Yet more filming...

Ross says:

"On my way to work this morning I noticed umpteen lorry loads of filming equipment being unloaded at the top of Point Hill into the small park behind where I live (on your right as you get to the top of Point Hill - the name escapes me having only just moved there recently). I wonder if it's related to the goings on down in the Maritime area?"

The Phantom replies:

Goodness - not again! That will be the Point you're talking about. I have no idea what it's for this time. I walked up to the Point a few days ago only to find, once I'd huffed and puffed my way up there, the whole place overtaken with meeja types in square glasses telling me I couldn't go in, and giant cameras creating 'sun' on what seemed to be a perfectly sunny day. When I had a couple of friends to stay recently we couldn't get into the Painted Hall because they were filming a Japanese biscuit commercial. And that's not even beginning to count biggies like Wolf Man, The Golden Compass and The Duchess. Heavens to Murgatroyd.

Do you think that Greenwich Film Unit aren't charging enough or something? I mean it's nice to see the place being used - but there doesn't seem to be a day in the calendar that somewhere isn't out of bounds. I might as well move to Pinewood...

On a slightly less grumpy note, though, you do get to meet some interesting folk. Here is, for no other reason than he made me smile a lot, a security guard on the set of Wolf Man, giving me his impression of the Hairy One himself.

Uncanny, eh...

Treasures of Tudor England

The Sixteen, Royal Naval Chapel, last night (sorry...)

It's officially called the 2008 "Choral Pilgrimage," but I couldn't bring myself to use a title that square on one of my posts. Why do classical artists have to continually shoot themselves in the foot by being so bloomin' po-faced all the time? I guess it's worse the other way - Nigel Kennedy with his 'punk' hairdo; a bunch of girls singing opera having to call themselves 'babes' to get gigs, but surely there's some kind of middle ground where classical music (and early classical music at that) can be cool.

Not that this was going to bother The Sixteen - arguably the country's best adult choral group just now. The place was heaving - clearly sold out, despite top-whack tickets shifting for thirty five quid a pop. And it wasn't all old crusties either, there were people of all ages (I'm guessing the proximity of Trinity College had something to do with it) so probably I'm the only person who thought the title cringe-making.

I'd been desperate to go to this concert since I read about it in the ORNC listings (pick yourself up a leaflet in the Visitor Centre - it's not all face-painting for the under-fives.) Quite apart from the facts that I love early music, and that I love choral music and that The Sixteen are so very well-respected, it was the setting as much as anything that I liked the idea of. After all, short of performing in the ORNC car park (directly on top of Henry VII's chapel) they couldn't get much closer to the probable original setting for this gorgeous, home-grown sacred music. This stuff needs to be heard somewhere with a big acoustic; with high ceilings and wides aisles, somewhere you can feast your eyes as well as your ears during the event, so the car park was out, but the Naval Chapel was perfect.

I'd heard there was going to be a talk before the event and I rather hoped it would be a tying-in of the concert with Greenwich's past as a Tudor palace - considering we were sitting on top of it and all. It wasn't - it was the choir's two second basses who did a sort of classical equivalent of "the making of..." which worked rather well. They seemed relaxed and cheery, not too stiff, 'interviewing' each other - "So, what's your favourite moment in the second movement, then, George?" - and they told us good bits to look out for, which for a Phantom who hadn't actually heard of any of the three composers (for the classicists among you, Parsons, White and Tye) was very useful. Clearly the cheeky boys of the choir, they were fun to look out for later (in the very few moments I wasn't totally transported to somewhere that may or may not have been the Tudor idea of heaven.)

What can I say? It was sublime. Of course you've got to be into that twisty-turny, mellifluous sound that the Tudors liked so much (think Spem in Alium in miniature.) The music washes over rather than confronts and little patterns and motifs are repeated in different voices, resounding through the Naval Chapel and my phantsmagorical mind.

I sat back and looked at that fabulous ceiling (hence the pic, taken by Stevie, clearly lying on his back, though not actually during the concert, of course. A bit anachronistic, but the only bit of Tudor Greenwich that's left is either the undercroft or the water-house-thingy at the vicarage and neither of them seemed quite right) and allowed the music to filter through me. I knew none of it, yet it was all somehow familiar. Perhaps it was the fact that most of it was in the only bits of Latin I know.

The Sixteen are Discipline personified (though there was just the faintest glimmer of a smirk on their faces as they arrived back on stage after the interval. What do early musicians make jokes about? Rommelpot players, presumably...) Their timing is exquisite, their voices, ditto. A pal of mine who's in that world tells me the group's fiendishly difficult to get into, and I could tell that. Each of them was clearly hand-picked (even if some of their tailcoats weren't...) Of course I'd have like to see them all dressed in the original kit, but I guess they'd consider that to be play-acting or not taking the material seriously. A shame. I like a nice ruff as much as the next phantom.

Of course this was just a one-off, but given that the place was packed, I suspect they'll be back. Keep an eye out in the programme, and don't be put off by the name 'Choral Pilgrimage.' In the meanwhile, you could always reproduce the effect by buying a CD ,sticking it on your walkman and pacing around the chapel, looking up at the ceiling. Or, even lazier, just look really closely at Stevie's pic on the screen...

Mystery Filming

Just working my way through the lovely mail you've sent over the weekend, and I've found a curious one from P&D who experienced some mystery filming on Friday... He writes:

"There's a large film crew (catering vans, prop vans, winibago, etc.,) over in the Sainsburys car park on the peninsula. Any idea what they are filming at the moment? The current scene is a little ref VW polo with three people inside 'chatting' with the main Sainsburys store as the backdrop. I didn't recognize anyone but then again I don't watch too much TV."

The Phantom hasn't got a clue - I was away. But did anyone else get a glimpse of this?

The Importance of Being Earnest

Becki has been telling me how good The Importance of Being Earnest is at Greenwich Theatre - and she's shocked by how few people are in the audience when it's so very good.

She says:

"It is a fantastic production with wonderfully engaging characters and great sets! I can almost quote the play by heart because it is one of my favorite plays, but I still laughed at the same jokes because the actors and actresses were so engaging. "

I guess I'm partly to blame - I had season tickets last season and went to see practically everything, whether I liked the look of it or not. I ended up seeing several things I really enjoyed that I wouldn't have seen otherwise and it was such a cheap way of going that I could slip out during the interval if I wasn't enjoying it (which I confess I did on one show - and would have done on another if it had had an interval.) Thing was, I just didn't fancy most of what was on this time so didn't bother. Perhaps I wasn't alone if seats are empty.

After Becki's raving, though, I really meant to go last night. Sadly, Life got in the way and I didn't make it. But it sounds very good indeed. So - if you're stuck for something to do tonight or tomorrow (it's only on till Saturday) get tickets here. Let me know what you think.

