The Twentieth Century Society is currently running the first iteration of what it intends to become an annual campaign highlighting exceptional buildings which are turning thirty years old. Buildings typically become eligible for protection through listing at this age, and the Sociery argues that early listing is a good thing, because building approaching this age are typically also approaching their first major refurbishment, during which ‘heritage’ features may need protection.

I was struck by two buildings on the list: I was astonished that the Waterloo Eurostar terminal and the station from Blackpool’s Pepsi Max Big One are the same age. The Big One featured in my childhood: I don’t know when I first rode it, but it can’t have been too long after it opened. The Eurostar featured only in my adulthood: I’ve only ever taken it from St Pancras, so my first trip can only have been after 2007.

This also sent me down a bit of a Big One rabbit hole. I never realised that the station was such an architectural achievement. I couldn’t even call it to mind, but perhaps I had other things on my mind when queueing. Anyway, it stores the trains in a vertical stack because of the constrained space on the site, and accomdates two other rides running beneath it: quite the achievement.

I also learned that fully 20% of the cost of building the rollercoaster came from protecting it against erosion. I’d never considered how vulnerable a steel rollercoaster which is just across from the beach could be to erosion, but of course it is.

What a remarkable bit of engineering the whole thing is!

Life needs more whimsy.

This has been recommended to me many times since it was first published in 2015. I’ve slightly put off reading it as I thought it might be a bit dry. It wasn’t.

The book is about the last sailing of the Lusitania, the passenger liner whose sinking in 1915 by a German U-boat made a major contribution to the US’s decision to abandon neutrality and fight for the allies in the First World War.

This was a properly riveting read, with chapters shifting between intimate portraits of life on board that final voyage, the submariners on board U-20, the code breakers in London, and President Wilson in the White House. I appreciated too that Larson didn’t answer every question. The reasoning behind some of the decisions which led to Lusitania’s sinking are lost to history, and Larson reflects that rather than trying to tie up every loose end.

This comes highly recommended.

This year, you may enjoy spending a few moments of Boxing Day last weekend’s Financial Times ‘Life of a Song’ column, in which Helen Brown examines the history of ‘We Three Kings of Orient Are’.

I suspect describing someone as ‘of Orient’ would be deeply offensive these days, but I liked the article for its straight-laced headline (‘Popular carol has been subject to mischievous variations’) and also for its intriguing final line:

Today my own teenage son, raised in Essex, rejoices each Christmas in a version which ends with the Magi “necking Stella Artois”.

It’s sure to raise a Boxing Day smile.

This is Cameron’s Brewery in Hartlepool, established 170 years ago—though the site has been used for brewing since 1572. It is the largest independent brewery in North East England.

Yep, another mosaic.

Dominican monks have a long history in Newcastle, with Blackfriars Priory established in 1239. The Friars wore black tunics over white cloaks, as shown in the mosaic, which eventually led to Newcastle United wearing a black and white kit.

The Priory dissolved in the 1500s in line with Henry VIII’s decree. The church was stripped, but, unusually, the rest of the monastery remained standing and was given over to the city’s guilds—butchers, bakers, tailors and the like—hence the mention of ‘crafts’ in the mosaic.

These days, Blackfriars is probably best known for the restaurant which opened on the site in 2001. The unique location means that one can—as, indeed, Wendy and I have—dine in the oldest purpose-built dining room in the UK. I had steak.

This is the River God Tyne on the wall of Newcastle’s Civic Centre. It was the largest bronze sculpture in the UK when it was installed in 1968 and the artist was David Wynne (he of the nearby swans).

Occasionally, water trickles from his outstretched hand, over his head, and into that little collecting pool (but mostly splashing out of it and all over the place—which, I assume, is why it’s normally turned off).