Latest news with #HousesofParliament
Metro
a day ago
- Business
- Metro
Wetherspoon boss Tim Martin reveals unlikely inspiration behind pub chain
Wetherspoon boss Tim Martin has hailed the founding fathers of America as his biggest inspiration as he spoke ahead of the opening of a new pub named after a major peace treaty. Tim Martin said democracy is 'the important factor in the development of society' — although he admitted his knowledge of history is 'scant'. The company's founder spoke as the chain prepares to open five pubs including the Dictum of Kenilworth. Converted from a former discount store, the £3.2 million venue is named after a 13th Century pronouncement to reconcile the rebels of the Second Barons' War — a group of whom held out in the town's castle— with the royal government of England. 'A lot of businesses in recent decades have gone down a 'branding' route, whereby decor, design, the name and so on are linked to a particular image or brand,' Martin said. 'We've always felt that pubs are more individual and people appreciate authentic links to the community and to the past: to local people, the building, and history. 'We also try and include some works by local artists. 'Many of our early London pubs, for example, featured artwork by my cousin Gabrielle, who comes from nearby Coventry.' Asked if there is a figure from history he most admired, the company's chairman picked out the founding fathers who are credited with establishing the American identity in the late 18th Century. 'I think the most important factor in the development of society is democracy – in spite of the turbulence and arguments it inevitably involves,' he said. 'In that respect America is the most important democracy, which has helped Western Europe, Japan, South Korea and many other countries emerge from authoritarianism. 'So I'd have to say the founding fathers of America are my inspiration, although my knowledge of history is scant.' Wetherspoon is due to open the pubs before the end of the year, all of which incorporate local history into their design. However one desired conversion at the heart of British political history, where Martin will go down as an outspoken Brexiteer, will remain out of reach. 'Wags have often suggested we could convert the Houses of Parliament into a pub, but that's probably a bridge too far,' he said. Seventy jobs will be created following a £3.2 million development project to create the Dictum, according to Wetherspoon. More Trending Photos, details and artwork with local relevance will be displayed inside. Pub manager Tom Clarke said: 'Myself and my team are looking forward to welcoming customers into The Dictum of Kenilworth and we are confident that the pub will be a great addition to Kenilworth's social scene.' The other new pubs due to open are the Sun Wharf in London Bridge, previously The London Dungeon in Tooley Street, The Sir Alexander Fleming in Paddington, named after the eminent physician who discovered penicillin in nearby Queen Mary's Hospital, the Sigered, King of Essex in Basildon, a nod to the town's Saxon origins, and The Chiltern, set in a former silent picture house in Beaconsfield. Do you have a story you would like to share? Contact MORE: Globe-trotting couple couchsurf in Saudi Arabia on mission to visit 1,500 airports MORE: Wetherspoon fan books Ireland cruise on quest to visit all pubs in British Isles MORE: 'It gets me out of the house': Pensioner's 'hobby' sees him visit 900 Wetherspoons
Mint
a day ago
- Business
- Mint
UK Parliament Is Falling Down. Doing Nothing Is Not an Option.
(Bloomberg Opinion) -- Amid all the pressures on Britain's public finances, fixing the crumbling, mouse-infested, fake-gothic palace that hosts the nation's politicians isn't high on the priority list. Yet as the Houses of Parliament literally fall down around them, MPs will soon be asked to approve a restoration package likely to run into tens of billions of pounds. Even as they wince at the prospect of looming tax rises and painful cuts to welfare and overseas aid, MPs must finally take a decision about shoring up their decrepit workplace. It almost doesn't matter how they decide to do it. After years of procrastination in which they've been bogged down in technicalities, more inaction is a bad choice. They must take the political hit and commit to starting this much-needed work as soon as possible. The options are moving out into nearby buildings while the work is carried out (the Commons would go to the old Department of Health, the Lords to the Queen Elizabeth II conference center); a partial 'decant,' where the Commons stays but the Lords depart and MPs use the upper chamber when theirs is being worked on; and a series of rolling repairs that allows everyone to stay. The latter is the least disruptive but most expensive and time-consuming. In 2022, costs were estimated at between £7 billion ($9.41 billion) and £13 billion and to take between 19 and 28 years. Up-to-date estimates will be presented to MPs in the fall, and thanks to the delays that mean the palace is now in a worse state, plus the impact of inflation, they are likely to be far higher. Doing nothing, the route MPs have taken for at least a decade, means it's now costing £2 million a year just to patch the building up as pipes break, wires fry and bits of masonry crash to the ground. It's a wonder no one's been killed. Experts warn the whole place could go up in flames at any minute, a la Notre Dame Cathedral. The problem is that while no MP wants conflagration on their watch, they can't quite face moving out either. I get it: Parliament is a world heritage site and a national treasure. Peer up at the rafters of Westminster Hall, the genuinely medieval part of the palace, and you can almost spot the tennis ball Henry VIII is said to have lobbed there; sip from a champagne flute on the terrace overlooking the Thames between votes, lounge on the green benches where Winston Churchill made his wartime speeches, stand on the spot Charles I was condemned to death — everywhere you look is history and tradition and splendor. Imagine being an MP, with all the long hours and opprobrium they face, and not experiencing any of these perks. And that's before you consider the challenge of persuading voters, tired of being told the money isn't there to fix their dilapidated schools and hospitals while their bills and taxes rise, that a multibillion-pound repair job on parliament is necessary. The constant delays to the restoration project are emblematic of wider issues facing the British state where, particularly since the 2008 financial crash, governments put off decisions until they reach crisis point. The problem for this Labour government is that in so many areas, the music has stopped, delay is no longer feasible, and the bill is vast. Compensation for victims of the infected blood and post office scandals will run to well over £20 billion; the NHS, welfare and social care systems are all in desperate need of reform as are the waterways; the myriad delays and cancellations to the HS2 rail program are a joke; the courts are at breaking point. No wonder MPs balk at signing yet another check to fix their own home. One I spoke to recently felt the costs were indefensible, that parliament was no longer worth the trouble, and should be bulldozed and replaced with a modern air-conditioned block. That would be a shame. It's true that its gothic spires are a bit of a fake. Most of Parliament dates back to 1834, after a fire burned down the original medieval palace the year before. But it's still one of the wonders of the world and the beating heart of British democracy. The great architect Charles Barry won a competition to design the replacement to the original palace, and enlisted another future master in the field, the-23-year-old Augustus Pugin, who carried out much of the work alongside Barry's son Edward. Inside are 1,180 rooms, 126 staircases and two miles of corridors. The fabric of the building is formed from thousands of sandy limestone, which gives its pleasing honey hue but proved vulnerable to London pollution, particularly before the Clean Air Acts brought to an end the choking smog known as pea soupers. A couple of months ago, engineers drilled a bore hole deeper than the Channel Tunnel to check what lay beneath the site and encountered what would previously have been the Thames wall running underneath what is now the main A3212 road in front of the Houses of Parliament. The 'new' buildings sit atop a concrete structure, laboriously hand-poured by the Victorians. Inside, not much has changed. With only one route in and out of the basements, laying and repairing the pipes, wires and fiber-optic cables needed to power a modern democracy is a tricky job. To save time and energy, workers have simply added new services on top of the redundant old stuff. That means there are now 14 miles of pipework and an estimated 250 miles of cables across the estate, much of it no longer functional. The building is riddled with asbestos; the heating is steam powered, which explains why the offices are always freezing. Then there are the sewers: Parliament's waste collection was created just before the legendary civil engineer Joseph Bazalgette installed London's vast underground sewers and unfortunately lie a meter or two below it. Ever ingenious, the Victorians invented a workaround by which waste was moved upwards into the main sewage works using gas pump propulsion. These days the pump is electric, but the waste is still literally shot up into London's bowels. There's a metaphor in there somewhere. Or, perhaps, inspiration. If repairing parliament is allowed to remain in the too-difficult box, it will be a damning indictment of Britain's capacity to resolve problems. Like the Victorians, today's MPs should show courage, gumption and ingenuity — and get on and fix the place before it really is too late. More From Bloomberg Opinion: This column reflects the personal views of the author and does not necessarily reflect the opinion of the editorial board or Bloomberg LP and its owners. Rosa Prince is a Bloomberg Opinion columnist covering UK politics and policy. She was formerly an editor and writer at Politico and the Daily Telegraph, and is the author of 'Comrade Corbyn' and 'Theresa May: The Enigmatic Prime Minister.' More stories like this are available on
Bloomberg
a day ago
- Politics
- Bloomberg
UK Parliament Is Falling Down. Doing Nothing Is Not an Option.
