Jeremy Corbyn has promised that if Labour wins the election, every home will receive a free fibre broadband connection. If nothing else, this shows what a central part of our lives the Internet has become. So much can be done with it and – increasingly – so much cannot be done without it.

If I needed to be reminded of this fact, a potent reminder hit me this morning in the form of a Zen outage. My connection is still down as I write this on my iPhone.

We have been “with” Zen for a number of years and have generally been happy with the quality of the service. We are still on copper, not fibre, but that suffices for our modest needs.

A complete outage is rare though not unheard of. When one happens, my iPhone serves, euphemistically speaking, as a lifeboat. With it I can check Zen’s alert page to find out whether the problem is at their end or mine and, if necessary, call Zen support. In the meantime, I can use my phone to surf the Web.

Nonetheless, because I spend so much time online and tend therefore to take an Internet connection for granted, an outage induces feelings of helplessness and despondency. I have to make an effort to be patient, not to keep turning the router off and on again and not to keep trying to make my computer connect.

It’s all very curious because when I first started using computers, the Internet had not yet been heard of. Your computer was a world in itself with no connections to anything else. Thinking about that now gives me slightly claustrophobic feelings!

The first opening into a connected world came with bulletin boards. A BBS was an ordinary desktop computer connected by a modem to the telephone system. With your computer and a modem of your own, you could dial up a BBS and interact with it. Most BBSs were single user, that is, they accepted only one caller at a time. Communication between callers was by means of messages left in the various “rooms” or forums on the BBS.

Despite the limitations, the BBS became very popular and some supported very lively communities. Eventually, a form of networking was developed which enabled people connected to one BBS to send messages via the network to other BBSs. Given the enthusiasm of “sysops” (short for system operators) and their callers, the BBS might have developed still further but it was not to be: the advent of the Internet killed the BBS.

For a few years I ran a BBS of my own and attracted a small but faithful following. From time to time, we would meet in person in a nearby pub and spend a companionable evening together.

Those days are gone, perhaps regretted in some ways and remembered fondly, but will never return. Instead, we have the Internet with its seemingly unlimited resources and ability to connect people all over the world.

Well, we do when our Internet connection is working, as mine is not just now.

So I will bestir myself and do what I should already have done, namely the morning chores, and perhaps by the time I have finished, the connection will have been restored and my “window on the world” will be open once more.

Afterthought

Would we be better off with a fibre connection? I’m not sure that we would. More importantly, however, I cannot avoid the notion that fibre is already old hat. Surely, the future is with universal wireless connectivity – isn’t that what the arrival of 5G is telling us?

You can already acquire a wireless router connecting via your mobile phone network that requires no wires (or fibre) and can be carried with you from place to place. I think that is where the future lies. Maybe someone should mention this to Jeremy.

This afternoon we went to the Barbican. I won’t say much about it (there are plenty of references online) other than to say that it is residential but with public areas such as a cinema, concert hall, public library, exhibition spaces and cafe.

The architectural style is Brutalist and yet, while my intellect tells me that I should not like it, my emotions tell me that I have an affectionate regard for it.

The place is like a maze and finding one’s way around depends in the discreet but extensive signage.

A rock dove (that’s a street pigeon to the unsympathetic) drops in for lunch.

This is the hall of the Worshipful Company of Ironmongers whose entrance is girt about by parts of the Barbican. We passed it on our way to the Museum of London.

The museum traces the history of London from prehistoric times to the present. There is so much to see that I cannot do more than show a few random images.

This happy face comes from a display called London Faces. It dates from the 1300s.

This is Gerard the Giant (c1670) who stood in a niche on the front of Gerard’s Hall in the City of London. According to legend, a giant had lived in the building.

This figure once stood outside a tobacconist’s shop.

One of my favourite sections is that containing mock-ups of Victorian shops and offices.

This is a bank manager’s office. As Christmas is approaching, there is a glass of wine and a mince pie on the desk.

This is a grocery store with a display of biscuits along the front of the counter and large canisters of tea on the shelves at the back.

We sat in the pub for a while but if course no one came to serve us!

On leaving the museum and heading for the bus stop, I took a final photo of the complex, this time after darkness had fallen and the lights were coming on.

The day is cold, around 7°C (45°F) and grey but dry. This picture gives you some idea of it.

We took a number 59 bus but this unfortunately broke down so we changed to a number 476 which took us to Haringey where I photographed the old well.

