Posts filed under 'London'
How to organise a piss-up in an airport, on a train, etc…
Sitting in the studio this afternoon, I used my university’s wireless internet service to log on to the website of the BBC, and watched the six o’clock bulletin from my nation’s public broadcaster. Top of the news this afternoon was the unfolding chaos at London Heathrow’s fifth airport terminal. More than a decade in the making, and costing in the region of £3.4 billion, Terminal Five opened this morning to an attentive pack of representatives of the world media. And within six hours, it had demonstrated what makes Britain so great: our complete inability to organise a piss-up in a brewery. Within minutes of the first plane’s arrival at the new terminal (the overnight 747 service from Hong Kong) it was apparent that something was wrong. The baggage handling systems and staff were hopelessly unprepared for the terminal’s first day of operations.
By the end of the day, and the first of the evening’s national television news broadcasts, Heathrow Terminal Five had become a national joke. Years of preparation and months of careful pre-opening publicity had been burnt to ashes by a single day of chaos. The big idea had been so appealing: while not actually increasing Heathrow’s capacity, it would finally group all British Airways services under one roof, and allow for the other terminals to be refurbished and rationalised.
Today started badly, when staff who were reporting for their first day of real duty, reportedly encountered just two open security channels at the staff entrance. The first queues of the day were not at check-in or baggage reclaim, but outside the staff entrance. Then as the day progressed, and as the first flights departed for various European destinations, it became apparent that the complex baggage handling system installed in the hidden levels of the new terminal was playing up. It could have been because of software, it could have been because of the staff getting used to a new system. Who knows. But on national and international news this evening, the world watched a clip of a helpless British Airways employee trying to send a suitcase on its merry way down a conveyor belt. Repeated button pressing did not produce the desired result, and the suitcase would not budge.
In an effort to build some ’slack’ into the system, British Airways cancelled some three or four dozen flights (mostly, it seems with perfect irony, to the enviously well organised nation of Germany). But it didn’t work. By the time a British Airways manager had hurriedly brought a statement out to the ravenous press at 18h25 (at least an hour too late, when you consider the importance of getting your side of the story to the press before the all important early evening news broadcasts) it had almost all gone to pot. Departing passengers couldn’t check in any baggage. They could mostly check-in and fly, but they couldn’t take any checked luggage, regardless of where they were flying. One television reporter interviewed a passenger en route to a wedding in Hong Kong. She would have to attend the wedding without her carefully chosen dress, and without the gifts for the happy couple.
The day’s events were top of the agenda in the pub this evening. Presented with an opportunity to demonstrate to the world how to build and operate a world class airport, Britain has come up with some very foul smelling egg on its face. Heathrow is the world’s most intensively used international airport, but it is also one of the world’s worst for the safe delivery and transferral of bags. Aware of their poor reputation at a bad airport, British Airways was delighted to present to the world a new terminal and a new promise: check-in to departure lounge in ten minutes.
How badly they have failed. And to think that not only have we another four airport terminals to refurbish at Heathrow, we also have to stage the Olympics in 2012.
Standing beside me at the bar this evening, a friendly architecture colleague asked me a poignant question.
“We made fun of the Greeks when they were getting ready for the last Olympics, but they did it in time. Four years to go, and have we even started building any of the Olympic park?”
“Well, I think they’ve demolished a few old factories, but…”
I gave up. I can’t defend my nation. We make some great beer, but we can’t even build an airport terminal that works. Especially one for more than ten people.
On a smaller scale of building works, I turned to look at the pub around me. After it’s ten month closure for refurbishment (the building had, according to some reliable ale-drinking sources, been on the verge of complete collapse) the Brown Bear pub on Norfolk Street in Sheffield has re-opened for business. The Brown Bear sits on the ground floor of a modest three storey, double fronted building on Norfolk Street. Local readers who are still not familiar with this hostelry might be able to place it if I describe it as being on the street between the Crucible Theatre and the naff new hotel by the Peace Gardens, just next to the Old Monk.
