Lighthouse spotter's badge

I was off this weekend on a short break to Camber Sands, organised by my wife and a couple of her friends. On these jaunts I expect nothing more than salubrious digs, a decent meal out somewhere and a catch up in the pub with my wife's friends' husbands.

However, any trip to the coast will always have me scrabbling for my copy of Lighthouses of England & Wales and I was pleased to see that Dungeness was a distinct possibility.  All that stood between me and it was whether or not I could sway "the gang" into visiting a desolate headland that was also the home of a nuclear power station.  It didn't seem likely and crazy golf at Hastings was very much on the cards, until it started raining cats and dogs.

So, Dungeness. What a weird place, tons of beached boats and rickety little shacks, some kind of military type stuff (on the way my wife shouted out, "A tank!" but I wasn't quick enough to spot it) and a whopping great nuclear power station.  For the lighthouse spotter Dungeness offers exceptional value, with two and a half lighthouses situated there.

Only the old lighthouse is accessible and I zoomed to the top of that (stopping to take some snaps of some pretty, colour lens things). At the top I went through a little hatch onto an outside parapet, the view from which was staggering: the sprawling settlement of Dungeness, the miniature railway carriages (looking a bit like a centipede from this height) and off in the distance the white cliffs of Dover (I think).  The weather had turned lovely and you can sometimes see France from the top of the lighthouse, I didn't notice if you could or not.  I was slightly nervous to be honest and when the breeze got a bit frisky I was back through the hatch.

Back on the ground floor I got chatting to the custodian of the lighthouse and bought a lovely little cruet set, more as a token of support of their efforts in keeping the place going than anything else (I rarely add salt to food and I don't think I've ever added pepper to anything).  Old Dungeness is one of the tallest lighthouses in the country apparently and I read later that they do a certificate for reaching the top. Tragically I was not made aware of this at the time.

I love the whole Victorian-ness of lighthouses but while I was there I thought I ought to check out the new lighthouse (built 1961). You can't go in this one but I had a good squint and was quite taken with it, it's a bit Chris Foss I think.

Also on the list were the acoustic mirrors at nearby Greatstone* which longstanding readers might remember once featured as this blog's header picture.  Sadly I couldn't find out if there were any guided tours on, time was limited and my fellow holiday makers were in any case unwilling to wade through waist deep water and indulge in a little minor trespassing to check out, in their words, "giant lumps of old concrete".

The day before I'd nipped into Rye to pick up some groceries and chanced upon the excellent Grammar School Records shop, possibly the most impressive looking exterior of any record shop I've seen. I was a bit doubtful though when I went in, a surfeit of Alan Parsons Project-type record shop I thought.  But very quickly I found an immaculate copy of the Tom Tom Club's first album, which I snapped up straight away.  (Incidentally, Tina Weymouth's comment, that despite being young and hip in Seventies New York, she'd been shocked by the antics of the Happy Mondays in the Bahamas, used to be one of those things that made me feel proud to be British.  Sullied now though by Shaun Ryder's support for the Tories.)

Anyway, I rate Wordy Rappinghood higher than other early rap, far funnier and more fluent than anything I've heard by the Sugarhill Gang and it knocks Blondie's Rapture into a cocked hat.

* A distinct lack of ancient megalithic monuments, another of my holiday favourites, in the area.

South Stack lighting

I find lighthouses a bit terrifying for some reason. It may stem from a Dr Who story I vaguely remember set in one - featuring a classic blob-type creature killing off the occupants one by one. (I looked it up: The Horror of Fang Rock. Broadcast September 1977. I was five).

Lighthouses perched atop headlands I can deal with, in fact I'd love to live in one. But those standing in the sea, rearing up from the very waters themselves, I can hardly bear to look at them. I think because when I do I inevitably imagine myself in those waters desperately scabbling for a hold on the slippery walls. It isn't just a straightforward fear of drowning, even if I were safely afloat in a lifejacket and knew help was on the way I wouldn't be able to look up at my surroundings. I'm not sure what this is all about - possibly some kind of cosmic dread, like the sea is the universe or something.

