History - Design Behind the Bike (1/5)

 

 

Something to get you all moving...for a bus!   

Tour

 

Vintage Everyday

 

Cycling is a great activity.  The freedom found moving three times faster than normal walking while on those country back roads is an excellent experience.  Convenient in towns also, bar the psychotic drivers, environmentally healthy, relatively cheap, good for fitness and just good fun.  A great experience cycling.  

However, I watched a few mnutes of this years Tour de France and soon found myself exhausted.  How do they ride uphill at 30 mph?  I could not do that downhill, I had to get off and push.  Today they race on through the rain, lycra hidden behind rain jackets, helmets dripping and roads slippy.  I await the crashes on those white lines at busy junctions.  In fact it was the downhill in the forest that brought the first accident.  Rubbed down by the Medics and his bike replaced off he went, slowly. 

I used to watch this every year, I remember the Spaniard, name forgotten, attempting to win five times in a row, failing sadly at the end, but what an effort.  Since then I have watched much less.  Most of the time I was not interested in the race at all, I was looking at the world around them.  French landscapes pass by, the Alps offer great views, chateau's, castle's, church's, war graves, memorials, housing of various styles, villages and ancient towns, rivers, and their contents, wildlife, and the people desperate to see the 'Tour' go through their town.

In fact I was losing interest I no longer fantasised that I was the break away hero seven miles ahead of the chasing pack, desperate to reach the final before they catch up, and always, always failing.  

Today, I care not.  In fact I find myself wondering why these men do this?   I can understand the need to prove your fitness, to 'be a man,' to 'beat your previous time,' and play your part in the team, after all this is how they make a living.  However, I just find myself thinking, "Slow down, enjoy the view, you might never see this again."  Racing along at high speeds in a crowd these men see nothing of the country they pass through.  I begin to wonder what is the point?  Of course I may be jealous, not getting out much is annoying, and as I see them climbing through a forest, uphill, it causes me pain.  The fitness levels are high among these men, not to say the drug consumption.  Don't say that!

Then there are the motorcyles.  Cameramen, standing up to catch the pictures while going round wet corners, a variety of other bikes for TV or security, photographers, who knows what.  Then there is the Skoda team cars to supply drinks and food and bits of bike, and the crowds along the way.  No matter how obscure the area, no matter how high the mountain, people will be standing along the route, sometimes having waited there since late yesterday evening.  Would you?  I would certainly watch if it came by, though when it did a few years ago it remained two miles from here, but clambering several thousand feet high to watch them go by?  Not me.  How long does it take for the parade to end?  Several minutes, including those trailing after falls, but not long enough for me.  

Now I want to get the bike fixed and get out, maybe one day soon.

 

van Dam

 

Short Jaunt

Waking before six at this time of year is not a bad thing in my view, unless like me you have had insufficient sleep yet the brain will not close down.  This dumb approach to life left me spotting this picture first thing and attempting to reproduce the yellowness of the early morning sun, quite something today.  Within a few minutes I was on the bike and racing slowly towards the old railway in an attempt to enjoy cycling when its quiet.

Fifteen minutes later and the cloud was beginning to blot out the sun, typical.  Instead I pondered over the farmer who has sown wheat here and is half way through harvesting the crop.  He has been desperate to sell to a local money grabbing developer for years and once again has put in a bid to erect around 500 houses.  This would fill the space between town and village causing much upset and ruining the old railway as a glimpse of country much loved and required by folks like me.  
Who can blame a farmer for wanting out?  Once Bexit comes and the promises of Brexiteers are seen as hollow regarding the cash farmers would receive, fishermen have just began t understand that also, then food production will be unprofitable and Farmer Jones's all over the shop will be unhappy.  However a strenuous effort by people with talent has opposed this move once again and it may well be that they will succeed in stopping this development.  Several others are ongoing all around this area, the Tories are keen to build on 'green land' as their friends the developers are cashing in and they get something out of it, those with expensive homes get bills and debt while we all lose a green lung.    

Farmer Jones has got the huff once again and forced the Rangers to erect fences ensuring the public do not take their dogs onto his land, something they have been doing to his fallow fields for years.  Behind this one he has also chopped trees and attempted vainly to block the long established path and ensure he is continued to be loved by local residents.  Further up the road a similar large plot was threatened with housebuilding and someone bought the fields and turned them into a decent nature reserve, well it will be in a few years when grown.  That would cost a great deal here however as the area is quite extensive.  

