The tunnels have a fascinating history, and were once a prime example of one of my favourite kinds of architecture: the folly. Originally intended for horse-drawn carriages, this proved too expensive and instead it found a new purpose as one of the greatest tourist attractions of Victorian London. There were all kinds of excitements on show in those days, from market stalls selling souvenirs, to circus performers and dancing monkeys. It was only much later that it returned to its original purpose of providing a means of transport underneath the Thames.

Walking through the tunnel was simultaneously interesting and disappointing. It couldn't help but be a fascinating place: the very first of its kind, with stories of all sorts of hi-jinks concerning its construction, and it was hard not to be impressed by the sheer elegance of its design. However, our tour guide was a bit of a grumpy bugger and not always forthcoming. As we were walking along between the different points where he'd stop and regale us with the next bit of his spiel, I commented that it must have been very smokey and smelly down in the tunnel when there were lots of Victorian tourists visiting, as there was no electric light or concrete on the floor. Instead of continuing this conversation, he cut me off, dismissively saying that he would be talking about that at the next stop. And yes, he did mention that it was smokey back then, but he didn't have to be rude about it. He also had a really annoying way of constantly moving around when we were taking photos; just as I'd lined up my camera to get a shot without him in it, he'd move again and cover half my photo with his arse. Grumble.

Curro and I both noted the elegance of the tunnels' curves, which provide a beautiful vaulted roof, and he commented to the tour guide that it looked much more aesthetically pleasing than the grimy brickwork on the small extension at the Rotherhithe end of the tunnel. Our guide didn't mention that the smooth surface was a relatively new addition, only dating back to the mid-90s — I didn't discover this fact until later, @langrabbie, but it seems as though other bloggers who took the tour did learn of it. Most of them seem to have managed to get better photos than me, too.

See more blog posts and photos from:
853blog | The Great Wen | Diamond Geezer | Caroline's Miscellany | IanVisits | Londonist | One Flame In The Fire

After that, we looped around the Isle of Dogs to the Blackwall Tunnel, or rather to the industrial silos next to the river there (thanks to Owen for the tip).

These silos are pretty much the last remaining connection with Greenwich's industrial heritage, and are being demolished this week. I think it's shame that they will probably be replaced with yet another boring boxy private housing scheme or office block, especially as they had a brutalist industrial elegance of their own.

It's also disappointing that the nearby Alcatel Jetty, which was planted with rare mosses and sedums to encourage insect and bird life, will probably be demolished in the regeneration as well. The plants are very attractive and, according to a conversation I had with member of the British Ecological Society, have been successful in encouraging insects and birds to visit the area.

But who cares about plants and heritage when you can maximise profits on your real estate, eh? More pics here.

It was a pretty good gig: three female comedians and a band, with an accompanying exhibition, The Museum of A Hundred Days. Event organiser Josie Long was pretty funny, although she was heckled by a nine-year old who got more laughs. Isy Suttie's witty and biting songs were great, but unfortunately I found Sara Pascoe's piece felt interminably long and not very funny, so I was glad when The Pictish Trail came on and regaled us with his 30-second songs. He was pretty funny, too, although most of his songs felt like the beginnings of better things. Hopefully he'll develop some of them into longer songs, as they were all pretty good (even the Birds one that he was so disparaging about), and it was nice to see Adem pop in for some percussive support (he can make anything into an instrument; it's awesome. I've never forgotten the time I saw him play a xylophone with two violin bows).

For various reasons, I sort of dropped the ball on my own #100days project (to make something creative every day), at least as far as doing it on a daily basis for the set time period, or for posting about them under the #100days umbrella, so I didn't actively participate to be included in the exhibition. As it turns out, I was included in the exhibition after all and here's a bad photo to prove it (the room was dimly lit, making good photos difficult).

I don't feel like a failure for not having done what I said I would do on a daily basis, though, because I think I made the right decision not to do so. I signed up because I thought it would be fun and make me feel better, especially during the dark days of winter, but the days when I lacked a creative impulse made me feel guilty, and that didn't make me feel like a better person at all. Sometimes it's better to know when to quit something, because it gives you the space to start something else, which is what I did.

