Greenwich Time Ball

It's one of those wonderful oddities of London which makes our city so vibrant. In the same way that we don't actually need beefeaters marching around a dead royal palace with a bunch of keys every night, an annual dinner for two warring livery companies to settle medieval differences or a bloke in black to open parliament every session, there is no real necessity for us to squint up at the Greenwich skyline at 1.00pm to set our watches, but if we ever catch the Greenwich Time Ball at that microsecond when it drops, we feel a little shiver of excitement; a little link with our maritime past.

It all goes back to that old chestnut of longitude, which I promise I'm not going into today. The problem had been more or less solved by the end of the 18th Century, but none of John Harrison's splendid clocks was going to stand a cat's chance in hell if they weren't set correctly to start with. Trouble was, that they didn't have radio-controlled digital timepieces in those days. A few people, such as ships' captains had clocks and watches, and the ships themselves, by the 19th Century, had chronometers, but they were useless if they couldn't be set.

They'd been experimenting with the idea of time balls in Portsmouth and in 1833, it was suggested by one Captain Robert Wauchope that Greenwich would be an ideal place for one for the Thames. John Pond, who was Astronomer Royal at the time, thought it was a great idea and the Admiralty agreed - Greenwich Observatory was well-placed, up a hill, and with the right instruments to gauge the time accurately. I doubt that Pond was quite as pleased when he realised that it would be the job of the astronomers working there to toil up the stairs of the little tower, haul the ball to the top of the weather vane then drop it at one o'clock every day, rain or shine, when they could be doing a million other, more exciting things.

Nevertheless, the world's first public time signal was duly manufactured by Maudslay, Son & Field. A giant red ball, with a winch, was installed. The ball was originally made of leather, which must have become like lead when sodden with winter rain.

I'm not going to go into the concept of standard time and GMT today - do try to contain your excitement, I'll come to it ;-) Suffice to say that the Observatory was central to anything that went on throughout the 19th Century to do with Railway Time, Local Time or any other time. But all through that time the Greenwich Time Ball was hoisted to the top of its little pole at two minutes to, then dropped precisely at one o'clock. As the years passed, telegraphic communication helped to let people across the globe know what the time was, but Greenwich remained at the centre.

Today the ball is automated - there are no more astronomers left to winch it up and let it drop. But it continues to do so by machine, every day like - well, like clockwork, I guess. It's aluminium these days, but still a big bugger. I heard they had to take it down for a spruce-up recently and it proved exceeding unwieldy.

Why 1.00pm rather than midday? At first I was told that it was because the astronomers were always doing important experiments at midday when the sun is at its apex, but more recently I've heard that it's because in order to know the exact time you have to know noon. Since you're actually waiting for noon, it's difficult to be really accurate, so once the astronomers saw noon, they could actually count more accurately to 1.00pm.

I am terribly fond of our time ball. Not least because it's discreet. If you don't know to look for it you might miss it completely. If you need the time it's there (set your watch precisely "1.00pm" the moment the ball drops) if you don't need to know, you don't get bothered. As a local resident, I guess I'm quite glad I'm not in Edinburgh where 1.00 is signalled with a cannon...

Arches Leisure Centre

Trafalgar Road, SE10

The Arches are not, I confess, somewhere I frequent on a regular basis. Every so often I make a bit of effort and go for a week or so then somehow sink among the waves of apathy.

It's nothing to do with the facilities. They're really not bad at all. Built in 1928, the place has two pools, originally, would you believe, 'First' and 'Second' class. The 'First' class pool is what is now known as the 'Fitness' pool, roped into lanes of various abilities - from plodders to fitness freaks. Laning-off manages to avoid at least most of the problems, not least those pensioners who insist on doing widths, backstroke, across all the lanes, stopping suddenly for a chat with their mate just when you're trying to plod past in the opposite direction. It doesn't prevent the butterfly-stroke-show-offs, though, who plough past you in a fury of water sending everyone else flying in their wake.

But this isn't a post about pool etiquette, it's about the pool itself. What I love about it is the little individual cubicles running along each long side. They have swing doors, some with little modesty flaps in bright colours hanging from the top and are so cute, if rather battered now, that they just cannot survive any modernisation that may or may not (what do you think) that may go on. Neither, sadly, will the now-virtually-redundant stages that grace the ends of both pools. I like to think that they either drained the pools occasionally or covered them with a dance floor for balls and events and the stage was for bands. Of course it could be far more prosaic and the platform was just used for the Lady Mayoress, resplendent in giant picture hat and beaded dress to dole out the cups after swimming galas. It's painted with a jolly 1920s-style mural now and still has some of its original deco fittings.

Trivia - there is a scene at the pool in Camilla May's The Dead of Summer (see 'Books.')

The other (ex-'Second class') bath is now a 'leisure' pool - which at least separates the dive-bombing teenagers and toddlers who haven't yet quite managed bladder-control from the 'serious' swimmers. It has a very shallow end and little extra pools with fake sandcastles and rocks so that it can be easily cordoned off for classes and tinies. There seem to be a lot of classes of various descriptions. I have never seen anyone shooting down the curly slide, but that may have more to do with the fact that I don't frequent the pool enough than it's not being used.

There are two studios, one big, the other tiny, also used for classes. It is sometimes filled with squashy cushions for a creche. Right at the back there's a gym. It's not too full of scary muscle-men and not as intimidating as some I have been to. Plenty of baffling machines which, despite the fact that I once, Very Long Ago, had an induction, I can never remember how to use. I quite like the vibrating plate, but that's probably more information than you need. You can watch TV whilst you're on the bikes, but given the general standard of TV, both daytime and evening, you may choose to bring your own entertainment.

Uncertainty hangs like a sword of Damocles above the Arches roof. Given that rumblings and rumours of a new leisure centre at the Old District Hospital Site bubble under the surface and that the close proximity of The Arches to the centre of Greenwich makes it prime luxury-flat development potential, I don't hold out much hope for the place long-term. It's already looking tired round the edges (despite a refurb not so long ago in Local Council terms) but I don't see it ever being spruced up again. I don't know if it's listed (where can one find a list of listed buildings? I've searched and searched but at the moment if you're not an official you can only see a list in Swindon. I must check at the Heritage Centre...) but I reckon it is of 20th Century interest and I would hope that it wouldn't just be pulled down by developers. Surely they must be able to do something interesting with the existing building?

In the meanwhile, happy splashing...

The Greenwich Park Bowl?

