Once again I've come away from Literary London feeling energised and enthusiastic about the City and it's stories. A strange conference in some ways this year - the theme of 'The River' was so appropriate, given that the Thames flowed sluggishly just feet from where we discussed its representation. Many more of the contributors spoke on the conference theme than ever before, and there were far fewer papers on Iain Sinclair and such like.
Personal favourites this year were Finn Jensen's paper on 'The New River and the Regents Canal' and Professor David Skilton's 'Sweet Thames Run Softly - Constructing a Clean River'. Both drew on topography, history and literature in describing places I've walked and wondered many times. Perhaps the most challenging paper was Alex Murray's paper on 'Gentrification and the New East End'. I think I found it challenging because in a sense, I stood accused. Was I one of the chattering class gawpers who staked a claim to the East End on the basis of some alternative take on tourism? The paper also posed the question about where London writing goes from here, post-Thatcher and somewhat bitterly for Murray, post-Sinclair and Moorcock?
The demonstration of Christian Nold's 'Biomapping', which combined GPS, Galvanic Skin Response and Google Earth, was interesting but perhaps unsuccessful. It was clear that to Nold, London was a city - a complex and changing environment no different to any other city. In a room full of people who give it priviledged consideration, this seemed to fall flat. It was also clear that Nold found his results interesting and diverting, but was not prepared to read any conclusion into them - either scientific or otherwise. Still a fascinating talk however.
It was quite incredible, between papers, to step out into the formal spaces of the Royal Naval College and sit in the sun, still strong at four in the afternoon, staring across at the Millenium Dome or the shiny towers of Docklands. I started each morning with breakfast near the Cutty Sark, watching crowds of naval officers and besuited dignitaries heading for a ship moored nearby. Each evening was spent wandering the small town centre - enjoying the atmosphere of London outside London, and trying in vain to find a pub which could serve a decent pint - finally settling on The Plume of Feathers on Park Vista. I liked Greenwich most particularly because it managed to be a small, bustling and down-to-earth place despite the monumental historical backdrop which is always present on the skyline - in the masts of the Cutty Sark or the tower of the Observatory.
This morning, having sat near to Greenwich Pier every day and watched the commuters dashing for their ferry to work, curiosity overcame me and despite a fair cargo of luggage I found myself heading for the pier to enquire about times. Several companies serve the pier, and something of the old Thames watermen survives in the way they compete for business. A Thames Clippers representative was canny enough to claim to some tourists that the next boat to Westminster was one of theirs, despite it only going to Savoy Pier. Admiring his approach I boarded. I haven't been on the Thames for 25 years - almost to the week I think - so this was special. Making a fair pace we scudded over the murky waves to Canary Wharf, St Katherine's and Bankside. Finally I got to see the rather unimpressive grating under Blackfriars Bridge where my beloved Fleet River empties into the Thames in it's new guise as a sewer. Finally, we reached Savoy and after negotiating a charity fun-run I found myself beside the York Water Gate - subject of David Skilton's opening paper. I'd come full circle, so it was clearly time to head home. Every year I think this conference is beyond my grasp, but somehow I make some sort of sense of it. I'm already looking forward to next year.
It's been a long hot day, in uncertain territory. My customary summer foray into academia has arrived again. It sort of crept up on me this year. Without the strange structure which the appeal season used to give to my summer, I found myself starting this week at work with only a couple of days in which to do quite a bit of rather unpleasant stuff. Nevertheless, I found myself packing this morning to head to the station in already blazing sunshine.
Having scored a couple of First Great Western's new 'Firstminute' fares, I was enjoying weekday First Class for a budget price. A change at Bristol and into the quiet, cool carriage for a couple of hours of living the high life - or at least being fed complimentary coffee and peanuts in a seat which actually fits me! On arrival at Paddington, a sweaty and crowded tube trip to Cannon Street which seemed to take ages. Cannon Street was, as always when I visit outside the peak, eerily quiet. Onto the waiting 465, which like all of its class has a strangely toilet-like aroma, and over the gleaming river towards London Bridge. Then moments later we're skimming the rooftops of South East London en route to Greenwich.
Arrived at a dusty and baking Maze Hill station and shouldered my bag for the walk to the University. I'd visited Greenwich once before, not straying far beyond St Alfege's Church before heading back onto the train. This time, coming from the East I was amazed by the size and symmetry of the Royal Naval College and the Queen's House. It took me a fair while to figure that I was actually heading for one of the wings of the College to regsiter. Awed and confused by the buildings and their royalist nomenclature, I resorted to asking an employee who seemed himself rather confused as to which block was William and which was Mary.
After a frustrating afternoon mostly spent arranging a replacement key for my room in the Halls of Residence, set out to explore in the hopefully cooler evening. A short walk from my door was the Cutty Sark, beached and tired. Beyond the ship, in the plaza surrounding it was the cylindrical drum of the Greenwich Foot Tunnel entrance, and beyond in the haze was One Canada Square towering in the cluster of blocks forming Canary Wharf. After a fairly unsatisfying pint in a Youngs' pub, found a really good Indian restaurant. Wandered some more, before retiring feeling slightly apprehensive as always about the conference and whether I'd somehow be exposed as an utter fraud.
