BARNSLEY FANS: UNLOVED
Tuesday, 21 October 2008
Monday, 20 October 2008
THINGS I DIG ABOUT LONDON
Well, as i sit here in my loungeroom surrounded by the delicate aroma of yet another culinary bonfire (Guy Fawke's Night IS just round the corner, y'know), London groans and buckles under the relentless weight of the Credit Crunch (Its been upgraded to capital letters now - thank you, mass media, for telling us simpletons when something's really important).
On a night when the Exchequer's just announced through gritted teeth that the country's racked up a tidy 36 billion+ in debt in the first 6 months of this financial year already, the city's property market is looking about as stable as a pop starlet's mental health (soon even Zimbabweans will be able to buy a flat in Shoreditch), the news is bleating about yet another glamour riverfront residential apartment being de-populated by foreclosures, and a severe weather warning for London keeps flashing on screen courtesy of a dirty great big low sitting north of the UK like a hyena waiting for its turn at the carcasse, I think it's as good a time as any to set down what I love about this place. So, even though I may not have the verbal cutlery to dissect the great juicy multi-flavoured mass that is London's charms, and god knows more talented folks than yours truly have written enough about the place, here's my faves so far:
(1) The way even Londoners born-and-bred can still feel like tourists because of the gargantuan, ever-swirling list of things you can do and see and take part in here. Even if I never have the time to sample it all I still love the fact that anytime I want to plug in, there’s going to be something amazing to do in this city.
(2) The buzz. Yep, I've mentioned it before. Even though most things shut by 10 or 11am each weeknight (just like Brisbane ) it still feels like one of the centres of all human civilization. If you're attuned to it you can get the sense that you're connected to the rest of the world by everything that's going on around you and in front of you. Even when London sleeps there’s still a magic about the place that’s somehow accentuated by the fact that all these monuments and ancient streets are silent. KEY LEARNING FOR OTHER CITIES: forget the "24-hour city" bullsh*t and concentrate on other aspects if you want to make a city vibrant. What normal person wants to work a 10pm-6am graveyard shift, honestly?? More to the point, how do you convince a quarter of your population to work it and not expect problems? And how do you generate enough electricity to feed all those late-night businesses staying open round the clock?? Australia’s urban planners, I’m talking to you here.
(3) The fact that someone who looks like Boris Johnson can get voted in as Mayor. With all the secret UFO files being released by the Ministry of Defense here at the moment, I'm expecting Bozo to be outed any day now.
(4) The fact that the only surviving participant in World War 1 lives here. Yes, the only one, out of all those millions. For a history buff like me, just knowing that there’s still someone left who actually knows what the air felt like on the day the Somme offensive kicked off, or how the mud smelt in the trenches after the gas had cleared, and that he’s only a Tube journey away from where I live, is like knowing there’s a time machine available nearby. Gloriously surreal.
(5) The way they look after their sport here. They're not franchises, they're not business enterprises, they're not entertainment, they're cornerstones. Some of the people at work explained that basketball and ice hockey started off strong here but quickly disappeared off the radar because there was too much movement of teams and changes to uniforms and names etc etc, just like in American sport - compared to some of the "old firm" teams in the Premier League or Champions League, and the roots they've got in communities which rally around them in a modern day form of tribalism, I can see how that wouldn't have washed with the locals. Yeah, some of these Poms take their support above and beyond, and anyone who values a good headbutt-fest over their marriage or a warm pint is two steps further back in the evolutionary scale than the rest of us (oo oo oo oo EE EE EE oo oo oo Chelsea!!), but on the flip side I wish I saw half as much passion and colour and humour at any Aussie sporting event as I saw Saturday night at a three-quarters-full Crystal Palace match.
(6) The full moon’s reflection on the Thames as you walk over the river on Tower Bridge on a cold, clear, sharp night. And, if you look up, seeing the long, pencil-thin contrails of all the passenger jets that have passed overhead recently, lit by the moonlight so that the dark night sky appears to be filled by the glowing pen-strokes of some giant child. Magical.
