

The week is turning out to be quite an awesome one, thanks largely to John: great bit of cinema, a fantastic evening at the theatre, and yesterday, a wonderful trip to Windsor. To be honest I was feeling slightly cynical about even getting there at one point, as it meant taking the overground and booking ramps. Our train was slightly delayed, so I was starting to think that it could all become pretty farcical. But we got there in the end, and almost instantly I was mesmerised.

Windsor is a wonderful, beautiful place where you can almost smell the history. The town, with it’s pretty little streets, overlooks the Thames, much narrower there than at Greenwich of course. We spent a while looking around, trying to avoid crashing into the hundreds of tourists, before going up to the castle. Windsor Castle is a stunning place – if you have never visited I would recommend it. It is the longest occupied Royal Residence, and has stood for almost a thousand years. The displays in there are jaw-dropping: paintings, models, antiques, and, most fascinating of all, genuine suits of armour. I was captivated. The cool thing is, despite it’s age, it has all been made wheelchair accessible, so I was able to explore like anyone else.

John and I spent about an hour walking around the castle, before going down to Windsor park. To be honest by then I had one eye on my powerchair’s battery gauge as I really didn’t want any more catastrophes, but it was fine. Windsor Park is an incredible place, as beautiful as anywhere I’ve ever been to: there is a long, straight path we spent an hour or so walking down. John took lots of spellbindingly beautiful photos, and I stopped a few times to type a bit. By then, though, it was starting to get late, and I think we were both getting tired, so we caught the train home.

Windsor, then, is a wonderful place: not part of London and certainly feeling quite separate from the metropolis, but close enough to it that we could get there fairly easily. It was a place I had never been to, despite it’s proximity to London; but it certainly whetted my appetite for getting out of the city a bit more.

Trying Out The Trams

This afternoon, what happened yesterday still very much on my mind, I thought I would set myself a bit of a challenge: how far could I get while using as little powerchair battery as possible? IE, could I still get out and about, without needing to actually drive my powerchair very far? Obviously that would mean sticking to public transport as much as I could, but given the alternative was staying at home on my computer all day, I was up for it.

With that in mind, I must say I just got in from a rather cool afternoon. The route I took was quite an elastic one: I caught a bus to the Royal Standard, then another from there to Elmers End in order to catch a tram. I had been intending to check out London’s tram system again for a while, and today seemed quite a good opportunity.

The tram ride was sleek and modern, if rather slow. It is essentially a tube line across south London, built on the surface due to the water-logged ground south of the Thames. If anything, I started to wonder why the line didn’t extend further east to, say, Woolwich or Greenwich, in order to link up with the tube. That would make it much more convenient if you ask me, but that’s a question for another time.

After an hour or so on the tram I found myself in Wimbledon. I haven’t been to that area of London much before, at least not for a while, so decided I’d have a brief look around. I was, however, still conscious of my need to conserve battery power, so before long I returned to the station to get the District Line. By then the system was getting crowded, but it wasn’t too bad. From Wimbledon it was a short(ish) ride up to Paddington, the Elisabeth Line from there to Woolwich, and then a bus back to Eltham: all sleek, smooth and accessible.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop being amazed by London’s public transport system. It is very much the circulation system of this thriving metropolis. It is far from perfect, but I’m happy to say it is gradually becoming more and more accessible. Today on the tram I went through places I had never visited before, even after fifteen years of living here. But the flip side of that is, while London gets all this fantastic new infrastructure – trams, crossrail, superloop – I can’t help worrying the rest of the country, especially the north, is being left further and further behind.

Meeting the JPF (or PFJ)

Today turned out to be rather more interesting than I expected. As usual these days, I almost instantly flew into a rage when I turned the news on this morning. What happened at the White House yesterday really was repugnant, enough to make me feel I had to do something.

I looked up the route to the American embassy. Quite what I would do once I got there I had no idea, but I could sort that out in due course: Part of me just felt compelled to go and somehow insist that they immediately replace Donald Trump with someone who isn’t a gut-wrenching disgrace to human civilisation. The route seemed simple enough: jubilee line to London Bridge, and then the northern line to Battersea Power Station.

That’s how, at about one this afternoon, I found myself at the American embassy on the south bank of the Thames. Unfortunately, fool that I am, I hadn’t considered the fact that the embassy would be shut for the weekend and nobody would be there. The trip was not completely in vain though, as I got to explore a part of London I hadn’t been to before, full of dazzling new buildings.

I was just beginning to think about my route home though, when I noticed a group of protesters across the road. They were campaigning about Palestine, and were holding some kind of meeting. Mostly out of curiosity, and wanting to do something interesting with my Saturday afternoon, I thought I would cross the road and say hi. What is currently happening in Israel is a thorny, complex issue of course, which is why I try to veer away from it here; but on the whole I have a lot of sympathy with the Palestinian cause.

Frankly, what followed was rather curious. The group I had come across was made of good, kind people, clearly very concerned about what they not unjustly termed an Aphartied. I doubt any intelligent, well informed person could be anything but sickened by what Is currently happening in the Middle East. It might be simply because I rewatched The Life Of Brian last night though, but I couldn’t help being reminded of the famous scene about the Judean Peoples Front: that is to say, there was a lot of talking going on, but I fear that it will ultimately achieve nothing. It obviously helped the people there feel like they were doing something, but at the end of the day, how could a small meeting of Londoner on the banks of the Thames possibly influence such a complex, horrific conflict?

An Unpleasant – Yet Very Lucky – Evening

I think it’s fair to say that I had a very lucky escape yesterday. To be honest I was in two minds about recording what happened yesterday afternoon here as it’s just too depressing, but I suppose a blog entry is a blog entry. I was out and about once again, this time on quite a long trundle through Bexleyheath heading up towards the river. Spring is coming, so I’m becoming eager to go out and explore a bit more.

The thing is, I have gone on quite a few long trundles recently , and it has probably had an impact on my powerchair battery. I was heading for Abbey Wood in order to get the Elizabeth line back to Woolwich and then a bus home, when I noticed my battery dropping quite rapidly. Of course I knew I needed to get back as swiftly as possible, but to be honest I felt a tingle of panic.

It took me ages to find the Elizabeth Line station, but luckily I managed to get onto a train. I traveled the single stop to Woolwich and got off the train. I was heading along the platform towards the lift, when suddenly my powerchair cut out completely: it turned off and wouldn’t turn on again.

I was obviously in deep shit. Luckily there was a member of TfL staff nearby so I got her attention and explained the problem. The staff took my chair out of drive and pushed me up to the station entrance hall. The staff were very, very kind, doing what they could to help. First they tried calling a taxi to take me home, but rather ridiculously my powerchair wouldn’t fit.

What followed was a very long, stressful evening spent in the Woolwich Elizabeth Line station. The staff did what they could to help me, giving me drinks of water and offering to get me things to eat. As hungry as I was by then however, I didn’t want to risk getting myself too messy, and as there wasn’t a table nearby to put any food on I thought I better not try to eat anything. I tried contacting people like Dom on my iPad without luck. Eventually they dialled 111 for an ambulance to take me back to Eltham.

By the time it came I had spent about two hours at the station, unable to go anywhere. To be honest watching the evening commuters go in and out was fairly interesting, and I think it’s fair to say that London’s newest tube line is being well used. Even so, it was a highly stressful, unpleasant couple of hours waiting for the ambulance.

Thank fuck it eventually arrived. By then it was half past eight and I had spent about three hours at the station. I felt tired and irritable. Luckily the trip home was swift, but when I got back here the zarking chair refused to charge. Who knows what is up with it, but I have emailed my usual wheelchair maintenance guy.

In short yesterday was a horrible day; the kind of day I would rather just forget. At the same time I was incredibly lucky: if my chair had conked out anywhere else things would have been a thousand times worse. At the station there were people around who could help. If I had been, say, in a park or going along the path by the river, I would have been in serious, serious trouble. In all, then, I had a bloody lucky escape, and so it is worth recording. Even so, some days rule and some days suck: yesterday was emphatically the latter.

London Public Transport Still Has a Way To Go

At the risk of repeating myself, I’m a big fan of London public transport: I love the ability to get on and off busses and tube trains with very little fuss, and go wherever I want across this vast metropolis. That does not, however, mean that I don’t think there isn’t huge room for improvement. This morning, for example, it took me well over two hours to get from my flat in Eltham to the old family house in Harlesden. It’s a distance of probably around fifteen miles, as the crow flies. It’s also a simple enough journey: a bus to North Greenwich, then the jubilee line to Wembley, then another bus here. Yet for some reason it takes more time for me to get access the city then it used to take dad to drive most of the way up to Cheshire.

To be fair, mum said I made good time this morning, and my journey could have taken far longer. That’s true enough, but even so I found it painstakingly slow. The problem is, I can only go via accessible tube stations, meaning I have to go all the way up to Wembley and then get a bus back to an area the tube train actually passed through. Being able to get off at Kilburn would probably cut about half an hour off my total journey time, but Kilburn isn’t an accessible station. Thus for all its wonderful new lines, and for all the improvements it has made over the last twenty to thirty years, London public transport still has quite a way to go.

Now, though, I’m off to enjoy mum’s cooking and play board games.

TfL Lifts Should Only Be For Wheelchair Users

After what happened today I’m seriously considering starting a campaign to make all the lifts on the London transport network strictly for wheelchair users only, or at least confined to people who strictly need them. It had started out as a pretty normal day: after seeing it flagged up on the breakfast news, I thought I would go up to Central London to check out the Qatari state visit. I took the Jubilee Line up there, getting off at green park. Predictably, however, I got there too late for all the festivities, so there was nothing left for me to do but head back.

