In today's issue: Clash comes to visit Fyfe Dangerfield (and also me); making a spectacle in public; Gordon Brown and Doctor Who
PART 1
Yesterday was just so, inexplicably good.
Clash was over to see Fyfe Dangerfield (and he was epic and marvellous, and I almost cried almost all the way through. Very beautiful music), and we'd already had a fun day of Doctor Who and ice creams. Tuesday morning was less funny, as I had to complete my essay and take it to the film department before 12 midday. I headed out on a solo mission, got it in with an hour to spare, and decided, on a whim, to go back home via an unusual route.
As I was passing, I noticed that Aldwych-abandoned-tube-station had people hanging around outside. So I asked, like I always do when there's someone at the door, whether I could have a peep inside.
Not expecting the answer yes. I've asked that question of surly bodyguard types, maybe twenty times in the past two years. I suppose I must have been looking fab, as some sort of fashion opening was going on.
It is no exaggeration to say there is no place on earth I would rather visit. This includes the TARDIS set, St Mark's Square and - yes - the Florida Haunted Mansion. Aldwych tube is rather like Holland or St James' Park in design, all dark smokey green tiles. The mahogany fittings have yet to be replaced with metal: the information desks are wood, the bannisters wood. It did just reek of old, but it's also true that it has been retrofitted old. There is a peculiarly beautiful quality of light in there.
As you go in, directly on your left is a two-person wide staircase down to the dark. Based on Holland Park's design, I believe these lead to the emergency stairs. And then a small, maybe eight step-staircase - also two-persons wide - up to a long corridor. The wall here had old fashioned tiles, maybe reading "BOOK HALL" or "BOOT HALL". (internet investigation reveals it said "BOOK HERE"). I would have loved to explore that way further. On the left were two information cubicles, markd ASSISTANCE, 1 and 2.
Next along was a beautiful corridor with a sign "WAY OUT AND TEMPLE STATION", written in old at the end; and beside it a second long corridor which, in my memory, was decorated in green leather. But I think I was confusing it with the general green-ness of the station, and the green leather sofas the art folks had moved in. Having since done some internet research, I can confirm both corridors were green. They were also not corridors, but the infamous disused lifts - but like all the Tube lifts, had doors one end and the other. They were supported with girders, so now they basically were corridors, but it was a strange feeling. They had the atmosphere and dimensions of richly decorated railway carriages. At the end of the chamber was an old, old tube map - and some confused fashionistas who asked if I was lost.
I would loved to have been able to explore longer and further, but I was rather intruding on their swish party and didn't want to get dragged out for going the wrong way. Not to come across as a boasting bastard, because almost my entire social circle share my love for that place, but I do feel like the most privileged creature on the planet right now.
Best photos of what I saw are here (and they don't convey the atmosphere), but a more rigorous history is here. And here is an account of the moment I fell in love with the place, one year ago.
I returned to the house and gabbled cheerily about it all. The sun was out, and we all headed off to the park to play with hula hoops and poi and have a big ole veggie picnic. Suprisingly successful - I can now hula like nobody's business, hips, hands and above my head, while Calypso has adopted the poi like koifish glittering underwater. Benvenita is just a natural hoop-crackshot, and has a perfect dancelike groove which I will never match; but then she does hoop virtually every afternoon. As a group, we looked very impressive.
I love Gordon Brown. I am now, for the first time, considering voting for him. That woman is a bigot who has no right to comment on Eastern European immigrants, in my experience some of the hardest working people in the country. In his position, I might have slapped her; and I respect him for standing up and saying the right thing.
Finally: never let me sell my Doctor Who collection. I know mine is modest, but a whole host of folks on Gallifrey Base have been shifting theirs in massive job-lots. Lot 1: All 400 Big Finish Plays. Lot 2: All the Annuals. Lot 3: All My Convention Programs. And so on. I understand space is space, and not everyone has a dimensionally trancendant attic, but I can't understand how you could divide up 30 years of love, and box it for strangers. You shouldn't be sentimental about stuff, but to my mind that's like physically packaging your past...