(7) The palpable sense of history that surrounds every every single corner you turn, which you tend to not notice sometimes when life’s swamping you and stealing your time, but which seeps into your consciousness anytime you slow down. It’s not like the sense of history you in Rome or Athens , where a few eras dominate. There’s recognizable layers upon layers here, all interwoven with daily life, some decaying, some treasured and fiercely protected. Romans, Saxons, Normans. Tudors, Victorians, Edwardians, Elizabethans. The Industrial Revolution, the Swinging ‘60’s, the grim Thatcher era. Markets that were operating this Saturday in 2008, with traders on mobile phones and sleek Mercedes S Classes nosing through the crowds that were hustling and bustling almost the same way back in the 1200’s, when no-one had heard of electricity or plastic or cardboard or polyster or Australia and everything was carted or made by grubby hands and ingenuity. Every street seems to have a unique story. If you stop and look at any given streetscape and half-close your eyes you can almost see how it would’ve looked 100 years ago, 200 years ago, and you can almost see the people, like period-costume ghosts, going about their daily business the same as everyone here now.
(8) The resilience. It’s legendary, everyone in the world knows about it, but I’m seeing it in action for the first time lately. Nazi bombers thumping the place night and day? Winston and Queeny will see us through. IRA nasties leaving unexpected car-sized surprise packages throughout the city? Up yours, mick, have some taters, it’s business as usual tomorrer’. Suicide bombings by islamic extremists? Bring us sumfink we haven’t seen before, Ahmed. Worldwide financial meltdown hammering the world’s banking capital? Who’s up for a pint then? Harsh times and bad news seem to be a Londoner’s preferred element, as if it gives them an excuse, nay, a reason for them to wear their world-renowned bad tempers and stoicism with bullish pride. Strangely admirable and inspiring sometimes.
(9) The parks. Most of you probably know that London's got the most parkland of any capital city on the planet, and for a place as massive and dense and throbbing as London , that’s jolly impressive, old chap. And they're PROUD of them here. Don't know too many Aussies who are proud of their local green patch, but then again none of ours used to be Henry VIII's hunting ground, for example.
(10) Bollards. Yes, bollards. Those metal poles that Councils stick in the ground to stop d*ckhead drivers trying to shoehorn their Chelsea tractors up narrow streets or simply to decorate some space they think is lacking in panache. Often used by drunks for oh-so-hilarious vaulting exercises (what amazing originality, Bazza! I never would've thought of leap-frogging one of those! Wait while I go fetch my appreciative laugh). In London the variety of shapes, the meaning and historical significance of the different styles and shapes is pure manna for someone into both history and the urban aesthetic. Embarrassingly interesting.
(11) Hanging flower pots. (Yes, once again the man-credentials are taking a pummelling with every point). Honestly though, the most god-awful, chav-filled, festering excuse for a street is instantly changed from “which part of Chechnya are we in today?” to “Where’s my camera?” with the simple act of hanging pots of flowers and greenery from any elevated streetlight or sign along its length. Simple, easy, cheap measures can make a massive change to the appearance and feeling of the urban landscape after all. Can-Do, ARE YOU PAYING ATTENTION?
(12) The way it's similarities to home makes you love home even more. It's the comparisons between the little things. Hmm - now there's an idea for my next post.
(13) The Tate Modern. Could've been a vast, glowering blight on the southern side of the river, but they took a huge brick power station that was almost Orwellian in its brutalism, embraced its ugliness and turned into something funky. The ultimate architectural ugly duckling story.
(14) St Paul's Cathedral. Doesn't need any explanation. Just wander inside and look up at the dome, that's all you need to understand why it's on the list. And Londoners think the same. If Londoners all agree on something you know it's good.
(15) The fact that you can spot an Aussie labourer working in London from a mile away by their boardies and thongs when everyone else is wearing overcoats and scarves.
(16) The way they make use of every archway underneath rail lines. Bick old brick caverns, they've been converted into everything from car dealerships and landscaping supply centres to nightclubs and hydroponic nurseries. The one at the end of my street is a French art and furniture gallery, and another one's been converted to a skate park.