Just to make things a little more interesting, I thought I would trundle to Westminster, take the Jubilee Line to Bond Street and from there get the Elizabeth Line to Woolwich. For some reason it impresses me that you can now transfer between the Jubilee and Elizabeth Lines at Bond Street without leaving the station.

It was there, though, that the problems started. As any Londoner probably knows, Bond Street is quite a complex station, with its labyrinth of tunnels, escalators and lifts. To be honest I find it rather fascinating how the engineers managed to merge the old and new parts of the station. This afternoon, however, when I attempted to use one of the older lifts, I found it was going very slowly indeed. Just as I was starting to think that I should have just gone straight home, it finally arrived, and I wheeled into it along with five or six perfectly able bodied people. Everything seemed to be fine, until we got to the required floor, and the lifts doors wouldn’t open. No matter how many times the button was pushed, the doors refused to open.

People gradually began to panic. After a few minutes one guy pressed the emergency button and spoke to the operator. She assured us that a maintenance guy was on his way, but nonetheless I was there stuck in a lift, getting more and more furious with the lazy p’tahks who surrounded me. If such lifts were only used by those of us who need them, they would probably all work perfectly well.

Obviously things were eventually resolved, and after about quarter of an hour the lift began working again. Truth be told things were never in much doubt; but the fact remains that the lifts on the TfL network are getting older and older, and the more they are used by people who are perfectly able to use stairs or escalators, the more likely they are to break down. Obviously there will need to be some exceptions, such as mums pushing prams, but if you ask me all lifts should be strictly reserved for those of us with no alternative. As with my grievance concerning prams occupying the wheelchair space on busses, it just seems so arrogant and self-centred. It is now clearly becoming so problematic that I feel I have to do something about it.

Discovering The London Overground

I found something pretty cool out today. Believe it or not, I had never used the London overground before: I had always assumed it was too complicated, inaccessible and generally not as as advanced as the tube. Mind you, I had been intending to try it out for a while, just to establish whether it could be of any use to me after all. Today, though, I was out on my trundle again: I was up near Farringdon and it was about time to head home, so I thought I’d just hop on to the Elizabeth Line to Woolwich.

The problem was, at the station I was told that the Elizabeth Line wasn’t running today. When I heard that I automatically started to panic slightly – how the smeg was I going to get home? However the man then told me that I could take the overground instead, a suggestion which I found pretty interesting.

That, then, is what I did: it was a smooth, uneventful ride back to Woolwich, if somewhat slower than the Elizabeth Line. Mind you, I enjoyed some great views across South London on the way. More importantly though, I now know that the London overground is accessible, usable, and I’ll certainly try to use it more from now on. All I would need to do is make sure there is someone waiting for me with a ramp at wherever I’m going. Given that there’s an overground station not far away from me in Kidbrooke, this is potentially a very useful discovery for me indeed.

The Buddha of Suburbia

Yesterday turned out to be one of the most culturally rich days I have enjoyed in a long time. Not only did I watch an interesting, if fairly repugnant, film yesterday morning, but in the evening John and I met at The Barbican to watch The Buddha of Suburbia. I must admit I hadn’t heard of the play before J suggested it, but it had been so long since I last went to a theatre – possibly before the pandemic – that I was fairly eager to take him up on the suggestion. It would certainly beat yet another Saturday night at home.

The Barbican is fast growing on me: I don’t know much about how that area of London came about, but it seems to be a vast complex of galleries, theatres and cinemas under my nose which I knew virtually nothing about. It hosts the type of avante-garde art which I often find fascinating, and thanks to the Elisabeth Line, I can get there in minutes.

Thus yesterday evening I met John outside the Barbican Theatres. Truth be told I hadn’t a clue what to expect, but had a feeling I was in for a treat. As we went into the space itself, I got the impression that this was something I had missed; something I hadn’t experienced for a long, long time. I seemed to have forgotten that theatre wasn’t just cinema rendered into 3d, but something completely different and far more visceral.

As luck would have it we got to our places just before the performance began. There was no curtain and the stage was open before us. Soon the action started. I don’t want to spoil anything in case anyone reading this intends to go, but The Buddha of Suburbia is about Indian Immigrants living in South London in the late seventies. I must admit that the plot itself seemed to drag slightly, especially towards the end; but what struck me the most last night was how the story was told. Apart from the intermission, there were no scene changes as such: The action took place in one long go, with the actors using the various spaces on the elaborate, three-dimensional set to represent the various places in the story. I found it utterly intoxicating: watching the cast members seamlessly weave throughout the set, performing their lines, interacting with one another, periodically breaking into dance routines, was intoxicating. I had missed this though I hadn’t realised it, but either way was suddenly very eager to see more.

As I rode the Elisabeth Line back to Woolwich last night, it struck me that I had just experienced what London was best at. It is a city of theatres, of art, of music, of performance. It is a melting pot of a thousand intertwined, fascinating cultures. Places like The Barbican are where London comes to life. The Buddha Of Suburbia brings part of it’s south eastern corner into it’s centre, and in doing so brings the entire sprawling metropolis to life on stage.