One Stop Beyond: Merstham In this series I'm taking the train one stop beyond the Greater London boundary, getting off and seeing what's there. Today that means Merstham, one stop beyond Coulsdon South on the Brighton line. For positioning purposes it lies at the foot of the North Downs, a couple of miles north of Redhill thus very much in Surrey. It's a truly ancient village whose long term expansion is mainly thanks to rocks, roads and railways, most recently the massive M23/M25 motorway interchange which despoils the immediate neighbourhood. If you can hear a muted roar throughout today's post, that'll be it. North Downs Way threads through the churchyard so you may well have walked past. I walked in. It's always lovely when a quaint old church is unlocked for visitors, something St Katherine's tries to do most days. The interior looks rather more Victorian once you get through the door (and have located the light switches and turned them on). The font's properly medieval though, and above it is the colourful spider formed by the dangling bellropes that Jack and his team tug every Wednesday ('for fun and fitness', if you're interested in joining). I was particularly struck by the little yellow cards arrayed across the nave, two per pew, encouraging servicegoers to scan the QR code and give some money. I've seen 'tap to give' pads at the backs of churches before (in this case default £10), but the steady decline of ready cash is spurring a donation revolution in our places of worship. stripe between the escarpment and the village proved the line of least resistance. Heading west a red sign warns of an upcoming 10% gradient, this the civil engineering compromise for climbing Gatton Bottom, and heading east a slip road opens up on the approach to mega-Junction 7. This is one of just three four-level stack interchanges in the UK (the others being the M4/M5 and the M4/M25), built when it was assumed the M23 would burrow deep into south London, and since surrounded by a shield of woodland. very attractive and has an excellent name - Quality Street. It used to lead to the local stately home, Merstham House, but that was demolished after the war so it's now a a very well-to-do cul-de-sac. The jumble of detached houses includes a former tavern, a converted village school, a half-timbered forge and a cottage dating back to 1609. The inhabitant of one house spotted me taking photos of Quality Street and addressed me with a challenge - "Do you know how it got it's name?" I very much did know because I'd done my research, but I played along all the same. "It's not the chocolates," I said, "it's the West End play." He smiled, thwarted, then asked for the name of the playwright hoping to catch me out. "That'd be J M Barrie," I said and he nodded, beaten. When Barrie's play Quality Street opened on Broadway in 1901 the lead actors were Seymour Hicks and Ellaline Terriss, and after the married couple moved into The Old Lodge in 1904 the street was renamed in their honour. We chose to leave all that backstory unsaid, thankfully, but if you are ever challenged while walking down Quality Street on the North Downs Way you'll know how to respond. Surrey Iron Railway followed the River Wandle to Croydon and was extended to Merstham in 1805, transporting sandstone from the local quarry in horse drawn wagons. As with many pioneering technologies it couldn't compete with later innovations, but what really killed it off was that its rails were too weak to support steam locomotives and by the 1830s it was gone. The rails here alas are replicas made by local resident Mr Postlethwaite after the originals were stolen. station on the eastern edge of the village, this still wonderfully convenient today. But most trains on the Brighton line speed by on an entirely separate line that carves a roughly parallel track all the way from just before Coulsdon to just after Redhill. The two lines now conspire to divide Old Merstham from the new, a large overspill estate built by the London County Council in the 1950s. You walk down School Hill past attractive tiled cottages, duck beneath a pair of viaducts and the conservation area swiftly metamorphoses into postwar pebbledash and brick. Thousands now live here amid a network of interlocking avenues, apparently the most deprived area of Surrey by some data measures, although quite frankly it looked like paradise compared to several parts of East London. At the estate's heart is a modern shopping parade with a Co-Op and an independent convenience store called Londizz - no copyright infringement admitted - located on the footprint of a demolished pub. Churches were still being built when the estate opened so three denominations got lucky, in typically postwar architectural style, whereas these days more people worship at the culinary trinity of Merstham Kebab, Merstham Chippy and Merstham Tandoori. The newest facility appears to be a snazzy Community Hub where the library's been rehoused, while the oldest must be the remains of Albury Manor. This looks like a patch of undulating wasteland behind Bletchingley Close, whereas it's actually a scheduled monument with inner and outer banks and a dip where the moat used to be. Merstham FC play nextdoor at a ground called Moatside, which is a much better name than the nickname