I'll get another season ticket next time, whatever's scheduled - otherwise I just won't get around to going and, thinking about it, I've missed going to the theatre recently. I just hope there's more on that I want to see...

Wolf Man Again

I went down last night to try to catch some of Wolf Man being shot (most of the shooting is at night for fairly obvious reasons...) Annoyingly I couldn't get very close but could see that it's WELL worth going down and having a nosey if you can - especially today/night - about more of which later. The whole of the central path has been made into a "road", complete with trees, lamp posts and sundry shops/ signs etc.

I went down again this morning to get a closer look at the set. It's all 'put away to one side,' but you can see quite a lot and the security men are desperate to chat about it to anyone who passes by. The extra 'walls and gates' are made out of wood - but even up close they're very convincing. Seems rather a shame to think they'll all go on the bonfire afterwards.




You can get very close during the day, and that might be a good time to see stuff. This afternoon they'll be rehearsing a stunt where a guy (the Wolf Man?) will leap from the tower above the Painted Hall. It will be shot tonight.

The best place to see it by night seems to be the Thames Path, by the King's Steps. From the street there are giant arc lights between the set and the public which make the Nosey Parker's job more difficult, but the path, though a long way away, has a clear-ish view. I also stood at the Park Row end, looking from the gates, but got quite a lot of hassle from a very jumped-up security guard.

Luckily most of them are lovely and have really got into the spirit of the thing. One of them gave me a very graphic description of the Wolf Man's make up (including actions and faces...) and 'hydraulic springs'(the mind boggles) attached to his feet.

I commented that it must be the biggest set I'd seen but the chap at the gate told me with much glee that both National Treasure 2 (now there's a rubbish film...) and The Duchess (out in the summer) were bigger. Nevertheless, well over £150m is being lavished on Wolf Man.

Also lovely were the extras (over 170 of them last night, I was told) who were happy to pose for me, even though I was clambering up the wall and clinging onto the railings to get the shot.
Do get down and see this free show while you can - today, especially, seems like a good opportunity. Then we can all sit in the cinema at Wolf Man and point and shout "that's Greenwich" every five seconds, to the annoyance of everyone else.

Wolf Man

Apparently this Wolf Man set is just ENORMOUS. I've not made it down there yet - they were just building it when I was last there - I'll try to go today - but Stevie has sent me some pics - and they are staggering...

1. For One Night Only - pretty much literally...


2. Your carriage awaits...


3. Techies unloading crashmats for an action sequence - falling horses, crazy stunts, Jackie Chan...Well, maybe not the last one...




4. Stevie says: "I wonder what the original man on the Clapham Omnibus would make of it all. Last time I saw this location on TV Harrison Ford was involved in a shooting match with Sean Bean. Today the wayfare has been covered over in authentic roadage for the Edwardian era and two vintage omnibus are on standby for the evening's shoot when they'll be crammed full of period attired extras."

5. "Artists Dressing Rooms - the biggest name on the movie is Anthony Hopkins but he'll have his work cut out for him competing with the equine talent on the movie. Up to 40 horses are being used..."

So, an eyeful and no mistake guv. Get down there now, folks, for a free show...

Blow Up

Michaelangelo Antonioni, 1966

A few weeks ago I went to see an artist friend of mine (in Bloomsbury, of course - how fabulous can you get..?) and was a bit put-out to find that he'd been on a pilgrimage to S.E. London and hadn't visited me. He explained that he'd had to go to Maryon Park in Charlton alone, so that he could get the full Blow-Up experience. A likely story... I trust that he was wearing slightly too-short tight white jeans, Chelsea boots and a heavy-lidded, vacant expression, though I suspect the fact that he went by train rather than in a convertible Rolls may have dampened the image.

I was far too embarrassed to admit to him that I had never, ahem, actually seen this seminal piece of 60s hip-o-rama, so I nodded sagely and made 'intelligent' local remarks,' most of which involved wittering on about Mark being able to take pictures of sheep there these days (what's worse - Bill tells me that it wasn't even the same Park - see Comments...) It wasn't going down well . What else was there to do, but quickly rent the DVD and do a spot of catching-up?

Watching it now, post-Austin Powers and High Anxiety, it's difficult to stop just the tiniest smirk from creeping around phantasmagorical lips. Let's face it - it's the ultimate Swinging London Sixties cliche - complete with guardsmen in uniform, funky shots of Piccadilly Circus with guys in mini cars and dolly birds in mini skirts. But it also says something really rather interesting as far as we locals are concerned. I'll get onto that.

David Hemmings's vacuous airhead photographer (apparently based on David Bailey) drove me nuts, with his floppy haircut and dark-circled eyes. Maybe it was the casual misogyny, maybe it was his (or Antonioni's) irritating habit of being sidetracked from the plot for the flimsiest of reasons - buying a boat propeller or romping with naked girlies in bits of sugar paper (some might argue not flimsy at all, of course) or smoking joints with his side-boarded mate Peter Bowles (Peter Bowles? Peter Bowles? How wrong is that?) But my artist friend was clearly impressed with it enough to trek out to South East London (and believe me that's a trek for him...) so I stuck with it.

Now I know it's all about the viewer and how they percieve the images they see before them - did the photographer actually witness a murder or was it all in his drug-addled imagination? The simple omission of the one scene that would prove it one way or another (the return to his ransacked flat after his non-discovery of the body in the cold light of day) is proof that Antonioni doesn't want the audience to know the literal truth. I know that it's full of the classic images of British cinema in the 60s and I know that it was cutting-edge for its day. Even worse, I know that I'm going to get beaten about my spectral tricorn by a good majority of you cinema fans - but frankly I was a bit bored.

It's almost certainly a case of what I call "Hitchhiker" syndrome. If you listen to the original radio version of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy now, it sounds horribly cliched. The modern listener has to take a step back and think this was the first. This is what all the other comedy sci-fis were based on. I'm sure that Blow-Up suffers from this - all the other 60s films/TV progs, doccos - and now spoofs - base themselves at least a little on Antonioni's creation. Certainly all the art fans I know love it for that very seminal quality and I enjoyed it in its own way too, I guess - to a certain extent for the spotting where other films had been inspired. My trouble is that I've just got myself too plot-driven these days, watching too much Hollywood stuff, and the sundry tangents started to get to me.

Note To Self: Must get back to watching more art movies.

