Time on the Thames

Clock at Royal Observatory, Greenwich

The established skyline

Boris's Bubble and the Shard

The Gherkin looms over Thames riverside redevelopment

Millenium Dome

North by South East

At the Observatory

Canary Wharf behind Greenwich from the Royal Observatory

Honest Jon's Chop Up at the Barbican

My trips to London have mainly been for business in the past with visits to Docklands when I had responsibility for regeneration and maybe the occasional run round Hyde Park or visits to the galleries if I was staying overnight. In recent years I have made time to explore the city. There has been a remarkable transformation over the past twenty years. In the 1980's it exhibited all the characteristics of a dumbed down capital:  poor housing, dilapidated transport, traffic congestion, and a public realm that was in need of renewal.  It seems a different place now, reinvigorated, full of energy, diverse, and offering a staggering range of activities and places to visit.

It is easy to identify reasons for this from the radical plans of the old GLC, the over centralisation of government activities in the UK, London's emergence as the world's financial centre, rampant entrepreneurial activity, free museums and the cultural explosion under the last government, and the arrival of talented people from the rest of the UK and the rest of the world.  It is undoubtedly also influenced by the high level of public expenditure which was 17% higher than the UK average in 2008, similar to that in Scotland according to hm treasury, despite having all the economies of scale and without any remote rural communities.

This weekend we boxed the compass of its splendours, starting in at St Martins in the Field for lunch and to meet an old friend and then travelling west to the museums and the V&A in particular. We went east to Greenwich on Saturday, north for Sunday lunch with family, and we stayed south with our daughters in Brixton which is not only one of the most cosmopolitan villages but boasts eating places that are both excellent and good value.

We took a trip along the river on the Thames Clipper from London Bridge to Greenwich  I had never made time for Greenwich in the past but it seemed worth a visit on the day the clocks were to go back.  The fast boat from London Bridge stitched together a series of stops on both sides of the river and gave superb views of the London skyline.  London was buzzing at the end of the school holidays and the number of French visitors was very evident everywhere. The largest building in London, the Shard at London Bridge which will be over 1000 feet tall was nearing completion, the Gherkin invaded every skyline, and ironically St Paul's was mainly hidden from view but Canary Wharf was very evident and testimony to the scale and brutal imposition of the financial sector.

The Thames was busier than ever with real working public transport as well as barges and pleasure craft including ribs which were being driven with fairground aplomb for screaming kids.  We alighted at the Greenwich museums and walked up the hill to the Royal Observatory from where new vistas appeared in all directions.  The history of time was well set out with Harrison's clocks particularly impressive.  Blackheath was in autumn colours and like every other park in London was full of joggers, cyclists, children, dogs and fast food vendors.

In the evening we made a first visit to the Barbican to see honest jons chop up.   African vocalists, a rapper and brass ensemble were fused with a Nigerian drummer, Damon Albarn from Gorillaz and, to give some Californication, the bassist from Red Hot Chili Peppers.    On the journey home the tube was overflowing with Halloween characters and among the usual melange of witches, ghosts, vampires, devils and nuns there were also many young men heavily bandaged and covered in dried blood: it looked like the banker's Armageddon.

Ben Donich and The Brack

Rest and Be Thankful and Loch Restil

The Brack in Cloud from Ben Donich

Beinn Luibhean, Beinn Ime and The Cobbler from The Brack

The Brack

Wednesday 26 October, 2011
1135m ascent, 13 km, 4hrs 53m

Ben Donich     847m      1hr   18mins
The Brack        787m      3hrs 28mins

There are some days when you just do it because you need to get into the hills. Today was such a day, the odd flicker of blue was more than had been seen for a week and the Corbetts in Glen Croe had been niggling me for a while. I had gone over the top of the Brack in the Karrimor Mountain Marathon (KIMM) in 1991 but I had no recall whether that included the summit; we were close to the finish line at Ardgarten and I was not collecting Corbetts at the time.  These hills to the southwest of the Rest and Be Thankful are in the Loch Lomond and Trossachs National Park, which to my mind was and remains a mistake. I had argued this in a paper in 2001 just before the national park was established. I persuaded the Scottish Government to include Killin include in the National Park but the Argyll part of the national park was included for political reasons. Argyll has an abundance of splendid coastal and mountain scenery but this is not the finest and it creates a national park which is imbalanced with the intrinsic qualities of Loch Lomond and the Trossachs diluted by the western extension of the park.

