The other Olympics

Moving London during the games.

The Olympic and Paralympic legacy may largely be about venues and medals.  But there will be a transport legacy that could change the way we run our infrastructure for years to come says Alexander Jan of Arup.

Day six of the Thirtieth Olympiad. The newspapers were at last able to report Team GB winning some well deserved gold medals. The biggest upset has been an outbreak of shuttlecock shenanigans.   Sporting venues have won much acclaim from competitors and spectators.  It is gratifying for engineers, planners, designers (and the odd economist) when athletes start smashing world records in the buildings they have helped to make happen.   Transport setbacks have largely failed to materialise.  The debate over the games’ legacy has taken a back seat to the event itself.  But in the heat of the competition, the transformation to transport in and around the capital and longer term implications is perhaps worthy of some consideration.

An unscientific analysis suggests there have been at least a dozen changes to the way London works and moves.   Priority lanes have been painted on miles of the busiest roads.  Traffic flows have been reversed.  Pedestrian crossings have been closed off and others have sprung up. Parking restrictions have been radically changed.  Variable messaging has been used to allow cars to use bus lanes and – even more pragmatically - Olympic lanes when they’re not busy. London’s traffic lights have been reprogrammed to create ‘green waves’ to and from games venues.  Buses in the West End have been radically rerouted. Swathes of central London deliveries and refuse services are now confined to the small hours of the morning.  The DLR has a new timetable uploaded.  Home working has taken off.  Perhaps most remarkably, the tube is running a whole hour later into the night, throughout the games.

These changes are breathtaking. Policy makers and politicians have been talking about making them happen for decades.  Now they have actually been delivered and not just for an evening or weekend.  Some will run for nearly fifty days.  They’ve been put in place en masse by dozens of authorities, operators and regulators in Europe’s biggest city.  There has been the odd go slow protest and (largely successful) campaigns for Olympic bonuses. But the metropolis is not in the grip of gridlock, strikes or lockdowns.  The demands of special interests have been tackled.  

How has this been achieved?  There are probably three principal reasons.  Firstly, money.  Transport projects account for the best part of a billion pounds of the ODA’s costs.  Another £120-150m sits in the LOCOG operating budget. These sums are equivalent to around a third of TfL’s annual capital expenditure (including Crossrail).   Secondly, there is an immovable deadline for an event in full public gaze coupled to the political fortunes of a mayor and prime minister.  With the world watching, it has been imperative to do all things possible to deliver participants, presidents and spectators on time.  Finally, and perhaps most importantly, has been the power and force of the state (an Act of Parliament no less),and a contract that has bound numerous players to an all-powerful Olympic Delivery Authority.

Together, these have transformed how London moves.  If later tubes and smoother traffic can be delivered for the Games, why not for Londoners?   After the closing ceremony, we should expect renewed appetite for taking on inefficient practices and ‘sacred cows’ on the network.   No doubt there a few scores will be settled.  Let us hope our politicians are as determined as Team GB is at winning medals, to delivering an attractive transport legacy for the capital’s commuters.

Alexander Jan is a consultant at Arup.

London Underground. Photograph: Getty Images

Alexander Jan is a consultant at Arup.

Getty
Show Hide image

A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear