Fenchurch Station was the first in the City and designed by William Tite in 1841 and rebuilt in 1854 to a design by George Berkeley. Unlike the other London stations this one doesn’t have an associated underground station.
Set in it’s concourse, the station has quite a bit of charm and like most places in the City, you can either go there and find it absolutely rammed or go at the weekend to find it deserted.
A triumphant Saturday night Glasto headline act, and then the surprise offer of a ticket to see Springsteen at Hyde Park on Sunday evening - I wasn’t going to call time on the Boss now, was I?
I last saw Bruce in the less palacios setting of, um, Crystal Palace. Two balmy nights on The Rising tour left me rather tearful, after a rollercoaster ride of all emotions known to a solitary South London blogger.
It’s this ability for the multi-millionaire rock star to engage with everyday people that makes Springsteen such a live draw. Some folk actually believe that Bruce still wears his blue collar when’s he not on tour or making records, holding down a regular day job working at the gasoline station. I needed a fair few shifts myself to fork out for the £50 ticket.
And so following a curfew breaking Vale of Avalon set twenty-four hours previous, the organisers of Hard Rock Calling (urgh) at Hyde Park were taking no chances. The running order for the afternoon was shifted forward half an hour. But I was too busy back at base earning cash to pay for the Bruce ticket to be slightly bothered about missing the bloody awful Dave Matthews Band.
And so cometh the rather early Rock God hour of seven o’clock, cometh the man they call Broooce!!!
The problem for Bruce in 2009 is how to pull off your teenage rock opera meets Phil Spector style production, when you are a 58 year-old man and Phil Spector is banged up inside for murder.
Anyone who caught Bruce camping it up at Glasto will know that the Rock Star game can still be achieved, with only the slightest element of irony. All that sliding around on your knees can’t be good for an old man.
Keeping with the UK theme of opening with a Strummer song, Coma Girl of Glasto was replaced with London Calling. Slightly stodgy, churned out with little understanding of the song. But at least it kept the Absolute Radio punters happy, oblivious to any other songs in The Clash back catalogue.
Wearing a black cotton shirt was a bit of a fashion faux pas for Bruce. The humidity of Hyde Park had the sweat stains visible before we even got to the second verse of London Calling. No one could ever accuse The Boss of being boyband material.
Introductions out of the way, and then we were straight into large swathes off the Born to Run album. Every track seems to start with the legendary: “One! Two! Three! Four!” Every track holds a personal memory for the Hyde Park crowd.
The show itself was incidental. It was the soundtrack to teenage years, growing up, settling down and starting families that most of the crowd had come along to celebrate.
Out of the new material, Outlaw Pete really shouldn’t work. It’s Ernie, The Fastest Milkman in the West played out New Jersey style. But Bruce somehow pulls it off, even down to the removing of his Stetson hat, signalling the downfall of our outlaw hero.
Out In the Street provides the first comedy value of the evening. Bruce likes to do the meet ‘n greet thing down with the crowd at the front. He failed to make it back on to the stage in time for the vocals, collapsing on the stairs in a rare moment of lost showmanship. No worries - the Big Man was on duty to step into the cowboy boots and deliver a killer chorus line.
Large chunks of the set were taken from the autocue of the audience placards. I’ve never seen so many cardboard requests, which to his credit, Bruce collected up and placed them on the stage as a new set list started to take shape. I somehow can’t see Take That being so flexible, and it was a reminder that I really should have brought along my Santa Claus is Coming to Town cue card.
Bits of Born in the USA continued the lifestyle sound checking show, although obviously not *that* song. Regular forays and flirting with the females at the front continued, especially so for Dancing in the Dark. No Courtney Cox style moment, no bandy leg dancing either.
Racing in the Street came straight out of an audience placard cue, and Bruce was rewarded with tears, embraces and even kisses. And that was just the blokes - seriously.
And then some two hours and fifty minutes since London Calling signalled the arrival of Springsteen in central London, the sun finally set and Bruce had disappeared backstage with the rest of the E Street Band.
The Boss (or The Employer as Spinal Tap referenced him on Saturday afternoon) still remains the best live ticket in town. Even if that live ticket is a particularly expensive one and is *shhh* likely to leave you in tears yet again.
Broooce!!!
Setlist, June 28, 2009, Hard Rock Calling, London, England:
London Calling
Badlands
Night
She’s The One
Outlaw Pete
Out In The Street
Working On A Dream
Seeds
Johnny 99
Youngstown
Good Lovin’
Bobby Jean
Trapped
No Surrender
Waiting On A Sunny Day
Promised Land
Racing In The Street
Radio Nowhere
Lonesome Day
The Rising
Born To Run
Rosalita
Hard Times
Jungleland
American Land
Glory Days
Dancing In The Dark
A lost hour or so around the Secret Garden at Brockwell Park is one of the high points of the high summer for me. The Victorian Walled Garden comes a very close second to the lido for all round loveliness during these long hot summer days.
The hours of effort put in by the dedicated Lambeth gardening staff can be enjoyed by all for a few weeks at the peak of the season. That’s not to say that the Secret Garden goes to seed throughout the rest of the year, but a garden in June is a garden in bloom.
Little has changed in the decade or so of my summer visits to the garden. This has probably been the case for the past one hundred years. The reputation of the garden is with its roses, leaving a delightful fragrance for all to enjoy.
My brief visit this summer was a quiet affair; last year I had a bonkers Brixton experience by stepping right into the living set of a children’s production of Alice in Wonderland.
Maybe I was dreaming this? Much of my time in the Walled Garden is spent sleeping away the afternoon.
Shhhhh!!!