Despite what I said last year about new year's resolutions, this year I decided to give the Uberlist another go, and I've been doing pretty well with it. I got the idea from Kelly Sue years ago, but hadn't made one for a few years. This year's list is a combination of Important Things I Need To Get Done, lots places I've been meaning to visit for ages, and random ideas that struck me as a good idea at the time. It's a long list.

Usually an uberlist is 100 items plus an extra one for each year (so next year's will be 111), but in a moment of enthusiasm my list has 210 Things To Do In 2010. This isn't as wildly optimistic as it sounds, because I've sort of cheated on the numbers (for example, instead of one item that says "go to the cinema once a month" I've got an individual item for each month), especially as some of the items were really simple things that were hanging over from my basic to-do list at the end of last year.

Since it's such a long list, though, I'm not going to post the whole thing here (unless anyone really wants me to) but I might post progress reports as the year goes by. Which is kind of where we came in. I may not have completed a project to Make Me A Better Person under the #100days umbrella, but I've been Getting Things Done on my uberlist (over 10% done already), and it's more-or-less taken place in the same time frame, so I feel like I've earned the certificate they gave me at last week's gig. And there's a space on the certificate for me to write in, so maybe that's what I will write.

The exhibition was pretty good, too. Seeing all the work other people had done was quite inspiring, and I managed to come away with some swag, apart from my certificate: two of Daniel Weir's lego creations, a badge from Edward Ross, a story from Gemma Seltzer, and a trangam from Chrissy Williams, who gets the final word in this post:

"Small things accumulate into big things. This means that small things matter. What do you want to do today? Can you make time to do something small, or will you do nothing?"

After a little while, I discovered it was for a competition and that the song deemed the most obscure would win tickets to a concert at the Barbican called Songs In The Key of London, part of this year's East Festival. There was also a thread on Facebook, so I posted there too, and won a pair of tickets with my suggestion of Concrete Lullaby by Canteen, a love song to the vagaries of south London, which features one of my favourite lyrics about London: "we'll never know/salvation on the Walworth Road".

I wasn't sure what to expect, all I knew was that it was organised by Chris Difford of Squeeze, compered by Phil Daniels, and that a there would be a bunch of London musicians singing songs about London. My friend Mr P and I both thought it could be one of those events that sounded better on paper than in reality, but it turned out to be good fun, marred only by Phil Daniels' lacklustre and half-absent approach, and a fuzzy sound mix that often left everyone's vocals muffled (which is to be expected when you put the sound engineer on one side of the stage instead of out in front of it, poor planning there). Except for a couple of dull performances (hello, to you, Mr. I Really Sound Like Van Morrison But More Boring, and a hello to you, Mr. I Will Suck Up All The Energy Until You Are All Looking At Meeeee), there was a really good atmosphere on stage, which translated well to a lively audience. When we got bored we just entertained ourselves by looking at the drummer's hair and singing Pavement at each other.

Although there were a few obvious musical choices — Suggs and Chas Smash singing Our House; a couple of The Blockheads doing My Old Man; the guys from Squeeze doing Up The Junction (all of which were good) — there were also lot of unexpected choices that worked really well. Seeing half of Tunng doing a cover of A Rainy Night In Soho, which they managed to make sound like it had always been their own, certainly bodes extremely well for their gig at the Garage next week (I can't wait!). There were also a few new discoveries for us, including Natty's bouncing Cold Town, Peggy Sue's stark shoegazey cover of Guns Of Brixton and Blaine Harrison's plaintive acoustic cover of Last Train To London; and the unexpected bonus of Elvis Costello performing the encore sent shivers up my spine. They rather spoiled the effect by having everyone back onstage for a shambolic (and obvious) cover of Waterloo Sunset, though. Ah well, it seems churlish to complain when it was free, and when most of the night was so good.

Oh, and everyone must go and see the guitar-playing finches. You must. (And look out for the ones nesting in the fire exit sign!)

A couple of weekends ago a group of us went to visit Chislehurst Caves for Jodi's birthday, and it was great! I found it sort of amazing that there's this huge network of mines (they're not really caves), just 15 minutes from London Bridge.