Something Blow Up does do though, is show a quality that South East London had then, which seems to have been forgotten. Now maybe I am, as my old college lecturer would have said, "reading too much into this," but I'm beginning to think that places like Charlton and Woolwich were actually rather funky and alternative in their own ways - so very outre that they went full circle and became hip again. Charlton's not actually owned up to in the film - Hemmings's flat is in some anonymous mews in, what most would assume, is Chelsea - I have no reason to think it isn't - but Maryon Park is implied to be just round the corner, with a cool 'antiques' (read 'junk') shop on the corner. I don't know if that shop's still there, (I'm sure someone will tell me) but I'll wager it doesn't sell propellers, busts and stags' heads anymore.

Ok, it could have just been standing in for somewhere else, as Greenwich Film Unit is so keen to promote these days, but I get the feeling the funkiness went deeper than mere set-dressing.

I've been reading Iris Bryce's A Tree In The Quad, the sequel to her wonderful Remember Greenwich which, while not being quite as compelling as its predecessor, does describe a Woolwich which was, almost impossible to believe now, a hub for the late 50s/early 60s Trad Jazz revival, the radio and television shop she owned with her musician-husband a magnet for duffle-coated beatniks and beardy hipsters, and the various music clubs they ran together meccas for jazz afficionados. I'll get onto that book another day, but for now, maybe my artist friend was right. Maybe Blow-Up is more than a fabber-than-thou whimsy about a bloke who may or may not have witnessed a murder. Maybe, just maybe, it shows that all of London was cool then, not just the West End.

Of course it just might mean that the murders in the 60s were all in South London...

*

Following this entry being originally posted, Stevie went on a pilgrimage of his own. It would seem that the park, still spooky, continues to throw up strange and unexplained images. Did Stevie really step back to Jurassic times, or was it all part of some spaced-out trip? We may never know...

Greenwich Sundials (1)

Thames Path, Greenwich Peninsula

First in a new series today, folks. I've been thinking recently that Greenwich, being the 'the home of time,' 'where time begins,' 'where days begin and end' etc. etc., has an enormous amount of sundials, old and new.

In fact they seem to fall into two categories - very old and very new - and there has been a positive rash of them in recent years - it seems that if we're going to have a new piece of public art it just has to be a sundial. They are strangely homogeneous, too.

I've chosen this one, just by the Eco Park at the Peninsula, to start the series with because it's typical of the recent 'corporate' variety of Art. It's not utterly horrible - just not very inspiring.

A solid, vandal-proof black brick piece (complete with a slightly worrying white stain these days) with solid metal gnomons and solid metal face plates, it's a polar sundial (as many of them seem to be these days.) It comes complete with inscriptions where all the good deed-doers who had anything to do with the placing of the item congratulate themselves - the Worshipful Company of Tylers and Bricklayers, Master Sir Idris Pearce, CBE, Stockbuilding Products Ltd, The Corps of Royal Engineers, English Partnerships - oh, and Nick Raynsford, who unveiled it. It says little else. I'm sure it never occurred to these good people that it might seem to some to look suspiciously like a fancy advert...

Would I rather it were not there? Of course not. I like art being in the community. But does it have to be so created-by-committee? Oh, yes, I know that Piers Nicholson is credited as having 'designed' it, but I can't believe that he thought this was cutting-edge. He must have been leaned on - and with that many chiefs I can't imagine that one lone Indian had much say in the final outcome of the piece. I'd love to see the first draft...

I see fewer and fewer examples of artists being given commissions in this country and being allowed to just get on with it. That's what happens when art is funded by business and corporations. Everyone wants their pound of flesh and free expression is a faded 1970s memory.

Blimey. Where did all that come from? I hadn't intended to talk about art funding today. Better go and have a nice cup of tea and a sit down...

Benedict's Sheep

This absolutely refused to load on the correct post, but I loved it so much (and thought Mark's girl might enjoy it too) that it's got its own. Benedict won a BBC competition with this image, taken at Mudchute Farm. Congratulations, Benedict. Off you go, Mark...

Greenwich From The Air...

You may remember my mentioning my friend Ian who's a helicopter pilot - he was able to clear up the mystery of why there are always so many helicopters over Greenwich.

Although some of them are police guys tracking felons from the dodgier areas of town, and others are transport monitors checking out the state of the Blackwall Tunnel (and of course the really noisy Chinooks are MOD and can do what they damn please...) most of them are just circling round in a holding pattern, waiting for permission to enter central London airspace.

He promised me some photographs next time he was over Greenwich (and with a passenger - let's face it, I would have worried if he'd taken snaps himself)and he's come through with some doozies.

There are more, but for some reason (as with yesterday's pics of Nelson's funeral barge) they are refusing to load. I suspect it's a Blogger problem. Ho hum...

Greenwich Cablevision

Paul asks:

I found an intriguing reference last night in a book called "I Never Knew that About London" by Christopher Winn to the fact (apparently) that Greenwich was the subject of the first pay TV channel, Greenwich Cablevision. Apparently it began broadcasting from a studio in Plumstead on 3 July 1972 and its first programme was about everday life in Greenwich at the time. I would love to see the programme. Ever heard of it? Seen it? Any ideas on sourcing it? If not, I may go to Mr Winn's publishers to ask.

The Phantom is flummoxed.

Blimey - I'd never even heard of it. But it sounds intriguing indeed. Wow - I'd like to see that too.

I would say your best bet for a first-stop would be the Heritage Centre or the Borough Museum at Plumstead - they may have it - though of course it could be on some long-lost tape format and unwatchable now. Your enquiry might prompt them to digitise it while it's still available (though actually still in copyright so there might be some iffy implications.) Sadly I don't think there's a TV equivalent of the British Library - where you have to legally deposit a copy of broadcast material.

Perhaps the BFI could help though?

Do keep me posted on this intriguing Greenwich first...

Art Cuts

Only yesterday, young Joseph was asking about the changes that have taken place in Greenwich since 2000, and it lies heavy upon me to talk about something that I failed to mention in my reply then.

In 2000, whatever we may have made of 'corporate' or 'civic art,' there was, at least, Art. The remains of it lie around the town, usually unsung (though I'm doing my best to trace most of them before they're totally forgotten) but nevertheless there to brighten our day.

What has changed since then is the climate that produced that art; that believed that our cultural welfare was as important as other aspects of our social world. Of course that climate was nothing like the one enjoyed in the 70s and 80s - before the Arts Council's Glory of the Garden. But there was a recognition, both formally and financially, that Art was an important aspect of human existence and of Greenwich itself.

That's no longer so. On Saturday I talked about the withdrawal of funding for the London Bubble Theatre company. Ok, so that's the Arts Council itself, swingeing their way through small companies that aren't 'innovative enough.'

But today, I have to bring you the sad news that Greenwich Council have withdrawn their funding for two other arts organisations - Lotus Arts (about which I concede I know nothing) and Greenwich Mural Workshop. They're also cutting some funding for the other arts groups in the borough. Their excuse is that they're creating a war chest for a "cultural olympiad."