 
How nice to see the bike out in the country again.  Not that I went far, just far enough to wake me up, and then return to do the ironing and have a jolly day with that....any woman willing to lend a hand?

Morning Trip...

Just after six this morning the brain damaged head of mind got me out on my bike to see if it and I still worked.  In bright sun and with only an occasional dog walker or early morn jogger to pass I slogged along further than my knees would like.   For twenty minutes I enjoyed running around the quiet town and arrived home in fine fettle, except that when leaving the bike I could hardly walk!
However I forced myself to trundle about the park to loosen my pins again.  
Since then I have done nothing but stare at the laptop, eat, watch or listen to football and wonder why so may people go out in the sun on a Saturday.  It's an easy life today, but a lot of creaking going on.

 
The other day there was an item re the couple who won £57 million on the Lottery.  They were pictured in the paper shaking champagne bottles and talking of how they almost lost the ticket.  I was not impressed.  Winning the Lottery is a good thing and after I read this I found it hard not to dwell on what I would do with the cash one seaside home coming up I think, but on the other hand I would not be allowing them publicity revealing my name and how much I had won.
It appears that if you win and accept publicity the Lottery people give advice on making the most of then money, no publicity no advice.  I think it may be possible to find such advice my myself in reality. The publicity might be seen as a safe bet when suddenly confronted by such a large amount yet on the other hand you are now known to be rich and the media, evil, selfish and abusers of the rich, will follow you daily seeking bad stories to reveal to the voyeuristic readership.  Whatever hard luck you endure will be front page news, especially on slow news days, and those that know will wish for a handout from the media for tales of past misdeeds.  Of course I have always been nice, so this is not a problem for me but you never know what may arise once your name as a very wealthy Lottery winner is known.  Good job I trust Jesus and do not buy these things, yet if I could just have that house...

  

Now I'm Not One to Complain...

During today I have had the 'Tour de France' on in the background so I can keep an eye on these cyclists powering up steep gradients faster than I could drive a Ferrari down them.  Today they streamed into the hill country while gathering clouds soon began to surround them as they climbed into the 'mountains.'  All the while two of the ITV people kept up a running commentary of the action (Cycling surely? - ed?).  There is in the TV world (TV being a device to show pictures) a preoccupation with filling the screen with words in case the viewer was unable to distinguish a cyclist from an ancient Abbey or Castle seen rising majestically in the background.  Now background information is indeed useful but sometimes silence while watching the men slogging along is useful also, this gives our ears a rest.
However what annoys me came at the end.  The leader, he with the 'Yellow Jersey' was one Chris Broome, an Englishman, therefore it was clear that in the eyes of the commentators he alone was what mattered at the end of this tough uphill race.
He flopped!
There was of course passing reference to the young man who actually won the race but only one man mattered - the Englishman!  For a moment I began to wonder if anyone else took part!  It is a recurring theme in any sport that the English commentators only see one man/side their own.  Now all commentators have a support for their side in any game and sometimes when they win a major trophy it can be seen as excusable, rarely is this the case in England.
We note by the way that at least one woman has mentioned Andy Murray going out of Wimbledon by informing us the 'Scotsman has gone home' whereas when he was in the tournament he remained 'British!'  Tennis hopes then rested on a wee English girl who soon lost to a very experienced opponent and know doubt has become Irish or Welsh or whatever now.  
The cycling world has done this for years, Chris Broad who now commentates was another hero for a while and there have been others.  No matter who wins the 'Tour' this year only one man will be centre of the ITV world and you know his name...

The degradation of sin bares its fruit....... 

The Morning Shines Brightly

Amazingly the morning has shone brightly several days running now.  Today I trundled the rusty bike with my rusty knees along the way to see if I could catch it somewhere.  Indeed this old path with aged oak trees to one side (an aged map shows them there over a hundred years ago, how long can an oak tree last I wonder) offered a pleasant view at the top.  Beside me birds sang in the trees, young squirrels frantically looked for the way home and a proper forest, six foot wide, ran alongside the path.  This contrasts to the huge school field the other side of the fence justly hidden behind a stout fence and much vegetation. 