Tours cost £5 and I thoroughly recommend them. We were whizzed through the mine tunnels at what seemed a ridiculously fast pace, which I found frustrating because it meant I couldn't stop and take good photos (and it's hard enough trying to take photos in a poorly-lit, subterranean tunnel!), but when we came out again I realised we'd been down there for an hour, had been through many sections and told many stories. Many of the stories seemed completely spurious, but that was half the fun, and the tour group all enjoyed them.

The caves have seen some interesting things, though. During the second world war it was a huge shelter for many people who had been displaced by the bombing, and in the 1960s it was a music venue that played host to people like Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin. These days a section of the caves is home to England's longest ongoing LARP game (which is explained why we saw people in bizarre face paint and anachronistic clothes eating sandwiches in the cafe).

During WW1, some of the caves were used as an armaments store, although I question the sanity of smoking near a cache of explosives.

There was a working hospital wing there during the second world war, and one baby girl was even born there. She was allegedly given the name Cavina as tribute, but changed it when she grew up.

I was especially interested to see this photo of mushrooms being grown inside the tunnels, as this is an endeavour which has fascinated me since I read Nicola Twilley's interesting article on the mushroom tunnel at Mittagong, Australia.

After exploring the caves, we ended up exploring the nearby hills and dales of Chislehurst trying to find a pub that could serve 12 hungry people on a Sunday afternoon. We ended up having to retrace our steps to the posh gastropub right next to the caves, but on the way we found a well-preserved cock-pit, which made the up-and-downhill trek worthwhile. Lunch was rather expensive but the wallpaper was lovely.

We finished the day off in the Rambler's Rest, a nice cosy villagey pub of the type that we here at Mondo Towers approve of, and would recommend to anyone planning to make the journey to visit Chislehurst for the caves.

There are few more pictures here.

If I look out of my kitchen window in the winter, I can see a funny little tower way off at the edge of the horizon (I can't see it in the summer because of that tree in front the window). It's the only remaining piece of what was once a significant market space, opened by Prince Albert in 1855.

Next to this piece of Victorian masonry are — or were — a few blocks of 1960s council housing called the Market Estate. Scheduled for demolition this week, it spent its last Saturday filled with art installations and people sharing their memories. I only found out about it on the day and there were long queues to see inside, but met a friend in the evening to have a look around and there were only queues for a couple of the installations. It was fascinating; a cross between Psycho Buildings and Simply Botiful.

I almost missed this guy hanging off the roof, and only noticed him because someone else saw him first. I thought it was just a mannequin until I saw him move his head. It was really cold that night, and quite windy, so he must have been some kind of insane masochist to do that.

One popular art method was to cover all available surfaces in one thing. There was one flat painted all over in the same shade of grey, with shrouded lightbulbs, giving it a liminality that was a little disconcerting. People wore grey sheets which added to the visual weirdness, as their heads and feet became disembodied, as Paul demonstrates here.

Another flat was swathed entirely in blue plastic, which felt a little bit like being inside one of those old Dreamspace inflatables, but with 3D objects to circumnavigate as well.

One room was painted all in yellow, which did very odd things to the white balance on my camera, as well as to my eyes. There were people discussing whether everything was really yellow, or just looked that way because of the yellow lampshade, but if you look closely you can see one of the sugarcubes doesn't have any paint on it.

One flat was covered in tin foil and dedicated to growing cabbages.

Elsewhere, there were graffiti and murals, people making tea and giving out biscuits, and scribbled messages that felt like the walls were talking in code.

There were also some flats that had been left in their original state of decor, which gave an opportunity to have a nose around and get nostalgic about the interior design of our pasts. Some seemed so over the top as to feel like an art installation itself, and maybe that was the point of showing those flats to us.

There didn't seem to be any obvious information about what would happen to the former residents of the estates, though, and I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to them, as hundreds of strangers wandered through their former homes. In some ways it felt like a burial of all their history, with only our photos of the art to remember them by, which isn't quite right, since the art was only on show for one day, and some of the people had lived there for more than 40 years. But I'm not going to get started on the state of social housing in this country at the moment. Instead, I'll just point you in the direction of more photos here and here.

I mentioned the beautiful vaulted ceiling of Margate Station last time, but I can't resist posting another photograph of it, because it is so lovely.