Everything, in virtually every respect, seems to be bowing towards a couple of weeks in 2012. In the meanwhile, we enter a cultural desert and twiddle our collective thumbs. And after 2012? Well, if current rumour is correct and the site at Stratford fails to sell for what the Government predicts for paying back the money they nicked from the Lottery kitty, we had better start learning to appreciate ' Tumbleweed Art.'

I was walking past the Rathbone benches last night, thinking that they needed MORE funding - they're really in a state these days and need urgent remedial work. I find it utterly rich that Greenwich Council urged The Arts Council not to cut funding for Bubble, yet agreed to axe their own responsibilities.

Carol Kenna, Artistic Director of Greenwich Mural Workshopsent out a round-robin, that I had hoped would be on the website so I wouldn't have to reproduce it here. I can't find it, so here it is:

At the Cabinet meeting of Greenwich Council on Wednesday 23rd January the
decision was taken not to renew Service Level Agreements for Greenwich Mural
Workshop and Lotus Arts. The result of this will be to remove funding from
the two organisations from April 1st, but to give interim funding up to
September 30th 2008 at the same rate as 2007, to allow transitional
arrangements to be made.

In addition smaller cuts were made across the other seven arts organisations
in the Borough.

An amendment to this decision has been for the Cabinet to ask for an impact
report of this strategy to be produced by the Chief Executive.

The justification for the strategy is to establish a small fund to develop
BME arts and a £100,000 fund to develop a Cultural Olympiad.

GMW have objected to this strategy of recycling existing funds on two main
points.
Firstly that the assessment of GMW's application is biased and
contradictory, contains inaccurate or totally false statements, accuses GMW
of not providing information that it has, claims we have exaggerated the
effectiveness of our work and denigrates the artistic quality of our work,
the artists and our management structures.
Secondly we contest that the development of the notion of a Cultural
Olympiad has been taken without the involvement of the Cultural sector and
with no clear vision of what this could involve. As a result Greenwich
Council has not behaved in the best interest of the community and has not
taken advantage of the pool of expertise that itself has supported for many
years.
Other representatives of arts organisations have pointed to the fact that by
consistently reducing the level of Council support it forces the sector to
raise funds from other sources thus rendering themselves less able to
respond to the ambitions of the Council in the manner they would wish to.
GMW supports this opinion.

We believe that GMW offers a unique method of working with a variety of
communities, schools and other organisations which could be of value to
delivering the Council's ambition. We support the development of BME arts
and believe we have contributed to this over the years. We have supported
discussions leading up to the development of a Cultural Olympiad and believe
we could give further support and vision.

The impact of this decision upon GMW will be to close the organisation down.
We feel that you may wish to comment upon the impact that any of these
issues may have upon your organisations, schools, communities or individuals
and the cultural health of Greenwich as a whole

If you are able could we ask you to write to
the Chief Executive Mary Ney at mary.ney@greenwich.gov.uk with copies to
the Cabinet.

Cabinet members include:
Chris Roberts Leader of Council
Peter Brooks Deputy Leader Regeneration
John Fahy Culture & Olympics
David Grant Health, Adults and Older people
Denise Hyland Economy and Skills
Maureen O'Mara Neighbourhood Services
Kanta Patel Social Inclusion & Justice
Jagir Sekhon OBE Modernisation
Rajwant Sidhu Greener Greenwich
Jackie Smith Children & Young people's Services

These Councillors can be contacted on their email addresses, by entering
their names as first name.surname@greewich.gov.uk
e.g.: chris.roberts@greenwich,gov.uk

Peter Kent

A Peter Kent fan

Artist

For someone whose work is both instantly recognisable and almost omnipresent (can you have 'almost' omnipresent?) in and around Greenwich, Peter Kent himself is an enigma. I know nothing about him - and can find virutally nothing about him either.

You'll know his work immediately - his is that sketchy, pencil-lined topographical drawing - sometimes with a watercolour wash, sometimes not. It's nearly always of buildings, and incredibly detailed despite its sketchy appearance, a satisfying style that invites the viewer to look beyond instant impressions and delve deeper into the bigger picture. It reminds me of the sort of work that might have been architects plans for a Wren or Hook masterpiece - a modern interpretation of 17th Century perspective work, and he's at his best when he's drawing buildings of that period. The staggering thing is that much of his work is a sort of aerial view - and completely believable. How does he do that?

Peter Kent's work can be found everywhere - from his monthly 'column' in The Guide (utterly fascinating, whatever subject he chooses; definitely the best bit about that particular magazine) through the somewhat optimistic visions of the East Greenwich Traders Association's website to a commemorative fan for The Fan Museum.

Without a doubt my favourite picture by him is the giant overview of Greenwich residing in the Pepys Centre - just over by the suit of armour and that amazing B&W photograph of the Placentia excavations. I can happily stand for hours in front of it, immersing myself into the detail - the little extras that you don't notice on a first, second or even third look. I'm not the only one. I often have to queue to get my Kent-fix at that fantastic, laminated vision. There are several posters of Peter Kent views available in the shop (some of them are on special offer just now) but that giant picture is not available - which is, IMHO, a missed opportunity. I'd have that on my wall in a trice, though of course I'd have to get rid of my current Athena poster of a backlit Chris Roberts in a tennis outfit adjusting his knickers...

But back to Peter Kent. I mentioned earlier I can find virutally nothing about him as as a human being, but I have found a tiny snippet on the website of a local gallery I hadn't even heard of. Sea Pictures Gallery is in Vanbrugh Park and specialises, unsurprisingly, in seascapes. There are four Peter Kent originals on the site (I guess they might have more) priced between £250 and £450, though only one has a nod to Greenwich - a Thamescape of river traffic - the rest show views of Richmond, Milwall and Henley. For me, it's slightly odd to see pictures in Kent's style that aren't actually of this area, but it just goes to prove, I guess, that he isn't just a local artist for local people...

It was on the Sea Pictures website that I found the only mention of Peter Kent the man. He has had a Greenwich studio on the Thames for the past 15 years, and has illustrated many books on river churches, The City of London - and, of course, Greenwich. He also takes on commissions from major companies, though sadly Phantom Incorporated probably won't manage any Peter Kent illustrations for this website yet...

London Bubble

Warren has just reminded me of a long-running story that's just about to reach a head.

I guess the first time I saw the London Bubble must have been in the late 80s. Jonathan Petherbridge had just taken over and the whole company saw a gear change - the most obvious of which was the importation of his trademark promenade style for their annual summer production. There haven't been many I've missed since then. Some have hit the mark more squarely than others - The Arabian Nights, Shakespeare and Carroll have adapted to the format much better than, say Lords & Ladies, which left me, as a non-Pratchett-reader (though actually desperately sad for him just now) totally baffled, but in general the work was solid, thoughtful and, above all, entertaining.