Despite all that I'm quite into going to see lighthouses. While I was planning my recent holiday my research consisted of checking Lighthouses of England & Wales and The Modern Antiquarian (and, er...the Readers Digest Touring Guide to Great Britain). I'd been thinking more of heading south and so it was only a couple weeks before I set off that I looked north and realised Anglesey was in easy striking distance and that South Stack, somewhere I've wanted to visit for years, was seriously on the agenda. I did my homework and was gutted to discover that the lighthouse would be closed to the public from the end of September - a few days before I could get there.

I crossed the drab expanse of Anglesey to get there anyway and sure enough the little office was shut up. However, I obstinately made my way down the four hundred steps and, magically, found the gate across the little bridge unpadlocked. I snuck across and approached the tower. I didn't go right up to it as I could see an open door with paint pots lying about and I didn't fancy a telling off from some gruff, nautical type.

It was certainly a weird environment, half sacred precinct and half secret military installation (the latter effect heightened by the pair of jet fighters circling about). I don't know why I found the tower so sinister - it works, after all, unceasingly for good. But I dunno, its whiteness, its height, the barely audible turning of its great cyclopean eye and its remote location all added up to a very strange vibe.

The authority responsible for lighthouses in the UK is Trinity House, which I think sounds ancient, respectable and somehow quietly evil. And that was before I read that it was governed by a court of elder brethern, and presided over by a master, none other than arch-lizard HRH the Duke of Edinburgh himself.

Visiting time

Of course the only real way to arrive in Portmeirion is to be rendered unconscious by agents in the privacy of your London flat and to wake there some time later with a snappy blazer hanging in your closet. So it was a bit weird just turning off the A487. I've wanted to go for donkeys years but by the time I actually got round to it I'd wondered if it would be disappointing - a couple of scenic vistas and a tacky Prisoner shop? (I did pop in and check out the blazer - I was not tempted).

There was no need to worry - we were lucky with the weather for the time of year so it was a sunny day with not that many people milling about. My admiration for the tv series to one side it really is a very beautiful place. Seriously, if I believed in heaven this spot would be a pretty good template. There's a tower-like vantage point not far from where you first enter the village proper (No. 6 and No. 2 have a chat there in Dance of the Dead). From there, with the sun on my face and cooled by the sea breeze, I could have stood surveying the dimpled beach below for hours. Later I went to go to the beach but it was a bit muddy so I didn't bother - I did see this jellyfish though.

London eye

After a rummage I found the list I referred to in the robot bar post. It was (of course) in a shoe box under the bed. I've put an asterisk next to the ones I've actually visited.

Karl Marx's Tomb
Top of the list and still not been. One for autumn.

Thames Flood Barrier
Probably made a big impression on me in the days when I used to watch Blue Peter. A bit awkward to get to I think.The Blind Beggar*Rubbish, just a really boring pub.

The Prospect of Whitby
Because my parents had their engagement bash here. And it's got a funny name.

Boat from Westminster to Richmond
On a hot sunny day. I like falling asleep on boats on hot sunny days.

Greenwich Market
Other than I love markets not sure why this was so important.Savoy GrillVery intimidated by big fancy restaurants so haven't been here yet.

Regents Park Zoo
Walked past it a few times, not really bothered about this one now.

Row on the Serpentine
I like rowing. A friend of a friend fell in here once. Couldn't have happened to a nicer person.

Hampstead Heath*
Nice, but to misquote Scoobius Pip, just a park.

Somerset House*
Been a few times but not for ages now, can't really get there in a lunch break anymore.

Shri Swaminarayan Mandir*
Absolutely mindblowing. Everybody was very friendly but I felt like an interloper. I'd be peering at a statue and someone would come along and start praying to it. Weird.

Brick Lane Market*
Went a few years ago - had a fantastic day.Sherlock Holmes statue*Walked up and down Baker Street looking for this and somehow managed to miss it. Maybe he was being polished that day.

Peter Pan statue
No longer care about this, I'm less whimsical these days.Old Bailey murder trialI worked just round the corner for years and never popped in.

Globe Theatre
Still really want to do this one. Quick check of the website...Henry IV, pt 1, that's a possibility.

And two that weren't on the list but which I'll add now:Big BenLike in the Thirty Nine Steps. My fear of heights and of oversized Victorian machinery probably adds up to this being a fairly nightmarish experience, but I can't help myself.