Fin writes:

I was walking in Greenwich Park today and came across a circular fenced-off area in the south-west corner, just north of the tennis courts. It had a rusty iron fence around it and a locked gate with signs that said 'Hazard - Keep Out'. Naturally curiosity got the better of me and i climbed in, to find a large raised area of grass like an inverted bowl. Steps ran up one side and joined an overgrown row of paving slabs running along the centre of the bowl, with some sort of metal grill right in the centre. This 'path' was also lined with what looked like those hook-shaped ventilation pipes you get on ships. I didn't venture far in case the ground gave way or something, but I am most intrigued. Can you or your readers enlighten me as to what this area is, or was? Unfortunately i didn't have a camera on me otherwise I'd send you a picture.

The Phantom replies:

What is this - Greenwich Enigma Day or something? This seems almost as much of a mystery as Miss Mott.

There is so much to be discovered in that seemingly tiny patch we call Greenwich Park that it doesn't surprise me that there's something new and hitherto undiscovered somewhere off the beaten track. I vaguely know where you're talking about, I think. I wonder - is it in line with the red brick building that's part of the underground water system? It could be part of the notorious tunnels in Greenwich Park which date back several hundred years (see The Greenwich Phantom: Tunnels in Greenwich Park ) but it sounds too recent to really be connected with it. Given the way that the land seems to cave in at a moment's notice round here you were probably wise not to tread any further. It does sound like a reservoir. Something banging at the back of my brain tells me that Greenwich University did some low-level experiments in the park way back, but I thought it was all cleared away. Actually, I may be completely wrong; thinking about it, it could have been the Peninsula. Or somewhere else entirely.

Basically what I'm saying is that I don't know. I'm hoping that someone from the Friends of Greenwich Park will read this and be able to tell you. In the meanwhile, I'll do a spot of digging (not literal.) Watch this space.

When is someone going to write a really in-depth topographical study of Greenwich Park? Or is there already one that I don't know about?

Incidentally, folks, I'm sure Fin wouldn't mind my telling you about his own website that he 'accidentally' left the address of on the bottom of his mail. He's a local playwright and poet and you can find him here http://www.finkennedy.co.uk/

Creek Road Update

David Herbet writes:

Heard only on Thursday that LBG Planning Board are going to consider the application for the Creek Road/Bardsley Lane site this coming Thursday 31 May, 6.30 pm at Woolwich Town Hall.

It's likely to be the last chance for anybody to speak to prevent this most unsuitable development and save the open space and the trees.

Hard to believe the Board will postpone a decision again as this is the 5th time the developers have put forward their application and the 3rd time it will have been put to the Board.


Just to remind you, David lives at 258 Creek Road - the stand-alone house in the middle of the proposed Creek Road Development. Good luck, David - let us know how you get on...

Helena Pare Lydia Mott

Today I bring you a total mystery. In vain I have searched for information about the poet Helena Pare Lydia Mott, who lived at 115 Maze Hill. There is a glorious 1951 plaque to her, in flowing rococo-style, with what I can only assume is a verse of hers engraved into it.

The summer's breath is spent upon the hills
Behold, remember and rejoice
She seems to say
I give you colour
That the colour of your winter
May be eased
Until I come again.

And, er, that's it. I have consulted books, googled her to infinity, asked anyone I know who might have a clue - and drawn a complete blank.

I find it remarkable that such a splendid house, with such a grand plaque has absolutely no reference to it - or the person to whom it relates - anywhere that I can find. This is only just over 50 years ago. Is someone so important that she warranted a memorial in 1951 so easily forgotten?

Does anyone out there in Greenwich Cyberville know anything about her? In the meanwhile I will continue to delve and update you if I find anything.I guess Greenwich without mystery would be a dull place indeed.

BTW I will be coming to No. 111 Maze Hill and its more famous but un-plaqued resident very soon...

Peter Harrison Planetarium

The Old Royal Observatory, Greenwich Park

I'm sure that most people remember the lovely, cranky old planetarium at the Old Royal Observatory which closed a few years ago to make way for this new development. About 30 people per sitting got to climb up a bunch of fiddly old backstairs, right up to the very top of what is apparently "South Building" (which always felt slightly 'naughty' - being allowed somewhere which was obviously not really for the likes of us) and sit round the edge of the old dome on 1950s plastic benches (red, if memory serves) and gaze up at a cardboard cut-out silhouette of the London skyline while some wonderfully crusty old boffin in a knitted tie and baggy trousers gave us a commentary of our journey through the sky at night. It was always a bit of a lottery as to how interesting your particular crusty old boffin would be, but usually they were delightful and as fascinated as I was. There is something rather special about being talked to by a real astronomer...

I used to love that old place, with all its quirks and idiosyncrasies but if I stopped being romantic for just one second, it was hardly cutting-edge and fell way short of being everyone's idea of a good day out...

They closed the place three years ago, promising us a brand new one. If I'm honest, I didn't believe them. I thought it would be like when the BFI closed MOMI "for refurbishment" to avoid an outcry from furious film fans, then quietly never re-opened (they lost my membership over that - not, I guess, that they care. )

The Observatory needed stupid amounts of cash - they already had some - enough to rebuild the South Building into new galleries, but the extra required to include a planetarium seemed nigh-on impossible. I gave my own paltry sum, but it was a drop in the ocean. However it would seem that the National Maritime Museum has a lot of friends, all of who put in their own sums, presumably some of which amounted to rather more than paltry - for now it has re-opened, in sumptuous splendour and not a penny seems to have been pinched anywhere.

I have already talked about the Time Galleries in the really old bit, so I won't go into them here (you'll find them somewhere in my rambling archives...) The new bit really amounts to a load of stuff that hasn't been properly open to the public ever before, so it's all fabulous brand-spanking new.

The little observatory that they use for looking at the movements of the sun has had a spruce-up. You still can't go in there, but it is such a pretty little building that it's a joy to look at anyway. I would guess it's the same age as the old South Building, which has also had a clean up so that all its Victorian finery (which some said was over-fancy, I say is glorious) is back to red-brick newness. I'll come to that in a sec.

What is between the two is a bit of a surprise, and takes a tiny bit of acclimatisation, but once you are used to it, it's just as enjoyable as the other buildings. It's a sort of truncated cone made in bronze which houses the new planetarium's dome. I had originally assumed they didn't want yet another dome in Greenwich after the dubious success of its most recent ancestor, but I am told it's that shape to avoid the bad acoustics that you get in other domes. It looks like a giant metal iceberg, floating in the concrete sea between the two Victorian buildings, and that's not a bad analogy as it turns out.

But back to the South Building. Apparently, because it was built for observation, it had a massive brick plug down the middle of it to support the weight of the telescope in the roof. This made it an absolute rubbish building for everything else, and it was just a warren of tiny little offices. Once they'd calculated that if they took the middle bit out the rest of the building wouldn't fall down, they were able to completely redesign the interior, so there's nothing of the original left (save the dome right at the top which has been made into a conference room and which the public can't see, chiz.)