As the years wore on and, dare I say it, Petherbridge seemed to be wearying of the much-loved format, he started to branch out with the subject matter. Out went Shakespeare and in came strange adaptations of obscure folk tales and interesting angles on classic works. Again, these were often a mixed bag, but Peth's bold style meant that they were never boring, always questioning - and to get that quality into a family show is an admirable thing.

I went whenever I could - for that very unpredicatbility - and for the quality of the acting, from the likes of Andy Serkis and the fabulous Linda Dobell. A great disappointment for me remains that I never saw The Dong With The Luminous Nose, which, after I read the Time Out review about "huffy spectators tutting, shouting and storming off" during the pre-show, I was desperate to see and still managed to miss.

I even enjoyed the panto they used to do at Greenwich Theatre every year, though I understand that Petherbridge detests the genre and did everything he could to subvert it. I adored Simon Thompson who used to play the dame, whose finest moment was his death scene as Cinderella's mother "I bequeath to you the script for the slop-scene..." (and the meerkats another year were inspired; acquaintances of mine still sing the song to this day) but if I'm honest the parting of ways a couple of years ago was probably for the best. Greenwich Theatre now has a team that love the traditional form, and Bubble, until very recently, have been happier over in Deptford, producing their own seasonal fare rather than trying to showhorn themselves into a format they didn't enjoy.

I am really sorry about the Arts Council's decision to pull funding for this company. I remember seeing a sniffy woman from the organisation on TV saying something along the lines of their not being innovative enough. I wonder whether that means that people actually enjoyed their stuff?

The Bubble are fighting back and we'll hear news soon. And I should add that Nick Raysford is, for once, actually doing something, lobbying the Arts Council. But if things continue as they are, their entire funding will be cut on 1 April.

Read about it here, and if you've ever enjoyed a Bubble show, drop them (or even better, The Arts Council) a line now to tell them so.

In the meanwhile, as the Olympic juggernaut gathers speed, we can expect to see a few more swingeing cuts and a few more victims in our artistic and cultural landscape.

The Blackheath Tea Hut

Or, The Phantom Jumps Down Off The Fence...

I've been meaning to write about the most controversial greasy spoon in Greenwich (well, ok, on the border) for some time, but the catalyst has definitely been Alexandra Moskalenko's documentary Tea Time, which has just come out on DVD and which will enjoy a screening at the Picturehouse on Feb 3rd.

It's a charming little docco - made by Moskalenko over four years, but actually covering the life of the hut during the span of one. What makes it such a fascinating subject is that it's open 24 hours a day, on the most windswept part of the heath, and yet it still attracts customers on a year-round, day-round basis.

And what customers. From the police and emergency services, cabbies and truckers, through bikers and carny-folk, all the way to families and tourists, this place has a little micro-community of its own. It attracts loners and insomniacs, drifters and misfits, businessmen and sharp-suits. All of whom muddle along together in that small, timeless world that a tea break provides from whatever else is going on in one's life. The film, perhaps wisely, concentrates on the human element of this South London institution, with interviews and long-shots, portraits and closeups, rather than giving us a history lesson. The music, especially, reflects this - from eerie out-of-tune pub-piano to the Ian Dury-esque At The 'Ut (you get a nice cup 'a tea...)

Perhaps it is the oddball, edgy quality of the folk who visit this funny little stall that makes 'ordinary' people like The Blackheath Society so angry about its existence. Their almost-disproportionate misgivings range from its being an eyesore, a blot on the community and a litter-magnet to being rowdy and environmentally damaging. A pick & mix shopping cart of complaints which perhaps conceal the real problem they have with such a place - that it's not 'within' Society - that it has an 'outsider' quality that can never quite be contained. A quality that lingers from the dangerous days of the Greenwich Fair, of Jack Cade's Cavern, of tumbling, and still hovers, like a slightly bad smell, whenever the circus comes to town.

What I like about this documentary is that it doesn't shy from these difficult topics. It represents the extraordinary lives of ordinary people - each has a story to tell, not least that of Nick, a regular, who, by sheer dint of personality, manages to become the central character. A damaged, almost lost soul, Nick manages to find a little stability in his world whenever he makes it up to the hut, and despite his tough appearance and sarf-London accent, slowly reveals himself to be a pussycat - an adorable figure who relies on the camaraderie of the motley characters at the tea shack to get him through a life that has seen much pain.

And that's true of all the regulars interviewed. They nearly all look menacing on the outside - some might even say hard - it's even implied that there indeed are one or two villains among them - but scratch the surface and they are charming - and articulate, too, in their own individual ways. Moskalenko has taken the time and effort to find the stories here, to imply, not lay-on thick, the personal worlds this funny little place provides a haven for.

Oddly, the hut itself is less of a character than I expected. Whether in the height of summer or under a sprinkling of snow, it's merely a meeting place for unlikely people to get together. Perhaps this is because the building itself is of a temporary nature - temporary to fit the transitory nature of the people who use it.

What impressed me most was the inclusion of Neil Rhind, of whom I am normally a HUGE fan. I adore his meticulous work, his devotion to Blackheath and its history, his detailed writing, his eloquent speaking. As the president of the Blackheath Society, he agreed to be interviewed for this film. Now this is an intelligent man. He must have known that whatever he said would make him look like a NIMBY - and he did it anyway. I admire him all the more for having the guts to do it.

That's not that I agree with him. I hear his arguments - he is big enough (and has the integrity as a historian) to admit that there has been a tea-servery (albeit not 24hrs) on the site since the reign of Charles II (indeed Moskaleko interviews an octogenarian who remembers drinking tea there in his youth) but complains that it looks appalling, creates a traffic and noise problem and is environmentally unsound. The Blackheath Society proposes, I understand from the people in this film, to spend £2m on 'improving' Blackheath - including a giant ridge of earth to disguise the A2, which would engulf the tea hut. Perhaps it's even true.

You know, I struggle to see what harm there is in this little shack. In recent years the owner's made an effort to tidy it up and pick up his litter - you'll find far more elsewhere on the heath. It's miles away from anywhere, it doesn't serve alcohol, and even the police in the film admit there's virtually no trouble. I've enjoyed a fair few cups there myself. Tuesday nights are a good time, when an entire youth club from Rochester make a pilgrimage to the shack. I haven't ever heard of any trouble from them. And I never leave without a chat with someone.

I find it quite telling that the two sides have never actually met in this dispute. And that Neil Rhind has been the only person brave enough to raise his head above the parapet. At a recent licensing hearing no other bugger turned up, so the licence went through, according to the owner. The BS gets almost apoplectic over this strange little half-world, and yet they don't actually appear to have really looked at it.