Battersea Power stationI’ve always wanted to get close up to this. I read a great article (in the Independent I think) proposing that instead of developing the station it should be allowed to stand as a picturesque ruin and the area around it should be a park. I think that’s one of the best ideas I’ve ever heard. Instead we will of course get a boring bloody hotel/luxury apartments/shopping mall monstrosity. That’s if they don’t just knock the thing down outright.

And finally, one that was on a proto-list but which had fallen off the list I found.

Wormwood ScrubsJust to walk up to the gates - are you allowed to do that?

Phallus uber alles

Have you ever heard of The Monument? Built by Wren, to commemorate the Fire of London? I hadn’t until my dad mentioned it in passing during a tale about his going to see a rugby final at Wembley back in the day. Once I’d heard of it I had to go – it just sounded so weird. A giant, freestanding Doric column? Tucked away near London Bridge? It seemed so unlikely.

Anyway, it was still there and so obviously I had to go to the top. I’m not good with heights but as the ascent was up an enclosed, narrow staircase I thought I’d be alright. This was disproved about half the way up when I suffered a severe dose of the fear caused by a crowd of Italian school children surging around me on their way down. At the top my previously unimpressed wife started to gambol about saying how great it was and cooing at the view. I held grimly onto the hand rail and, with leaden legs, made the one circuit of the viewing platform demanded by my pathetic male pride. You get a little certificate for going to the top.

The lost robot bars of London

When I moved down to London I made a list of places that I was determined to visit. I've not seen it for a while, but from what I can remember I don't think I've done very well over the last decade. Cynthia's Robot Bar is one of the places I did get to. It was a bit depressing actually, the robot Cynthia wasn't even switched on.

Anyway, I was thinking about doing a podcast with the theme being "Robot Disco", I only got so far though.

Imitation Electric Piano: What We Do We Do

I reckon that's the riff from "WIld Flower".

As you might know (or have guessed) Imitation Electric Piano are a Stereolab off-shoot. The track above is from the excellently titled "Blow It Up, Burn it Down, Kick It 'Til It Bleeds" - an album I was drawn to after hearing the impossibly breezy "I Mean Wow", which I wasn't going to post because it's not really robotic sounding, but I've mentioned it now...

Imitation Electric Piano: I Mean Wow

Staffa

Last Thursday I achieved one of my little adventuring ambitions by visiting the island of Staffa. I'm sure I've been vaguely aware of its existance for ages but it only came fully to my attention on my first visit to Scotland a mere three years ago.

I was staying in a cottage about twenty miles south of Oban and the journey to Staffa took just under six hours and involved hopping over Mull and Iona to get there. I'd been to Mull before, but to Tobermory and on that occasion the weather was dull and the scenery I didn't think was up to much (a very dry driver though - "Tobermory... probably best known for... the womble of the same name"). On the way to Fionnphort the driver was silent but the view from the window was amazing (especially along Loch Scridain) and I've never spent a more enjoyable hour on a coach. At Fionnphort we took a much smaller ferry to Iona and from there we sailed on a tiny little boat called the Ullin of Staffa, which I think sounds like the name of one of the dwarves in The Hobbit.

After a nauseating hour in the Ullin we arrived at Staffa and, without any pushing or shoving, I was first off the boat. I almost ran to Fingal's Cave - I didn't hang around for long though because I'm not great at heights. You're not very high up really but health and safety hasn't reached Staffa yet and there's nothing there to stop you plummeting into the waters below - a situation which, while perhaps not fatal, would be extremely trying.

After that I doubled back towards the jetty and up some (rickety) steps to the roof of the island. I'd come for the basalt but the views from here were worth the journey and impossible to capture on my camera. Until recently sheep had been ferried across from Iona to graze on the island but now the grass had been allowed to grow quite long and has been formed by the wind into funny looking mumps - very Dr Seuss.

Despite the time it took to get here Mull still loomed massively to the east. Much more intriguing were the Treshnish Isles - probably even more desolate than Staffa, I really wanted to go on and visit them. Very unlikely that I ever will, I think you'd have to hire a boat specifically. I might go back to Staffa at some point - later in the year puffins stay there. And puffins (along with badgers) are high on my list of animals that I'd like to see in the wild.


We were only there for an hour - I spent about twenty minutes walking up and down this colonnade - it really is a perfect thing and reminded me of the columns of the temples at Paestum.