Full flickr set over here.
Middlesex 162-3 beat Surrey 160-5 by seven wickets.
In the ground at The Oval. Glorious, glorious cricket weather. With water, not booze. Don’t trust myself in the sun #
Middle sex sex sex Panthers (yuk) strolling out looking pretty in pink. Surrey won the toss and are rightfully batting #
Cracking start from the ‘rrey, 44 without loss. TV match, so T20 trophy is at The Oval. Why? #
Sitting top tier at The Oval, looks like huge fire around Battersea. Any info? #
Lady in front of me at The Oval has brought her knitting along. It’s not exactly T20, but it is rather quaint #
Words cannot describe how annoying the Mexican wave is at the cricket. Certainly not in 140 characters #
Big screen posing Q: which girl band performed at 1st T20 final? Girls Aloud or Atomic Kitten? Confusing me with someone who gives a **** #
Gypo sitting in front of me just ruffled his hair. This resulted in a shower of dandruff landing on the bare flesh of my shins #
This short piece was first published in @TimeOutLondon, as part of the I Love My Lido feature.
I have been swimming at Brockwell for fourteen summers. When I first moved to Brixton, I became aware of locals speaking of this magical outdoor pool. On my first visit I encountered 2,000 semi-naked bodies, all procrastinating and making the most of the South London sunshine. I have returned every summer since.
I swim each morning, the earlier the better. Before 8am is the best time to appreciate the true beauty of Brockwell. I often return for a second session late afternoon during the height of the season.
The real joy of swimming at Brockwell is the lido community. Morning swimmers have a shared purpose in seeking out a calmer start to their day. Friendships have been forged over tea and toast in the lido cafe.
Many locals have grown up at the lido, and likewise, the lido has grown up with them. The party feel from the early days has been replaced with a family friendly environment.
If I miss a swim then my day falls apart - I am reduced to yet another angry Londoner. Sharing early morning swim with geese leaves you with a huge grin to carry you through the rest of the day.
Another midsummer, another Supernova Companies Tournament. Just like Glasto, the annual corporate korfball challenge always ends up with the overall consensus of ‘best year yet.’ This year was no exception.
It’s also around this time of year where I seem to make up endless excuses as to why I haven’t been running around the korfball court over the previous winter months. Aha - got you this time.
I’ve actually played a number of indoor matches this year. ‘Comeback’ would be a slightly strong word, but I did manage to pick up a Championship winning medal last Friday, as part of the triumphant Supernova thirds.
But anyway, back to the Banking boys and girls…
Each year we seem to be blessed with brilliant South London sunshine as our korfball club invites our corporate friends from The City down to SW4 for an evening spent underneath the big baskets. Months of planning and preparation are taken up by the tournament, but it really does all come down to the goodwill of the weather on the night.
Now in its tenth summer, the 2009 Companies Tournament once again attracted a high level of interest from within the Square Mile. It’s not as if they’ve got anything better to do right now, is it?
The event itself works on a number of levels. We get to introduce our sport to a wider audience, as well as raise money for our friends within the British korfball family. Corporate sponsorship from M & G kindly pays for the catering, and all money raised remains within the game.
Twenty-Four teams contested the Supernova Korfball Cup this summer. As well as the high flyers from the City, we were graced by the lovely Liberal Elite from The Guardian, and a team of the chattering classes from Westminster. It’s nice to know that korfball attracts a chin stroking philosophical crowd, as well as the corporate testosterone from within the City. And that was just the banking girls…
For a sport that was invented to try and breach the male / female sporting divide within Dutch schools, korfball works perfectly within a corporate environment. Everyone is of equal value, and a winning team genuinely does need to rely upon all players to achieve success. I’m sure there’s a metaphor buried away in there about the merits of banking bonuses.
The Royal Bank of Canada emerged as the 2009 champions, just as the sun was starting to set across Clap’ham Common. What is rewarding to see is that a number of players are now returning each summer, and the standard of the tournament is subsequently increasing.
Team tactics are starting to develop, and some of the play on show in SW4 on Tuesday evening would have given the Supernova championship winning third team a decent run out. Maybe that’s my excuse sorted for next season? Couldn’t play korfball, too many bankers in the team.
Too many jokes…
Many thanks to our friends from UBS, Deutsche Bank and JP Morgan for kindly agreeing to take part in various podcasts over the course of the evening.
A huge backslapping for the many people within Supernova who also make the event possible each year. Carole Swan and Tamara Burnell both merit a special mention, and no doubt free drinks from each club member over the course of the summer.
Full flickr stream over here.
Welcome to Supernova Companies Tournament
Nicola Gordon, Chairperson Supernova Korfball Club
Kerry & Jane, UBS
Dave Bond, korfball referee supremo
Simon, Deutsche Bank
Carole and Mark, Organising Queen and her Sidekick
Stephanie, JP Morgan
Those nice folk at The Gdn have decided to give bicycle blogging a go. Good stuff. First impressions are encouraging, if not a little self-centred around the North London Guardianista bicycling world of sustainable bikes and Boris bashing. But it’s all good stuff. Note also the trailing of a Gdn bicycling podcast. I wonder where they got that idea from? Imitation, flattery, etc.
Here’s a lovely little film capturing perfectly the essence and excitement building up to the annual Good Friday meet at Herne Hill Velodrome. Paced perfectly, you’re left with a sense of expectation before the first riders roll out. Shame then that the meeting was rained off.
There’s tough competition out there for m’Gdn friends in the world of bicycling blogs. The new entry at #23 in the ‘top 50 cycling blogs in the world’ is half decent. Blimey.
Chapeau!