It seems to me that both sides need to move on now; to actually meet. The Blackheath Society has cash to spend, but the heath belongs to all, and that includes the people who use the hut. Surely there must be some way they can live together? Maybe the society could fork out some money to make the hut more attractive, rather than obliterating it? In return, the owners of the hut can make sure that the litter is always cleared up and that people park tidily.

One final thought, not totally disconnected. If there was to be a giant earthen ridge to shield the eye from the A2, would the Highways Agency see this as a good excuse to make it a dual carriageway? Just an idle ponder.

See Tea Time for yourself. You can buy it on DVD at the Pepys Visitor Centre (the best place I know for local history books) or, if you buy it at the 'ut itself, you get a free nice cup 'a tea with it...

Oh - and if you want a biscuit to go with it, try http://www.nicecupofteaandasitdown.com/

Picturehouse Going Downhill?

I am a Grumpy Old Phantom today. Actually, to be more precise, I was a grumpy old Phantom a few days ago, but I didn't want to write cross stuff in the festive season (bad karma, you know...) and even writing about it now brings it all back...

Let me start with re-stating the fact that I adore Greenwich Picturehouse. I have often waxed lyrical about the fantastic facilities, friendly staff and squashy seats. It's even listed as one of my Favourite Haunts. Which is perhaps why I was so very shocked the other night when standards had seriously slipped. I don't know when this happened - it's to do with the Screening Room, which I hadn't visited for a little while, but had always considered to be the very best bit of the whole building.

Just to recap, the Screening Room is (was) the gorgeous little cinema downstairs, cosy and womb-like, with deep red curtains and soft walls, and individual armchairs that not only reclined but gave you a little foot rest - like the Parker-Knoll recliner of your dreams which made you forget that the screen was smaller than you get in some people's homes these days as you luxuriated in the closest equivalent to watching a movie in bed.

So there we were, a little bunch of us, all strangers, of course, waiting patiently for the end of the previous screening outside the curtains in what is now called "Screen Five" (where is Screen Four?) We were all bunched up so inelegantly because there are no numbered seats, and each of us secretly hoped to delicately muscle-in to our fave squashy armchair when we were finally let in. It wasn't ideal, but it was understandable - difficult to number armchairs after all...

The movie finished and the audience filed out. We diligently waited as the music ended. No one arrived, so being jolly British, we all hung around waiting for the usherette to tell us what to do. We waited. And waited. The lights had gone up, and the projectionist was clearly setting up to begin again. No one. Eventually, a brave soul decided to peek around the curtain without the permission of Authority. He disappeared, so the rest of us all piled in.

The shock was audible. The place was carnage. Less tumbleweed blowing around the deserted screen than drinks cartons, glasses, sweetie wrappers and general unidentifiable-but-you-don't-want-to-investigate-too-far kiddie-trash. And popcorn. Popcorn, popcorn everywhere, and believe me, not a piece you'd want to eat.

Ok - so they were short staffed and couldn't find anyone to tear our tickets or clear up. It's not the end of the world. But here's the rub. Brace yourselves, folks.

The squashy armchairs are gone. Gone, I tell you. Replaced with - how can I bring myself to say this - nasty mean, tip-up cinema seats from c.1965. Thin, narrow rows, close together and with not a reclining bit in sight. And to top it all, in this formerly plush, exquisite, coloured coded and designed room, still with its deep red curtains, they are the most disgusting mid-brown vinyl.

Now I'm not a fat Phantom. And these seats did accommodate my backside - but they could well be a bit of a huff and a puff for anyone a bit better padded than these seats are. Even if you're a skinny, if you're not quick enough with getting your elbows onto the thin chair arms and someone else's beat yours to it, they will be pinned into the insides of the seat for the entire movie. Luckily the picture I saw was a kids' film and short, but I won't be going back to that screen for a long, long time.

I might have expected this from another cinema chain. But the Picturehouse? I am seriously disappointed. It's clearly a financial thing - but are things really so tight that they had to do this?

Did you already know about this? Why didn't someone warn me? Please tell me the other screens are still the fabulous experience they were and that it's just this screen. Being the optimist I am, I really hope these seats are temporary while they are ordering new, even lovelier armchairs, but for the moment I seriously recommend you don't visit this screen.

You know what? I'm going to write to the Picturehouse and be a grumpy old Phantom at them too. I'll post any reply I get here...

A Christmas Carol

Greenwich Playhouse

I have been looking for an excuse to go to the Greenwich Playhouse for bloomin' ages, but nothing in the normal programme has really appealed before, so I was delighted to see that not only were they doing a classic Christmas story as a festive piece, but also that it was adapted by Brian Sibley (Who he? Remember that R4 adaptation of Lord of the Rings? Well, he...) Certainly enough to get me to climb the back stairs of what is now Bellushi's (is that not a dreadful 80s name for a bar?) and discover what Greenwich's other theatre has to offer.

I had been warned by so many people the place was utterly minute that I was actually surprised by the size of it - not as small as everybody had made out - but still hardly The Palladium. It's clearly an old garret that's even unsuitable for putting bunk beds in as part of the St Christopher's Inn chain of hostels, but perfectly useable as a baby theatre. It has seats three quarters of the way round for this show, put on slight risers so everybody gets a reasonable view - better in that respect than somewhere like Blackheath Halls which is all on the same level and a poor view if you're stuck at the back.

There are lovely little features like the original twisty iron supports across the ceiling - and less lovely features such as the very strong smell of mothballs - though actually for this show it was such perfect Odorama that I will be prepared to eat my words if someone tells me it was part of the set.

Talking of which, that set was great. Bare brick wall and bits of old tat, improvised into various things during the action - simple and absolutely ideal for the piece. There was something of Dennis Severs* attic rooms about it - the most honest feel for A Christmas Carol that I've ever come across. And I'm counting Patrick Stewart, I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue AND the Muppets in that...

But onto the show. Eight actors on a stage that small is pretty impressive stuff and in a theatre that can't seat more than about 60 people, some of whom will be concessions, I don't even want to think about what they must be being paid - and for that kind of remuneration, you might expect some pretty piss-poor acting. I am happy to report that it's excellent.

Scrooge is a triumph - both furious and funny at the same time - I bet he's played Malvolio a few times... His fabulous pomposity is offset by the gravitas of Dickens himself (a character-addition that could have backfired badly but doesn't) who follows the characters around like a fourth ghost. The supporting cast charges around (and I mean charges around - personally I would have removed the Blakies in their shoes on that wooden floor) being all the other characters. Not one of them lets down the pace or the feel and despite the cast-of-thousands character changes, there is never any doubt who anyone is.