The guard told me that in order to put the gigantic spiral staircase down the middle, they had to remove part of the wall, then put it back again. I'm not entirely sure I believe that, but stranger things have been known. It's a stunning staircase, linking all the floors and reflecting the original brick plug.

On the middle, entry level there are three galleries - the usual interactive, heavily curriculum-oriented exhibits we are used to in all our major museums nowadays. It's fun, and, like the rest of the Maritime Museum, great for people with a passing rather than deep interest in the subject. I can see it appealing to school parties, which is presumably their prime target. I enjoyed it, because, frankly, it's pretty much on my own level of knowledge, but I was with people who are much more interested and I think they could have taken a little more depth.

Above that are classrooms. Some have computers (I suspect they will be using those for that fantastic GCSE Astronomy course they run) others are more for schools.

Downstairs the fun really begins. The basement covers virtually the whole of the concrete patio bit above and is much bigger than you'd think. The bulk of it is, naturally, the planetarium.

It is a massive dome, as you might expect, but what I didn't expect is that instead of like every planetarium I have ever set foot in before, these seats are all in rows facing one direction - like a theatre. This felt strange and unsettling and that feeling didn't leave me all the time I was there. We were advised to fill up from the back. I only sat four rows from the back, but I already had difficulty seeing absolutely everything that was going on behind me and I really pity the poor sods who, having paid their six quid, had to sit in the front row. I can't imagine they got to see very much at all. I am baffled by the decision to place the seats in this configuration - at best you get a neck-ache, at worst you don't get to see anything at all. Next time I have £ 6 I will go in and deliberately sit at the front to see just how good or bad a view I get.

The show is amazing, though. I dread to think how much that projector cost, but the clarity of the images is stunning. The script is, again, basic and aimed at children and the mildly interested (yeah, ok - me...) but the beauty of it is that you come away wanting to know more. I am told that there will be other shows of various complexity rolled out as the planetarium matures, which will be shown in repertory.

Most of it is utterly fascinating, though I could have done with a few fewer comparisons. I don't think there were any of the really terrible double-decker-bus/ football pitches /n-times-the-size-of-Wales cliches, but there were a lot of them and some of them made me cringe a little - one that went something along the lines of "more stars in the sky than heartbeats in the whole of human existence" for example...

I would argue that it's not for real tinies or very sensitive children - there are a few things that would have kept me awake at night as a child. Let me explain. I remember a sleepless six months or so as a small child, after having seen a programme about how rabies was just about to invade Britain. I don't think it was a 'bad' programmes - a sort of Panorama-type thing - but I was one of those kids prone to a fertile imagination and unchecked exaggeration, with no sense of proportion. Every day for months I was utterly paralysed with fear before the 6.00 o'clock news, waiting to hear the headline in case I was going to be turned into some raving, frothing lunatic (no gags, ok?) I never told my parents because I thought they would laugh but the thought distressed me a lot. In a very small part of this show, ideas such that the sun could explode at any time, or a meteorite could crash into Earth causing the end of the world (I paraphrase) are usually - but not always - given the "but this is extremely unlikely in our time" caveat. Maybe I'm being oversensitive myself here but just to warn you guys, you might want to talk to your kids afterwards to make sure they're not eaten up with silent trauma.

The show I saw was not with a live commentary. I understand that there are live, real astronomers doing the shows and that the recorded show is just a back-up for when they're not available. That will make it much better.

So. A big thumbs-up for this new, exciting attraction here on our doorstep, with a couple of minor grumbles - those seats will give you a crick in the neck - arrive early and get in the back row - and some of the exhibits are a bit entry-level knowledge - but that's what we have to expect these days from a government policy that calls "inclusivity" pandering to the lowest common denominator. I think that given that they just wouldn't have been allowed to do a really in-depth presentation, the NMM has provided exhibits which are fun and exciting, and which invite further private study...

Go see.

Mary Evans Picture Library

Tranquil Vale, SE3

I have been passing this odd and rather beautiful building for some time now, wondering what on earth who Mary Evans was, and what a picture library bearing her name is doing in Blackheath.

In my head I had images of some doughty Edwardian lady, somewhere along the lines of an Emily Pankhurst or a Gertrude Jekyll. Perhaps she was a writer - a Sitwell - or a painter - a Gwen John. In my fertile imagination she had grown up playing in the fields around Blackheath, learning to love every blade of grass, every leaf of tree - the butcher's boy's whistle, the postman's cheery greeting. That extraordinary house had been commissioned by her slightly bohemian parents in the style of that nice Mr Morris down the road at Bexleyheath and now she lived in it, the collection of paintings she had amassed with care and sensitivity visited by members of the fashionable London Set, her name as a woman of taste and elegance assured right through until the 1920s, by which time she had created a bit of a New York scandal by being painted in the nude by John Singer Sargent at the rip old age of 87. She was, of course, a spinster - a beautiful bluestocking who scared off a multitude of suitors with an acidly-accurate tongue, her only true love her painting collection...

I guess I could have been more wrong, but it's safe to say I couldn't have been much more wrong...

The Mary Evans Picture Library is, at least, the brainchild of a Blackheath woman of taste. But rather than grand paintings housed in the strange Arts & Crafts (? - as regular readers will know my knowledge of architecture isn't always spot-on) 'cottage' at the top of Tranquil Vale, it is a collection of images ranging from the great and powerful - international events and famous people - to small, seemingly insignificant pictures that enrich our lives and decorate everything from TV programmes to newspaper articles.

They're just over 40 years old as a company - and it's a family-run business. So much for my sturdy Edwardian spinster. Mary and Hilary Evans started it in 1964 and have recently been joined by their daughter Valentine. There's a great photo on the website from the early years of the three of them in front of the filing cabinets where the images were (and possible still are) stored, little Valentine merely playing with the bottom drawer. It was, like all great businesses which last, founded on a personal passion, Mary's vast collection of prints, engravings, drawings and photos.

It's a commercial collection, so unless I pose as a picture researcher for some magazine, it's unlikely I'll get to see inside this amazing-looking building (there is a very small pic of the inside on the website, the lovely, simple lines of the staircase and the splendid circular window in nearly-full view) but there is a service where private customers can buy online prints for framing in their homes, many of which are local. I have not seen most of them before.

www.prints-online.com

They claim to have over 200,000 images online and be adding pictures at a rate of 500 a week. No wonder they need a staff of 20. They don't say when they moved to the fabulous building they inhabit now, or what it was originally built as - if you know or, indeed are, anyone who works there, I'd love to know more.