their supporters have which is The Mongos. grassland along the edge of the estate. Thus if you're walking your dog you can shadow the westbound carriageway through open space and woodland for the best part of a mile, right up to the edge of the monster interchange, or you can cross another footbridge onto a slice of semi-untouched chalk grassland. I walked all the way to the far end of the estate where the quarries were, now lakes and nature reserves but strictly inaccessible except to wildlife because, as the scary signs on the gate attest, 'Quarry Water Is Stone Cold And Can Kill'. up in arms, claiming that this "huge increase in housing would bring Merstham's crumbling infrastructure to its knees". They've also successfully annulled the opportunity for 11 homes on the site of the former library because apparently it would overwhelm a service road, thus the old premises remain boarded up helping nobody. It's hard to be objective as an outsider unfamiliar with the level of local services, but it seems it only takes a few decades for the inhabitants of an overspill estate to become total nimbys lest any incomers might enjoy the same benefits they did. What a mixed bag Merstham is, and has inexorably become.

London's Lovely Bits: LITTLE HOLLAND HOUSE Location: 40 Beeches Avenue, Carshalton SM5 3LW [map] Open: 11am-5pm (1st Sunday of the month ONLY) Admission: free Website: friendsofhoneywood.co.uk/little-holland-house.html Virtual visit: video/3D walkaround Four word summary: Franks's extraordinary ordinary home Time to allow: up to an hour Frank was born in Paddington in 1874 but sought to move away from the slums to start a better life. Inspired by John Ruskin he came to Carshalton, bought a plot of land amid the cornfields and started to build. He didn't have much cash so drew up the plans himself, created the furniture himself and employed the bare minimum of labourers to assist. Frank and his bride Florence moved in on their wedding night in 1904, then spent the honeymoon sanding window frames and staining the floors, as you do. Over the next few decades they added further furniture and features and made Little Holland House into a true Arts and Crafts home, combining function and beauty. And they lived here together for six decades until 1961 when Frank died, leaving Florence alone until she was forced to move out in 1972. That's when the London Borough of Sutton stepped in, recognising they had something special on their patch, and duly opened up the house (occasionally) to visitors. Beeches Avenue has been built up somewhat since 1902, no longer a quiet lane poking out into fields. Walking down from Carshalton Beeches station past a Tudorbethan bakery and several pleasantly ordinary houses, you do wonder if you can possibly be in the right place for a visitor attraction. Number 40's not even the most attractive house in the street - it's pebbledashed for heaven's sake - but the intricately carved gate and bespoke letter box hint at treasures within. You have to ring the bell to get in, entering a tiny hall because Frank didn't believe in wasting space on pleasantries. From here it's only a few steps to the living room, and that's when the scale of his project hits you. Downstairs is finely decorated throughout and almost entirely by Frank, from the coal-box by the fire to the herringbone parquet floor - ideal for dancing on. There are copper fingerplates on the (wider-than-usual) doors, stencilled curtains in the oriel window and inscribed joists over the opening to the sitting room. Wooden and chunky would describe a lot of the furniture, which is mostly in pine, although the chairs (and the cake stand) are walnut. As a budding artist all the paintings are Frank's own too, including the triptych over the fireplace depicting the dignity of the working man and the four family portraits embedded in the dado. A small landing a few steps up the stairs provided a mini-stage for in-house entertainment, while the gramophone is still poised to play The Blue Danube. Upstairs the master bedroom is a lovely space, from the carved inscription on the bedstead to Florence's embroidered curtains. Most striking is the painted frieze in green and blue around the top of the walls, illustrating lines from Longfellow's poem The Spanish Student. I could almost imagine 1970s Habitat selling this design on a peel-off strip, although Frank's design is a little too tasteful for that. In the boxroom are further accoutrements, from an oak dressing table to the couple's Singer sewing machine, plus one of Frank's paintings that almost made the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition in 1946. Only the bathroom and front bedroom lack original features, the latter now an exhibition room where additional ephemera is displayed. It turns out Frank concocted detailed plans for the redevelopment of Carshalton town centre after the war, but as an opinionated amateur they never reached fruition. Little Holland House aren't open very often, only on the first Sunday of the month, so it'll be several weeks before you can follow in my footsteps. But do stick a reminder in your calendar if you're interested because Frank's gem of a property deserves more awe and attention, and maybe you'll gather some ideas for doing up your own place too.

