Reliable?

Problems with the reliability - or lack thereof with the Arriva bus fleet continue. I took the photograph above on Wednesday afternoon in Slade Green Road, Slade Green - click on the photo to see a larger version. The Bexleyheath bound 99 bus had broken down due to a serious electrical failure. The driver was unable to shut the front or rear passenger doors, and a loud alarm was sounding, which the driver was unable to stop. He tried shutting down the bus and restarting it, but this did not fix the fault. He then ordered all of the passengers - including myself off the bus to wait for the following one - which fortunately turned up pretty quickly. This incident serves to highlight the ongoing problems Arriva are having with its fleet of buses operating in the local area. The level of mechanical and electrical unreliability is far higher than could reasonably be accepted. As I have previously written, an overheard conversation gave some explanation as to exactly why local buses appear to be breaking down more frequently than before. I was a passenger on a Woolwich bound 99 bus before Christmas, when it stopped in Erith town centre for a change of drivers. As is often the case during these changeovers, the drivers had a chat; I happened to be sitting in the seat nearest the front of the bus, opposite the drivers cab, and was able to hear the conversation quite clearly. The two drivers were bemoaning the fact that the buses they drove were breaking down far more regularly than in the past. They both agreed that the reason for this was down to penny pinching by the bus operator, Arriva. Apparently buses used to have a minor mechanical service every week, but Arriva had recently instructed their engineers to carry out the minor service on a monthly basis to save on parts and labour costs. This the drivers agreed was the main cause for the increase in mechanical breakdowns. I can only report on the overheard conversation and cannot guarantee its veracity; what do you think of the situation? Email me at the usual address - hugh.neal@gmail.com. 

The historic Tilbury to Gravesend ferry service, which has operated across the River Thames for centuries, is set to cease operations at the end of March 2024. This closure marks the end of an era for the two communities it connected and has sparked concerns about the impact on commuters, businesses, and the wider Thames Freeport development. The decision to close the ferry stems from financial constraints faced by both Kent County Council and Thurrock Council, who jointly subsidise the service. Thurrock Council announced in October 2023 that they could no longer afford to contribute to the rising costs, leaving Kent County Council to shoulder the entire financial burden. Despite attempts to find a sustainable solution, no agreement could be reached, leading to the service's closure. The ferry's discontinuation has been met with disappointment and concern from various stakeholders. Local businesses, like cafes and restaurants that relied on foot traffic from ferry passengers, are worried about the impact on their livelihoods. Commuters who depend on the ferry for their daily travel face longer and potentially more expensive journeys via alternative routes, such as buses or the Dartford Crossing. Furthermore, the closure raises questions about the future of the Thames Freeport development, a major regeneration project on both sides of the river. Proponents of the ferry argued that it played a crucial role in connecting the two sides of the river and facilitating the free movement of people and goods, which is essential for the success of the project. While the future of the ferry service remains uncertain, efforts are underway to explore alternative solutions. Consultations were held in January 2024 to gather public feedback on the potential future of the service. The outcome of these consultations is yet to be seen, but it is clear that the closure of the Tilbury to Gravesend ferry service marks a significant loss for the local communities and raises questions about the future of cross-river connectivity in the Thames Estuary.