Could go on but every travel guide's got the goods on the rest of London. Those are the things I'm into at the moment. For a grumpy, wet, flat, crowded city, it's got it's fair share of things going for it.
On a night when the Exchequer's just announced through gritted teeth that the country's racked up a tidy 36 billion+ in debt in the first 6 months of this financial year already, the city's property market is looking about as stable as a pop starlet's mental health (soon even Zimbabweans will be able to buy a flat in Shoreditch), the news is bleating about yet another glamour riverfront residential apartment being de-populated by foreclosures, and a severe weather warning for London keeps flashing on screen courtesy of a dirty great big low sitting north of the UK like a hyena waiting for its turn at the carcasse, I think it's as good a time as any to set down what I love about this place. So, even though I may not have the verbal cutlery to dissect the great juicy multi-flavoured mass that is London's charms, and god knows more talented folks than yours truly have written enough about the place, here's my faves so far:
(1) The way even Londoners born-and-bred can still feel like tourists because of the gargantuan, ever-swirling list of things you can do and see and take part in here. Even if I never have the time to sample it all I still love the fact that anytime I want to plug in, there’s going to be something amazing to do in this city.
(2) The buzz. Yep, I've mentioned it before. Even though most things shut by 10 or 11am each weeknight (just like Brisbane ) it still feels like one of the centres of all human civilization. If you're attuned to it you can get the sense that you're connected to the rest of the world by everything that's going on around you and in front of you. Even when London sleeps there’s still a magic about the place that’s somehow accentuated by the fact that all these monuments and ancient streets are silent. KEY LEARNING FOR OTHER CITIES: forget the "24-hour city" bullsh*t and concentrate on other aspects if you want to make a city vibrant. What normal person wants to work a 10pm-6am graveyard shift, honestly?? More to the point, how do you convince a quarter of your population to work it and not expect problems? And how do you generate enough electricity to feed all those late-night businesses staying open round the clock?? Australia’s urban planners, I’m talking to you here.
(3) The fact that someone who looks like Boris Johnson can get voted in as Mayor. With all the secret UFO files being released by the Ministry of Defense here at the moment, I'm expecting Bozo to be outed any day now.
(4) The fact that the only surviving participant in World War 1 lives here. Yes, the only one, out of all those millions. For a history buff like me, just knowing that there’s still someone left who actually knows what the air felt like on the day the Somme offensive kicked off, or how the mud smelt in the trenches after the gas had cleared, and that he’s only a Tube journey away from where I live, is like knowing there’s a time machine available nearby. Gloriously surreal.
(5) The way they look after their sport here. They're not franchises, they're not business enterprises, they're not entertainment, they're cornerstones. Some of the people at work explained that basketball and ice hockey started off strong here but quickly disappeared off the radar because there was too much movement of teams and changes to uniforms and names etc etc, just like in American sport - compared to some of the "old firm" teams in the Premier League or Champions League, and the roots they've got in communities which rally around them in a modern day form of tribalism, I can see how that wouldn't have washed with the locals. Yeah, some of these Poms take their support above and beyond, and anyone who values a good headbutt-fest over their marriage or a warm pint is two steps further back in the evolutionary scale than the rest of us (oo oo oo oo EE EE EE oo oo oo Chelsea!!), but on the flip side I wish I saw half as much passion and colour and humour at any Aussie sporting event as I saw Saturday night at a three-quarters-full Crystal Palace match.
(6) The full moon’s reflection on the Thames as you walk over the river on Tower Bridge on a cold, clear, sharp night. And, if you look up, seeing the long, pencil-thin contrails of all the passenger jets that have passed overhead recently, lit by the moonlight so that the dark night sky appears to be filled by the glowing pen-strokes of some giant child. Magical.