Amid all the pressures on Britain's public finances, fixing the crumbling, mouse-infested, fake-gothic palace that hosts the nation's politicians isn't high on the priority list. Yet as the Houses of Parliament literally fall down around them, MPs will soon be asked to approve a restoration package likely to run into tens of billions of pounds. Even as they wince at the prospect of looming tax rises and painful cuts to welfare and overseas aid, MPs must finally take a decision about shoring up their decrepit workplace. It almost doesn't matter how they decide to do it. After years of procrastination in which they've been bogged down in technicalities, more inaction is a bad choice. They must take the political hit and commit to starting this much-needed work as soon as possible.
Daily Mirror
4 days ago
- General
- Daily Mirror
Men paid to dig out holes full of poo in grim and smelly job
It's a dirty job but someone's got to do it – before the 19th century super sewer, which turns 150 this year, festering cesspits had to be cleared out by hand – or at least a bucket and a cart by gong farmers Poo now travels under London in a sewer tunnel so wide, you could drive three buses side-by-side through it. But before this new super sewer opened this year, Londoners were still flushing their waste down 1,300 miles of a creaking brick-built Victorian sewage system, with ornate cathedral-sized pumping stations. However, when the Public Health Act of 1875, received Royal assent 150 years ago, in August 1875, the drainage system built by civil engineer Sir Joseph Bazalgette in the city was the super sewer of its time. It was built after the horror of The Great Stink of 1858, when the River Thames became so polluted with raw excrement, that during one long hot summer, the water levels dropped, and the malodorous smell was so noxious, it shut the Houses of Parliament. Nght soil workers, or gong farmers carted away the city's filth from 200,000 festering cesspits and outdoor privies, to be used as fertiliser. 'There was no integrated sewerage network system, so all the dung heaps had to be dug out by gong men,' explains Dr Dave Musgrove, content director of BBC History Magazine and the HistoryExtra podcast. 'It was an unpleasant job but reasonably well-paid, because the excrement was valuable. If you weren't rich, you had your pit, you dug it out, and it was taken away in carts and used for manuring fields.' The 17th century diarist Samuel Pepys wrote extensively about his chamber pot and whether it had been emptied into the cesspit beneath the house by his servant. 'He also used to relieve himself in the fireplace,' says Dr Musgrove. 'But he tells a story where he goes down into his basement and is very disappointed to step into a great heap of turds, because his neighbour hasn't emptied his pit and it's leaked into his.' A 19th century population explosion meant the night soil men couldn't keep up with the volume of fecal matter, and piles of untreated human waste either leaked or were dumped on the shores of the Thames, turning it into an open sewer. Along with human corpses and rotting vegetation in the waterways, this was a toxic disaster waiting to happen. 'By the early 19th century, more people were wanting to use this up-and-coming toilet flushing technology. But it meant the city had lots more liquid matter,' explains the historian. 'So they start digging sewers, digging underground or even just overground ones, and it's going into rivers and the water system is becoming contaminated.' Before 1875, people had no idea that dirty water caused the deadly cholera epidemics that raged in the country's crowded cities. Dr Dave Musgrove, who also hosts HistoryExtra Toilets Through Time podcast series, says: 'Throughout this period we get a slew of public health legislation, where people start to recognise that it is an issue.' Frightened city dwellers blamed the thousands of deaths on the foul miasma that hung heavy over London and other cities. In 1853 outbreaks of cholera in London, Gateshead and Newcastle killed over 10,000 people. The following year another epidemic hit South London After one particularly virulent outbreak on August 31, 1854, when 127 people living around Broad Street in Soho died, a local anaesthetist, John Snow, suspected contaminated water was to blame, but nobody believed