Two weeks ago I published an article on Colossus - the world's first programmable digital computer, which was used by the wartime code breakers at Bletchley Park to crack the Nazi high command Lorenz Cipher. After the end of World War II, the ten Collosi were either dismantled, or covertly moved from Bletchley Park to GCHQ, where they were used to break Soviet and Warsaw Pact ciphers for at least a decade during the Cold War. The engineers, programmers and operators of this ground breaking group of computers mostly went back to their pre - war civilian careers and due to the exceedingly high security around the whole project, nothing was said, and the whole idea of a digital, programmable computer was swept under the carpet - in the UK at least; in the USA academics picked up o the idea and a computer called ENIAC was created; but the story of ENIAC is for another occasion. In the UK, a war weary population still suffering under rationing looked for some way to lighten the post war gloom. A company called Joseph Lyons and Co were best known for their chain of tea shops and for the Lyons Corner Houses in the West End of London. The tea shops were slightly more up-market than their ABC (Aerated Bread Co) counterparts. They were notable for their interior design, from the 1920s Oliver P. Bernard being consultant artistic director. Until the 1940s they had a certain working-class chic, Situated on or near the corner of Coventry Street, the Strand and Tottenham Court Road, they and the Maison Lyons at Marble Arch and in Shaftesbury Avenue were large buildings on four or five floors, the ground floor of which was a food hall with counters for delicatessen, sweets and chocolates, cakes, fruit, flowers and more. As well as this they had hairdressing salons, telephone booths, theatre booking agencies and at one period a twice-a-day food delivery service. On the other floors were several restaurants, each with a different theme and all with their own musicians. For a time the Lyons Corner Houses were open 24 hours a day, and in their heyday each one employed in the region of 400 staff. They were colourful and bustling, with bright lights and ingenious window displays. In the post-war gloom, the Lyons Corner Houses, smarter and grander than the local tea shops, provided a degree of escapist relaxation. but by the 1950s and 60s they were more regarded as quick stops for busy shoppers where one could get a cup of tea and a snack or a cheap and filling meal. The tea shops always had a bakery counter at the front, and their signs, art nouveau gold lettering on white, were a familiar landmark. Before the Second World War service was to the table by uniformed waitresses, known as 'Nippies', but after the War the tea shops converted to cafeteria service. The management and Lyons was very forward thinking, and several of the board members were aware of the work that the Americans were carrying out on ENIAC, and the work that was being carried out at Cambridge university on a stored program, digitally programmable computer called EDSAC. They realised that the EDSAC computer could be modified away from its primary purpose of carrying out complex scientific calculations, and instead be used to undertake work to assist in the running of a large company - the very first business use of a computer anywhere in the world. The catalyst came in 1947, following a trip to America by Thomas Thompson and Oliver Standingford, two managers with wide experience of clerical procedures. On their return they produced a report for the Lyons board which basically said that electronic computers hold the key to office efficiency and for £100,000 Lyons could build one themselves which would show a saving in office expenditure of £50,000 per year. As mentioned, at this time Cambridge University were involved in their own computer project, EDSAC. This was designed for academic calculations and quite inappropriate for office work but Lyons did see the potential in the new technology. However, they did not want to play a passive role merely keeping in touch and in due course acquiring machines as they came available from manufacturers. In this way they could not influence machine design and this they felt was essential if the problem of commercial clerical automation was to be sold successfully. Instead Lyons donated £3,000 to Cambridge, to help in their EDSAC project, on the understanding that Cambridge would give them advice when needed. The result was LEO - which stood for Lyons Electronic Office. The LEO's makers were pioneers in software development and testing, and they refined the processes needed to run very large and complex computing jobs. These were truly early days of computer manufacture: there were no assembly-line robots, silicon chip fabricators and injection-mould plastics specialists forming a supply chain to build the LEO. Instead it was carpenters, plumbers, sheet-metal workers and engineers working on thermionic valves, switches, wires, ducting, resistors and power supplies. The LEO was built at a factory on Minerva Road in Acton, West London, and moved in crates to Cadby Hall, where it was assembled. The LEO was more or less the EDSAC: it sported 3,000 electronic valves, 32 storage tanks that held 32 numbers of 17 binary digits, and executed 650 instructions per second. An electronic key fob for a present day family car has more computing power. Later revisions of the LEO machine could share processor time across multiple scheduled work, known as multitasking these days, utilising spare capacity to run different jobs; it was a feature the machine's designers eventually turned into a business. The team also engaged in business process engineering and use of real-time analysis before these concepts actually entered the business arena. Also, the world's first woman business programmer worked on the LEO. LEO was capable of accounting for transaction data such as orders, supplies, invoices and complex payrolls in a fraction of the time it had taken clerks and conventional business machines. It was able to deliver management reports on the activities of the different business divisions in time for management to respond effectively, often at the end of the day in which the activities had taken place. A feature of the applications Lyons put onto LEO was the level of ambition. An application was not considered worthwhile unless it delivered an improved business process, entering the requisite transaction data into the computer once only to produce a multitude of outputs. Under the guidance of project manager John Simmons and with its very high calibre staff, the LEO team successfully launched what came to be known as the information age. Three versions of LEO were built; and mark one, two and three. All sold moderately well, but even by the standard of the day they were huge, expensive, power hungry machines. By the 1960s the Americans had captured much of the UK computer market. Their machines were better engineered, more reliable and above all, less expensive. With other British computer manufacturers suffering from the same American onslaught the British government supported the merger of British interests to counteract the imports. LEO merged with English-Electric and they in turn merged with other famous companies such as Marconi. In time British computer manufacture faded away. Incidentally, the EDSAC computer upon which LEO was based is being reconstructed / replicated by a group of volunteers at the The National Museum of Computing at Bletchley Park. What do you think? Leave a comment below, or alternatively Email me at hugh.neal@gmail.com.