The abandoned car park is attached to Margate's landmark towerblock, Arlington House, and looks over the abandoned Dreamland theme park, where fairground ghosts wait for their £3.7m resurrection. Whilst everyone else got out their DSLRs and had complicated conversations about f-stops and tripods, I was messing around with new photo apps on my iPhone.

(Last week, by coincidence, someone favourited my old picture of the station ceiling, so I had a browse through their other favourites and came across these great shots taken in 1963 when Arlington House was going up. Apparently it's due to be struck with what can only be termed "Noughty Cladding Syndrome" which I use to refer to the trend over the last decade for covering classic mid-to-late twentieth century concrete architecture in (usually awful and unsympathetic) cladding, a subject which I am sure Owen can rant about with more wit than I would. In fact, he probably already has.)

After a stroll along the seafront, a group of us headed off to the Shell Grotto, which I wrote about after my last visit there. I still think it's a wonderful, fantastic, bizarre place, but I got the impression that most of the others were indifferent and even bored by it. Well, boo, to them, they have no heart or soul. This time I got excited because I noticed that lots of shells had names and dates on them, some of them going back to the 1950s, and some going back even further nearer to the time the grotto was first discovered.

From there we wandered back down to the seafront to find fish and chips for lunch at Peter's Fish Factory, which comes recommended by us here at Mondo Towers. I had saithe, because I had never eaten it before, except it turned out to be the same thing as coley, which I have. With a generous portion of chips, plus mushy peas and a large and extremely juicy gherkin, it came to the princely sum total of three quid. Bargain. At that price I could have had seconds, if I could have managed to eat anything else after that.

At this point our small group split again, as some people wandered off down the seafront in search of a wrestling artist, whilst the rest of us had a stroll along the harbour wall and around the cliff to Lido Sands. The Harbour Wall seemed to have lost its pretty flags, but has gained a permanent bronze statue of one of Ann Carrington's lovely Shell Ladies, and we spotted a Thames estuary pilot ship chugging out to a large ship to guide it in to the shore.

We bumped into some more Flickr friends returning from Lido Sands, who told us to look out for the wrecked car being submerged by the incoming tide, and recommended a fine venue for tea (more on this later). More bizarre than the car wreck was the fact that it was the only place where there were any real waves to be seen; the rest of the time the sea was incredibly calm, with a slick glassy sheen and barely a ripple (as you can see in the photo at the end of this post).

Lido Sands was looking abandoned and neglected, but the shockingly red roofs of its car park led me to finding red in other places in the nearby vicinity.

On the road above, I found Bleak House (the real Bleak House is of course down the road in Broadstairs), and didn't realise as I took this photograph that one of its tenants was watching me from the window.

By this point, we were getting cold and thirsty, so we hied ourselves to the cafe recommended by our friends Steve and David, the inimitably eccentric Mad Hatters Tea Rooms, where we were warmly welcomed by the proprietor's sister, and had a lovely tea. My slice of homemade Victoria sponge cake was melt-in-the-mouth light, and our tea came with extra teabags in case it wasn't strong enough (presumably we could get extra hot water if we asked), and just look at the generous portions of cream and jam that came with the scone — none of your pre-wrapped-portions-which-are-never-quite-big-enough here:

The decor is quite something, too; loads of old framed photographs, various nick-nacks and sundries, including some which fit the inevitable Alice-In-Wonderland theme, but not as many as you'd think, although there's perhaps an overkill of tinsel, "because it's always Christmas somewhere," they told us. There's a fantastic Victorian toilet, which they are rightly proud of — as a lady (who I am assuming was the lady of the house) told me, not everyone had indoor plumbing in those days! She then went on to tell me about her great-grandfather (I think), who she claimed was the first white man to cultivate coffee in Kenya, and whose nearest neighbours were 100 miles away and all they had was a bicycle! Even if you take it with a pinch of salt, still a fantastic story, and a thoroughly recommended place to visit. (The Mad Hatters Tea Rooms, that is, not Kenya. I've never been to Kenya. Although I know people who liked it so much they decided to elope there, so it must have something going for it. Besides the coffee. Either that, or they really like coffee.)