Only one early morning dog walker met my greeting and he was more concerned with his mobile phone and the many secrets therein to notice me.  The fact that he knows me and was too occupied to recognise me I let slide and passed on.  I suspect if we were able to read the messages contained on his phone we would not in the least find them interesting yet he stood head down ignoring the bored dog that wanted something to sniff while he perused his phone, he might still be there.

  
When they laid out the housing estate the clever people allowed much of the copse that existed to remain.  If you choose to ignore the old crisp packets and plastic bottles lying around from the scruffy unkempt types who wander through it does give a brief indication of a wood.  The more we build houses the more we require such small glimpses of green to enable us to breathe freely.  The mind can only comprehend so much stone and brick, it requires trees and green grass with areas of sky to let the mind relax.  The Victorians knew this only too well.  The rise in suburbs expanding out from town and city centres, slums all too often left behind, caused a longing for a romantic and unrealistic country life.  The song lines 'You could see to 'ackney Marshes, if it wasn't for the 'ouses in between' comes to mind.  The romantic vision ignored the damp country shacks, the poor life of the villagers, hard toil in fields and the disease that was just as prevalent as in town.  However from a crowded slum tenement after a 96 hour week it could be made to look attractive. 
Life is always better over there.   

This strange colour has been hanging all over the country today.  
I think the sky is broken!

Sunday Cycle

Sunday is my first day of the week yet the diary and all calendars today all begin on Monday!  This is annoying and puts me off.  Last week I missed my sisters birthday (she has had plenty of them) because it was on the Monday and I did not turn the page soon enough to realise.  This annoyed me because it saved me money and you know how much I hate that!  I love to give money away to others and i failed to do so this time.  
Not that she has money worries, for some time both she and her husband were both buying failing Lottery tickets and winning nothing, she stopped buying and placed the money that would have gone on tickets on the mantelpiece.   One year later he had won around £10 and she had a hundred sitting there gloating, as indeed was she.  This is however somewhat annoying again as I was relying on her winning several million pounds and then passing some on to me, this is now unlikely to happen as he will waste his millions on his daughters alone, selfish man!
Folks who gamble are funny.  One man I knew spent each day in the bookies placing small bets (he said) and every so often winning a few pounds.  In his mind he was breaking even over the year but you and I know he was losing hand over fist.  Betting companies work online giving them reach to people worldwide who throw their money at them happily.  This enables several such companies to spend their millions on more adverts for the mug, more advertising from sponsoring sports events, two alone do this in Scotland, and from such advertising bring in more cash than they can shake a stick at, if that's their idea of a good time.  
The temptation to win big is very strong especially if you are in financial trouble.  I went in for it a while back when unemployed and try as I might I got nowhere with the Lottery, no million pound cheque found its way to me.  However I knew this was daft and trusting Jesus has never left me down so I returned to that and on the day, much later, when later I found I was paying out more than I was taking in Jesus provided.  The taxman gave me a refund that arrived that day and both Gas & Electric told me to pay less than I was paying monthly!  I could survive again.  The thought that I could use vast amounts is always a temptation but I would probably make a mess of this, now having moved from Pauperism to Poverty I am quite happy.  

The sun tempted me to cycle to church today.  By the time i got there, five minutes later, I was puggled and looking for an ambulance.  I got little sympathy from the congregation however and remarkably when I came home afterwards I raced up the road with little stress, bar the Audi I met when going round the roundabout, he was not slowing down, and as I climbed the stairs with no trouble I realised cycling short distances was indeed making me fitter.  I will be back tomorrow and will follow the same route, without the Audi, and hopefully this will be beneficial also.
of course I canny stand up now I have been sitting watching football all day, I have siezed up!

Gloom to Bloom

After two days of sunshine the weather improved enough to begin the day with thick mist.   It was not just the mist that was thick, this thicko decided to get on the bike and look for a place where the sun was cutting through said mist, I didn't find it.

My knees were aching anyway so I did not think this would make them worse, it may improve things in the long term, so of I trundled discovering how low the tyres could get yet still carry my bulk.  Again I enjoyed the quietness of the streets before the town came alive, again I listened  to the birds serenading me, again I could not see them for the mist.  I did see the occasional not very happy individual dressed for Saturday overtime, how I miss those days?  One or two cycled past not too keen to get in on time, Saturdays are often less urgent than week days in some warehouses, the bright Hi-Vis vests seen long before the wearers were.

