For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Cabbie entente cordiale (04.01.13)

Tourists it seems, still think of the traditional London cab as an iconic symbol of London. It was rather reassuring to me when I was contacted by Amandine late last year who was working for a French publisher of tourist guides wanting to include a London cabbie in this year’s French London guide.

My return to London after the New Year break was not to sit on a rank, at this the quietest time of the year, in the forlorn hope of getting a fare. No today I was to be interviewed and spend time being photographed beside my cab.

Amandine, I was relieved to discover spoke perfect English, just as well for I can just about order a coffee in French.

After meeting outside Leadenhall Market we drove to Westminster Abbey and parked in the forecourt outside the south entrance. The Abbey is too large a building to be photographed at such close quarters, but in winter with the trees stripped of their leaves, the Sanctuary, to give it its correct title, is perfectly positioned to photograph Big Ben in the distance.

It was not long before the photographer; Regis and his assistant Caroline were asked for a photography permit. We were informed that this land was owned by the Abbey.

For a place of worship needing £150,000 a day just to maintain the fabric of the building, one would think publicity would be embraced.

After a short period of discussion it transpired that while the Abbey is trying to forge stronger bonds with Rome, entente cordiale seems not one of their priorities.

With the cost of travel falling year-on-year, the tourism industry has found it much tougher to attract to London the much-needed Euro and Dollar, and yet no one seems prepared to support the very unique aspects of our Capital.

The old Routemaster bus was replaced by a German bendy bus seen in many towns in Europe. After much public debate, a token route is now maintained.

Drive around central London and every tourist wants to be photographed opening a red telephone box. With their demise with the advent of the mobile phone, we are left with a stock of dirty boxes advertising ‘adult services’. How much would it cost to clean them up?

Now we can see on the horizon the demise of the traditional London cab. Its predecessors the Fairway and FX Series are being withdrawn from service. Now deemed to pollute London’s atmosphere. While the manufacturer of the current model has been placed into administration as a buyer is sought, many in the trade feel that it is the end for the black cab.

The only current alternative is a converted van from a German manufacturer, the like of which could be seen around the world. The Queen’s Diamond Jubilee and the highly successful 2012 Olympics have shown London in the best light for a generation, now is not the time to sit back and wait for the world to come to us.

We need red buses, red telephone boxes and yes, at this time we should have a colour prejudice – black cabs.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Blogger’s Block (01.01.13)

I could have entitled this post . . . and why won’t it just write itself. My New Year Resolution that I must spend more time writing and less fiddling with the nuts and bolts of the blog has been broken in under a day.

First I caught the vomiting virus and two days after that came a cold. No work, no London, nothing to write about. Now here’s the thing: You go for months with loads of inspiration and then you’re under the weather for a few days and suddenly it all stops.

I’m scratching my head staring at a lone cursor blinking in the middle of a blank white screen. So why do bloggers put themselves through this? I started nearly 4 years ago as a little light distraction and after trying various platforms and blog names within a short time I realised that not only did I have something to say about London you, dear reader, were willing to contribute with comments, suggestions and occasional guest posts.

On the 4th anniversary of CabbieBlog next month I’ve scheduled my 21 tips for bloggers, one of which will be that you don’t beat yourself up trying to write on a regular basis. Better to have one good post than 10 bland ones. So why am I worrying because one bi-weekly post is missed?

The attraction of blogging is writing about a subject you live – in my case it is London – and sharing your passion with others from around the world. Look at the map at the foot of this blog for how spreads over the globe CabbieBlog’s readers are.

The problem is exacerbated is your chosen blog is about an unchanging subject – say chewing gum through the ages. But for London, which seems to reinvent itself every 10 years, the opportunities for writers are endless. I know of at least 20 top London bloggers (see my blog list on the right) and curiously many are not born and bred Londoners.

So why would anyone want to put themselves under pressure to write regular posts? Many just start a blog with a few well chosen pieces which become less and less over the first few weeks and then after a month the passion to communicate goes away and http://www.chewinggumthroughtime.com becomes another dead digital spot which even the author seems to forget exist.

For others – myself included – writing is a feeling of catharsis. It costs nothing to put pen to paper and even the most obscure topic will be read by someone in the world who might even reply.

So this week I plan to return to London, its streets might not be paved with gold, but I know somewhere there will be a nugget to write about.

Watch this (blank) space.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

A window on Talgarth Road (04.12.12)

You have probably seen them as you sit in the interminable 24-hour traffic that travels along the Talgarth Road, the artery which connects Central London with Heathrow. Just near to Barons Court Underground Station is a row of eight Arts and Crafts-era artists’ studios that stand out majestically with their soaring chimneys and red-brick and terracotta exteriors, with their enormous windows they are simply breathtaking (in looks as well as price, with number 135 an end-terrace currently on the market for £1.3 million).

The double-story windows are north facing to fill the rooms with constant diffused light, the quality of that light does not change as the sun moves, making painting and drawing considerably easier.

Built in 1891 for bachelor artists, St. Paul’s Studios are based on a house that once stood at number 151; it was here that Pre-Raphaelite painter Sir Edward Burne-Jones painted his last canvas.

The studio of these houses are on the first floor and measure a wapping 30ft. long x 22ft. wide with a 20ft. high ceiling, with a vast window dominating the room at the front of the house, it was this window which once overlooked the playing fields of St. Paul’s School, now moved to Barnes, it now looks on to the A4 dual carriageway. Beneath each property is a scullery, kitchen and a bedroom in the basement for the housekeeper.

