Canal Penetration

I do not appear to understand the concept of a short walk. This fact was brought home to me on Sunday. Having attended a wedding on Wednesday, I was feeling somewhat guilty at the Elvis-level calorie intake I had managed that day, and therefore had resolved to behave myself with a little more restraint. Sunday, I thought, would be an ideal day to get a little exercise. I thought it might be nice to do some more of the Regent’s Canal.

The Regent’s Canal, if you’re not familiar with it (though you may have some passing acquaintance with it if you’re a regular reader of this blog), is a waterway running from the Thames at Limehouse to the Grand Junction Canal at Paddington. The canal was opened in two sections – from Paddington to Camden in 1816 and Camden to Limehouse in 1820. In those days, before decent roads and railways, canals were the arteries of industry. The Grand Junction Canal was the quickest means of transporting goods in quantity from the industrial Midlands to London. The Regent’s Canal therefore served an important economic purpose, as it formed the final link between the Midlands and the Port of London and therefore the rest of the world. It survived the coming of the railways and the roads, but by the 1930s was largely obsolete.

Today, although there is a small amount of cargo, it’s primarily used for pleasure craft. The warehouses and factories that once lined its route have either been demolished or repurposed (most notably, one major interchange between rail and canal is now Camden Lock Market and the Stables). The towpath is a popular route with cyclists, walkers and idiots (yo).

My original intention was to only walk a short section of the canal, say Camden to King’s Cross or Islington. But I have this tendency, once I start walking, to keep on going far longer than is perhaps wise. As a result, I ended up walking all the way to Limehouse Basin. As I had previously walked from Camden to Paddington (hence the photos you have been seeing so far), I can now say that I have walked the full length of the canal.

From a psychogeographical point of view, what’s interesting about this walk is that it let me see familiar places from a different point of view. Of course, I’d seen the canal at Paddington, Regent’s Park, Camden, King’s Cross, St Pancras, Caledonian Road, Islington, Hackney and Limehouse before. Indeed, I’ve written about it in at least two of those locations in this very blog. But it had just been a landmark then, with no sort of context. I had some vague awareness that this stretch of canal was the same as that stretch of canal, but only as a theoretical thing. To experience the whole thing from a boat’s eye view, as it were, was rather novel. I think I’ve been enlightened in some way.

Anyway, I’ve waffled on for far too long already, given that this was supposed to be a photo-ey entry. I shall keep the prattle to a minimum from here on in, and instead continue to present my (usual crappy) photographs in geographical order from Paddington to Limehouse. Camden Lock is a notable omission here,  due to the fact that on neither of the walks presented here did I actually intend to document the entire canal.

One last point I would like to make is the range of contrast as you go along the river, from affluent Regent’s Park and Little Venice to the post-industrial landscape of the Docklands. I’ll shut up now. For now.

Sorry, me again. At this point on the walk, the canal cut through the hill at Islington, and I had to leave the towpath. Some explanation may be needed for the following photos.

I snapped this because I had walked along this road once before, a couple of years ago, desperately hungover. I was leaving the Barnsbury flat of a friend we shall simply call The Monster early one Sunday morning. I attracted disapproving looks from pious souls. Anyway, to end up here again was rather surprising.

I eventually reached Angel – you may recall that my first paid acting gig was near here. Despite my familiarity with the area, I wasn’t entirely sure how to get to the canal. Fortunately, this sign guided me. It may also explain some of the stranger sights coming up.

Isn’t this just the dearest little owl?

Spitalfields already? God be damned.

And Shoreditch! How we are honoured!

This is a nice thing to do with a block of council flats. Photographic portraits of local folk. It’s like Eastenders, only without the death and unimaginable horror.

Hackney. If you feel a chill down your spine, that is because we are but a stone’s throw from the Last Tuesday Society’s sinister museum.

A dilapidated narrowboat advocating the cleaning up of canals. This would be that famous bargees’ humour I’ve heard so much about.

Some sort of junction. Further investigation is required, I feel – especially as there’s something familiar about this canal here.

Lo the Isle of Dogs!