I was introduced to the Brown Bear a few years ago by a trusted friend schooled in the architect’s trade. The Brown Bear is the only pub in Sheffield’s city centre managed by the Samuel Smith Brewery. The brewery has a few other outlets in town, although I’ve never had the determination to visit them I have promised myself that I will before I leave the city. Even the most dedicated beer drinker might not have heard of Samuel Smith, but they will certainly have heard of his son. Samuel and John Smith were Tadcaster brewers who, at some point in their successful joint career, chose to part company and develop separate breweries in the same town. John Smith’s brewery passed hands a few times before finally ending up in the hands of Scottish & Newcastle, one of Britain’s largest alcohol producing conglomerates. Sam Smith’s, however, remained independent to the core, and now manage a network of pubs across the country, including a handful in the capital. That is my potted history of the two Smith breweries - forgive me if I’ve mangled it.
The Brown Bear imprinted itself on my social map of Sheffield very rapidly, namely because it was without a doubt the cheapest pub I had ever found in the city. A pint of bitter could be yours for just £1.31. Not £1.30 or £1.35, but £1.31. Handing over the precise change seemed to enforce the notion that every possible cost had been pared to the bone. With the exception of a few salted snacks, Samuel Smith pubs only stock Samuel Smith’s products. Every beer, every soda, every bottled product and every spirit on the optic rack is either produced (or imported) and distributed by the brewery. There are no generic branded lagers here, although if that’s your tipple you should try the superb Alpine Lager that is so popular it has its own summertime London pub crawl named after it.
Despite a lengthy refurbishment, and some notable improvements to the building (flagstones on the floor of the bar, new fixtures and fittings, etc.) the Brown Bear has returned to Sheffield’s night scene with a suitably modest bar menu. After quitting the studios this evening I was delighted to have a pint of the brewery’s finest ale in my hands for just £1.39. It was so smooth and creamy, and the good company was so obliging, that I had to have another. Both rooms of the little pub – which is served by a double fronted bar – were packed. Looking around me I was delighted to rediscover the old crowd that had made this pub such a delightful haunt before the refurbishment. Located so close to the city’s magnificent trio of theatres, there was a perceptible group of people who were dressed as if on their way to an evening’s performance. Meanwhile in certain corners of the bar were a distinct group of older drinkers, the regulars who appeared to have returned en masse, celebrating the exceptionally cheap beer and warm fireside company. Back in great numbers, as well, were the students. Just a stone’s throw from Sheffield Hallam University, and directly on my route from Sheffield University to the railway station, it was no surprise to discover that the Brown Bear’s re-opening had not gone unnoticed.
Although it would have pleased me greatly, I couldn’t stay in the Brown Bear for long. A tight window between leaving the university and getting to the railway station had been calculated, and I had to be on my way to catch the last train of the day for London (currently the 20h39 departure, for those of you who get distracted by the city’s charming hostelries). It’s a five minute walk to the station, and I was safely there in time to collect tickets, buy supplies for the journey and find my platform.
The last train of the day from Sheffield to London is a typical post-privatisation service. A miniaturised four carriage rake of self-propelled diesel railcars, with one coach for first class and three for ’standard’ class. I, like many others on board, had secured a deeply discounted seat long in advance, paying less than £5 for the two-and-a-half hour journey to the capital (others had paid less than me). On board, with writing to complete and a newspaper to consume, I visited the compact on-board buffet. The recently elected franchisee of this train service (East Midlands Trains) originally proposed to rip out the buffet counters from these trains and replace them with roving trolley services, but apparently underestimated the amount of work involved and the number of complaints that this plan aroused from passengers. I chatted to the buffet’s lone member of staff, who remarked that the management was wisely “having second thoughts” about their plans for these trains.
“If you had to sell from a trolley you’d spend half your time battling through luggage at that end of the train…” she said, with a wave of her arm towards coach A, ‘the designated quiet coach’.