 
Watching the park opposite I often see a Blackbird defending his patch.  Other Blackbirds, Thrush's or whatever that arrive are swiftly confronted as he protects his land.  This morning as I crossed the road this one was sitting surveying the quiet morning, it was clear this was the owner of the land.  He sat not six feet away from me, not moving, not fussed, quite confident in his self as I took a few shots of him.  He is certainly not a young one and as I made my way across the park I could see him still sitting there quite at peace.  I suppose breakfast was over, the intruders dispatched, the traffic still quiet, few people around so now was the time to sit and watch.  

   
By the time I got home and recovered from my exercise I noticed the mist tinning and soon the sky was blue, the sun shining and I was trapped here filling out forms!  Much of the rest of the time was trying to work out if I had a virus on the laptop or not.  Three devices claim I did not, yet I am sure something has arrived.  I did break away from the laptop and the football long enough to cross the park and deliver one form to the Council offices.  Everywhere people were acting as if it were summer!  Are they mad?  

My knees ache...

Morning Has Broke

Stupidly rising long before I ought I thought to myself that riding the bike in the quiet of the dawn might be good for my knees.  So at 6:30 I trundled somewhat shakily down the road heading straight into a fabulous sunrise.  One thing that cannot be missed is the number of aircraft coming, going or passing over up above at this early time.  I fail to comprehend what time people have to leave to board a flight in far off places if it brings them into one of London's overcrowded airports at six or seven in the morning.  Fine if you have come from China but not so good if the departure point is say Vienna.  

 
There again the standard of public transport in this land is such that to leave from Stansted Airport at six in the morning and having to be there long before boarding means arriving the night before to await your flight, possibly delayed, or get some family/friend who owes you one to drive you there in the middle of the night. This of course is not helped by the dozen or so protesters who made it through the fence (again) to block a flight to attempt to stop a deportation.  Several flights delayed, this would affect other airports and a wee bit annoying for those catching connecting flights elsewhere.  I suspect these passengers will hope the courts decapitate the protesters rather than merely fine them.

It was difficult to tell, when slowly heading up the wee slopes, who was creaking most, the bike or me.  I suppose I must put some oil on it, maybe rub some on myself, and judging by the mushrooms growing on there this morning I think I may need to clean it also.  Still much to my surprise it worked and there was sufficient air in the tyres, just.

Half an hour on the bike and still stiff but now stiff all over.  Riding a bike in the quiet of the morn is a delight, unless you are wrapped in a Hi-Vis jacket and heading for work.  I always cheerfully greet such men. (Note no women passed dressed this way - again!)  Back to bacon rolls and seeking what I have failed to do on this laptop for the museum.

Mixed Bag

I came across this squirrel one day in Kensington Gardens.  The poor thing appeared to be suffering from a cold and as I had a packet of 'Lockets' those honey throat sweets as I had recently had similar I offered one to the greedy creature.  he took it happily and sat chomping away, and breathing better, on this branch.  I left another at the foot of the tree for him as I suspected he would require more.  I was surprised that he accepted the sweet as they are not in fact very sweet and are very strong, I thought too strong for him.  I was wrong.  The beast appeared happier and so was I.

'Ally Pally'  a city set on a hill and seen for miles around.  A white elephant writ large.  I don't think this has ever been of much use to the world.  Alexandra Palace was opened in 1873 (rebuilt after a fire in 1875) as a counterpoint to the 'Crystal Palace' now resident in south London.  The main aim was an entertainment centre but I am not sure it was a success.  In 1936 the BBC TV made use of it as a TV studio, awfully well spoken announcers in evening dress and limited programming and even limited audiences.  It was possible for the TV folks to walk round the town and shake hands with all the viewers if they wished.
The war, this occurred in 1939 look it up, put an end to TV transmissions but the Ally Pally was used by the BBC for a while after the war for both Radio & TV, the aerial towering above is still in use, but when the BBC found other studios the Palace was handed over to a multitude of wide ranging organisations and is still in use for pleasure purposes today.  I would go but I canny be nothered climbing the hill.
I took this poor snap from a friends top floor flat which looked over the wide expanse of London.  The sights at night must be terrific and the fireworks displays are best seen from up here.  It is a shame the flat was expensive to run and a bit pokey and she moved to a more sensible rented accommodation.  How the rich live!

