It’s a funny old world, this. We promised a directions’ post for all those coming to the Bash 2016 and this is it. But, frankly, if anyone can’t find the venue then they probably don’t know how to find their toes. It is really THAT easy. Here’s the link.
And here’s the address
2-4 Wharfdale Road
Kings Cross, London
And here’s a Google Earth view
- Go to King’s Cross station
- Exit onto Kings Cross square at the front
- Turn left, cross York Way
- Turn left on the Caledonian Road
- Walk ahead 4 minutes or so until you reach the Driver. You are there.
For those who need a bit of a steer, though, then this post is a must for you.
Right, first things first. It is in London. That’s LONDON, England, Ok? If you imagine a map of Britain, minus Ireland, it looks a bit like this
Like an old man kneeling as he coughs up his dinner. Ok, so allow your eye to be drawn to the bit that looks like his rather Kardashian arse. Then follow to where he’s resting said ponderous posterior on his heels – I’ve drawn a cross for you, here-
And bingo! As I said, alimentary, Dr Watson. London.
Right so you’ve arrived by plane/train/bus/car/sedan chair/floo powder in this city of a thousand scams. Wherever you are, you need to descend into the Stygian depths of our metro system. Look out for these helpful signs
Sorry, wrong one. This one.
Note, people, these show you where you go into the Underground. That’s what we call our metro. Because it is underground. Unless you join the Underground where it is above ground, which is still the Underground, but with daylight. See, I told you it was easy. Here’s a musical interlude. Play it as loud as you dare.
There are lots of entrances. With steps. Downwards. They have signs. I’ve said that, haven’t I? They don’t all come in chocolate with icing so avoid trying to eat them even if you need a sugar boost.
On the walls there are maps that look like circuit diagrams that Ikea have rejected as too abstruse. They are covered in lines. And the place where the most lines meet is, tada!!
Can you spot it? Yay! And that’s where you want to go. There are dark blue and light blue and black and burgundy and yellow and orange lines for you to choose from to get there.
You may see this.
Don’t be put off; in London all genitalia is sponsored by a famous brand: Willy Budweiser; Dick McDonalds; Fanny Ford. I know this one says it’s being held for some reason. All we ask is: don’t judge.
By the way, you have to use at least three of these lines before you leave the Underground/Metro/Tube or you will be taken back to the start. That’s just the way it is. And if you go past Mornington Crescent then you gain bonus points.
Ok, ok, I know if you actually look at the map you will see it says
Kings Cross St Pancras
That’s because the two stations are linked. This one
Which you don’t want. And this
Which you do. It’s like twinning only they are both in England. Though St Pancras was Italian so I suppose that counts as twinning. And the King in Kings Cross was a German, albeit before there was a Germany. I think I’m getting a headache.
That’s why you want the Kings Cross bit, ok? Not St Pancras. You’ll be eaten by large snotty monsters or dissolve in the tears of 1000 small worples if you enter St Pancras station on June 11th. It’s the Feast of Kevin the Bewildered and it is only true believers or those with 150 points on their Aldi loyalty card who will survive.
So we will make an assumption. We will assume you are emerging from the Tube – that’s what we call the Underground, because it runs in tubes except where it doesn’t… Oh stop it. It will look like this.
Thing is, guys, there are a lot of exits and you could emerge anywhere, frankly. Here perhaps. This is also Kings Cross.
The good thing is, this is a railway station. It has platforms and trains and stuff. 12 platforms – they have platform 0, oddly, so the highest number is 11. There is no platform 9¾. Sorry. It’s a trolley in a wall and you’ll have to wait with a Sweaty Betty from Barking or a grumphant-plig from the south side of Basingstoke if you want a piccy. Up to you. You could be hours and still have 57 South Koreans on a round the world giggle-a-thon in the picture.
So head for the platforms 0-8 and stand with your back to them. Breathe. You are about to leave the building – Elvis has already gone. A while back. With chocolate. When you do, this is what you are leaving behind.
This is the nearest to fresh air that you’ll get, here on the Euston Road; indeed given the number of people coming to the Bash, probably all day.
Once outside you are on King’s Cross Square. Like the Underground that goes over ground, the square isn’t a square. It’s a rhombolic-trapeziodal-dodecahedron or something. Anyway, the sort of shape that if translated into toilet seats would create a personalised concreting crisis.
See if you can spot this.
No real reason, just to see if you are alert.
Anyhoo, you go left. LEFT. Not right. Or wrong. Or sinister. Just whatever’s left.
Don’t worry about the shadow. He’s nice. Just don’t feed him. You will reach a road. York Way. You don’t want it. It’s fine, as unnecessary roads go. Your google maps – yawn – may say take it but I don’t want you to, so don’t. Cross it. Safely. With a squirrel or a man with green crosses. And walk on. Quickly. Confidently. It is your city. Enjoy it. Embrace it. The city, not the people. That will be misconstrued. And you’ll be unlikely to end with this chap. Hugh has shotgunned him already, as you can see.
Go on until you reach the next junction. It’s the Caledonian Road. Pause. Think left again.
And, well, go left. Slowly. Describe a curve, using words of one syllable that originated with the Vikings.
The road you want is called the Caledonian Road. I’m repeating myself. Walk ahead. It’s less than attractive, frankly. It’s basically the main road to Caledonia and, well, careworn.
Don’t dawdle. Motor. Heel-toe-heel-toe: repeat. For the next 3 minutes 27 seconds. Maybe longer if the clowns are gathering. It’s a Thing. Ignore it. Do Not Feed The Clowns.
When I checked out the destination – yes, there is an end to this – it was covered in scaffolding. Hiding the name. Deliberately. To see if you are awake, I suppose.
The Driver. Bet you wish you had a driver, eh? They could take all the pressure off you and me both. It looked like this. It may not on 11th June. The building will be there though. Unless the scaffolding was holding it up.
If you are in doubt about your whereabouts and you are:
(a) a woman, you can ask directions; or
(b) a man, you can keep staring at your phone and hope someone recognises you from your about page and drags you inside.
Here’s me describing what this crossroads looks like, looking back the way you’ve just come.
I realise this is less than useless for a directions’ post as it means you’ll be there if you recognise it whereas if you aren’t there it will make about as much sense as I do. That didn’t occur to me at the time I filmed it. Best of luck. Here are some views of the venue.
I’m off to book a cab.
Oh Sacha is a bit of a stickler for polls – you may have noticed – so she’s asked if you’d rate this aide-memoir; my bonus sort of depends on it so if you could…