Mr MapGrump @mrmapgrump the new tube map? Have you SEEN what they've done with it now?! They've buggered Bond Street. And now it looks like this. Words FAIL me! And all because someone couldn't resist asking "wouldn't it be better if...?" » Only the Elizabeth line gets close to Oxford Circus so they've had to split the blue blobs. You add one small thing to help a few people and the map becomes much harder for everyone else to use. tube map evolution over the last two decades. 2006: You know what this map needs - wheelchair blobs And all because someone can't resist asking "wouldn't it be better if...?" OVER AND OVER AGAIN! No, it would NOT be better. Put the crayons down. LESS IS MORE.

TfL have issued two new maps based on that perennial question, is it better to walk? Both were released as part of National Walking Month. Mr MapGrump @mrmapgrump They've knocked up a West End map and a City map rather than attempting to sprawl across all of central London in one go. This is the City map. Mr MapGrump @mrmapgrump You might be wondering why TfL want people to walk rather than pay a fare to ride the tube, but that's because they're responsible for all kinds of transport including the healthy options. Also keeping people off the tube during peak periods can leave more space for everyone else. Mr MapGrump @mrmapgrump And I would not have included Angel. What were they thinking? There have been multiple attempts to do this kind of thing before. A group of students produced a Shortwalk map in 2007 and an insurance company made another in 2009. Also in 2007 the Legible London yellow book contained a Walkable tube map of 109 journeys quicker by foot than Tube. But it wasn't until 2015 that TfL made an official map of walking times between stations and properly promoted it, also a full list of journeys that could be quicker to walk. The following year they multiplied all the times by 100 to show steps rather than minutes and pretended it was a new map. And now here we are with a proper map-based iteration. Mr MapGrump @mrmapgrump Nobody actually uses these things, not in real life. City map, including several sub-5-minute walks around Bank station. Mr MapGrump @mrmapgrump I wouldn't have done it like that. West End map and written the number of minutes in really big numbers to make it easier for you to see what's going on. Mr MapGrump @mrmapgrump Let's zoom in. Mr MapGrump @mrmapgrump Still, at least it's better than the third map TfL launched for National Walking Month which shows minutes and steps between stations, all on the same map. Mr MapGrump @mrmapgrump I can't disagree there.

