I love everything about Will Gallia’s animation A day on the London Underground on Vimeo – but the thing I love the most is when the day ends and London goes to sleep from the middle out to the edges.
A friend told me this anecdote the other day, and it’s plausibly brilliant.
SCENE: a Starbucks somewhere in England, soon after the coffee chain started asking for people’s names when they order coffee. It’s fair to say this innovation has not sat well with the English. A line of people are waiting to order coffee.
CUSTOMER: A latte, please
SERVER: Certainly. Can I have your name, please?
SERVER holds market pen over cardboard cup. CUSTOMER squirms uncomfortably. There is tension in the queue, broken only by a voice from its rear.
UNKNOWN CUSTOMER: Don’t tell him, Pike.
Anyone who’s read my books will know I have a bad case of the Thames. It’s a very particular strain of the disease, too. You can keep your picturesque stretches alongside the Houses of Parliament, or your genteel meanderings around Kew and Chiswick. No, for me, the real river is wide and grey and ugly and starts at Tower Bridge. It winds up and down and east and west before opening out into the immense skies of the Estuary. Give me Canvey Island over Chelsea, Sheerness over Sheen, any day of the week.
So last week it was an enormous pleasure to board a ship and travel down from Tower Bridge and out into the North Sea and back, via Gravesend, Southend and Sheerness; to sail over the great naval mustering point at the Nore, to see the masts of the SS Richard Montgomery peaking above the waves, and, most of all, to witness the same sunset skies heading back into town as must have once enraptured Turner.
Here’s some pictures from the journey – the first of which I claim no credit for. But I did want to show you the beautiful vessel on which we sailed, and I didn’t get a decent picture myself.
Click on any of the pics to open a nice big gallery viewer.
Because I’m a sucker for anything featuring the Count.
Londonist linked to this lovely thing today: the latest in The Lost Valley of London series is all about Wapping. It could even serve as a very good book trailer for my first two books, The English Monster and The Poisoned Island. Pirates, executions, river police, docks, tunnels – it’s all there. Lovely.
A beautiful story in the New York Times, that reads like the opening of a gorgeous Indian novel:
On the banks of picturesque Dal Lake in Srinagar, the summer capital of Jammu and Kashmir, sits the only library in the neighborhood, run by a man who loves books but cannot read.
In a single-story wooden house, carefully maintained shelves are filled with around 600 books in several languages, the prize possessions of Muhammad Latif Oata, a 44-year-old handicrafts seller who dropped out of school at age 10 to work.
Over two decades, Mr. Latif, a Kashmir native, has accumulated all these books through exchanges and donations from people who visited his shop, first in Goa, then in Karnataka and now here in Dal Lake, a popular tourist destination. His collection includes books written by authors from many countries, like the United States, Britain, Sweden, Italy and Korea, reflecting the donors’ nationalities.
Since the vast majority of those who visit the library are tourists, he has named it the Travelers Library. Anyone can take a book; all Mr. Latif asks is that borrowers describe the stories contained in the pages of the books they return. Many visitors, who are Indians from other states and foreigners who come to see Dal Lake, leave behind their own books to add to his collection.
This morning, I sent a whiny email to my local councillor about parking in my London street. Sometimes it’s, like, really busy and I can’t find a spot right outside my house and have to walk, like, a whole hundred metres.
And then I saw this amazing video, and stopped thinking about such trivial things.
My friend Richard Davidson-Houston just sent me this, and it is the most gorgeous and thrilling visual evocation of pre-Great Fire London I think I have ever seen. I’ve just watched it, and am really not exaggerating when I say I held my breath at times.
It’s the work of Pudding Lane Productions, who are six students from De Montfort University (and there’s a name to conjure with, history fans). Find out more about the project, and the astonishing attention to detail that’s gone into this, at their blog.
This is actually a few months old now, but I’ve only just listened to it and it’s put a great big smile on my face, even though Southern Gas Networks have dug up my street, my front garden and are about to rip up my living room:
Randy Bachman, of Bachman Turner Overdrive, unpicks the chord, which turns out not to be a chord at all, but two chords and a bass (so three guitars in total, as you’d expect). When they play it after the explanation, you can hear the delight in the musicians, and in the crowd. The Beatles weren’t just musicians. They were alchemists.