Tonight marks the 25th anniversary of the ‘Great Storm of 1987’. That night 25 years ago southern England was hit by winds as strong as a hurricane – reaching 120 mph. We hadn’t experienced anything like it since 1703 – and it’s unlikely any of us alive today will experience anything like it again.
The British take pride in their weather. Our forecasters are a national institution – we watch them every evening. But that night in 1987 one of our best – Michael Fish – told us that a weather feature forming off the Bay of Biscay west of France was nothing to worry about; how wrong he was.
Lucky this wasn’t the States – he’d have been a goner if it had been left-hand drive
Some time ago I provided a useful review of some of London’s lesser-known eating places. Fine dining you will not find on that page. I found those amazing places not by actually going to them, but by reading the seminal work on ‘other-London’ – ‘Shit London‘ by Patrick Dalton.
Now, with the Olympics only a day away I felt it my responsibility, nay my duty, to share with readers some alternative views of this great city that few will see, either on TV or in person.
I was lucky enough to find the online version of ‘Shit London’ (which I hasten to add does not mean ‘really bloody awful, but rather ‘shit, or stuff you’ll find in London’).
The author has just published the results of a competition looking for, variously, worst workplace view, worst shop name, and a general category of ‘Best Picture’, an entry for which is re-produced here:
I’m trying not to become a GB (Games Bore) but this I could not resist. London Olympians are being treated to ‘Olympic Lanes’ – dedicated traffic lanes only officials and athletes can use when driving to and from events.
Like it isn’t hard enough to get round the Capital anyway! However the chaps and chapesses that have come up with this amazing logistical solution seem to have cut a few corners:
…So we got a new kitchen. You think I’m kidding? Take a look at this…
Kitchen? No, this is Dante’s Inferno…
So the eldest had a haircut due this morning. I reckoned it was for 10.30, he said it was 11.00. And of course he was right. So with half an hour to kill we decided breakfast was in order.