The costumes, though clearly fashioned from cheap fabrics, are nicely put together so that they work really well (even if one of the girls needs to put a couple more hooks & eyes in hers - something of which she is, thankfully, aware, wearing a nice black vest underneath, just in case...)

It's an unsentimental production - despite the sugary qualities of the original - not a sprig of holly in sight - and yet, somehow, it manages to bring a deep sensation of good cheer to a cold loft of a theatre. And, a good thing, given the proximity of the cast to the audience, it bears up well to close inspection. The ghosts, each of them puppets, are deeply creepy and affecting - as is young Tiny Tim, who is in no way 'cute.' His puppet is, frankly, a bit scary - and yet it works - we care about this tiny, ugly figure, because the actors do.

I have no idea how they manage to put on a show of this quality in a theatre this small, but hey - I'm not going to delve too deep. I thoroughly recommend you take a chance and get a ticket for this festive-without-being-cloying seasonal show. Probably a bit scary for tiny tots, older children should be fine - and it's good grown-up fare too.

http://www.galleontheatre.co.uk/


* If you haven't come across Dennis Severs House - do it NOW. Don't think. Go to http://www.dennissevershouse.co.uk/ (turning off your blocked-pop-ups) and book a slot for their "Silent Night" installation. It's just not the same any other time of year. Not suitable for kiddies.

Dick Whittington

Greenwich Theatre

I've been looking forward to this show ever since last year's extravaganza which was the best this hardcore pantomime enthusiast has ever seen (and yes - that does include Les Dawson as the nurse in Babes in the Wood...) And the same writer/dame as last year boded well for this year's effort. I was delighted to see that the guy who played the King last year was back too. I was very slightly (though unnecessarily in this particular case) worried by the closest that Greenwich Panto has ever come to "celebrity" performers (a dangerous route in my humble opinion - unknowns have to work harder which usually produces better performances) in the two young leads - rejects from two of those 'find-a-star-for-a-revival-of-a-safe-family-musical' programmes.

I was surprised at how quiet the theatre itself was - I know it's early in the season but I'm sure last year was much busier at even this time in the run. Half-full, I'd have said - which after last year's triumph was staggering. As it was there was a respectable number of brownies and other sundry tots, but generally far more adults than kids - which did, at least, have the benefit of everyone knowing what to do in the way of audience participation.

Dick Whittington is probably my favourite panto - and though the plot is as thin as the ice on the O2 rink that's never a real problem in this art-form. Need a spot of padding in panto? Add a slop-scene or a song. And there are a LOT of songs, mainly 80s favourites, well-chosen for the characters and very well-sung. Familiar cliches and knowing nods to even more familiar cliches work well and slick choreography milks every film/TV/advert/music/popular culture reference in the book.

It's wonderfully local - set in The City of London "via Greenwich," ahem, there is a fantastic frontcloth with a view of "Olde Greenwich," complete with Observatory and, er, Canary Wharf. Sadly, I think they must have spent the entire budget on that frontcloth (and Dick's Mum's utterly fabulous wardrobe) as the rest of the set is, frankly, a disappointment - unexcitingly designed and averagely executed. Does that matter? Not really when you've got great performers, but pantomime is all about spectacle and the set is a big part of that glamour. This one smacked of am-dram.

The performances don't, though. All of them are excellent - from the wonderful fairy who belts out Motown numbers in between ringing her magic Bow bells to a very sweet cat and the camply-wicked King Rat who minces about the stage with comedy rodents. Even the chorus guys are solidly good. Dick's Mum, Mrs Wilhelmina Whittington, is a superb dame - and great with the kids - but we all knew that anyway. Her best frock was, I think, either Dolly Parton, Gospel Singer or Sexy Harem Siren - but there were so many others saucy outfits (even if none was as saucy as the Heinz Soup get-up last year) it was difficult to decide. My fave character of all, though, was jolly Alderman Fitzwarren whose merry-old-soul persona is perfect for pantomime. Long may he play at Greenwich.

The two lovers are good actors and great singers, with loads of energy. They made extremely personable leads. But the ingenue roles are, frankly, a bit of a poisoned chalice in panto. My absolute favourite moment last year was definitely the lovers' song (usually the worst moment in every panto - the cue for dozens of small children to troop out to the loo) where the whole thing was totally sent up by naughty upstaging from the comic characters, taken to a whole, sublime new level. This year, possibly because Alice and Dick are such good singers, it was played straight. It was nice - very nice, in fact - but I missed the comedy.

So - is the show any good? Well - yes, actually, it is. I laughed and laughed and laughed - so much so that my face was still hurting by the time my (rather large) party got to the restaurant afterwards. If I hadn't seen last year's I'd have even said it was brilliant. There are a few slow moments - but it's early in the run and they will get slicker - and I could have taken a spot more slop in the slop-scene. But this is still a great local panto and an excellent way to get into the festive mood. Get your tickets now.

The Oldest "Surviving" Purpose-Built Music Hall

...was the Clarence Music Hall, above the main entrance to Greenwich Market. Built in 1832, it was included as the equivalent of today's "entertainment complexes" that seem to have to be included in new public developments, when Sir Joseph Kay redesigned the area. Its entrance was at Number 7a and the main room spanned the archway. It was traditionally linked with The Admiral Hardy, but sadly that's about all I can find out about it so far.

A 1991 book by Darrell Spurgeon says it was, at the time he was writing, mooted to be a museum, but it would seem that that money started talking and it became the "Time Bar" and, now, of course, "Inc" with those Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen designs and the erotic wallpaper.

I haven't been in there since I found a fly in my very expensive cocktail and the waitress merely giggled and walked away.

But back to the Music Hall. I find it absolutely astonishing that in no book I own or anywhere on the Internet can I find anything more about this lost palace of entertainment. When Darrell Spurgeon was writing it was an empty room and the gallery was already enclosed but it seems that like so many other things in Greenwich's history, Clarence Music Hall has been forgotten.

Rebecca agrees - she writes:

I'm interested in the Admiral Hardy and the old music hall - as to what sort of music they'd have put on there and also any direct links to history of the market, which goes into more depth than just skimming over - which seems to be the case on the net.

The Phantom continues:

I am horribly busy at the moment, so I don't have time just yet to look into these, but I'm posting this in case anyone else knows any more. I know there are some historic-sleuths out there who might like to get their teeth into this one.

