And plonked right in the middle of it all: the Acropolis.

London declaring itself heir not just to empire, but to spectacle itself.

What if Trafalgar Square didn’t have Nelson’s Column at all, but a full-scale Great Pyramid instead? Not a model. Not a metaphor. Six million tonnes of ancient Egyptian stone plonked right where the fountains are. This piece takes one of the most jaw-dropping, gloriously bonkers proposals in London history and lets it rip, measuring the pyramid against the National Gallery and St Martin-in-the-Fields, marvelling at its insane size and weight, and imagining Londoners calmly going about their business in the shadow of a monument built for eternity. Big, bold, cheeky and very London.

Every Christmas morning since 1864 (with only one modern break), a hardy band of swimmers has plunged into the icy Serpentine in Hyde Park for a 100-yard dash that has become London’s most extraordinary yuletide tradition. Born from Victorian bravado, crowned with the Peter Pan Cup, and often surrounded by ice and applause, this event is part challenge, part spectacle and utterly festive – a cold-water ritual that defines Christmas in the capital.

Maria Taglioni changed ballet forever. In the early nineteenth century she reinvented the art form, dancing en pointe not as a trick but as poetry, creating the illusion of weightlessness and giving birth to Romantic ballet. This lively, story-rich piece traces her extraordinary rise, her London triumphs at Her Majesty’s Theatre, and her surprisingly proper London life in Connaught Square, just off Marble Arch. From Parisian hysteria to West End adoration, this is the story of the woman who taught audiences across Europe how to believe in flight.

A short walk in London is like a wine tasting. Initial impressions give way to lingering flavours, and just when you think you know the city, it surprises you again. From Shakespeare’s great line about “infinite variety” to the quiet delight of London’s blue plaques, this piece explores the city’s knack for offering small, unsolicited gifts – moments of history, genius, and wonder poured out as you walk. A reflection on why age cannot wither London, and why even a few yards on foot can feel rich, layered, and intoxicating.

On December 22, 1880, George Eliot died quietly in her house on Cheyne Row in Chelsea, brought down not by drama but by a winter cold caught at a London concert. This piece revisits her final days and the life behind the name: the woman who disguised herself to be heard, wrote novels that taught generations how to think and feel, and reshaped English fiction by insisting that ordinary lives mattered. A winter tale of intellect, sympathy, and the quiet power of place.

At one o’clock on a this day in 1846, a man lay on a table in Bloomsbury, a surgeon raised a knife, and pain was about to be switched off for the first time in British history.

Saturday stands slightly apart from the rest of the week. It has ancient roots, a planetary name, and a modern reputation as the day when time loosens its tie. Today's podcast is a gentle (and, yes, personal) wander through its – Saturday's – meaning and magic.

Charles Mathews was Dickens’ favourite actor, a one-man phenomenon who turned London into a cast of characters. This podcast explores his world, his Adelphi triumphs, and the birth of modern performance. And a rider, London Walks is also launching a brand-new walk guided by a former MP, bringing a rare insider’s perspective to a very different strand of the London story.