(7) The palpable sense of history that surrounds every every single corner you turn, which you tend to not notice sometimes when life’s swamping you and stealing your time, but which seeps into your consciousness anytime you slow down. It’s not like the sense of history you in Rome or Athens , where a few eras dominate. There’s recognizable layers upon layers here, all interwoven with daily life, some decaying, some treasured and fiercely protected. Romans, Saxons, Normans. Tudors, Victorians, Edwardians, Elizabethans. The Industrial Revolution, the Swinging ‘60’s, the grim Thatcher era. Markets that were operating this Saturday in 2008, with traders on mobile phones and sleek Mercedes S Classes nosing through the crowds that were hustling and bustling almost the same way back in the 1200’s, when no-one had heard of electricity or plastic or cardboard or polyster or Australia and everything was carted or made by grubby hands and ingenuity. Every street seems to have a unique story. If you stop and look at any given streetscape and half-close your eyes you can almost see how it would’ve looked 100 years ago, 200 years ago, and you can almost see the people, like period-costume ghosts, going about their daily business the same as everyone here now.
(8) The resilience. It’s legendary, everyone in the world knows about it, but I’m seeing it in action for the first time lately. Nazi bombers thumping the place night and day? Winston and Queeny will see us through. IRA nasties leaving unexpected car-sized surprise packages throughout the city? Up yours, mick, have some taters, it’s business as usual tomorrer’. Suicide bombings by islamic extremists? Bring us sumfink we haven’t seen before, Ahmed. Worldwide financial meltdown hammering the world’s banking capital? Who’s up for a pint then? Harsh times and bad news seem to be a Londoner’s preferred element, as if it gives them an excuse, nay, a reason for them to wear their world-renowned bad tempers and stoicism with bullish pride. Strangely admirable and inspiring sometimes.
(9) The parks. Most of you probably know that London's got the most parkland of any capital city on the planet, and for a place as massive and dense and throbbing as London , that’s jolly impressive, old chap. And they're PROUD of them here. Don't know too many Aussies who are proud of their local green patch, but then again none of ours used to be Henry VIII's hunting ground, for example.
(10) Bollards. Yes, bollards. Those metal poles that Councils stick in the ground to stop d*ckhead drivers trying to shoehorn their Chelsea tractors up narrow streets or simply to decorate some space they think is lacking in panache. Often used by drunks for oh-so-hilarious vaulting exercises (what amazing originality, Bazza! I never would've thought of leap-frogging one of those! Wait while I go fetch my appreciative laugh). In London the variety of shapes, the meaning and historical significance of the different styles and shapes is pure manna for someone into both history and the urban aesthetic. Embarrassingly interesting.
(11) Hanging flower pots. (Yes, once again the man-credentials are taking a pummelling with every point). Honestly though, the most god-awful, chav-filled, festering excuse for a street is instantly changed from “which part of Chechnya are we in today?” to “Where’s my camera?” with the simple act of hanging pots of flowers and greenery from any elevated streetlight or sign along its length. Simple, easy, cheap measures can make a massive change to the appearance and feeling of the urban landscape after all. Can-Do, ARE YOU PAYING ATTENTION?
(12) The way it's similarities to home makes you love home even more. It's the comparisons between the little things. Hmm - now there's an idea for my next post.
(13) The Tate Modern. Could've been a vast, glowering blight on the southern side of the river, but they took a huge brick power station that was almost Orwellian in its brutalism, embraced its ugliness and turned into something funky. The ultimate architectural ugly duckling story.
(14) St Paul's Cathedral. Doesn't need any explanation. Just wander inside and look up at the dome, that's all you need to understand why it's on the list. And Londoners think the same. If Londoners all agree on something you know it's good.
(15) The fact that you can spot an Aussie labourer working in London from a mile away by their boardies and thongs when everyone else is wearing overcoats and scarves.
(16) The way they make use of every archway underneath rail lines. Bick old brick caverns, they've been converted into everything from car dealerships and landscaping supply centres to nightclubs and hydroponic nurseries. The one at the end of my street is a French art and furniture gallery, and another one's been converted to a skate park.
Could go on but every travel guide's got the goods on the rest of London. Those are the things I'm into at the moment. For a grumpy, wet, flat, crowded city, it's got it's fair share of things going for it.