I had decided to start at the Rest and Be Thankful, which would mean a long walk back up Glen Croe after climbing the Brack but the ridge up to Ben Donich looked like a good route.   I parked next to a sprightly-looking 80-year-old who was just off to climb Ben Donich, he still walked the hills three times a week and had that glow of satisfaction that comes from being fit and mentally alert.  He had also done the 1991 KIMM when sixty which meant he must have been a tough competitor, most folk tend to give it up by the time they are in their forties by which time two days of running around wet hills and camping overnight are thought as a discomfort, not an adventure. He had seven or eight minutes start on me and I never did catch him although he was not far ahead when he disappeared into the mist.  It was a beautiful walk up the ridge although views were limited as the clouds rolled in.  I found the trig point and stopped for some fruit and hoped that I would still be doing this sort of thing in twenty years.

Ben Donich is a massive hill skirted by forestry plantations that make it difficult to access.  There are four ridges to all parts of the compass, and there are some steep cliffs to the northwest that I happened upon a couple of times when looking for the summit in the mist.  There is also a tricky rocky crevasse to cross about a hundred metres in height below the summit.  I took a compass bearing on leaving the summit and descended down the east ridge, there were quite a few rock outcrops to circumnavigate. The ground conditions were not easy: saturated with water, slippy rocks and that feeling you get when an OS map is randomly generated - the contours must have been cut and pasted from somewhere else. Eventually, the forestry plantations along the Donich Water came into view and the sound of chainsaws and a helicopter moving equipment convinced me I was in the right location.

I arrived at the Bealach Dubh-lic, climbed a fence and then started on the viciously steep slope to The Brack by its northwest ridge.  It was another 400 metres of climbing with no compensating features although the view north to the Arrochar Alps appeared briefly before a heavy downpour turned out the light. 45 minutes later I came upon the trig point, which on days like this is a relief but also a vast disappointment; had I really knocked my pan in to see another of these contraptions? During this ascent all my waterproofs were donned and, on the descent by more or less the same route, I was entertained by the complete range of precipitation: rain, sleet and hail. By the time I had dropped to 500 metres a shaft of sunlight lit up Glen Croe. I crossed the bealach and followed some white sticks across a quagmire until they reached the top of the aforestation and a path took me down to the track.  After that, there were just 3 kilometres of walking up the forestry track to the top of the Rest and Be Thankful. The dense forestation of spruce trees made me reflect that this should definitely not be in the National Park.

First Snow

Ben Lomond: the first snow

Oak woodland path

Behind the David Marshall Lodge

Go Ape

Ben Lomond behind Creag Mhor

Crianlarich Munros

Ben Ledi from Lime Craig

Descent from Lime Craig

After a couple of days finishing off some work projects, I went out and bought some new trail running shoes yesterday. I had planned a longer walk on some Corbetts today to test them out. The forecast was not inviting with gale force winds on the summits and sleet threatened so I did some more work instead until I was tempted out by the blue skies. Winter had arrived and, as I climbed the hill behind the house, Ben Lomond hove into view wearing a shawl of snow. It had been cold overnight with storms blowing in from the north west and plastering the upper slopes of the Scottish hills. I returned to my favourite local walk up Lime Craig with the contrasting terrain of oak woods, Forestry Commission plantings, open hillside, waterfalls, steep paths and glorious views. It was the first time for several months but I always prefer this walk in winter when conditions can change so quickly.

The new goretex trail shoes were comfortable and the exercise was vigorous. I even ran about a mile to add to the mile or so on the running machine yesterday when my running gait was analysed to determine the most appropriate shoes. It turned out that I had been buying the right sort of shoes for the last twenty five years which perhaps explains the lack of injuries over most of that period. Apparently I just need a bit more cushioning to protect the soles of my feet which have been hammered through running, hill walking, football, skiing and many other sports. I will be attempting my first run for a couple of months tomorrow now that the plantar fasciitis in my right foot seems to be healing. It is three months since I have been able to run although I was able to walk good distances whilst in Shetland. Now that my work there is almost finished and I am home it has made me realise how important and calming running has been since it became an almost daily form of exercise in 1983.