Herons are basically the easiest birds in the world to photograph. How I managed to make this one blurry enough to shame the most avid Bigfoot enthusiast is therefore beyond me.

I feel this toy boat has a story to tell.

We are so close, me hearties, I can practically taste that lime!

Is that not the viaduct of the London and Blackwall Railway?

It is! Limehouse! We made it! Long live, long live!

I say “we” made it, but mostly you just looked at photos. I didn’t want to make a big thing of this.

The Thames as the sun begins to set.

The Docklands Light Railway at Westferry. Everyone wants to get on the seats at the front of the train, but for a novel experience I recommend the seats at the back as you enter the tunnel for Bank. It’s like disappearing down a giant oesophagus.

 

Further Reading:

http://londonparticulars.wordpress.com/2010/07/18/talk-about-burning-your-bridges/ - An earlier entry focusing on a particular part of the Regent’s Canal.

Hackneyed ideas

So anyway, you may recall a few entries back that I mentioned that I’d like to do a bit more exploring in the Bethnal Green/Hackney area. On Sunday I did just that. As neither of my entries yesterday were all that good, I’m writing this up early.

Yet another of the Mog’s friends had expressed an interest in coming to the Last Tuesday Society’s May masked ball – I honestly believe that myself, my friends and friends-of-friends have purchased approximately half the tickets sold so far, looking at the ticket numbers. When I arrived, the Last Tuesday Society’s shop was closed, so I had an entertaining wander around a dilapidated area of the canal. I like dilapidated industry, possibly because I’m unimaginably sick and twisted, and took numerous photos of eyesores.

When the Society shop reopened, I went in, picked up the ticket and paid admission to the Museum. Actually, it’s not so much a museum as a showroom for the items on sale from the shop. The collection might best be described as “bizarro.” Victorian sex aids, pickled foetuses, shrunken heads, mummified animals, unfortunately-titled books, disturbing toys and puerile stocking-fillers were among the many items on display. I had reason to doubt the authenticity of some of the exhibits (the unicorn skull, for instance). Overall, the place had that sort of “grandmother’s attic” feel, with the proviso that your grandmother is high priestess of a Satanic death cult.

A pass for photography was £5. Much as I like you folks, I don’t like you enough to spend £5 on a few snapshots. There are photos enough in the Last Tuesday Society’s own gallery:

http://www.thelasttuesdaysociety.org/venuehire.html

You’re also supposed to leave your bags at the desk, although the lady at the front said I looked trustworthy. Honestly, I could make a fortune as a conman. Too damn nice, that’s my problem.

Next stop, after a short stroll, was the Bethnal Green Museum of Childhood. This is a museum I’ve been meaning to go to for a while. Twenty years, in fact. It was closed when the Ma took me last time, so we went to the zoo instead. It was awesome. I saw an elephant and everything.

This time I was not to be so disappointed. Although I have to say, as the only person there not accompanied by a small child, I couldn’t help feeling a bit creepy.

Speaking of creepy, the dudes you see just there were in a display of puppetry and also my nightmares.

Equally scary was the number of toys on display that I actually used to have. I wanted to grab one of the curators and say, “Excuse me, there appears to have been some mistake, as there is no possible way that this is old enough to be a museum piece.” The plan then was to fall to my knees and start obsessively plucking out grey hairs. That being said, does anyone remember Stickle Bricks? Those were so awesome.

On the left you may see Action Man, who is clearly ready for action.

A problem with the Museum of Childhood that I should really have anticipated was the sheer number of children. I do not understand the logic of small children – they move by a sort of Brownian motion, irrespective of obstacles or other people. Worse, they have this tendency to lie flat on the floor. The number of times I have come close to nearly stepping on an errant toddler is frankly worrying for all of us.

Awful dolls' house picture marred further by the ghostly presence of Yr. Humble Chronicler.

It’s not a huge museum, and so I found I was able to get around the whole thing in less than two hours. I get the impression I’m not really the target market.

Therefore, I decided to have an aimless wander in the vague direction of the City. And such wonders I found! Such wonders, in fact, that to describe them would end up taking the word count on this entry way over the readability limit. Next time, my children, next time.