And then we found the pub where Eric Morecambe held his wedding reception. I know this, because they have a blue plaque commemorating the fact. And again I got another surprise when I looked at the picture on my laptop, because I didn't realise I'd managed to include the bull's head in the frame:

After all of that, it was a disappointment to end the day in a horrible Lloyds No.1 pub, but that was where the others had all arranged to be, so that was where we went (and it did have a great name). Catching up with them, opinion on Margate's charms seemed to be widely divided and widely derided. Quite a few people dismissed it as grotty and horrible, which struck me as odd as that seemed to be their principle reason for wanting to visit in the first place — and for particularly wanting to visit off-season. Personally, I can find beauty and charm in lots of things that other people often overlook or dismiss as ugly and boring, but I'm not a big fan of taking a holiday in other peoples' misery (to paraphrase a famous song by an infamous band that a friend recently heard being played in Harrods of all places), and I get a bit annoyed with people who choose to spend a day visiting somewhere rundown and then complain and sneer that it's grim and boring.

I like Margate, though. I think it's been regrettably neglected in favour of the slightly posher charms of Broadstairs and Ramsgate up the coast (I remain ignorant as to why that is the case, given the proximity of the three towns, although I have one or two theories), and it's seen negative attitudes and neglect beget more negative attitudes and neglect, but if you look beyond the superficial tackiness of the place, you can find plenty of faded glamour and attractive detailing. One benefit of having been largely ignored is that many original architectural details haven't been ripped out as they have been in other places, and are all there to see if you pay attention.

Glenmorangie tasting notes Vinopolis 26 Jan 2010

1- 10yr old  
The "original" but has evolved. Fruity to start, slightly nutty on the way. With water it smells a bit like a sweet cigar/pipe. Becomes a bit more coconutty but still seems a little fiery. Had some left over at the end of the tasting – it's much better when left to mellow for a while and not necked in a hurry to get onto the next one. (think this is the one in pubs?)      

2- Astar ("journey") 57% proof. About 8 yrs old.
60% of flavour comes from the wood of "designer casks"
"it does sound a bit like marketing bullshit" she said.
They copied the wine industry by air drying wood. American White oak toasted and charred.
She called it "the Friday night dram" 
Sweet nose almost perfumy.  Not a fan without water, the alcohol taste is too overpowering/too fiery so it loses the subtle flavour. Water makes it more caramel in scent with green notes, but the taste is quite masculine and almost meaty. [I think this is the one Billy described in his notes as "meat and cakes"] 
"we haven't got lochs of the stuff kicking around… Because the Russians have drunk it"

[We are drinking these much too quickly - I still have some of them left over by the time we're on the next] 

3- La Santa 12yr
Smells crisp young and green – not caramel as she suggests. It's very smooth on the mouth but tastes older than it smells. With water it smells of burnt matches (suggested by presenter but noticeable) Slight flavour of them but still sweet and easier to drink. 

4- Sonnalta "generous"  
Smells like old fashioned perfume – old Chanel no.5 
"whiskies are a bit like lovers; sometimes you have to leave them behind and remember all their good points" 
Smooth, sweet, slightly butterscotch aftertaste, but alcohol fire is still there. Quite grand and classy. Really nice aftertaste 
Watered it's sweet and very sippable. Favourite so far!

5- unknown, aged 10yrs in a bourbon cask, 10yrs in a sherrycask 
smells green to me but should be chocolatey
Really nice after swirling for a while, it sticks to the glass. People actually talked to each other about it. A "marmite whisky" but not in flavour – just you either love it or hate it. I liked it a lot – the couple next to us liked the 3rd one best. 
Water gives it a slight matchy smell, but smooth and sweet and good.

6- Quarter Century 25yrs £250 a bottle 
"whisky to contemplate with"
smells smooth and classy without alcohol – dark berries (first time I've noticed the same things as "official" tasting notes )
Left to sit it smells like rich sweet tobacco 
Very smooth and velvety – exactly what I want. I got an extra bit from a member of staff who left early. 

Liked the last two the best, but not 100% sure if that's personal taste, or being mellow and perhaps tipsy from booze + no food. Typically my favourites of the night the were the two I'm never likely to have again – the mystery one and the very expensive one. Sighs.  
   
Good chum and whisky-pusher Billy has posted better notes over on his booze blog.

The irony that the core subject of his return post was about self-promotion isn't lost on me, though.

If you're desperate for updates, there's always Twitter.