A number 230 took us from here to Walthamstow.

One of the first interesting sights we found there was this building. I have mentioned before how we “collect” old Burton’s stores and we immediately recognised this as one such.

Burton’s stores usually have one or more foundation stones which are useful for dating the building. As the ground floor of this one has been modified (I’m inclined to say ruined by unsympathetic alteration work) I didn’t expect to find any but…

ta-dah! Careful search revealed this one, a typical example in black marble, inscribed “THIS STONE LAID BY STANLEY HOWARD BURTON 1931”. There were possibly others (they tended to come in threes) but, if so, they have been removed or covered up.

After a pit stop at a Costa Coffee shop, we started along the High Street.

I noticed that between each building was a sculpted figure of what appears to be a dragon.

Not only is this decoration unusual but it also shows that this part of the High Street was built as a whole and not a separately financed individual buildings as is more often the case.

Walthamstow Market takes place in the High Street and is reputedly the longest outdoor market in Europe. It started in 1885 and runs from Tuesday to Saturday.

An inn has stood on this site since at least the 18th century but this one dates from 1880.

Today, the ground floor accommodates a cake shop and cafe but the plaque high on the wall leaves us in no doubt that this was once the Cock Tavern. A coach house and stables were added in 1888 but I don’t know whether they are still extant.

I was pleased to see this branch of Manze’s apparently still going strong as the one near us in Chapel Market closed a while back.

Leading off the High Street is a road with the evocative name of Mission Grove. I thought at first sight that this building was indeed the mission, especially as I could make out the word “Mission” through the foliage. However, it turned to be Mission Grove Primary School, built in 1905. Still with its separate entrances marked “Boys”, “Girls” and “Infants”, it was a welcome find but it left the mystery: where was the mission and does it still exist or was it replaced by the school?

It was by now time for a late lunch and by happy chance came upon a Turkish restaurant called Göyüzü. We ordered lentil soup and a pide each, with Turkish tea. (Did I say I love Turkish tea?) The restaurant was crowded and noisy and the waiter misheard the order, bringing only one pide instead of two. However, this turned out to be fortunate because with the soup and the plates of salad and bread that are served with the meal, one pide shared between us turned out to be plenty. I expected a big bill but it was quite modest. What a pity this restaurant is so far from where we live!

After lunch, we visited the public library. It contains many interesting features but one needs to be discreet in photographing public places such as a library. This picture shows a view of the rather fine staircase and the stained glass windows on the first landing.

This photo shows some of the fine carving on the staircase.

Two famous philanthropists are associated with the library. The first is John Passmore Edwards who, in 1894 paid for an extension to the library which was then sited in a house called Rosebank. The second is Andrew Carnegie who financed the new library that replaced Rosebank in 1907. (Edwards’s extension still forms part of the library.) Both of these names are writ large in Britain’s public library system and other educational foundations.

Before taking the tube for home, I took this photo of the rather striking Central Parade. Previous buildings on the site were destroyed on WWII by a flying bomb and the parade was built in 1954 “in Festival of Britain style”, including the “modern” but not unpleasant clock tower.

Designed by F.G. Southgate, it comprises a shopping centre, offices and apartments on the upper floors. More recently, there was a plan to redevelop the site which would include demolishing the dwellings. However, Historic England evaluated the complex and gave it a Grade II listing, in view of which the Council has shelved its demolition plans, no doubt to the relief of the occupants.

I wrote this review a couple of decades ago. The book itself, and therefore the views expressed, date to the 1930s and as spoken languages continually evolve, some of the statements made in it may today need further elaboration. Nonethess, I think the ideas, as expressed in my review, remain largely true as do my opinions on the respective varieties of English spoken in Britain and the USA.

In the past, I have tended, in common with many of my compatriots, to feel indignation when some of our publishers ‘Americanize’ books that they hope to sell in the United States as well as here. The motives of annoyance, I must admit, were always emotional rather than rational, based on impressions that American English is greatly different from our own and that to be forced to read it is, in some sense, to be subjected to an alien culture.

Recent reading of a fine book, A History of the English Language by Albert C. Baugh, has gone a considerable way to tempering my views. For one thing, Professor Baugh himself is an American. The style and clarity of his writing are admirable and I devoured the book rather than read it. It is nearly 500 pages long and I must have been at least a quarter of the way through before it occurred to me to check whether the author was using ‘Americanisms’. He was: I had simply not noticed. The book, as well as being fascinating for the information (and opinions) it contains, is also a delight to read.