Wednesday, 15 October 2008
Well, due to work-related time-paucity, yours truly's not had a worthwhile jot to report in Ye Olde London Blogge since last week. Aye, I attended a stonking End of Summer Party (see pics below) on Saturday night and drank too much cider, and spent Saturday morning wallowing in the sensory overload that is the Borough Markets again, but that hardly qualifies as an acceptable substitute. So here's the next round of plans to tide ye over:
- Tomorrow night: appears I'll be going to Whitechapel to meet a uni friend and catch up over a Jack The Ripper Walking Tour in the cold, bleak depths of an English winter's eve. As you do. Honestly, am starting to think list of friends over here was imaginary, judging by how often they're around. The rumours about the hectic London lifestyle are definitely true. For some. Ahem.
- Saturday night: venturing into the howling wilds of the English Coca Cola Football Championship and going to watch Crystal Palace play Barnsley at Crystal Palace. By myself. Did I mention the friends I have over here seem to be busy to the point of being nonexistent? Maybe there's a reason none could come to this match. Hmmm. Better look up what colours not to wear....
- Halloween: have been invited to a costume party here by the Roccos boys or... a costume party in Dublin. Remains to be seen if work will allow a flex day this soon to go to the Emerald Isle wearing devil's horns and furry johdpurs.
- After that: Am currently investigating train journeys to various parts of Scewtland and Wales, and pricing flights to New York. There will be no shopping for shoes if I get to New York. None whatsoever.
STOP ME IF YOU"VE HEARD THIS ONE:
The latest credit crunch jokes doing the rounds at work:
Q. What's the difference between an investment banker and a pizza?
A. A pizza can feed a family of four.
A mate borrowed 10 pounds off me and the BBC called me up to ask what it's like being England's third biggest lender.
LONDON NEWS:
- Madonna's divorcing Guy Ritchie for making one strangely-similar-to-the-last-three movie too many. Or something. Look at how much I care. Ritchie looks set to make more than the ex Mrs McCartney in his settlement. Rumoured to be negotiating purchase of Wales.
- NBA Commish David Stern blasted the London Olympic Committee for planning to move most of the 2012 Olympic basketball matches to a small-ish stadium with none of the panache and glitz of the O2 Arena. Majority of the English population asked "David who?"
- Another black youth got gunned down outside a nightclub the Saturday before last (at the end of my street, no less), and the story was promptly forgotten by this weekend. Imagine if that happened in Brisneyland. Gun laws would've come under even further scrutiny, front page news for at least 3 days, Lord Mayor Can-Do would've been bouncing and jiggling around even more than usual on our tv screens lambasting security, nightclub owners, the binge-drinking culture, Fourex.... and doing as much about it as he does for anything not associated with building tunnels or pretending to care about heritage buildings being knocked down for concrete-and-glass boxes.
- Westfield's gargantuan new Temple of M'ehh at Shepherd's Bush announced that when it opens there will be no hoodies allowed inside for security reasons. Immediate public outrage at lack of crackdown on accompanying exposed cracks.
- Lots of talk about "baby pub louts" (very young kids allowed to run riot in pubs) at the moment. I mean, it's hard enough carrying 5 pints back to your table when you're trousered without having to deal with what appears to your beery eyes to be a midget on speed jinking between your ankles screaming "Catch me!!!!!". Innit?? Here's a wild, anarchic idea - don't allow minors in booze barns. *Gasp* Wha' yew mean, "drinking culture"?? Where'd tha' all start??
- Colin Powell (yes, Prez Dubya's stern former Secretary of State), got up on stage at Albert Hall the other night and broke 'em all off a li'l sum'n sum'n when invited by the Nigerian hip hop crew performing at the time. Big fella even holla'd to all the peeps in da' hood and got shakin' that thang, fo' REAL. And then sat down again. Word.
- Apparently the credit crunch has all London's upper crust trying to outdo each other in the divesting-of-one's-assets stakes and competive cut-lunch making. The papers are rife with stories of former bling-sporting City types descending on unsuspecting thrift shops en masse like a plague of Botoxed locusts and photo shoots celebrating the pre-loved nature of the nonebrities' latest frocks at red carpet events. Trust these vacuous b*stards to turn the whole situation into a "look at me" merry-go-round. Bollocks to the lo' of 'em.
