Piccadilly Circus review (Jul 2015)
This is out-of-date! I have been here again since I wrote this review
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Piccadilly Circus was probably the first part of London that I got to know well as a kid because they had a big Tower Records on the corner (gone now), and a HMV in the Trocadero Centre (also gone); and when you're 16 years-old that is where you do your weekly shop. Forget food and groceries — who needs food? It was all CDs and DVDs (videos in my day). Burger King has disappeared too -- it's Barclays Bank now. The only things that have remained the same are the neon lights, the fountain and the crowds. And me. I'm still here.
I know this sounds a bit daft, but there are no benches at Piccadilly Circus — not a single one. It's full of traffic lights and litter and pigeons and tourists. Personally I would get rid of all the tourists and put a few benches in. And I would shoot the pigeons. But the litter can stay.
Whenever I come here during the day it's always heaving with traffic and tourists, and when I come here at night it's exactly the same thing, because they all flock here to see the neon lights and Eros. The lights are the biggest attraction -- if you come to London and don't snap a photo of them then no one will believe you came. They are right up there alongside Big Ben and Tower Bridge as one of the must-see sights in the city. They just advertise the usual kind of crap like mobile phones and clothes shops. Coca Cola has constantly hogged the biggest spot ever since I can remember. I wonder how many bottles of Coke that sign sells? If I advertised my guidebook up there how many do you think I would sell? I would probably quadruple my sales figures overnight. I'd be selling... what... four copies? or maybe even five copies a week -- I'd be rich!
As for the Eros fountain... well... that has been the source of many, many arguments, and I am in the mood for a right old ding-dong so let's have an argument right now — come on, between you and me. Let's have it out! (This may end up in a fist fight.)
I will begin: He's not Eros.
I don't care what you think you know, or what anybody has told you, or how many guidebooks you've read saying that he is, because I am telling you right now that he's not Eros. Just because he's stark naked and holding a bow and arrow does not make him Eros. Robin Hood carried a bow and arrow and no one thought that he was Eros did they?
Okay: now it's your turn. Tell me why you think it's Eros. Obviously I can't hear what you're saying so you can blather on all day and it doesn't matter, because I am the expert here anyway. I am the Londoner. I am the one with the most brains. So I am right and you are wrong and that is all there is to it — he's not Eros!
So who is he then? Well the correct answer is the Angel of Christian Charity (whoever that is). But if you try and enlighten the tourists they won't believe you -- they don't want to. They bring their wives and girlfriends along to hold hands and have a kiss and a cuddle under the fountain, thinking that the Greek God of Love will shower them with a lifetime of wedded bliss. But he won't. Because it's not him. It's the Angel of Charity, so the most he'll bestow is five years of happiness followed by fifty years of misery. After which she'll probably die of dementia and you'll succumb to heart complications in an old peoples' home. But if you try telling that to the tourists they won't listen; they just burst into tears. (I'm thinking about giving up writing and becoming a tour guide.)
Sometimes I wonder what Eros would look like if we built him today. He wouldn't have a bow and arrow, would he? -- because we don't use those any more. He'd probably have a machine gun. I've never understood what's so romantic about Eros anyway. If I was in love with someone the last thing I'd want is some chubby little kid coming along firing arrows at her. If I wanted to fire arrows at her then I'd do it myself -- I don't need a 5-year-old hitman in nappies (because that's basically what he is).
The other argument that everyone has is whether his bow is pointing down Shaftesbury Avenue. There is an urban myth that Eros (although it's not Eros -- but I'm not getting into that again) is "burying his shaft" up Shaftesbury Avenue. We've got Stephen Fry to thank for this cock-and-bull story because he gave it as one of his answers on QI. But I am telling you right now that he's not. It's actually pointing in the complete opposite direction towards the southern half of Regent Street — the part that leads down towards the Duke of York's Column. And I should know, because I am standing underneath the damn thing as I'm writing this! So if anybody tries to tell you something different then just tell them they're talking nonsense.
Have you ever been to a forest at night and heard the bats cheeping in the trees? Well Piccadilly Circus is a bit like that, only the buildings are the trees, and the car horns are the bats. Honest to god there is a horn blasting every ten seconds in this place — it is one of the busiest junctions in London. All the main roads come and bundle up into a knot — you've got Leicester Square to the east, Trafalgar Square down Haymarket, the West End up Shaftesbury Avenue, and the grand facades of Regent Street curving off to the north. And then there's Piccadilly of course, with the Royal Academy and Ritz Hotel disappearing into the west.
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