Britain's new megaproject is a triumph. Pity you can't see it

Telegraph

16-02-2025

Last Friday, Radio 4's Today programme found the BBC's irrepressible royal correspondent, Jonny Dymond, rhapsodising about his visit to a decidedly unregal location. He had descended 40 metres (130ft) underground to report on the construction of an immense concrete tunnel, 25 kilometres (15 miles) long, which follows the course of the Thames from Acton in west London to Abbey Mills in the east.
The scale of the structure, he reported, was astonishing: 'It's beautiful to see, but you'll never see it. This amazing feat of engineering has almost no above-ground monument. It'll be sunk away from the sight of people who might rejoice in it, because it is a giant sewer.'
With 21 connections to London's Victorian sewage system completed, the Thames Tideway Tunnel has finally begun its Augean task of containing the capital's sewage. It has yet to be tested in storm conditions, but it is expected to prevent 95 per cent of the sewage spills that currently befoul the river. Animal and human alike, the denizens of the Thames should find their river a purer and more pleasant place (including the crews of the Oxford and Cambridge boat race, who last year had to abandon the tradition of flinging the victorious cox into the river, because of high levels of E.coli).
Roger Bailey, the Tideway super-sewer's chief technical officer, remarked a trifle ruefully that it was great to have a good news story about infrastructure.
The great Victorian engineers – Bazalgette, Brunel, Robert (railway) Stephenson and his near namesake, Robert (lighthouse) Stevenson – were heroes of their age. But in our own time, mention of the term 'infrastructure project' tends to evoke not so much magnificent monuments of national ambition and expertise, as the expectation of endless delays, ballooning budgets and interminable discussions, which continue, sometimes for decades, without resolution.
No one could describe HS2 or the prospect of a third Heathrow runway as feel-good projects. And buried far beneath the Thames, the splendour of the Tideway as a feat of engineering is destined to remain unappreciated by all but a few tunnel fanatics.
Yet it is not without above-ground reminders of its existence. Some of the construction sites are to be turned into public spaces, while artworks have been commissioned reflecting the history of the Thames: a balustrade of bronze oars at Putney; herons echoing a motif from William de Morgan's Chelsea ceramics workshop.
But perhaps the sewer's most important monument will be its invisibility: its construction may not achieve William Morris's utopian vision of 'The clear Thames bordered by its gardens green'. But it might bring it a little closer. If you seek its monument, look around.
Three cheers for amateurism
Sir Andy Murray may have retired from playing professional tennis, but you'd think the superb co-ordination of an elite athlete would enable him to tackle other sports at a fair amateur level. Not so, apparently.
Recounting his first skiing trip on the Sporting Misadventures podcast, he admitted that his wife Kim was mortified by his inability to dismount a ski lift with grace. When he did eventually get up the mountain he couldn't get down again, having neglected to learn how to stop, and had to be rescued. Undeterred, he plans to have another bash.
There is something quite cheering about this snapshot of minor humiliation. Social media is the gateway to a vast archive of people doing things very well, from child prodigies knocking out virtuoso piano pieces when their feet barely reach the pedals, to video updates of Violette Dorange's struggles against the cruel sea – at 23, she is the youngest solo sailor ever to complete the Vendée Globe round-the-world race.
Such videos may ignite a spark of inspiration, but it can die as quickly as it flares: if you're never going to do something really well, why persisting in doing it badly? It might be more entertaining to keep watching people with real talent. (This thought strikes me daily as I mangle Haydn's early piano sonatas.)
Generous as always, Sir Andy's tale of his skiing debacle offers hope to hapless amateurs. When we are ready to give up, we can think of the great Olympic champion descending an icy mountain on his behind, and decide to give it another go.