This is Blythe House, a monumental Edwardian office block round the back of the Olympia exhibition centre. Swindon, the British Museum are off to Reading and the V&A shifted their repository to the Olympic Park... opening yesterday. New in E20: V&A East Storehouse Location: Parkes Street, Hackney Wick E20 [map] Open: 10am-6pm (until 10pm Thu, Sat) Admission: free Website: vam.ac.uk/east/storehouse Four word summary: explore the design archive Time to allow: an hour or two Storehouse, the place all the exhibits go when they're not on display, except in this unique installation they actually are. The location is the former Broadcast Centre at the top end of the Olympic Park where all the TV crews hung out in 2012, a humongous shed that's long been in need of a full complement of tenants. The V&A have now moved into the southern end, not the cavity where BT Sport no longer are but a separate four-storey space the size of 30 basketball courts, to use an appropriate sporting analogy. Look for the unassuming door up a sidestreet, easily identified yesterday by the half-hour queue snaking round the side of the building. It should be a lot quieter once opening weekend's over (plus it was well worth the wait). E5 Bakehouse, who apparently do a sourdough croissant to die for should that be your thing. No food is allowed in the actual Storehouse obviously, nor anything containing liquids so they've got to go in a locker too, and then you can head up the stairs through the protective double doors into, oh blimey. You wend in through the outer bank of shelves past a selection of busts, one probably Jesus, one likely Shakespeare, although none are readily identified. The ordered chaos of this archival stash is already becoming apparent. But it only fully hits when you finally emerge in the middle of Level 1, an open floor surrounded by walkways on three levels with five millennia of artefacts arrayed all around. Don't expect coherence, just go for an explore and see what you can find, and while you're here look down because below the glass floor is the Agra Colonnade, 18 tons of intricately carved marble from the height of the Mughal Empire. Essentially it's cultural overload but if you do a circuit of all three floors and also follow the multiplicity of dead ends you should see most of everything. There's a lot of furniture, this being something the V&A's well known for, including wooden chests, drop-tables, wardrobes, writing desks and every kind of chair. They stretch off along long shelves so you may only get a close-up view of some, and in the case of the grandfather clocks an entire room on the ground floor you can merely see the tops of. Elsewhere are a double bass, much glassware, a case of novelty mugs, an indigenous painted mask, two Olympic torches, a BAFTA, several archaic panels, a Calvert road sign, the boxes from a drum kit, Kenneth Grange's kettle, paintings of all ages, kitsch pottery, some kind of Spanish agricultural implement, multiple vases, and somewhere in a forlorn backroom what looked like all the toys and games they removed from the Young V&A in Bethnal Green when they updated it so children enjoyed it rather than their grandparents. big QR code at the entrance that leads to an index page from which you can explore all the chief pieces on each level. Why print stuff when visitors can do all the electronic legwork on their phone? However I couldn't get any of these QR codes to work, not a single one, because the mobile signal wasn't strong enough. Perhaps it was thick walls, perhaps it was Day One crowds, but functionally it was disastrous that the V&A were relying on a digital catalogue it was impossible to read. Tucked in among all this cultural hotchpotch are six special large-scale exhibits, some to be found in unexpectedly massive galleries at the end of an innocuous gangway. The biggest wow is either the Torrijos Ceiling, a 15th century gilded monster painstakingly transferred from Spain, or the 11m-high ballet backcloth of two cavorting women signed by Picasso in the corner. Two entire rooms have been incorporated, one the pioneering Frankfurt Kitchen designed by Margarete Schütte-Lihotzky in 1926, the other an intensely wood-panelled boardroom by Frank Lloyd Wright, the Kaufmann Office. Most obvious will be an entire chunk of Robin Hood Gardens, the Poplar housing solution otherwise now fully demolished, with two concrete panels adorning the central balcony, plus a stairwell and apartment somehow preserved behind. The Storehouse clearly has no lack of ambition. Brilliantly if you do want to get fully acquainted with a particular object you can make an appointment and a museum curator will let you get gloves-on, although you have to submit your reservation at least two weeks in advance. A few select objects are however chosen for daily scrutiny by a small group - yesterday a 1940s Pye Radio and an Edo period tea ceremony utensil box - check the noticeboard in the foyer for details. There's also a balcony on the top floor where you can look down into a conservation room equipped with washing machines, cutting boards and a table where staff can be seen carefully polishing a set of brass goblets, or whatever they're tending to when you drop by. Come back in mid-September and they should also have opened The David Bowie Centre where fans of the great artist can squeal amidst his archive....like everything else on site all for free. this page on the Storehouse website gives an excellent overview of what a visit's like, ostensibly for accessibility reasons. You might also want to look through the QR-coded index in advance in case it doesn't work on your phone, because the level of drill-down information is excellent, or else just turn up like everyone else and gawp and guess and grin.