It being the last train of the day, all sandwiches were half price and all Danish pastries were reduced to eighty pence. But in need only of refreshment for the journey, I bought a beer, and returned to my seat to work and eat the sandwich I’d brought with me from home. Since the buffet only stocked the most recognised brands of snacks and beverages, I sat down with a can of John Smith’s “Extra Smooth”.
As I popped open the can, and listened to the patented ‘widget’ bounce around the can to ensure a smoothly poured beer, I considered what the Smith family might have thought to this modern day tale. Two hundred and fifty years after the foundation of what is now Samuel Smith’s Brewery (the oldest in Yorkshire), Samuel and John Smith’s breweries had been the exclusive suppliers of my evening’s beverages. One’s brewery had remained true to its honest roots, supplying only a small network of locally managed small scale pubs. The other had entrusted his empire to a succession that finally sold out, and whose frankly forgettable produce was now procurable on cramped diesel railcars, shuttling between Yorkshire and London. As I tapped away at my laptop (plugged into an admittedly convenient passenger power outlet) I tried to imagine whether this would be the environment in which to savour a pint of Sam Smith’s traditional ale, or a can of his brother’s globally exported and famously recognised branded beer. I may not approve of the globalising tactics of modern day corporations, but at least their activities and products make me appreciate the real thing even more. I drank my can of John Smith’s contentedly, and looked forward to my return to Sheffield the following night. After a visit to our hectic, chaotic and overpriced capital, a few glasses of Samuel Smith’s exceptionally smooth and exceptionally well priced ale will be in order.
Add comment March 28, 2008
Welcome new readers
A funny thing happened on this blog yesterday. I wrote a post rubbishing the University of Sheffield’s corporate identity, and the site’s hits went through the roof. Does this mean I’m not the only who hates my institution’s visual identity, or is there something more subtle at work?
Who knows. Who cares. But a big hello to every WordPress blogger clicking through from their dashboard today: this blog briefly became the fourth fastest growing blog on WordPress. If this is your first time, pull up a chair, kick off your shoes, get yourself a drink and maybe leave me a comment on anything that ruffles your feathers. Be sure to check out the podcast pages as well. If you want to subscribe to the podcast, so that you never miss an episode, clicking here will load it in iTunes for you.
Thanks to all my readers, ‘old’ and ‘new’… come again soon!
1 comment March 4, 2008
Le Pain Quotidien
My trip to London had to end soon after it had begun. Just two nights in the big smoke, this time, but they were two that were entirely well spent. Leaving Hackney early on Saturday morning, I caught a glimpse of the windswept point of interaction between two days. I watched the moon set over the buildings of Mare Street, firmly declining the offer made by an old man in a hat of a slightly used pair of headphones.
The number 30 bus took me towards the city, and on the Euston Road I alighted for St. Pancras International. This weekend had been my first chance to see the station after its multi-million pound refurbishment and reopening as London’s terminal of the Eurostar high speed train. A new dedicated line carries passengers at almost 300km/h from London to the continent, avoiding the tortuously congested and slow local lines over which the trains used to run into London Waterloo. Twenty minutes has been shaved off most journeys, but passengers arriving in London no longer enjoy the cityscape of the capital offered by the old route: ‘high speed one’ as it is optimistically named (I’m not a pessimist, but I doubt the UK will see a ‘high speed two’ for many years) now routes the trains underground for many of the final miles into the city.
The old station shed looks a treat. Years of idling diesel trains had turned the steelwork of the roof to black, and an intensive period of restoration has returned train shed structure to magnificent glory, with clean translucent glass mounted between thousands of light blue spandrels. The platforms have had to be extended to accommodate the Eurostar, and an unfortunately functional extension now covers the ends of those trains and the domestic intercity trains that operate up the Midland Mainline to Nottingham, Derby and Sheffield.
I first saw the interior of St. Pancras several years before I moved to Sheffield. Seeking a bite to eat early one weekend morning with my father, we ventured across the road from our normal London terminus at Kings Cross (for our trains from Cambridge and west Norfolk) into St. Pancras. At the time, perhaps almost ten years ago, St. Pancras was in a sorry state. The grand station was barely being used to fifty percent of its capacity, with just a handful of platforms being used by shabby IC125 and piddling Turbostar trains. We ate a moderately mediocre pair of full Englishes and admired the scale and potential of the run down station.