him. He traced it to a water pump on Broad Street, where a child had been taken ill with cholera and its nappies had been cleaned in a cesspool of water close to the Broad Street well. The local parish agreed to remove the pump handle as an experiment – and the spread of cholera was stalled. From then on, new sanitary laws made it compulsory for local authorities to provide sewers, control water supplies and regulate the overcrowded and unsanitary lodging houses in rookeries where most poor people lived in Victorian times. Most importantly, all residential construction had to have running water and an internal drainage system. But flushing toilets took ages to catch on in Britain. 'The person who is often cited as having invented the first one was the godson of Queen Elizabeth I, Thomas Harrington, who came up with what he called the 'Ajax' on a lad's weekend in the 15th century.' Although the Queen had one installed, nobody thought his idea would catch on. The ruined Grade I listed Wingfield Manor in Derbyshire is also home to a flushing toilet built in 1596. And it's thought Henry III's 13th century garderobe in York's Clifford's Tower had a flushing spout that ran water down the lavatory hole and out of the tower. But while we were still going alfresco in philistine Britain, the world 's first flushing loos were actually invented in Bronze Age Crete. 'The Minoan Palace of Knossos had a very advanced plumbing system that was built around 2000 BC,' says Dr Musgrove. Cesspits are gold dust to archaeologists, as they reveal so much about the people who used them. 'The people who built the Neolithic site of Stonehenge lived in a village a couple of miles away called Durrington Walls in a settlement of round houses,' Dr Musgrove continues. 'Human poo was excavated, which was riddled with parasites – possibly from eating meat that hadn't been cooked well – but there was no particular designated toilet area.' That changed with the Roman invasion. You can still visit the well preserved Roman communal loos at Chedworth Roman Villa in Gloucestershire or Housesteads Roman fort at Hadrian's Wall ,where soldiers sat chatting side-by-side at the communal latrines while rainwater flushed away their waste. After the Romans leave things go downhill. 'In the early medieval period British society sort of fractures, but excavations in Coppergate in York in the 1980s found evidence of Viking toilets – and the famous Jorvik turd.' The Vikings lived in tightly packed areas, and had yards where people just dug holes and did their business, with little wicker dividing walls. Dr Musgrove adds: 'You can see the mineralised coprolite Viking 9th century poo at the museum, where they've recreated those toilets with Bogar who's been sitting on this loo for 40 years.' The Jorvik turd also tells us a lot about the Viking diet. 'It's quite a big poo – 5cm wide by 20cm long,' chuckles Dr Musgrove. 'Whoever produced it enjoyed a diet rich in bread and meat but not many vegetables.' In the Middle Ages toilets were holes in the ground in communal spaces over a river or a stream. 'They were basically doing their business into the water,' says the historian. 'But there weren't concentrations of people living in one place, so sewage wasn't much of an issue.' Community toilets continued in the Tudor period when Henry VIII built a two-story loo for courtiers at Hampton Court called the House of Easement, which held 28 people at once. 'There were private toilets for important people in castles,' adds Dr Musgrove. 'But those were still quite basic spaces in the wall and human waste would drop down a pipe into a cesspit – or just drip down the outside of the walls.' We've come a long way since those smelly days, but before we congratulate ourselves on having super sewers, transporting our effluent safely away from our homes, it's important to scotch the myth of our ancestors chucking urine-filled chamber pots out of over-hanging medieval windows onto people's heads on the cobbles below. 'Even hundreds of years before the 1875 act, communities did their level best to separate themselves from their faeces,' says Dr Musgrove. 