So another of my own personal mysteries cleared up. Shame about my Edwardian spinster fantasy but hey - the truth is just as fascinating.

www.maryevans.com

Far From The Sodding Crowd

More Uncommonly British Days Out
Halstead/Hazeley/Morris/Morris

Penguin, £ 14.99, £ 8.98 (Amazon)

Bollocks to Alton Towers - Uncommonly British Days Out is still probably my favourite travel guide of all time. Published a couple of years ago (in hardback, almost unknown for Penguin) it captures perfectly that rigid addiction to eccentricity that British people seem to be born with. That stoic determination to enjoy a day out at the seaside despite the hailstorm raging around the car parked on the prom, where they sit in silence stolidly chewing at sodden sandwiches, staring at leaden seas through rain lashing across the windscreen. The recipe of humour and indulgence that the four authors concocts hits, for me at least, the spot square-on, the fabulously grainy pictures so clearly taken by the authors rather than relying on professional 'stock' photos only adding to the experience.

Inspired, I made an effort to visit, among others, Mother Shipton's Cave, Dennis Severs House, Avebury Stone Circle, Bekonscot, and, ahem, Gnome Magic, but, short of counting the David Beckham Trail, which would be a cheat since the tomato-grower's polytunnel they call The David Beckham Academy wasn't built at the time, Greenwich was sadly neglected.

I am delighted to say that the sequel, Far From the Sodding Crowd, has redressed the balance. Our home town is represented in this cornucopia of eccentricity in the august form of The Fan Museum, though I have to admit that in the slightly scary face of entrants such as the Yelverton Paperweight Centre, Cheddar Crazy Golf and the Pork Pie Pilgrimage, it seems almost sane in comparison. I won't give you too much of their wonderfully gentle humour style, but in the few pages that they devote to the museum, the authors manage to give us an affectionate, yet accurate description I would have given my eye teeth to have written.

"Men and fans tend to make odd bedfellows. However stick an engine to a fan and it's different story. Suddenly it becomes a Man Fan."

Enjoy the entry about the Fan Museum, by all means, but don't just buy the book for that. It's a volume meant to be read and enjoyed cover-to-cover, and, with a bank holiday looming, to use. Visit a few of these truly British institutions and wonder that the big theme parks make any money at all. And if you are not already familiar with Bollocks to Alton Towers, get that too. It's a sound investment indeed.


PS - how weird is this? As I am writing this entry, an interview with the writers has just come on the Today Programme.The music from The Twilight Zone has started burning through my brain...

Phantom Phone Booth Update

I've been digging around (nothing like having 'proper' work to do to instigate a spot of procrastination, is there) and discovered that K2 models like the one at Whitworth St and outside East Greenwich Library are already rare enough to be considered listed, so we can heave a collective sigh of relief. I'd still like to know about others though, so if you pass any of the old type, think of your poor geeky phantom, spectral anorak zipped right up to ghostly chin and let me know about them, eh...

BTW if you want to buy one, unicornkiosks.com have a limited number at £ 8500 (excluding delivery...)

Phone Box Phantom

I am trying to remember the article I've read in the last few days about how BT, now that most people seem to have mobile phones, is quietly removing phone kiosks from our streets rather than mend them after being vandalised.

I guess I can sort of see the argument, but I should be extremely sad to see those fabulous old cast iron monoliths that are still dotted around Greenwich and which add such character go the way of the last round back in the 1980s where they were replaced by nasty clear plastic hoods with all the sound-proofing qualities of a loudhailer and souless modern pastiches of the classic Superman call box.

They're odd in the way that we hardly notice them while they're around, but if they were to go we would lose something really rather special. I've become a bit of a Phantom Phone Box Anorak in the last few days, ever since I found out that English Heritage does occasionally list phone boxes. I would argue that Greenwich, being a World Heritage Site, needs all the heritage it can get - and that means 20th Century classics as well as stuff from hundreds of years ago.

I've been learning a bit about phone boxes. No - stay with me - it's quite interesting being a callbox-spotter, honest.

The first type is the

• K1 - it's from 1921 and is distinctive in that it's concrete and has a red wooden door. I don't think that we have any because apparently it was universally hated and was replaced by the

• K2 - This was designed by Giles Gilbert Scott in 1924 as the result of a competition. It's neo-classical, in cast iron and with a segmented vaulted roof, with reeded strips to the corner. The crown in the top is perforated and set in the upper faces of the canopy. It has six rows of small panes of glass in each side. This is eligible for listing, as far as I can tell. The one at the end of Whitworth St (above) appears to be a K2, so it will be well worth a punt at trying to get it listed (if it isn't already...) The street would be a sadder place without it.
  

• K6 - is the most common kind and dates from King George V's jubilee in 1935. It's painted red overall and the crown is in relief, not perforated. If you're getting really technical, it has 8 strips of glass each side, with little margin lights. English Heritage needs a good reason to list these because quite a few of them have survived, but if BT are busily removing them this will not always be the case.
  

EH like particularly kiosks "closely associated with other listed buildings." So I reckon we could put up a case for, for example, the one on the South-west corner of Greenwich Park, near Rangers House. (I can't remember which one that is, offhand, I'm not THAT much of a geek - yet...) and maybe even the one (can't remember what that is either) outside East Greenwich Library (which is, I believe, Grade II listed.) They will also consider boxes that are "playing a key part in a notable town landscape." Maybe boxes within conservation areas will stand a chance.

I think it's worth having a go here. These lovely little examples of British street furniture are so much part of our world that we don't always notice them. I was going to give you a list of them, but realised that I just tend to walk straight past them. All I would know if they went was that I would feel I were missing something.

Maybe we can compile a list of boxes between us then do some kind of class-action appeal? Is there a lovely old K1, K2 K3 (unlikely, this is another concrete affair) or K6 at the bottom of your road? let me know. I guess if we could come up with some cunning new use for them - off the top of my head maybe some kind of top-up station for mobile phones, BT might be a bit keener to keep them without listing. Of course, you might totally disagree with me and think that the sooner these unofficial pissoirs are off the street the better. Now there's an idea - they could be plumbed-in and actually made into official pissoirs (sorry...)

In the meanwhile, if anyone wants to look at English Heritage's policy on Listing,

http://www.english-heritage.org.uk/server/show/nav.8833

is as good a place to start as any.

Remember. BT will not warn us that it's removing these little classics - you'll just come home one evening and your local lovely bit of vernacular heritage will be gone.

Underground Greenwich (3) Jack Cade's Cavern

(Theoretically) 77, Maidenstone Hill, SE10

I say "theoretically," because, frankly, there is bugger-all to see if you go there. Believe me - I've scouted around a few times, not quite believing that there really is nothing there. I've poked around garages, peered over back gardens and squinted down alleyways and I have come to the conclusion that this great Greenwich curio is well and truly sealed up and hidden.