My suggestions for places to go on this would be The Heritage Centre at Woolwich (a lovely, lovely facility, but such a faff to get to I don't get to it nearly as much as I'd like)and The Theatre Museum - yes I know it's closed but they're moving to the V&A and they have a research department. If no one gets to it before I'm less busy, I'll go myself - but it's in Olympia and I just don't have time just now. In the meanwhile, a suggested reading list can be found here

For more general information about the market, see first here then - sorry - it's a trot back to the Heritage Centre in the depths of Woolwich...

http://www.greenwich.gov.uk/Greenwich/LeisureCulture/HistoryAndHeritage/HeritageCentre/

Polar Sundial

Corner of Greenwich Church St and Stockwell St, SE10

So what's all this about then? I must be the most monumentally unobservant phantom on the block as I only noticed this about a month ago (yes, ahem, I'm running a bit behind these days...) and only got round to taking a snap last week.

I'm assuming it's council-fun. A large, shiny tube, cut off at an angle at the top with lots of information on it? Great. What's it for? No idea. But hey - it's shiny and it's something fun to look at, so I'm happy...

As a piece of art it is, frankly, a bit clunky. Whereas most of the time I'm moaning that modern (and ancient) art in Greenwich doesn't have enough information about it, so that even a few years after its creation it's become unknown, this work has vast amounts of data on it. There's a short history of the place, culminating in Greenwich's acceptance into the World Heritage Site club ten years ago (which is presumably the reason this piece has suddenly appeared.) There are various charts and diagrams showing the stars and GMT. There's a Polar Sundial cutting through the centre. There's info about British Summer Time, sundials in general, solar time, the formula used to calculate corrections in time, and The Great Bear, among other things.

So - vast amounts of info, making it a bit worthy if you're trying to view it as Art. But if you look at it as a funky information plaque, it's fantastic. And an ideal place to arrange to meet people who are congenitally late - you'll never get bored waiting for them...

The Throne of Earthly Kings

Devonport House, King William Walk, SE10

Like so many modern sculptures around here, youth doesn't seem to prevent obscurity when it comes to any kind of record of what something is. I'm still, for example, trying to find out about the interesting mural A Thames Tale on the wall of the power station (see "Weird Greenwich") even though it's not seven years old yet, and regular readers will remember the fun and games we had trying to find out who the hell Lydia Pare-Mott was.

It's taken me ages to track down anything at all about this curious, exciting and ever-so-slightly rude-looking piece of practical Angle-Grinder Art - you can (if you actually have the nerve to open the gates and walk in) actually sit on the "throne" and pretend that you, too are some kind of evil emperor in a science fiction movie.

I tried all kinds of searches on this - even though I knew the title - The Throne of Earthly Kings - but the site where the breadcrumb trail actually began was that of the haulier firm (Fast Forward, if you're interested) who carried it from the artist's workshop in Brittany over to Greenwich in 2004.

It was commissioned by The Cathedral Group PLC (on whose website I did eventually find a cursory mention) who developed Devonport House into student accommodation and a hotel. They were responsible for quite a bit of art in the early naughties - remember the hundreds of naked bodies lying around the Cutty Sark in 2001? The somewhat ill-fated inflatable Dreamspace in the grounds at Devonport House by the same artist (Maurice Argis) in the same year? (I really enjoyed that - shame it all ended so sadly in Chester-le-Street...)

It takes a while to find the artist who conceived and built The Throne of Earthly Kings. Francois Hameury is hardly mentioned at all on the web - and I certainly couldn't find anything locally - things in Greenwich become obscure almost instantly it seems. This was 2004, for God's sake - not 1004.

I did finally find the artist's website - if you'd like to check it out. Ignore the rather creepy photo of him with a boiled egg in his mouth, but do have a listen to the music - played by one Yorrick Trowman, who sat on the throne at its unveiling and played the violin for champagne-quaffing arty-types. If you click on 'The Throne,' there are photos of it being created and a video of the aforementioned opening ceremony, which clearly had some cash thrown at it. Such a shame it's become so obscure so few years later. Luckily, once you do find his site, Hameury's artist statement about the piece is charming.

It's probably my favourite modern sculpture in Greenwich - not least for the engraving at its base:

May all who sit here have the courage to be true to themselves.

The world is a Kingdom for those who search inside.

Francois Hameury, 2004

Birdman

Mo Hayder, Bantam, 1999

Several warped individuals recommended this psychological thriller as being set in Greenwich, but I confess I had prevaricated on the grounds that "I couldn't find it in the local bookshop" ( a feeble excuse, I know, but I am a sensitive soul) until The Phantom Webmaster found it in a booksale and I no longer had any excuse not to read it.

So. At last. A true Greenwich book - set in Greenwich, namechecking Greenwich all over the shop and with Greenwich-ian characters. A local book, then, for local people. What does it say about us that it's a horror story about a sexual-sadist serial killer...?

It's a fast read - pacy and a real page turner. I don't normally read this genre so I'm not sure whether it's a 'good' example of its kind, but I couldn't put the thing down, revulsed as I was. With every page I was thinking "Yeuch!" and "What's next?" in equal quantities.

Greenwich around the millennium is very finely portrayed - a largely downmarket world that though only seven years old is already part of history. The bodies initially bowl up around the aggregates yards near the building work for the millennium dome; the seedy strip joint that the low-life of Greenwich hang out in is in Trafalgar Road (maybe this book should be submitted as evidence of "What Could Happen" if the lap-dancing club is allowed to open...) It's rather (and perhaps deliberately) confusingly called the Dog & Bell (the only one I know is in Deptford, but I'm assuming the real one was somewhere like The Penny Black, the William IV or The Crown.)

The nasty hospital that is the centre for grizzly goings-on is a thinly-disguised Greenwich District Hospital - no wonder it closed a couple of years after this book came out if that's the kind of thing that went on ;-)

And so on and on. Several streets are named, giving a good feel for the area - Crooms Hill must be one of the most namechecked roads in Greenwich - if there's anywhere going to be named in any book, it's that one. Other names are disguised (I was sad enough to look them up on the A-Z.)

Is this a 'good' book? Well, it's not 'literary fiction' in its purest form - but as a shocker it's completely gripping - and I would argue that that in itself makes it "a good book." Any novel that can transport its reader, scare the hell out of them and make them turn the page fits the bill as far as I'm concerned. I would be proud to have written it.

I understand there's a film in the offing. When I looked it up it was "in pre-production" which in movie-speak generally means "Don't hold your breath." Hopefully Mo Hayder will have received a nice fat "option" cheque but I lost interest when I read further down and discovered that this wouldn't be a first for Greenwich - a Greenwich-set flick actually filmed in Greenwich - but would be transported wholesale to Los Angeles. If I'm honest there isn't any plot reason why this story should be set in Greenwich - it could fit anywhere - it just seems a shame that American film makers don't seem to be able to see beyond their own back yard (though I guess that on this particular morning they probably can't actually see their own back yards.)

Birdman comes highly recommended by this phantom - if you don't mind a spot of gore and don't live in Crooms Hill....