     
One night in the London Favela I got bored and attempted to burn the place down by making use of candles to save electricity, it did not work.  The place did not burn, no insurance was handed out and I saved no money.
Sometimes I wish I  had kept hold of that old Leica.  However it was a bit awkward to use and 1938 cameras do not do digital.  Just think how recently we made use of those wee canisters of film.  It appears like another world where the old fashioned process of developing and printing took so much time and effort while now we can in minutes rather than wait a week or so we can decide we have taken rubbish pictures!  One great step for mankind.

 Time to hit the road, something I often did when cycling...

Morning Bike

The old railway line was becoming busy as I made my way back from my exercise run this morning.  The delight in watching men struggle up the slope knowing that they have a days work ahead of them and are rushing to be at work by eight o'clock leaves me quite satisfied.  Very satisfied that I no longer require to do this.  Better to travel to work this way mind rather than on a commuter bus or train where you have no control whatsoever over the running of the transport.  Nothing but punctures and women with dogs can annoy you as you race to work.  For me of course the women and dogs often mean a few words exchanged, Fifi keen to rub her head into my knee although the dog was less keen for some reason, and then a few words with a retired man and his close to retirement dog, 'seen it done it, just lets walk and feed me' type dog, and all this while trundling slowly down the slope and not struggling upwards.

Six thirty and I was heading into the old railway line.  The mist was dissipating quickly from the dip in the land as the sun rose majestically (what does that mean exactly?) and soared into the sky.  I tried to stop it and told it to wait until I was in position but it did not listen to me.  As Jenny noted fields like this, somewhat enlarged in recent times, contain no birds.  Those that exist do so in the areas off the old railway where trees and shrubs have arisen since the trains ceased forty years ago and wildlife has increased.  The Rangers control the area well and yet if we relied on the farmers much would be lost.  It must be said that many farmers do cut corners when harvesting and allow larger areas at the ends of many fields to go wild.  Some have dropped fields altogether, possibly for EU money, and encouraged wildlife in this manner.  The man here just wants to sell this farm and plant 3500 houses but the council said 'NO!'  Good for them, this is the wee towns one real country area, a link between town and village with no reason to bring the two together except money making.  Three area on the other side of town will have housing, more appropriate in my view but not popular with all.

This was supposed to be an interesting image of the sun hitting the mist as it hung over the trees.  No matter what I did, no matter what I fiddled with nothing like the actual picture I saw arrived in my camera.  Still it's OK as an image.  It does however make the pylons look like they are the stars of one of the 'Star Wars' type movies, pylons ready to march across the earth dominating the land, although some would say they already do that.  Mind you if they did not march those who object could not communicate their objections as they would have no electric!

One thing I love about this time of year is the bright early morns when I can get the bike up the old railway and take a picture or two, even if they don't work out right.  The sheer brightness of the sun over the fields brought to mind those who had to work those fields in the days of long ago.  The harvest would be cut by man and scythe, heaped by women into stalks and only late in the 19th century did a man, usually a grumpy self important one from the north, arrive with a machine and thresh the crop for the farms.  I did read an item about this that Thomas Hardy put into one of his books.  I got the impression he had read it also and made use of it but I could be wrong.  Even with the machine to help this was hard work from morning till night and the pay was not good.  After the harvest there comes a time to plough and sow and start again all the time watching the sky as country folks know the weather required watching all the time.  The sky hinted at slight red this morning as I rose and I suspect the old agricultural labourers would tell what the day held even from that, though they would be working by six in the morning to tell the truth.  Hard work all day for what?  Possibly seven shillings a week?  Maybe more for the ploughman or cowman, but nothing at all when the crop fails.  One of the first acts of the Cameron government was to drop the protection given to farm hands, not that many exist today.  Country people vote Conservative and they are important to the Party.   

This old fashioned type of signpost has been removed in some areas but Essex keeps them and I think this right.  There are enough modern tin signs on main roads and these add a wee bit of character to the area.  One, standing in town since long before the war had become a wreck yet the council replaced it with the same type of sign, not a modern one.  Good for them I say!

The 'Crix Green Mission' looks like a hall grafted onto the back of a typical Essex farmhands house.  The hall roof has a Dutch inclination to it but I am afraid as this Hamlet comprises a mere 13 houses it does not have much use.  Services led by St Michael's occur but how often I know not, and the hall is used during elections for voting purposes.  At one time it must have had a full time member who know ll the people round about, and there would be many more farmhands then, but today while the house is occupied the hall clearly does not have a full time staff today.  Imagine living in a  Hamlet of 13 houses, most of whom are now quite pricey.