Which is a big shame. There are tunnels and caves all over Blackheath and Greenwich Park, created differently and for different reasons, and none of them are to be marvelled at today. We've already discussed the tunnels in Greenwich Park, but Jack Cade's (or Blackheath) Cavern to the west deserves a special mention.

No one really knows how old any of these caves are. Some say they're Roman, others talk about the usual Druid tosh, but to be honest, in Jack Cade's case at least, it is far more likely to be 17th Century chalk miners that created a massive cave underneath Point Hill. According to the splendid website http://www.shadyoldlady.com/ a character known as William Steers was fined in 1677 for mining too greedily. He undermined the King's Highway, causing carriages to overturn. In fact the repercussions of this mining are still a hazard today - I'm sure everyone remembers the chaos in 2002 when the A2 suddenly disappeared into a black hole.

About a hundred years later, in 1780, a builder hit on the great idea of opening up the cave again, carving 40 steps into the chalk and fleecing visitors for 6d a gawp. It became THE place for fashionable tourists - until the inevitable accident. Nineteen year-old Lucy Talbot fainted in the fetid air below and died soon after she was carried up to the overworld.

Not to be put off by a small matter of Health and Safety, the owners sunk a well for ventilation and paid a lackey to pump bellows-fuls of fresh(ish) air into the cavern below. It didn't take too long for people to forget Lucy and start to party again. A chandelier was suspended from the ceiling, a bar installed and it was reopened for business as a naughty nightclub. There's a line drawing somewhere of a party in progress, but when I came to write this I had temporarily misplaced it. Rumours began of saucy nights with naked ladies and binge-drinking, something which the Victorian Prudes could not stand. They closed the bar down in 1854. Three years later they banned tumbling in the Royal Park too, (see "Weird Greenwich") the miserable sods.

Everything went quiet until the sound of the Luftwaffe rumbled overhead in 1939. The authorities sank a shaft down into the creepy murk of the dead nightclub, with the intention of siting a massive air raid shelter inside. They decided against it, but apparently found relics of the last party still down there. I don't know whether they left them there or whether they were removed, and if so, where they are now. If anyone else knows, do tell.

I have seen a photo on the internet of "the horned god" which is implied is in the Cave. I don't know - perhaps there is one down there, perhaps the photo really is of it (though how it was taken remains a mystery.) But that photo looks remarkably similar (to me) to a carving over a gate in the wall to the Dwarf Orchard in Greenwich Park. I can't help feeling that it is more likely to be that. If you want to see it, it's in Park Row.

Why Jack Cade's Cavern? "It has been suggested" (according to the BBC who are never wrong) that Cade (see "Mostly-Accurate History") "carried out pagan rituals there" before descending on the City of London to wreak death, destruction and mutilation. Somehow this seems unlikely if it was a 17th Century cave, but what do I know? To be honest, it sounds like an 18th century advertising slogan to me. Perhaps they had a nice Southend Pier-style entrance with a plaster model of Jack Cade and his Merry Men in druid outfits to welcome punters in in some kind of Revolting Peasants Theme Park...(yes, yes, I know it was Wat Tyler who led it, but Cade, a century or so later, was pretty revolting too.)

When I am a Dotcom Billionaire after you've all clicked like mad on the GoogleAds here (only squillion still to go) I shall invest the money wisely. I shall buy Number 77 Maidenstone Hill (sadly no longer "Cave Cottage" - just a Victorian rebuild) and re-open Jack Cade's Cavern. Of course due to inflation, prices would have to go up. I reckon a shilling would just about do it.

Strange Erections...

(Thought that would get your attention, fnaar, fnaar...)

DarrenBentBent asks:

Any clues what the strange looking thing being built at the north end of Brookmill Park is? It could be anything from a funky new Arts space...

The Phantom replies:

I have a horrid feeling that what you are talking about is something we discussed a little while ago and have to bring you the bad news that it is a development of - wait for it - luxury flats.

Is this it?

http://www.silkworkslondon.co.uk

If not, maybe someone has some better news for Darren. Maybe it actually IS a funky new arts space. Don't hold your breath, though, Darren...

Favourite Phantom Front Gardens (1)

Angerstein Lane, SE3

After yesterday's agonies, I thought I go totally fluffy on you today and share one of my favourite secret local corners. It may be cheesy, but sometime's CheddarVision's just not enough...

Angerstein Lane (no prizes for guessing the provenance of that name) is one of those places that no one who stumbles upon it can quite believe is in London. A straight passageway behind the posh bit of Vanbrugh Park that curves round the edge of Blackheath - linking St John's Park and Shooters Hill Road (ok, the A2, go ahead, smash my rustic fantasies) it is merely a dotted line on the map, but a delightful leafy retreat, complete with postbox set into ancient wall, lamp posts and overarching trees straight out of one of those postcards of 'Old Blackheath' you can buy in libraries. I would turn this picture into sepia except it's so bloomin' small already it would end up fuzzy...




Much of the back of it is garages and back entrances for the big houses on Vanbrugh Park, delightfully neglected in many cases, and there is a secret little path of modern houses (Langton Way) which is so embedded that you don't notice it until it's right upon you. But the rest of this path is totally empty - save for one tiny little roses-round-the-door cottage, Number 5, nestled in the only bit of clearing that the sun manages to break through. I can't work out what happened to Numbers 1,2,3 and 4 - there is no sign that there was ever any other habitation.

At first it looks like it might be part of the giant Victorian building towering among the foliage behind it, and maybe once it was an outhouse, but it is very much a little cottage now. A low, white-walled building, it is cute in itself, but what really makes it is one of the loveliest cottage gardens I have seen in a long while. 'Designed' in that wonderfully hap-hazard style of the classic country garden, it has been clothed in traditional flowers and plants by someone who clearly spends a lot of his time out there - and who cares passionately about the bit of land that he's reclaimed from the lane at the front of his house.

It's clear the guy's grown a lot of things from seed and cuttings, supplementing with bought specialities. The first time I walked past, he was out working and I spent some time chatting to him. A very friendly soul, he happily discussed planting ideas and pointed out his favourite bits (as gardeners usually do.)He is particularly proud of a peony he's just acquired at great expense.

Though I would suspect this is not a totally new garden, it's going to take a few years to fill out, but it's already one of The Phantom's Favourite Haunts. He's created a tiny hawthorn hedge around it, though of course it will take years to get above knee height, and I suspect that he will always be delighted for fellow enthusiasts to enjoy it. And in the tradition of the true cottage gardeners, he's generous too, leaving surplus plants at the gate with a note for anyone to take them.

I thoroughly recommend this little haven as a way to feel good about the world again after yesterday's misery. Forget Chelsea Flower Show. This is real.

Cutty Sark Fire

January 2007:



May 21 2007:





Ok I have a little more news.