Given a Grade II listing in 1970 a number of well known people from the arts have occupied these studios, including Dame Margot Fonteyn who lived at the end of this small block once known as Colet Gardens when the area was full of Bohemian artists and was very different from what it is now.

If you want a detailed look at these fascinating houses, which none other than Sir Roy Strong ex-director of the V&A and National Portrait Gallery once nominated as his favourite buildings in London, describing them as an “Eruption of joy”.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

The Mousetrap ensnares tourists (30.11.12)

The definition of a Londoner, it could be said, is someone who hasn’t seen The Mousetrap, the world’s longest-running stage play, having played over 25,000 performances since opening in November 1952 over six months before the Queen’s Coronation.

Written by Agatha Christie as a radio play entitled Three Blind Mice and broadcast in 1947, she rewrote the whodunit for the stage and The Mousetrap was first seen exactly 60 years ago this week, opening at The Ambassadors Theatre on 25th November 1952 before transferring to its present location, the beautiful St. Martin’s Theatre next door 22 years later.

The play entered the record books on 12th April 1958 becoming the longest-running show in the history of the British theatre (shows didn’t have the longevity they do today).

The first leading roles were played by Sir Richard Attenborough and Sheila Sim and over time 382 actors have appeared in its production. David Raven entered the Guinness Book of Records as the ‘Most Durable Actor’ for his 4,575 performances as Major Metcalf and spare a thought for the late Nancy Seabrook who spent 15 years as an understudy.

Even the scenery must hold some kind of record lasting 50 years before being replaced in 2000, without a loss of a single performance, still faithful to the original design.

I saw the play in the late ’60s (does that make me a non-Londoner?), and you expected the entire production to appear in black-and-white as the set and dialogue were reminiscent of the early British films.

The theatre seats 550 and in the foyer many tourists have themselves photographed by a wooden sign informing the audience how many performances have appeared on stage. Most don’t go to see the play for it is part of the London experience with the audience as much a part of the proceedings as the cast.

The person who probably has the best experience of The Mousetrap has to be Agatha Christie’s grandson, Mathew Prichard, to whom she gave the rights to the play on his 9th birthday.

The producer and promoter of the original production was Peter Saunders, married to Katie Boyle who in the 1960s presented The Eurovision Song Contest which brought viewers’ attention to the memorable line ‘Nul points’ – strange that.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Scandal at the Café Royal (23.11.12)

The Café Royal is due to re-open soon with much of its original features still intact. If any of its early customers chose to revisit the hotel after nearly 100 years they would immediately recognise it, unfortunately, Regent Street the road it occupies would be unrecognisable to its architect John Nash.

When in 1929 the new Regent Street was proposed the architects had every intention of building a new Café Royal and they were astonished when there was an outcry from across the world at the prospect of the beautiful Café Royal being destroyed. After a long campaign, which included representations from the Royal family, a compromise was reached – the interior of the dining room, with its magnificent decorative scheme, would be carefully removed and then when a room the exact size of the old room had been built in the new Café Royal the old interior would be slotted back into place.

The hotel was originally conceived in 1865 by Daniel Nichole-Thévenon, a bankrupt French wine merchant fleeing his creditors with just £5 in his pocket.

Later the Café Royal would flourish under the ownership of his son and at the time was considered to have the greatest wine cellar in Europe. By the turn of the 20th century, it was the centre of fashionable London, numbering among its guests dining at the hotel’s Grill Room or Empire and Napoleon Suite: Winston Churchill, Graham Greene and Elizabeth Taylor.

Some of the first boxing rules were written down in the hotel by the National Sporting Club, which held black-tie dinners before fights held there. A 1950s boxing ring complete with blood stains was auctioned by Bonhams prior to the hotel’s recent refurbishment.

Over the years the Café Royal has seen its fair share of scandal. In 1894 the night porter was found with two bullets in his head, a murder which was never solved.

The hotel’s most famous scandal arose during a conversation (the last civil one both men should engage with each other) between Oscar Wilde and The Marquess of Queensberry.

The Marquess, who instigated the hotel’s boxing matches, and whose name is associated with the sport’s rules, confronted Oscar Wilde and his friendship with the Marquess’ son.

Wilde, a serious absinthe drinker would enjoy liquid lunches at the Café Royal, and the dining room would set the scene for the early 20th century’s biggest scandal and the eventual demise of its most popular playwright.

The Marquess confronted Wilde about his dalliance with his son, the spoilt neurotic Lord Alfred ‘Bosie’ Douglas.

For once Oscar Wilde could not charm his way out of his predicament as he had on numerous occasions. The Marquess of Queensbury stormed out to leave a misspelt card at Wilde’s club: ‘For Oscar Wilde posing as a somdomite’.

For a playwright of Wilde’s stature, the misspelling must have been almost as serious affront as the accusation.

Wilde held a council of war at the Café Royal with among others George Bernard Shaw who urged him to let the matter drop.

In court, Queensberry could avoid conviction for libel only by demonstrating that his accusation was in fact true and furthermore that there was some ‘public benefit’ to having made the accusation openly. Queensberry’s lawyers hired private detectives to find evidence of Wilde’s homosexual liaisons to prove the fact of the accusation. The libel trial became a cause célèbre as salacious details of Wilde’s private life with blackmailers, male prostitutes, cross-dressers and homosexual brothels appeared in the press.

Wilde would lose the case and be himself arrested at the Cadogan Hotel (you now pay a premium to sleep in the same room); put on trial and served two years hard labour for gross indecency.

He would be released a broken man and never return to writing plays to such critical acclaim.