Nothing for it but to run back down the line and head for breakfast.  My knees have had enough exercise this week but none tomorrow as I am on my last Thursday at the museum, I think.  With local kids back at school on Thursday I suspect we will be quiet for a change with only normal people arriving.  I may have to just sit there quietly all day and read a book....fat chance!

For those who don't understand 'Brexit' and such stuff, here are a couple of Irish Comedians to explain things in a simple and clear manner, sort off. 

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The Sunday Post

Yesterday, in a fit of early morning zeal, I got the bike out and cycled around for half an hour.  This was yet another attempt to lose weight and get some degree of fitness.  Today, I cycled the five minutes to church, ten minutes coming back against the wind and traffic, and see myself as ready for a long cycling adventure tomorrow, if the wind drops, it's quite strong at the moment.
Yes indeed I might rise early and race slowly up the old railway until my knees give way.  That should not take long.  The advantage is the Bank Holiday Weekend, this means many people are away and the last dregs of the school holidays begin to come to an end.  This week the schools return to be filled with happy cheery children, and miserable adolescents.  At the museum we have one more week of the kids, two days actually, then it is the grandparents and parents coming in to see what they missed when they came with the kids.  
As I intend to drop one day and work only Tuesday mornings for a while, so I can do the other things for the museum that lie awaiting on this computer, i will also be able to take more time on the bike and on the bus pass.  When the holidays are over I can get a holiday.  Or at least a day out on the bus!  How I need to be out and about a wee bit more, my mind needs refreshment and my body needs the following rest.  Already this week sees an improvement as I eat better and sleep more.  

I do, as some remember, like portraits.  This one here dates from the 1850's and I winder if it is from the USA?  Something about it speaks of east coast wealth, maybe that's just me.   Possibly because of the somewhat long exposure time the lady in the picture cannot avoid offering us a face full of stress.  However I note what looks like two wedding rings on her finger and wonder if she has been bumping off her men?  The outfit looks black, it is of course impossible to tell from the picture what the colour of the dress actually happens to be, but the dark beads round the neck, the crucifix and the general demeanor speaks of sad times.  Her dark bracelets also add to the doom laden image.
She appears to be no more than thirty years of age and it is perfectly possible in the 1850's to lose two husbands in short time, and if in the USA possibly through gunfire of course!  Her men may have gone west to make their fortune and failed to return, it is likely disease carried them away. 
Poor lass, if my guesswork is correct she will have had enough problems and need no more.  I wonder who she was, I wonder if she is just a model, I wonder if her husbands were rich and I wonder where did the money go....?  

Neck Straining

The neck straining began yesterday outside the station at the Great Eastern Hotel as was.  London as folks know is a place where allowing the sky and sun to be seen is considered dangerous so narrow streets and high buildings are required.  Victorians did indeed build some attractive creations and can still be found everywhere the skyscraper builders have not yet trespassed although some are a wee bit over the top for us today.  Maintaining them must cost a bomb also, however that is probably not a phrase allowed in central London these days.  This slab of a hotel does look good even if the street itself is a mess.

Sauntering down towards the river while London rushed past uncaring I managed to get two monstrosities for the price of one.  There are as you know plans for a hundred towers more in the offing, another of Boris Johnson's plans to enrich himself and his friends showing success.  Of the two shown the far away one is the most absurd, pointless in design, absurd in looks and built simply to launder cash, I forget who was behind it but I am sure 'Private Eye' will know.  The one in front is known as the 'Walkie Talkie' although those who's cars were burnt and melted by the sun reflecting of the windows may have used other terms.  The 'Shard,' for it is indeed he, in the distance is supposed to reflect on the many church spires of times past or a possibly broken glass.  I think it reflects on the money grabbing con men who made money out of it.

The Lloyds Building which opened in 1986 remains the first of the absurd buildings that desecrate London.  However according to Wiki 'The building is a leading example of radical Bowellism architecture in which the services for the building, such as ducts and lifts are located on the exterior to maximise space in the interior.'  To me it looks daft.  Naturally this is the youngest building to ever achieve Grade 1 listed status and the architect himself became world famous and was as such allowed to build more daft buildings for rich folks with no taste elsewhere.  I prefer this false Greek frontage on the old building even though nobody realised the frieze ought to have been brightly painted as in Athens in times past.  You can see the sewage pipes of the new building behind if you really wish to.