I felt physically sick as I quietly tagged on behind the media scrum that's down there at the moment, and saw what's left of the Cutty Sark. Even walking towards it, the lingering odour of wet smoke - a gut-churning smell that hangs around long after the fire is gone - and the delicate white ash scattered amongst the cobblestones by the market was enough to bring a tear to my eye.

You're right, M32, that 50% of the ship isn't here at the moment - it's in various places around the country, including Chatham, being restored - the wheel, masts, figurehead and top decking are all safe.

But of the other half there is a huge amount of damage - a largely wooden ship that's been 50 years in dry dock is obviously like tinder - and frankly there's virtually none of it left. At one point there was over 90% of her ablaze. All that remains is the iron frame, its ribs sitting sadly like a discarded turkey carcass at Christmas. It's too early to tell just how devastating the damage is, but even the iron frame has been warped in the heat.



The fire brigade were first alerted about 5.45am and CCTV footage shows that there were people around there at the time, including a silver car which was disappearing, but it's far too early to tell whether these were arsonists or just commuters making their innocent way to the foot tunnel. The police are treating it as suspicious, but they're being so cagey about giving out info that it's difficult to tell whether it's really possible that some sicko's set fire to it or whether it's just something they always do as a matter of course. They're desperate to speak to anyone who was there - so if, by any amazing coincidence, you were walking to work at that time of day, get in touch with Plumstead Police Station.

By far the most tragic figure there today was Chris Livitt from the Cutty Sark Trust - he looked truly sick. He likened the disaster to that of the fire at Windsor - and I think I agree. He's announced that they will now redouble their efforts to rebuild her but it's going to be an uphill journey now. She was insured, but you can't remake a 138-year old masterpiece without turning it into something else.

The only thing to be grateful for is that the ship was a shell - and there is still something to build upon.

Do visit and support the Cutty Sark Trust

http://www.cuttysark.org.uk/

Cutty Sark disaster

I am finding it hard to come to terms with the fact that it looks like someone actually wanted the Cutty Sark to die - the police are treating this morning's fire as "suspicious." Thank heavens they were stupid enough not to wait until the ship was complete (the masts and other stuff are away being restored at the moment.)

According to the news (I couldn't make it down there) they now have the fire under control, but they reckon that 80% of what was there at the time (the hull, basically) is "significantly damaged" - and it wasn't in great nick to start with.

Aparently the fire began (or was started) around 5.00am this morning - and at first the fire brigade assumed at first it was chemicals from the restoration, which hampered their putting it out (it could ahve been dangerous for fire fighters.)

The guy from the Cutty Sark Trust has been on saying that they're still determined to renovate it. I will be joining the trust now, and doing what I can to raise funds to help them try to undo what these arses have done (I've always meant to but now I'm actually going to do it...) I still can't believe what's happened.

More when I know it.

Stockwell Street Market

Stockwell St SE10



Since we were talking about the Stockwell St development plans on the King William's Passage post the other day, I thought that I'd take a closer peek at the market itself today.

Everyone has their favourite corner of this tatty, scruffy, funky delightful place which is larger than it at first looks (why else do you think the developers have thier beady eyes on it?) and which encompases warehouses, tatty old workshops and even an ex-petrol station filled to the brim with the kind of joyous nonsense that brings locals, tourists and Londoners from other areas to Greenwich as opposed to anywhere else. It's mainly junk and antiques, with a lot of clothes, but there are other stalls too.

If you go in the entrance nearest the railway line there is a second-hand record and CD stall, neatly lined up with those little cardboard dividers that denotes a true enthusiast. Opposite it a stall groaning with rocks and gemstones jostles for attention with jewellery stands and clothes stalls. Some are new and not terribly exciting, some are customised pieces - I understand there are a few people there who sell out of Cockpit Arts and with Goldsmiths only up the road it's to be expected that there will be custom-clothes here. My particular favourite is HFH Designs, which I have written about elsewhere - a pair of truly delightful nutty people who make intriguing jewellery and talk about it so enthusiastically that you feel part of the creation process.

If you're after an ex-military greatcoat, a velvet jacket, a morning suit or a tailcoat, there are plenty of stalls which will sell you one. There are shops for the girls too - ballgowns and teadresses, minidresses and promfrocks, though the quality isn't always as good as elsewhere in Greenwich. I'll spend more time on a couple of the best places another day as they warrant entries on their own.

Nearer the back, the junk stalls reign supreme. Again quality and price vary enormously - but it's well-displayed - just enough piles of stuff to warrant a rummage, just enough order to prevent weariness. Some of them are just stalls, others work out of the back of old warehouses.

Moving on round past what will be a familiar sight for anyone who remembers me from Livejournal days...

...there's an indoor bit and other shops, some of which are up steps outside or backstairs inside.

Once again I'm not going to talk today about the excellent vintage clothing shops here - but I just love to point out the care and attention that goes into display.


Right round the front there's often a fruit and veg stall and the odd other foodie bit,though the main food stalls are the other side of the railway line (another day...)

One thing though - I have a challenge for you. Can anyone find anything for sale in Greenwich that is creepier than this?

Prime Time Video

Christina asks:

I was wondering if anyone knew what happened to the Prime Time video shop next to Somerfields, I walked past yesterday to find that it has shut down! Does anyone know if they are going to re-open or whether another one will take it's place? Failing that, what's the closest one now for us in west Greenwich???

High Street video stores seem to be having a hard time of it recently and I've been noticing several closing down. I think it's probably down to the mail-order rental that's enjoying a vogue. I've been testing out a few myself recently. They all seem to be much of a muchness, though LoveFilm will charge you for an extra month if you cancel and then your film doesn't reach them by the cancellation date (they recommend that you send your vids back by registered post if you cancel, which seems a bit dodgy to me.)

I confess I don't know of another video hire shop in West Greenwich (though if there is one, someone here will know it) but I can heartily recommend the Blockbuster on Trafalgar Road, if not for the selection (which is at best average) for the excellent service you get there. All the staff are friendly, helpful and accommodating. I know it's a bit of a long way. Maybe someone else knows of somewhere closer.

James "Athenian" Stuart

1713-1788

V&A Museum - to 24th June 2007, admission free
The Old Royal Naval College Chapel

There is nothing quite like losing oneself in one of The Big London Museums on a dark, wet May afternoon. And the V&A is one of the best to lose oneself in because it's so full of twists and turns and dark Victorian corners filled with dark Victorian delights. Even better are the exhibitions - at the moment Surrealism and Kylie (complete with a costume by our own Johnny Rocket) are selling out, but I wasn't there for either of these big-hitters.

James "Athenian" Stuart may not trip off the tongue the way that contemporaries such as Robert Adam, Josiah Wedgewood and John Soane might, but his pioneering work in bringing neo-classicism to late 18th-century Britain is extraordinary and, along with all his great country piles and elegant townhouses, he found time to beautify Greenwich for us. It's taken over 200 years to create him a major exhibition, but at least now the V&A has done the right thing.