Almost a decade on, and I returned for breakfast. With time to spare before my 07h25 departure to Sheffield, I explored the new lower level passenger concourse. The space occupied by two platforms within the train shed has been sacrificed to open up the lower level of the station. Eurostar check-in, customs, immigration and the usual obligatory retail fits in here, with largely transparent modern structures sliding in between the original cast iron columns that support the train tracks above. The tracks into St. Pancras are significantly higher than those at the neighbouring King’s Cross; the Midland Mainline leaves the station and passes over the Regent’s Canal while those of the East Coast Mainline from King’s Cross pass beneath it. At St. Pancras this height change between platform and street was used to the advantage of a midlands brewery, who used the station’s undercroft to store barrels of beer that had been delivered by rail from the Trent valley.
The ever expanding empire of M&S’ Simply Food chain continues, although in this case with little consideration for the early morning delivery processes. Countless delivery carts carrying fresh produce had been pushed up against the glass façade, concealing the interior and tempting early morning customers in with promise of on-board snacks that were ready for the taking.
But no pre-packed sandwich or greasy fry could distract me this morning. Under the beautiful brick arches on the outside edge of the new passenger concourse, I had a pleasant surprise. Le Pain Quotidien, a Franco-Belgian I first discovered in Marseille, has opened branch of their delightful café.
The last time I tasted the wonderful fresh bread selection of Le Pain Quotidien I had just arrived in the south of France after an overnight sleeper train ride from Strasbourg. In the brilliant February sunshine I ordered a perfect bowl of coffee and spread thick sugary tartines over slices of various gorgeous breads. The barrel vault of the St. Pancras branch recalls that of the Marseille outlet, in a tastefully restored warehouse on the city’s Place Huiles, just next to the Old Port.
The view leaves something to be desired: generic coffee shops, Eurostar check-in and departing trains, but it’s still by far the best place in eat breakfast in an English railway station. Be sure to make a diversion next time you have a hunger in St. Pancras International.
Add comment March 4, 2008
Call in sick, head to London
Travel broadens the lungs. Excusing myself early from my weekly studio tutorials, I headed to London on Thursday. Unable to complete a long overdue letter, and prevaricating beyond acceptable boundaries, it was time for me to head south and have some long overdue conversations.
I also had time to make some social calls. A midday train from Sheffield to London brought me into St. Pancras in the early afternoon, and with the re-discovered energy of someone who was briefly a Londoner, I strode through the newly re-opened St. Pancras and into the tube station. Surrounded by flustered and confused tourists, freshly arrived from Paris, Brussels and Lille, I loaded up my Oyster card and descended to the Victoria line. From intercity train to underground train took less than five minutes, and just one stop later I was above ground again, leaving Highbury & Islington station for an afternoon in the crit rooms of London Metropolitan University. The buzz of being back in the biggest of our cities was like a caffeine rush; my head was dizzy, my legs were stretching further and my lungs were breathing deeper.
Sitting in on the interim presentations of other architecture schools is a handy diversion for a final year student. I spent much of the presentations making notes; not on the projects being presented, but on my own. A few drawing styles and model techniques were noted in my sketchbook for future reference. Nothing is original after all.
I’m extremely grateful to GH and SR for their ever flowing hospitality. I spent two nights on the comfiest of sofas; one above a Methodist chapel and one below a German hunting horn. Fine home cooked food was consumed, some northern ale was cheekily drunk amongst southern lager nancies and a handful of familiar bus routes were ridden. London always looms large in my plans as a city with a sometimes irresistible draw. The culture, the money, the opportunity. But I’m still not convinced. £x more per hour does not necessarily balance the £y more one spends on everything from beer to council tax. Being able to visit does one some good from time to time, but not as much as it does to leave.
Add comment March 4, 2008