Up at the now customary time to head out of Highbridge on 2M02. Quick journey up to Bristol, with time to note that pet powercar 43130 was on the front for our journey via the Berks & Hants to London. A cold clear November morning - perfect weather for another Lord Mayor's Show. Breakfast plans in tatters due to a lack of 'hot breakfast items' in the buffet. Can't imagine the rugby crowd in Standard Class were too happy! On arriving, tube to Blackfriars for coffee and a bite to eat. Wandered up New Bridge Street and onto Ludgate Hill, and found a spot not far from last year's vantage point. Bang on 10:55 the RAF flypast signalled the start of the parade.
As usual, a fair selection of military bands, community floats and livery company efforts - many focused on the interests of David Brewer, the new Lord Mayor. Hence Cornwall, China and Basinghall Ward Club all got involved. Noted a high profile security presence atop the buildings around us.
Wandered into the city to find lunch, and as custom dictates, picnicked in Abchurch Yard. Confess I was feeling pretty exhausted by now, given an early start and what felt like the beginning of a nasty cold. Tried to walk it off by heading east, then through Austin Friars and Moorgate to Whitecross Street. Arrived at Farringdon station feeling thoroughly sick and tired, so headed back to Paddington. Had considered staying for the firework display, but it's really not the same when you're watching on your own. A quiet and relaxing journey back meant lots of reading, and a slight recovery by Highbridge - certainly enough for a few pints at The Coopers Arms before struggling home on aching feet.
The Lord Mayor's Show doesn't change much from year to year, but for a cynical atheist like me this kind of continuity is strangely important.
Before the strange and unexpected work events of the last few weeks, the plan was to be in London for a long weekend to coincide with the Open House weekend. In the event, I decided to travel up today returning this evening. My plans had further altered as I was to meet some friends and lead a tramp through some of the places I felt were more interesting and less crowded. So I set out early, and travelled happily through autumn mists and sunshine. Arrived to find the Circle Line out of action, so headed to Blackfriars then to Kings Cross Thameslink. Time to kill until people arrived, so got a haircut from an Italian barber who was really very angry with Sven Goran Eriksson. Also time to buy perhaps the best bacon roll I've ever eaten practically next door to the station. My colleagues stepped off the train into a predictable Pentonville morning - a carpet of drunks and litter, but amazing sunshine and a slight chill - ideal walking weather. So we struck out towards the Fleet and to Clerkenwell via Exmouth Market. Unsure of how much of a guide I was expected to be, I hung back and apologetcally suggested decomissioned points of interest - The New River, Penton Mound, Coldbath Fields, The House of Detention. A fair observation - why was everything I remarked on no longer extant? A couple of sites visited here - the Marx Memorial Library and the Old Sessions House. Both provided interesting tours - and despite having visited before I thoroughly enjoyed revisiting.
The next stage was to strike out east, to St. Lukes on Old Street. After marvelling at the oddity of Hawksmoor's obelisk we stepped into a modern, ultra high-tech but not unsympathetic music space built for the LSO . The Gamelan was particularly interesting - a shame we didn't get to hear it played. Exchanged contrary views on Hawksmoor with the staff before leaving. Throughout our journey today his reputation took something of a battering.
After a walk down Whitecross Street, recalling associations with George Gissing and Workers in the Dawn, we turned east again via a pint at the Artillery Arms, and through Bunhill Fields to Wesley's House and Chapel. An interesting talk in the deserted chapel saw me expound on the significance of pelicans in Christian religious art - which I don't think anyone believed, followed by a strange conversation with the Mayor of Islington's driver. East and south now, with the intention of heading for Spitalfields - an area which one of my friends was casually researching. Approached via Shoreditch High Street, Bishopsgate and Brushfield Street for the maximum impact of Christ Church and its awe-inspiring frontage. A brief refreshment stop was enforced as I'd failed to account for people's personal needs, before exploring the church itself.
Perhaps I made a mistake in my next selection. After walking through the curious houses of Fournier Street and Wilkes Street, we joined the queue at 19 Princelet Street. A different clientele here to reflect the latest wave of immigration to wash over Spitalfields - the young profressionals. Whilst I think the building intrigued and appealed as much as it always does for me, the message behind its current usage was perhaps too politically motivated for others in the party. Perhaps they coped better with Marx and Lenin because they could pass them off as dead ideology? Things took a strange turn - as they always seem to in this part of the city. We escaped via alleyways towards Devonshire Square.
We were the last party to leave the slightly disappointing Osborne House - home of the National Association of Flower Arrangement Societies - not on my personal itinerary. There followed a long, rather surly search for beer. As the Open Houses began to close, so did the local facilities. Back west, into the city via Leadenhall, Bell Inn Yard and Cornhill. We looked for a particular view of St. Pauls recently described to one of our party, and finally found it in Watling Street where we rested and enjoyed the peace and quiet of the closing city.
After a quick visit to Paternoster Square and Temple Bar, time for a final pint at the Black Friar before heading back to Paddington for the last train home. Not quite the weekend, or indeed the day I had planned. Still interesting however, and proof positive that I am not a tour guide. When I can perhaps get my head out of the clouds and learn not to project my own strange meanings on to the City, I may find myself better able to explain it to others.
Lost::MikeGTN
I've had a home on the web for more years than I care to remember, and a few kind souls persuade me it's worth persisting with keeping it updated. This current incarnation of the site is centred around the blog posts which began back in 1999 as 'the daylog' and continued through my travels and tribulations during the following years.
I don't get out and about nearly as much these days, but I do try to record significant events and trips for posterity. You may also have arrived here by following the trail to my former music blog Songs Heard On Fast Trains. That content is preserved here too.