Born in London the son of a Scottish sailor, Stuart was not from wealthy stock. Things got worse when his father died and the family was plunged into poverty. He was apprenticed to a fan painter (I wonder if there are any of his efforts in the museum in Crooms Hill...?) but he longed for adventure. He decided to walk to Italy to learn about culture and architecture, antiquity and style. This was, after all, the beginning of the age of The Grand Tour. To start with he supported himself as an itinerant fan-painter (how much more romantic than working in the Rome branch of McDonald's during your gap-year, eh?)

James was doing okay in Italy, picking up the odd wealthy sponsor and portrait commission, but he craved more. He and his mate Nicholas Revett hitched down to Greece to really find out about the ancients and this was when James and Nick's Excellent Adventure began...

The pair of them had a whale of a time. Their sketchbooks still exist, showing them wearing Turkish robes, pretending to be Ottoman princes, clambering over precariously crumbling ruins making measurements and delighting in Local Colour. Stuart's sketches depict the minutiae of life - farmers toiling amongst vegetables - a friar blessing a diseased sheep - peasants escaping plague - and themselves - escaping the local law enforcement officers.

Only one of Stuart's own textbooks still exists - carefully annotated with corrections - he clearly didn't think much of its author, George Wheler - "It isn't a charger (in the statue's hand) but a shield from which he showereth down hail and tempests..." he writes. "He holdeth a conch shell," he points out exasperated at Wheler's erroneous description of another statue which claims "He holdeth nothing."

On his return to England, the pair published The Antiquities of Athens, Stuart revising the work, painting the illustrations and even designing the cover. A few copies of this massive tome still exist.

He didn't go straight from his adventures to grand design jobs. it took a while to get established, during which time he painted a backdrop for a school play - for Westminster School - and became the official portrait painter for the Society of Dilettanti (to which he and Nick had been elected some years before) but once he did, everyone (well all the nobs anyway) wanted him to design for them - everything from elegant furniture to splendidly frivolous garden temples to entire neo-classical palaces. Many of his palladian mansions have been demolished - and not that long ago - the 1960s were the worst culprits, it would seem (that's when the grand house at Belvedere was pulled down,) but there are a few left - notably at Shugborough in Shropshire, Earl Spencer's town gaff in Green Park and, on a different note entirely, our own chapel at Greenwich.

He had his critics - Horace Walpole described a closet at his Wimbledon Park stately home as "villainously painted" (though he later softened, describing a later offering as having a "noble, simple edifice" compared to a "harlequinnade" by Adam) but generally by this stage he could do nothing wrong.

He was given the prestigious job of Surveyor for the Royal Hospital for Seamen at Greenwich in 1758 and, after designing a few extremely ornate Admiralty Passes (sort of passports for ships - the fancier they were, the more easily British shipping passed through foreign waters) he got stuck in on the chapel. He made sure that there were lots of maritime images and impressive displays though it all got a bit damaged in a fire in 1779 after some rather raucous New Year celebrations in a tailor's shop above the church.

He also designed a three-tier pulpit, including a clerk's chair, reader's desk and 'preaching platform' in limewood with Corinthian columns and coadestone roundels(there goes that coadestone again...) A few years ago there was a great deal of excitement when the Reverend of All Saints Church in Belvedere looked a bit more closely at the pulpit that was bought in late Victorian times for a pound and thought it was by Stuart. Sadly it's unlikely, but you never know...

Stuart did other work in Greenwich, especially on the King's House and the Infirmary in between flitting around the country designing architectural baubles for the aristocracy. But by this point the bohemian lifestyle of his youth was catching up with him. He had married his 16 year old maidservant in his old age and they had five children in ten years which caused a bit of a scandal, and gout from alcoholism coupled with some chaotic business practices made him unreliable. He spent much of his later life drinking and playing skittles, dying in 1788.

The exhibition at the V&A, tucked away in an upstairs back room, is as elegant as Stuart's designs. It includes his early sketches, copies of his book, furniture and ornaments, as well as designs for and photographs of his best architectural designs. It's well worth a look. But if you don't make it to South Ken, a wander round the chapel in Greenwich, now beautifully restored, will lend some idea of the work of this underrated genius.

King William Passage

King William Walk, SE10

King William Passage is cunningly constructed to keep locals away and keep tourists lingering around the entrance only. Why this should have have happened escapes me, but then, perhaps cunning has nothing to do with it...

For starters, it doesn't look very big at all. A tiny entrance along King William Walk with a stunningly awful selection of tourist tat - everything from plastic policeman's helmets and tube map ashtrays to gilt models of the Houses of Parliament and T shirts that say "My son went to London blah-de-blah-de-blah" (btw has anyone ever seen anyone actually wearing one of these T shirts - from any country or city?) On the other side of the entrance is an ice cream stall, and because it's usually thronged with confused-looking visitors licking 99s, it doesn't always occur to us to push through, like Lucy pushing her way through the fur coats to the back of the wardrobe to find the magic world beyond.

Well, the rest of King William Walk is hardly Narnia. But some of the shops that lie behind the tourist stalls at the front are a whole lot more interesting that first glances might imply, and if nothing else, it leads out at the back to another part of the market (at least for now.)

The first stall that hits sells Middle Eastern goods - Moroccan lamps, curly rusted-iron picture and mirror frames, some with little shutters, tiled splashbacks and mosaic-topped garden tables. There are giant metal, many-faceted lanterns with coloured glass, and tiny, vellum-covered lamps in bright colours. I can never quite tell who runs what part of the stalls here, so I'm not sure if it's the same people who also sell bonsai trees, but if they do then it's a fabulous and unexpected meeting of cultural minds.

Moving on, there are some soft coloured leather items - pink slippers, soft tooled purses and bright handbags. I suspect that this is part of the same Middle-Eastern shop - but who can tell?

Beyond these stalls things tend to be slightly more fluid. A rather useful frame and mount-cutting stall is no longer there any more, but there is a shop that sells Egyptian prints and some rather fun belly dancing kit - jingly belts, necklaces made of 'coins' and sequined wonderbras. There are also some stalls selling cheap fashion items and one that purveys what my gran used to call "fancy goods." Stalls come and go on a much more regular basis, so it's worth keeping an eye on what's going on; visiting from time to time to see who's coming and going.

Right at the back (or the front, if you've come in from the other end...) there used to be an antiques area, but I noticed the other day that this seems to be mainly modern furniture now with a few repros. It may change again, this area never seems to stay the same for long.