That'll have to do ye all until I have something worthwhile reporting myself. Fingers crossed that it's not too long a wait.
- Tomorrow night: appears I'll be going to Whitechapel to meet a uni friend and catch up over a Jack The Ripper Walking Tour in the cold, bleak depths of an English winter's eve. As you do. Honestly, am starting to think list of friends over here was imaginary, judging by how often they're around. The rumours about the hectic London lifestyle are definitely true. For some. Ahem.
- Saturday night: venturing into the howling wilds of the English Coca Cola Football Championship and going to watch Crystal Palace play Barnsley at Crystal Palace. By myself. Did I mention the friends I have over here seem to be busy to the point of being nonexistent? Maybe there's a reason none could come to this match. Hmmm. Better look up what colours not to wear....
- Halloween: have been invited to a costume party here by the Roccos boys or... a costume party in Dublin. Remains to be seen if work will allow a flex day this soon to go to the Emerald Isle wearing devil's horns and furry johdpurs.
- After that: Am currently investigating train journeys to various parts of Scewtland and Wales, and pricing flights to New York. There will be no shopping for shoes if I get to New York. None whatsoever.
STOP ME IF YOU"VE HEARD THIS ONE:
The latest credit crunch jokes doing the rounds at work:
Q. What's the difference between an investment banker and a pizza?
A. A pizza can feed a family of four.
A mate borrowed 10 pounds off me and the BBC called me up to ask what it's like being England's third biggest lender.
LONDON NEWS:
- Madonna's divorcing Guy Ritchie for making one strangely-similar-to-the-last-three movie too many. Or something. Look at how much I care. Ritchie looks set to make more than the ex Mrs McCartney in his settlement. Rumoured to be negotiating purchase of Wales.
- NBA Commish David Stern blasted the London Olympic Committee for planning to move most of the 2012 Olympic basketball matches to a small-ish stadium with none of the panache and glitz of the O2 Arena. Majority of the English population asked "David who?"
- Another black youth got gunned down outside a nightclub the Saturday before last (at the end of my street, no less), and the story was promptly forgotten by this weekend. Imagine if that happened in Brisneyland. Gun laws would've come under even further scrutiny, front page news for at least 3 days, Lord Mayor Can-Do would've been bouncing and jiggling around even more than usual on our tv screens lambasting security, nightclub owners, the binge-drinking culture, Fourex.... and doing as much about it as he does for anything not associated with building tunnels or pretending to care about heritage buildings being knocked down for concrete-and-glass boxes.
- Westfield's gargantuan new Temple of M'ehh at Shepherd's Bush announced that when it opens there will be no hoodies allowed inside for security reasons. Immediate public outrage at lack of crackdown on accompanying exposed cracks.
- Lots of talk about "baby pub louts" (very young kids allowed to run riot in pubs) at the moment. I mean, it's hard enough carrying 5 pints back to your table when you're trousered without having to deal with what appears to your beery eyes to be a midget on speed jinking between your ankles screaming "Catch me!!!!!". Innit?? Here's a wild, anarchic idea - don't allow minors in booze barns. *Gasp* Wha' yew mean, "drinking culture"?? Where'd tha' all start??
- Colin Powell (yes, Prez Dubya's stern former Secretary of State), got up on stage at Albert Hall the other night and broke 'em all off a li'l sum'n sum'n when invited by the Nigerian hip hop crew performing at the time. Big fella even holla'd to all the peeps in da' hood and got shakin' that thang, fo' REAL. And then sat down again. Word.
- Apparently the credit crunch has all London's upper crust trying to outdo each other in the divesting-of-one's-assets stakes and competive cut-lunch making. The papers are rife with stories of former bling-sporting City types descending on unsuspecting thrift shops en masse like a plague of Botoxed locusts and photo shoots celebrating the pre-loved nature of the nonebrities' latest frocks at red carpet events. Trust these vacuous b*stards to turn the whole situation into a "look at me" merry-go-round. Bollocks to the lo' of 'em.
That'll have to do ye all until I have something worthwhile reporting myself. Fingers crossed that it's not too long a wait.
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