Opposite Lloyds stands St Andrew Undershaft.  This church was recorded as far back as 1147 and has stood in its present form since 1532.  While the inside has been renovated constantly the building itself has withstood both the Fire of London and the Blitz without problems.  Now however it is surrounded by the towering absurdities on all sides.  Just imagine for a moment the individual people who have stepped through that door over a thousand years!  Consider their lifestyles, their position in society and the world around them as time flew by.  I can easily imaginen their thoughts on seeing this lot today.  The 'Gherkin' or 'Cheesegrater' behind may have had other names offered it since it was erected, I think my opinion may be guessed at.

The Great Fire of London in1666 began in a bakers shop, the Blitz had other causes, and this monument was subtly created to commemorate the fire.  I suppose at one time it stood out above the crowd.  Now it peers through the gaps in the buildings although it is itself lying lower down towards the river.  Christopher Wren, who with Robert Hook (who done most of the work) created the Monument, put forward plans to create a London featuring wide streets and easier access plus less chance of fire damage but this fell apart as those who owned parcels of land wished to keep their hold on their spot.  This is a shame as the new London would have been easier to pass through today had he got his way.  However all those narrow alleys piled high with money grabbing uncaring Londoners going from wine bar to pub would not be an attractive romantic draw for the tourists.

Helpfully the monument describes how the fire started and other relevant details.  I know you will take delight in learning the details.

Ugh!

Were the blueprints creased when they made that one?  In the background stands another of Richard Rogers mistakes.  His wife apparently called this one also 'Cheesegrater' and Rogers at least had sufficient faith in the thing to move his company offices into it.  I say that serves him right! 

Bring back the Luftwaffe to finish the job I say!

The Mayor of London had a cycle event on yesterday and a million bikes of all sorts went round and round each and every one determined to be where I was crossing the road.  There were myriad stewards placed here and there carrying poles saying 'STOP' and by these controlling the traffic flow.  I spoke to this chap as I passed encouraging him that he only had eight more hours of this ahead of him.  He laughed and considered meaningfully walloping me with the pole so I moved on.  The stewards were excellent folks, mind you some found English difficult, the locals like this chap were helpful and competent in there duties.  The whole atmosphere was a happy friendly one, so unlike the London I knew.

Peoples of all ages, sizes and from many parts of London and around appeared willing to cycle around in circles on these normally 'death trap' roads.  Cyclists are often treated badly by car drivers however when I used to cycle there (being younger) I managed by avoiding heavy traffic and using my head.  This is not always the case and cycle messengers get the reputation they deserve.  The heavy traffic full of lorry drivers who cannot possibly people up close and miss bikes that cycle right up under them, plus careless drivers and careless cyclists do not make for comfortable riding.  The young girl killed the other day appeared to be in a position where the driver could not possibly see her and sometimes I wonder about cyclists in town.  Common sense tells you to let big vehicles go first and stay clear of them.  No problems yesterday as far as I could see and this was a well organised day and all appeared to enjoy.  However I hear one or two accidents occurred in the 'Ride London' race which takes folks round London and out into the far suburbs today.

 There were the tallest folks riding around and looking happy about it.

And this was the smallest!  Whether he made it all the way round I know not but what a bike to have on a day like this?  Surrounded by cycling family members he appeared happy enough if a little confused.

Looking up again at the Guildhall tower.  The limp English imperialist flag hanging unhappily has been worn out by the noise from down below.  This is where the cyclists were controlled from, stalls abounded, music blared, food smells rose along with the smoke of burning lunch and bikes were placed under the feet of innocent passersby as they forced their way through.  Too much for little me.

Here too stewards abounded but it was difficult to identify the stewards from the riders wearing Hi-Vis vests.  Were they all stewards or just using a vest to advertise 'Prudential' who were sponsoring the day?  I know not.  The newer guildhall buildings are seen behind and the place may have been open to visitors but I declined the opportunity if they were and looked for greener grass elsewhere.

At Bank this choir based themselves in the middle of the road and swung away throughout the day.  They appeared happy enough as did the audience.  However why female riders park their bikes so that I fall over them as I try to get away was a question that was not answered!  Bah!