From Anglo-Saxon times down to our own, the English language has not merely gone through many seemingly extraordinary changes. It has also existed in many forms concurrently. In fact it is difficult – or even impossible – to say what the English language actually is, now or at any other period of its history. A ‘standard English’ did indeed emerge, based on the East Midland English dialect as used by educated speakers in London, but with the emergence of English-speaking communities far beyond the shores of Britain, the superiority of this dialect has ceased to be universally accepted.

A common theme among writers on the English language has always been the complaint of some that the language is decaying and that the reason for this is the ‘bad’ English spoken by certain groups that is finding its way into standard English because of the laziness, ignorance or love of novelty of speakers who should know better. But against what reference is this supposed decadence measured? It seems that detractors always have in the backs of their minds some supposed Golden Age when English flowered in its true beauty and elegance. Even a superficial study of the history and evolution of English shows that this is nonsense. There never was a ‘Golden Age’, nor could there ever be one, since the language is continually changing and must change or die. Detractors themselves have tended to choose completely different periods in English development as their norm. If the language had really been decaying for as long as scholars claim, then we would now all be grunting at one another like pigs…

As Professor Baugh points out, the English of the United States displays a remarkable conformity across that continent. There are about three main dialectal areas but the differences between them are small. The reason for this is thought to be the fact that the early language developed mainly from that spoken by English settlers who came predominantly from Eastern England and the extreme mobility of the population, which tended to smooth away regional differences. Not being an historian, I cannot say whether this argument stands up but I think it bears further examination. Also his book first appeared in the 1930s and 60 years on we might ask whether American English is not now changing in new ways, acquiring new dialectal variations and so on. Be that as it may, even a cursory reading of American books and newspapers should convince us that the dialects of educated speakers in both lands remain very close.

The features of spelling that we tend to make much of are owing to Noah Webster, author of the most famous American English dictionary. Both in England and America, many attempts have been made to reform the spelling of English. Most of these have foundered and it seems that English speakers the world over do not actually want to reform their spelling, however much they may claim the contrary. While radical new spelling systems are occasionally proposed on both sides of the Atlantic, only the most modest have ever stood any chance of acceptance. That our own spelling has changed since Shakespeare’s day is obvious; but it is equally obvious that the rate of change during this timespan has been small. Noah Webster proposed modest but comprehensive changes to American spelling. These included elimination of unsounded letters and a few cosmetic alterations. Conservative as these were, most were not adopted. Change of ‘c’ to ‘s’ in words like defence (American defense), loss of unpronounced ‘u’ from words such as colour and honour (American color and honor), replacement of unpronounceable ‘re’ by pronounceable ‘er’ in centre (American center), and simplifications like that of tyre to tire and cheque to check are among the few corrections that have survived to our day.

Most of the ‘Americanisms’ that we instinctively criticise are not the barbarisms that we might believe them to be. Quite often they are originally correct English forms that did not change as the language of England changed. An obvious example is the continued use in American of the past particle gotten, now replaced in our own tongue by got. Others are terms for new concepts needed by settlers for which no word existed in the English of the time; or inventions of new terms to describe new concepts where Britain and America have produced their own neologisms, such as petrol versus gas(oline) or pavement versus sidewalk.

Deploring what is different from us, we often miss what is arguably the greater wonder: how closely similar others are to ourselves. Our language has always been immensely creative and has never hesitated to absorb useful words from foreign languages. Without realizing it, perhaps, we have absorbed many words from American English too, particularly in politics and science, but also in other fields, and our language is the richer for this. The true wonder is that we can so easily communicate with huge numbers of human beings who have English either as a first language or as a lingua franca. A few differences of spelling and a few strange words are a small price to pay for this immense gift.

This evening after we arrived home, having stopped off on the way for a fortifying coffee, I finally removed the bandage from my injured hand.

It’s not a pretty sight, what with a row of scabs along the metacarpophalangeal joints and the skin wrinkled from spending so long under adhesive tape, but the wounds are dry and look as though they are healing nicely.

I will still have to be careful to avoid knocks and scrapes but removal of the bandage will make it easier to use my hands.

There is still some swelling above my right eye and mauve patches under my eyes but Rome wasn’t built in a day. Time is all it takes.