Shetland Reflections and St Ninian's Isle

St Ninian's Isles from Bigton

Looking back across the Tombolo to Bigton

Twelve months ago I set foot on Shetland for the first time and since then I have spent about 25 weeks there, particularly during the depths of the winter, the spring and mid-summer.  I have managed to walk on most parts of the isles and have recently taken to repeating walks to favourite haunts, although as the nights draw in that is no longer possible apart from at weekends. Most mornings in Lerwick I walked or ran around the Knab, which is one of the best short-town walks anywhere.

I have tried and failed to get to Fair Isles to complete all the 19 Marilyn hills in Shetland on four occasions, the latest being yesterday when I could get a flight there but not back. Instead, I managed to get a seat on the extra flight to Glasgow for the school holidays. I may have to leave Fair Isles for future years as there are no more Saturday flights this year and my work is almost done, I doubt that I will need to return.

After watching the World Cup rugby quarter-finals early in the morning I had 45 minutes to spare on the way to the airport. It gave me the chance to visit one of my favourite places: St Ninian's Isle.  I have walked around the isle on 5 or 6 occasions in all seasons and most weathers and made a dozen or so excursions across the tombolo, some at midnight in midsummer, but usually on days like today when I am travelling to or from Sumburgh airport. This was the first decent day in the week and it was a relief to escape the winds and rains that have hurtled themselves at Shetland all week. There were more exploration vessels harboured in Lerwick on Wednesday than I have ever seen before, presumably, they were seeking some respite from the gales.

Several folk have asked me for my favourite walks or locations so here goes from north to south.

• Hermaness, Unst for the bird life and coastal scenery up to Muckle Flugga
• Fethaland for the splendid coastal walk and sense of being as far as you can go
• Uyea for the wildness and remoteness
• Da-lang-ayre for its red sands, big cliffs and inaccessibility
• Eshaness for the cliffs, the Geos and the seascapes
• Nibbon for a serene Sunday evening
• Muckle Roe as a whole with the Hams as the highlight 
• Sandness Hill and Deepdale for the sea views and rolling landscapes
• Eswick and Lingness for early morning seascapes and good company
• The Knab in Lerwick, the perfect start or finish to any day
• Noss a glorious excursion during the nesting season
• Foula for its brutal beauty on the edge of the world
• West Burra beyond Papil, beaches, cliffs, seals and views
• St Ninian's Isle

And given just two or three hours, well I guess I would do the full circuit of St. Ninians Isle. It has it all including fond memories of hospitality from the Budge family who farm the isle. When I asked a number of Shetlanders for their favourites the list was endless including some of the above and someone even suggested Montys, Lerwick's vaguely bohemian restaurant. Shetland has been a life-affirming experience and the people I have met and worked with have shown me the importance of community living in a harsh but inspiring environment. Shetland is a caring and wildsome place.

St Ninian's Isle Chapel

Preston Bus Station

Preston Bus Station

I was woken this morning to the news that Preston Bus Station has been added to the World Monument List as an outstanding example of Britain's brutal architecture of the era. It was the world's largest bus station when it opened in 1970. The structure was built entirely of concrete which was mixed on site by a huge concrete mixer.  The mixer was the responsibility of Paddy, a massive Irishman from Sligo, who worked every hour possible. He refused to allow anyone else to work on his mixer and if extra hours were needed then he would be there. I had the good fortune to be employed as his labourer for the summer of 1969. My responsibilities were to feed the mixer with vast quantities of gravel and sand using a massive electric shovel while Paddy measured the cement and watched carefully over the mixing.  We had to manage the daily deliveries of sand and gravel, 4 or 5 truckloads, and produce a sample of every mix.

The concrete was delivered to the nearby compound by dumper trucks where it was poured into moulds with steel reinforcement to provide the long beams and the distinctively curved ends of the car park as seen above. They were taken out of the moulds each morning and stored until the samples had passed muster. By one of those strange coincidences, it was one of my former classmates who had just graduated in civil engineering who carried out the tests. Paddy abhorred the testers and there was a daily fandango over the test results. He had pride in his concrete and to him, the engineers were just lazy useless hangers-on, although I think he probably said, wankers. I sided with Paddy, I knew how meticulous he was and on one occasion when our samples were challenged, I was able to spot a flaw in my former classmate's calculations.  We won the argument and I became Paddy's trusted accomplice which meant I always got to the front of the queue for the morning egg and bacon rolls because no one could start until Paddy, or Dennis as I was now allowed to call him, had delivered his first batch of concrete.