'There were many by-laws to stop us fouling our own spaces even in the Middle Ages, so we shouldn't imagine the streets of Britain's cities were just covered in filth all the time.' Something our leaky water utility companies could no doubt learn from even now. The back story on loo paper Anyone unlucky enough to have used Izal tracing paper loo paper at school will appreciate how important a nice soft double ply is. The first loo paper appeared in 1887 when Joseph C. Gayetty of New York sold medicated flat sheets called The Therapeutic Paper, and the first perforated rolls were sold in 1890 by the Scott Paper Company. But it took a long time for these to become popular because most people were accustomed to using any old paper. 'Once we started printing stuff from the 15th century onwards, people quite quickly started using it for the purposes of wiping – and sometimes as a political gesture,' explains Dr Musgrove. 'If there was something you disagreed with, you might offer that to people to wipe their bottom.' Before that, the early Romans loved a communal khazi and it's thought they also shared a communal sponge. But Dr Musgrove admits: 'We don't actually know whether the sponge on a stick was used for wiping Roman bottoms – or for cleaning the toilets.' Moss was very popular in the Middle Ages for bum wiping. 'There was a thriving trade in bringing moss into medieval towns because it was a valuable product – nice and soft on your backside. Archaeologists have also found evidence of rags in toilet soil.' But the hardcore Tudors used 'oyster and mussel shells – more for scraping than wiping,' according to Dr Musgrove. Alarmingly, holly has also been found in some cesspits. 'That would have made the user quite anxious,' the historian says.
Scottish Sun
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- Scottish Sun
I visited grim, gory London Dungeons & was frightened out of my wits – it's a perfect day out with teenage kids
Find out how you can grab two tickets with The Sun Superdays SHOCK & GORE I visited grim, gory London Dungeons & was frightened out of my wits – it's a perfect day out with teenage kids THE door slams shut as we enter the waiting lift . . . Everything goes black and starts to shake. Advertisement 3 One of the characters waiting to greet you at the London Dungeons Credit: Supplied 3 The Sun's Natalie and daughter Dulci enjoying a jump scare at the Dungeons Credit: Supplied Could we actually be stuck here? After a bit too long, the door creaks open and we pile out with relief. My 15-year-old daughter Dulci and I have come to The London Dungeon for the afternoon to be frightened out of our wits! We start by moving through a dense corridor where we are stalked by some eerie screams. We're scared already, so link arms. Then the 90-minute tour begins. As we enter a series of rooms, the grimmest, goriest stories of London's history are played out before us, by actors who are more convincing than they need to be. Advertisement We're in London's notorious Newgate prison, where a witch in a cage is loudly proclaiming her innocence. It's not the most salubrious of places. But wait, it's pitch black again. Oh no, now what's going on? Well, that would spoil it, wouldn't it? Let's just say it's an immersive experience. 3 See below to find out how to get tickets to the London Dungeons with The Sun Superdays Advertisement Dulci deals with it by keeping her eyes firmly shut. By now we are holding hands — very tightly. We find ourselves in Mrs Lovett's pie shop. She is besties with Sweeney Todd, the crazed and murderous demon barber. Her hearty-looking pies are filled with . . . no, let's not go there. But the blood and gore theme has just got started. Tom Daley, Stephanie Pratt, Mario Falcone and Gabby Allen try Death Express at London Dungeon for Halloween There is a dead body before us lying on a slab. Who knew an audience at an autopsy of a plague victim with a deranged surgeon could be so much fun? Advertisement In fact, it is the highlight of the afternoon for Dulci. What is so glorious about The London Dungeon experience is that you know something scary is around the corner, but you can't figure out what. You can't even get any respite in the loos — as there are screams and wails in there, too. We had a memorable experience and Dulci said it was just the right level of scariness. Afterwards, it was surreal emerging into the light on the South Bank, with the Houses of Parliament standing serene across the river. Reassuring, under the circumstances. Advertisement