King William Passage spills out onto what must be the most endangered part of the market - the little bit around the back which must have once been warehouses or something to do with the railway which runs by it - there still are a few there warehouses now, currently occupied by various mini-shops, until the developers get their wicked way. For the moment it's a junk/antiques/sundries/ fancy goods (there goes my gran again...) market - but that's for another day...

Royal Teas

Royal Hill, SE10

Every so often I get myself a bit confused. There comes a place that is so "obvious" for review that I actually assume that I've already written about it. It comes as a bit of a shock when someone points out that I haven't. I have no idea how Royal Teas slipped through the net, but there you go. I thought I'd already 'covered' it. There are others which will come up and bite me on the backside, I am sure...

It's a Greenwich institution, of course. Royal Teas seems to have been around for ever - must be twenty years at least. It's ostensibly a vegetarian cafe, though there is the odd dish which includes salmon - it's good to see that they're not too evangelical about it. It's a tiny place, which can get a bit full, especially when there are a lot of pushchairs parked in there, and I have found that timing is everything - trying to second-guess busy periods is an skill which can be acquired with practice.

The front room of what was clearly once a cottage has mix & match tables and chairs, shared with a splendid piece of metal furniture with large drawers for various types of coffee bean and tea, which you can either drink on the premises or take home a bag of to enjoy later. I have no idea what the piece of apparatus in the window is - some kind of coffee-making equipment, I presume, but it's rather beautiful in itself and is purely decorative these days.

The back room has more tables and the counter, leading out to the back where they make all those great snacks and meals, and, of course, their famed cakes. The decor has a slightly 'updated hippy' feel - orange and purple, which is both cosy and welcoming.

I'll warn you now. it will be difficult to finish anything you get served here. The portions are satisfyingly huge. I don't know if they do doggy bags; one day I think it will be worth an ask as it is the sort of thing they might encourage. Among their breakfasts (served all day) is a monster American version which is frighteningly large - but so tasty you find yourself eating far more than you intended. The baguettes are shoved full of so much filling that it's most inelegant to try to eat (though I have a minor gripe with one I had the other day in that I had vast amounts of cheese and salad, but the effect was rather dry - I could have had less cheese and replaced it with a little butter to bind it all together.) I've never had the cream tea, but I've watched other people tucking in and I will get round to it one day, judging from the looks on their faces it will be well worth the wait.

The cakes are fabulous. I don't really need to go into too much detail as I'm sure I'm preaching to the converted. My favourite is the lemon, but more research is needed to be absolutely sure.

To anyone who doesn't know, the slightly odd "fairy tale" in the window refers to a long-running dispute with Greenwich Council. After many years of R.T's existence, the council suddenly discovered the place and, at first, heaped praise and help on its owners, offering them grants and all kind of plaudits. It was only later that the council changed its tune. The place didn't have a proper licence, it argued, and the men in grey tried to shut it down. Royal Teas itself is fighting back, aided by devoted local residents (though the most local - the person upstairs, I'm told, moans about the disruption. How does this happen, I wonder? Someone moves in above a cafe, then complains that they live above a cafe? Maybe I've missed something here...)

The dispute with the council rumbles on. In the meanwhile, Royal Teas continues as normal, its friendly, cheery staff coping as best they can with the question mark above their heads. Visit them while you can (though, as a dedicated 'good loo' aficionado I must warn you - don't make a pilgrimage for the restroom facilities - there is a certain charm about it and it's perfectly clean but it's hardly a 'destination loo') and let them know that this is the kind of thing we need to encourage more, not less of, in Greenwich.

http://www.royalteascafe.co.uk/

Prior Street - and Allotments

Prior St, SE10

Continuing my look at Greenwich Streets I've turned out of Circus St into Prior St - a short, sweet little road which climbs gently up to meet Royal Hill before theoretically turning into Point Hill.

The houses in this pretty little street are mainly terraced and flat-fronted, with little canopies over the doors, which makes me think, in my untutored way, that they are Georgian rather than Victorian. Some single, some double-fronted, most also have basements. Some have loft conversions, but these look like historic rather than modern affairs. Every so often there are the occasional interesting-looking garage-like doors to what looks like back-entrances built into the terraces.

Once again I don't know anyone in this road - so if you live here or know someone who does, I'd welcome additions and comments about it. Is it a good road to live in? Are the natives friendly?

At the top are some of what must be the poshest allotments in Greenwich. When I was looking for an allotment myself, I came across the Prior St gardens and salivated. They are run by a separate group to the council, but (now) come under its protection. It wasn't always that way.

They're an odd shape because, apparently, they are the site of the old railway line that joined Nunhead to Greenwich which only lasted between 1871 and 1917. I assume it was derelict for a while before becoming briefly a lorry park and a garden centre.

Over the years the allotments have had threats to their existence - not least from when the council wanted to close the allotments to build 23 houses. A splendid campaign was fought and mostly won (the council just took enough land to build two houses in the end.) Huzzah for the people -it proves it can be done occasionally. The other plots are now protected under the Allotment Act, though I doubt I will ever land one of them.

Judging from the number of them (18) and the size of some of the gardens round here (tiny) I should have put my name down at birth for one here and I'd have probably still been waiting even then. The person at the top of the 100-strong waiting list went on in 1998, so that's only nine years so far. So some time to go yet...

Still when allotments are as beautifully kept and enjoyed as these clearly are, it's hard to be anything other than delighted by this place. It even has its own website - http://www.priorstgardens.org.uk/ with some pretty pictures and info about them.

Micro Eco Park on the Peninsula

No - not the "official" one - which I'll come to another day. This tiny little eco park is about a tenth of the size of the 'proper' one and I confess I've walked past it on several occasions without realising what it was or even, if I'm honest, that it was there at all.

It's round the back of the Teletubby Sainsburys - presumably some kind of Section 106 set-aside, and it takes approximately 1 minute to walk round, but it's nevertheless a delight to stumble upon, and once the sundry consortia who have carved up the Peninsula have covered what is green and lovely now with coloured concrete boxes, it will be an even more welcome haven for animals, insects, birds and even the odd walker.

It's basically a couple of wetland-pond-ish-marshy dips, filled with reeds, rushes and, at the moment, some beautiful yellow irises. There are saplings of what look like some sort of willow (?) dotted around and a little fenced area with some young apple trees - I have no idea of the variety, but I'm hoping they're either native or at least heritage breeds.

A little (pretty-accessible) path winds its way around the site - it takes a couple of minutes to march around it, slightly longer to wander. There are no signs, plaques or even gates - but it's such a welcome corner, tucked behind a shopping centre and surrounded by a hedge of mixed British plants - even the back of Sainsburys itself doesn't 'loom' over the area (and presumably provides a nice place for employees to enjoy a quiet fag) that it's worth seeking out as a five minute excursion of peace from the madness that is that sodding Peninsula car park.