I was paid 6s 8d an hour, but together with overtime and a weekly bonus based on production I was taking home £50 - £60 a week. I gave my mother £30 a week for upkeep which was quite a bit more than she received from my father and it caused a bit of family tension at the time.  I ended the summer with sufficient funds to travel to Australia where I had obtained a place to do a post-graduate degree in Sydney.  I also had something concrete on my CV to go along with my recent degree. I had learned the survival techniques of a building site. Hit all your production targets, make sure there is self-imposed quality control, support the wider team and, if asked, cover for your colleagues. And take no time off no matter how much you have drunk the previous night. My graduation came when Dennis decided to take a week's holiday to go home, which was unheard of, and he insisted with the foreman that I was to be his deputy and responsible for mixing the concrete. He knew that I would be leaving a few weeks later and he wanted to come back to a functioning mixer.   I have never been so careful with any machinery - this was Dennis's pride and joy and his total commitment to the job and his machinery was a lesson for life.

I have watched with interest in recent years as the debate about the future of the bus station has oscillated between demolition or designating it a listed structure. The City Council see it as a prime site for the redevelopment of the city centre and dismiss it as a dysfunctional building.  The defenders see it not just as an iconic symbol of municipal pride but as a building capable of transformation into a more user-friendly transport and social hub.

I agree that the bus station in its present format is not a pleasant place, despite the superb materials used in its construction. The hard internal detailing eschews the creation of attractive social meeting places and the subways to exit the bus station and car park add time and perceived danger. Catching a bus from outside Millar Arcade was always a more sociable experience, juxtaposed between newsstands, florists, tobacconists and just across from the Odeon, which was the social epicentre of the then town. But the bus station is close to Preston's markets, the Guild Hall and the municipal offices in the city centre, but it feels like an island in a sea of asphalt.

It is capable of becoming more of a hub if only some of the vast apron of tarmac on the west side were used to provide space for city centre activities (stalls for charities, craft and local produce) and the subways were replaced by a ground level pedestrian way through the stalls. This could be easily achieved by rerouting access by the buses. A John Lewis Store, which seems to be a key objective of the City Council, could be erected on the apron or even more exciting if the structure could take it, on the top floors of the bus station - it is big enough to provide 100,000 sq. ft. of floor space. This would also allow the largely empty car parking spaces to be fully utilised. I understand why John Lewis store is an objective, it is one of the few guaranteed retail attractions but when  I had discussions with their agents a couple of years ago, they informed me that they would not be developing very many new stores over the next few years.

Let's face it if a new centre was ever built some of the existing stores from the existing centres would just relocate taking advantage of the rent-free units that a developer would have to offer as inducements, Owen Owens would not reappear.  Like most other city centres Preston is over-endowed with existing retail space and to believe that the bus station site would be transmuted by developers into a new retail centre shows a naivety by the City Council that beggars belief. Even before the recession and fast approaching double dip that was unlikely; online shopping has finally put paid to the perpetual expansion of retail floorspace.

So the better option is redesigning the bus station so that it becomes a bold brutal beauty of a business/community centre in a building that will last far longer than the canopies being erected today. There is scope for making space for business units and aiming for a critical mass of innovative products and services or creating some meeting spaces or a touchdown centre in a central location. Linking the bus station with safer ground level routes to the markets would benefit the many thousands of citizens who are financially stretched and depend upon the locally produced fruit and vegetables and the keen prices of the markets. There is also a need to ensure the quality control of stallholders in Preston market, there were far too many rogue traders last time I visited, but this is something that Bury has done through strong self-management of its market.

The City Council should invest time and involve the users and providers of city centre shopping in redesigning the bus station and its links to the centre. This would be a far better way of respecting Dennis's legacy in concrete than chasing the rainbows of false hope that retail developers try on with every major town and city authority. I have been there on more than one occasion and it is like dancing with wolves. The Councillors and their advisers have been duped by developers into believing that they can create a new retail mecca on the back of demolition the very transport hub that it would depend on. Demolition would simply produce a hole, more than big enough to fill the Albert Hall and that is Blackburn's business.