PART 1
Yesterday was just so, inexplicably good.
Clash was over to see Fyfe Dangerfield (and he was epic and marvellous, and I almost cried almost all the way through. Very beautiful music), and we'd already had a fun day of Doctor Who and ice creams. Tuesday morning was less funny, as I had to complete my essay and take it to the film department before 12 midday. I headed out on a solo mission, got it in with an hour to spare, and decided, on a whim, to go back home via an unusual route.
As I was passing, I noticed that Aldwych-abandoned-tube-station had people hanging around outside. So I asked, like I always do when there's someone at the door, whether I could have a peep inside.
Not expecting the answer yes. I've asked that question of surly bodyguard types, maybe twenty times in the past two years. I suppose I must have been looking fab, as some sort of fashion opening was going on.
It is no exaggeration to say there is no place on earth I would rather visit. This includes the TARDIS set, St Mark's Square and - yes - the Florida Haunted Mansion. Aldwych tube is rather like Holland or St James' Park in design, all dark smokey green tiles. The mahogany fittings have yet to be replaced with metal: the information desks are wood, the bannisters wood. It did just reek of old, but it's also true that it has been retrofitted old. There is a peculiarly beautiful quality of light in there.
As you go in, directly on your left is a two-person wide staircase down to the dark. Based on Holland Park's design, I believe these lead to the emergency stairs. And then a small, maybe eight step-staircase - also two-persons wide - up to a long corridor. The wall here had old fashioned tiles, maybe reading "BOOK HALL" or "BOOT HALL". (internet investigation reveals it said "BOOK HERE"). I would have loved to explore that way further. On the left were two information cubicles, markd ASSISTANCE, 1 and 2.
Next along was a beautiful corridor with a sign "WAY OUT AND TEMPLE STATION", written in old at the end; and beside it a second long corridor which, in my memory, was decorated in green leather. But I think I was confusing it with the general green-ness of the station, and the green leather sofas the art folks had moved in. Having since done some internet research, I can confirm both corridors were green. They were also not corridors, but the infamous disused lifts - but like all the Tube lifts, had doors one end and the other. They were supported with girders, so now they basically were corridors, but it was a strange feeling. They had the atmosphere and dimensions of richly decorated railway carriages. At the end of the chamber was an old, old tube map - and some confused fashionistas who asked if I was lost.
I would loved to have been able to explore longer and further, but I was rather intruding on their swish party and didn't want to get dragged out for going the wrong way. Not to come across as a boasting bastard, because almost my entire social circle share my love for that place, but I do feel like the most privileged creature on the planet right now.
Best photos of what I saw are here (and they don't convey the atmosphere), but a more rigorous history is here. And here is an account of the moment I fell in love with the place, one year ago.
I returned to the house and gabbled cheerily about it all. The sun was out, and we all headed off to the park to play with hula hoops and poi and have a big ole veggie picnic. Suprisingly successful - I can now hula like nobody's business, hips, hands and above my head, while Calypso has adopted the poi like koifish glittering underwater. Benvenita is just a natural hoop-crackshot, and has a perfect dancelike groove which I will never match; but then she does hoop virtually every afternoon. As a group, we looked very impressive.
I love Gordon Brown. I am now, for the first time, considering voting for him. That woman is a bigot who has no right to comment on Eastern European immigrants, in my experience some of the hardest working people in the country. In his position, I might have slapped her; and I respect him for standing up and saying the right thing.
Finally: never let me sell my Doctor Who collection. I know mine is modest, but a whole host of folks on Gallifrey Base have been shifting theirs in massive job-lots. Lot 1: All 400 Big Finish Plays. Lot 2: All the Annuals. Lot 3: All My Convention Programs. And so on. I understand space is space, and not everyone has a dimensionally trancendant attic, but I can't understand how you could divide up 30 years of love, and box it for strangers. You shouldn't be sentimental about stuff, but to my mind that's like physically packaging your past...
13:40 |
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