Wonderful world, beautiful people

Something I often find happens, don’t ask me why, is that people have this need to strike up conversations with me in which they go on about how awful London is and how terrible Londoners are. I have no idea why they specifically feel the need to tell me this. It’s always in a “they” kind of way, as if I’m not a London person and therefore will not be offended by the suggestion that I’m rude, arrogant, immoral and unapproachable.

And indeed, these allegations about how Londoners are so terrible will never include the person making the accusation. Oh sure, they live in London, they work in London, but they’re not a Londoner. My reply to such people tends to be “And what are you doing about it?” My personal experience is that you get out of people what you put in. If you’re friendly and good-humoured, then people will generally be friendly and good-humoured to you. Of course, you’ll always get some jerks who repay your good humour with rudeness or speeches about how Londoners are rubbish, but I find that generally the rule holds.

Today was a rather interesting day if you’re me, and I am. I took a trip into Hackney to pick up some tickets for a Last Tuesday Society event. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Hackney. You know what? I quite like the place. Not everyone’s cup of tea, I’m sure. But I reckon I could live there quite happily. The Last Tuesday Society’s HQ is roughly equidistant between London Fields and Cambridge Heath stations on the line out of Liverpool Street (although my estimates of distance tend to be skewed by my tendency to wander off the main road whenever I see something interesting). The road runs parallel to the railway and crosses the Regent’s Canal.

I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect of the Last Tuesday Society’s HQ. From the outside, it looks like one of those weird junk shops you get, the ones that are really gloomy and messy and grimy and there’s nothing you’d ever want in there and the whole place stinks of cheap tobacco and you decide to leave, but when you turn around there is no door. Inside it’s not so bad. The woman behind the counter was, contrary to my expectations, not a witch. Well, not that I could see, anyway. And I was able to get the tickets cheaper than expected – not so much because of my immense personal charm as because they’re cheaper when the Society don’t have to post them. There is a museum attached to the shop, and when I have more time (possibly next weekend), I’ll take a look in. It advertises itself as being for the over-21s only, so it should be awesome.

I crossed the canal and headed to Cambridge Heath station. I also photographed the structure you see on your right, which, contrary to popular belief, is a gas holder, not a gasometer. There’s quite a lot of former industry around here, and I plan to photograph as much of it as I can before it gets turned into exclusive luxury flats or some bee-ess like that.

The train service from Cambridge Heath seemed pretty infrequent, perhaps due to the proximity of the Central Line. In any case, I simply couldn’t be arsed to wait the better part of 20 minutes and so walked a bit further into Bethnal Green.

Last time I was in Bethnal Green was a few months back, and that time I had made an ill-advised late-night walk to Aldwych. This time I simply hopped on the Central Line to Holborn. I really do need to explore the area, though. Maybe next weekend.

The other part of my plan for today was to visit the London Transport Museum (thank God they’ve done away with the ridiculous “London’s Transport Museum” title) and take a look at their Suburbia exhibition, which closes next weekend.

I have to say, I think the Museum has improved greatly as a result of expanding its remit. Back in “the day,” as the kids say, it was purely the collection owned by London Transport. It now deals with all forms of transport from the late 18th century onwards, and as a result gives a much broader view of the city. It even has an exhibit on the future of transport in London, which seems rather dystopian (one of the possibilities they give for the future, for example, is 30% of people in London suddenly dying). The only complaint I would have is that the labelling for many of the exhibits is unclear.

In my silliness, while wandering around the museum, I managed to leave my jacket somewhere. It’s a lovely bottle-green jacket in corduroy that inspires many compliments, and which I like very much. More importantly, though, it had the tickets from the Last Tuesday Society in the pocket. According to the face value of the tickets, they would have been worth a total of £240 (approximately one hundred times what I paid for the jacket itself). I retraced my steps with a rising sense of panic. I found a staff member and asked if they’d seen it – they rang down to the cloakroom, and not only did they have the jacket, but another staff member offered to show me the way to said cloakroom. Excellent service all round.

In short, London Transport Museum = good.