Waterloo, Westminster, toilets, coffee and graffiti

26 July 2015

Saturday night and I was feeling quite despondent. The forecast was for rain over the next few days. I could see my planned walks evaporating before my eyes. To cheer me up Commando went on line and booked two tickets to London.
“You can go exploring with CJ while I’m doing my fifteen mile marathon training. Even if it rains you’re sure to find something interesting to do.”
A couple of hours later after a lot of Googling and poring over maps, I had a plan that would keep CJ interested and take us to some of the more unusual sights in London. If it rained too much we could always seek shelter in a cafe.

When we left Southampton it was raining and it was still pouring when we left Waterloo Station. We sheltered in the shadow of the building getting our bearings as rain splashed up off the road and dripped from the rows of chained bikes. Luckily the first of our objectives was just around the corner, underground and something just up CJ’s street, a graffiti tunnel right under the station. After a wet walk around the outside of the building we were decending into the Leake Street Tunnel.
“This must be the place,” CJ said as we started down the steps, “the ground is covered with paint splashes.”
“In all the times I’ve been through Waterloo Station, I can’t believe I never knew about it before,” I said.

Then we were both silent as we took in the riot of colour before us. This three hundred metre tunnel was once an access road for the Waterloo Eurostar terminal but, when Eurostar moved to St Pancras, it was restricted to pedestrians. Famous, but anonymous graffiti artist, Banksy, held the first ‘Cans Festival,’ in the tunnel in May 2008. He invited twenty nine famous street artists to this parody of the Cannes Festival, each taking a section of wall to showcase their work. Since then it has become a safe area for artists to work without fear of arrest and created a vibrant art gallery beneath the station.

CJ is a huge fan of the mysterious Bristolian artist who has never been publicly unmasked. He even went to Bristol to a Banksy exhibition.
“For all we know one of these could be Banksy,” he whispered with a nod to the two artists working away.
“Maybe we should talk to them and see if they have Bristol accents,” I joked, knowing neither was likely to be Banksy. In 2000, the real Banksy stopped painting freehand and began using a distinctive stencilling technique. The clandestine nature of the work made stencils an obvious choice, he could complete more work, quicker with less risk of being caught.

In Southampton we have the Beyond Graffiti project giving local street artists a similar environment. While I don’t advocate taking a spray can and vandalising public spaces and I certainly don’t like the pointless tagging that seems to be everywhere, I do think there should be places like these for real street artists to work unmolested. After all, good graffiti can brighten up an otherwise depressing and down at heel place and some of these people have real tallent. Once we’d taken our fill of photos we left the tunnel and stepped into the London rain again.

Sadly the rain showed no sign of easing so we pulled up our hoods and made our way to Westminster Bridge. This was not the most direct route to our next venue but no visit to London would be complete without a quick look at the Houses of Parliament, plus I knew somewhere we could get out of the rain for a while. The poor lions guarding the bridge looked sad to be getting so wet. We knew how they felt as we dodged the puddles. Everywhere we looked there were bright umbrellas and the open topped tour bus was, unsurprisingly, empty.

It wasn’t quite what we’d hoped but I liked the reflections in the wet pavements. The brooding clouds over the Houses of Parliament seemed to set off the green of the railings and the ornate lamps. On the other side of the bridge we became entangled in a huge crowd of umbrella toting Japanese tourists. It was the undoing of my carefully planned list of directions. We lost our bearings and took a wrong turn. Then Commando phoned but I couldn’t hear him because of the noise and I managed to step in a big puddle, filling my shoe. It was the lowest point of the trip.

Eventually we made it to Horseguards Parade. After a quick snap of a young looking guard and a peek through the wrought iron gates to Downing Street we set off in search of shelter. It came in the form of the cafe I found when I was waiting for Commando to finish the London Marathon. CJ’s eyes almost popped out at the sight of the cakes. This time the service wasn’t as good but the cake and coffee were. We lingered hoping the rain would stop.

It was still raining when we passed Trafalgar Square and The Mall. We hardly stopped to look, just carried on along Cockspur Street, crossed Pall Mall and set off along Haymarket towards Regent Street. There was a quicker route to our next destination but I’d read about Summer Streets on Regent Street and thought it might be worth a look. Every Sunday in July the most famous shopping street in London is closed to traffic and filled with pop up entertainment. Sadly, it was far less vibrant than I’d expected, probably because of the rain. Still, we saw a uni cyclist on stilts, a smart car covered in pretend grass, lots of musicians and dancers and a garden exhibition with gazebos, benches and a honey tasting.

The rain seemed to be easing as we turned onto Oxford Street but we hardly noticed we were so intent on looking for the next turning, Newman Street. Our target was a Banksy mural. Although I’d read about it on Google there was no guarantee it would still be there. Certain London councillors have zero tolerance to graffiti, even by Banksy. Almost as soon as we turned into the road we could see it had been painted over. To the initiated the words One Nation Under CCTV were still visible through the grey paint but it was disappointing. CJ took it surprisingly well.

It was a short walk to the final stop of the morning. This was about as unusual a place as you could hope to find. The Attendant combines two of the most important ingredients in a walk, toilets and coffee. Built in 1890 as an underground public toilet for gentlemen, the place was closed in the 1960’s and left to rot. In January 2013, after two years restoration, it was reopened as a unique expresso bar and restaurant. At first we almost missed it because we weren’t sure what we were looking for, then I spotted the beautifully ornate wrought iron entrance, a little reminicent of the Paris Metro tunnels. We decended the steep steps. Not being overly familiar with gent’s toilets I didn’t quite know what to expect.

It was far smaller than I’d imagined but, thankfully, not too crowded. The staff were friendly and the sign on the tip jar ‘Help, our parents think we’re barristers not baristas,’ made me chuckle. We looked at the cakes and appetising snacks but were both still suffering from sugar overload from our earlier cake so just ordered lattes. The barista said he’d bring them to our table. He didn’t have far to walk!

While we waited we looked around. It was the most peculiar place I’ve ever had a coffee for sure. The red green and white Victorian tiles have been left, as have the ornate urinals and cisterns. Some of the cisterns have been turned into planters and the urinals are now tables with green stools to sit on. The walls are filled with interesting pictures and vintage adverts. The lighting is low, probably to stop it looking too stark with all those white tiles and ceramics.

When the coffee came it was obvious it was going to be good. It may have been in small glasses but it was dark and rich. We both agreed it was the best coffee we’d ever had. As we sipped I couldn’t help wondering about all the men who’d stood where I was sitting. What would they think if they could see the place now?

On the way out CJ noticed a graffiti wall where customers could leave their comments. It seemed a fitting end to a graffiti filled morning. As we walked back up the steps we suddenly realised the ironic twist, there are no actual toilets there any more.