Although I have previously explained where the name of my blog originated, I feel that it was long enough ago, and I have picked up many recent readers, so that the story bears repeating; indeed I attended a meeting with several members of Bexley Council on Wednesday morning, I was talking to one council representative when she mentioned that she regularly read the Blog, and was curious as to how he name came about. I will now explain for those who are not aware. Back in 1987 I was working for a small but very influential Bexleyheath based pirate radio station called Radio Lumberjack, which broadcast live every Saturday on 92.4 FM from 9am until midnight or later from a house off Bedonwell Road. The station played an eclectic mix of music and humour; much of the comedy material was written by the station staff. There were many spoof adverts, with commercials for fictional companies such as “Bethlehem Motors – car faith healers – save money and save your soul! With one simple low cost prayer, we can have your vehicle back on the road”. “Tacky’s Nightclub, with your host, Bland Groover”. Also, “Gaskets motor spares – suppliers of neo Georgian suspension, arc brake lights and stained glass windows”. Best of all, a commercial for the Thamesmead Tourist Board, with a cod salsa song “it’s the place for fun, it’s the place for sun, come to Thamesmead – go on day trips to all the popular holiday destinations like the Belvedere Rift Valley – home of the world famous earwig farm; enquire at the Thamesmead Tourist Board office – the little green hut behind the bike sheds in Thamesmead High Street!” It was all very slick and professional; the chap that ran the station was a big fan of Kenny Everett, but had his own unique style. Each presenter had their own introductory jingle – mine started with an incredulous voice – “oh my God.... It’s Arthur Pewty!” followed by the sound of Stuka dive bombers, explosions and collapsing buildings, accompanied by a massed band of Daleks screaming “Arthur Pewty, Arthur Pewty!” It was all very over the top and surreal. My pseudonym came from the meek and mild insurance salesman Arthur Pewty from the famous Monty Python sketch about the marriage guidance counsellor. When I first started my evening show, I racked my brains to think of a suitably surreal and silly name for it. I had already got my nickname, and recently I had read a history of 1960’s offshore station Radio London, where John Peel got his big break into radio. John Peel had a show called “The Perfumed Garden” where he played a lot of hippy music and recited poetry sent in by listeners (some of it toe curlingly bad, but I digress). I thought that my show needed a really surreal title, so, as a play on “John Peel’s Perfumed Garden”, “Arthur Pewty’s Maggot Sandwich” was born. And the rest, as they say is history. Back in 2006, when I started this blog, I resurrected the long disused name of my one time radio show; my thoughts were that whilst it was no longer on the radio, it was a newer form of interacting with an audience that could be anywhere in the world. This proved to be correct. Today the Maggot Sandwich has readers all over the planet – from Australia, Japan and India to the USA and mainland Europe, along with people closer to home. It might be a silly name for a blog, but I can guarantee nobody forgets it! Please feel free to comment below, or Email me at hugh.neal@gmail.com.

It has been reported that the recent relatively mild and wet weather conditions have been conducive in the early growth of the invasive Japanese Knotweed, a fast-growing and highly destructive plant, has become a major concern across the UK. This unwelcome visitor, introduced in the mid-1800s as an ornamental plant, has established itself as a formidable invasive species.  Its relentless spread threatens native ecosystems, property values, and even infrastructure. Unlike most invasive plants, Knotweed doesn't rely on seeds for its aggressive takeover. The true culprit lies beneath the surface – a vast network of rhizomes, underground stems that can grow meters long and fragment easily.  Disturbing the soil, even through seemingly harmless activities like gardening, can break these fragments, creating new growth sites. This aggressive strategy allows Knotweed to colonise a wide range of habitats, from river banks and waste ground to unfortunately, even gardens and building foundations.  Its dense growth out competes native plants, disrupting local ecosystems. Furthermore, the persistent rhizomes can damage structures by pushing through cracks and foundations, posing a threat to property. The economic impact of Knotweed is significant. Properties with even a small patch of Knotweed can see their value plummet due to the difficulty and expense of eradication.  The presence of Knotweed can also stall development projects and add significant costs to construction. It is illegal in the UK to plant or spread Japanese Knotweed, and when it is pulled up it is legally classified as controlled waste that has to be disposed of by licensed landfill sites. Young shoots of Japanese Knotweed are cooked and eaten in some countries – apparently it tastes like super sour rhubarb, but it contains a lot of Oxalic Acid, which is really not very good for you.

The end video this week is a bit of recent history from the 30th October 2003.  The over two hour video (so you may want to fast forward through it) shows the ceremony that began the demolition of parts of the 1960's brutalist concrete Erith Town Centre prior to it being modernised and reconstructed. The video shows the demolition of the exit ramp for the multi storey car park which used to be located above the shopping area, part of which you can see in the 1985 photo above - click on it to see a larger version. Comments and other feedback to me at hugh.neal@gmail.com.