To me there’s something beautiful in the way it captures the mood, sights and sounds of the Tube outside the relative protection of rush hour, when you don’t want to be there: “Whispers in the shadows; gruff blazing voices; hating, waiting,” Weller sings.

Just writing the words makes me shiver and remember when I’ve felt like that on the underground: it’s cold, my shoulders are hunched and I’ve maybe had one beer too many – and it’s the last place I want to be.

The music itself uses a brilliant, persistent bass line that to me echoes the repetitive and relentless motion of a train. Weller’s use of the lyrical refrain “Down in a Tube Station at Midnight” over and over again does the same thing.

The grim scene that unfolds is set perfectly as the song opens with actual sound of the underground and the words: “A distant echo; of faraway voices boarding faraway trains.”

It feels like you’re walking alongside him, trying to get to the platform through a maze of tunnels as human and mechanical sounds drift along on that peculiar underground wind.

The Tube is “cold and uninviting … except for toffee wrappers and this morning’s papers,” the song goes. Around midnight, and if you’ve experienced the Tube yourself at this time, this is precisely how it feels. The lyrics transport you right back there.

And, you’ve got to feel sorry for the protagonist (or is it Weller himself?); all he wants to do is get home to his wife with his take-out before it gets cold. Fat chance, and the sense of foreboding builds as the song progresses and you just know that something bad is going to happen.

Weller pulls the listener in with a description of an attack that takes place – a physical assault, but also an assault on each of his senses, married to the sights, smells and sounds of the station – as he’s beaten unconscious by a group of strangers.

Three-quarter of the way through, the song reaches a crescendo after a simple drum solo that mirrors the sound of train on track, with the real sound of a passing train mixed in, and he describes our man’s fate. Maybe that was the train that was going to take him back home to safety?

It’s the final verse of the song where Weller uses a truly superb device to downplay the actual violence of what happens on the platform.

Instead of simply describing the pain of a beating, we look through the victim’s eyes at a promotional rail company poster he notices and it contrasts absolutely with the situation: “Have an away-day – a cheap holiday – do it today!”

It conjures up a vivid scene, like a boxer hitting the canvas in slow motion and capturing the sight of something on the way down before the lights go out.

So happy birthday to the London Underground, with a song that brutally, yet elegantly, highlights the downside of being down in the tube station at midnight.

We’re looking for the name of large lowland rainforest in the center of the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

“This forest is a big block of forest to the south of Kisengani and to the north of Kindu,” said conservation biologist John Hart. “There are a number of large mammals that live there, such as the okapi which is the Congo’s rainforest giraffe, the bonobo, an ape endemic to the Congo. Those species are found in that same forest.”

Scientists have now found another previously unknown primate in this rainforest: a new species of monkey. The wild Lesula monkey is only the second new monkey species to be discovered in Africa in nearly three decades.

(L) Adult male, Yawende, DRC. Photo: M. Emetshu. (R) Subadult female, Opala, DRC. Photo: J. A. Hart

John and Therese Hart are conservation biologists based in the DRC, the Democratic Republic of the Congo with the Lukuru Wildlife Research Project.

They first came into contact with the primate, which has a naked face surrounded by a mane of thick blond hair, back in 2007 when they saw a caged female at the home of a primary school director.

To their surprise, genetic tests later confirmed it was actually a new variety of monkey. Later they identified and observed the species in the wild.

Cercopithecus hamlyni, captured east of Kisangani, DRC (left), and Cercopithecus lomamiensis, captured near Obenge, DRC (right). White nose stripe is variably present in juvenile C. hamlyni from the Kisangani region. Photos by John Hart.

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Well, you should have seen the double-take I did the other day. I nearly came off the back of my bike as I wondered if I’d really seen what I thought I had.

On my 10-mile round-trip cycle commute to work there’s often a number of distractions to catch the eye. A Banksy stencil or piece of street art if you’re lucky; an amazing car or bike or never-paid-attention-to-before building; a beautifully dressed person perhaps.

But seeing a big red double-decker bus doing push-ups as I wound my way through the London borough of Islington seemed like some sort of weird hallucination.

Yet there it was. Outside Czech House –actually the Islington Design Centre building that was the Czech Olympic HQ during the Games – was an old-style 1957 Bristol London bus with huge arms protruding from its sides behind the front wheel arches.

I got off my bike to cross the busy intersection and walked among the crowd, which seemed like a mixture of confusion, impressed awe and head-scratching amazement.

Then I really did begin to wonder if something had been slipped into my breakfast an hour earlier. Looming above me the weird mass started to grunt and groan and the arms raised the front of the bus up, exposing the underbelly of the bus.

The push-up was about half-way through before it came to a halt. I guess even mighty buses get lactic acid build-up too, which was kind of reassuring. Then with another few huffs and puffs the bus fully extended its arms to reach its full height before lowering itself down with the wheezes of a bus that’s spent too long on busy, polluted roads.

Surreal doesn’t really cover it.

The push-up bus, or ‘London Booster’ to give it its official title, is the brainchild of Czech artist David Cerny (hence its place outside Czech House during the Games).

Rather cheekily he has suggested the commission was designed to encourage visiting “fat Americans” to exercise and get thinner. I’m more inclined to think that anyone who sees it will think they’ve lost their minds rather than consider a new fitness regime.

Hydraulics enable the arms to raise the 6.5 ton vehicle off the ground, with added sound effects to highlight the effort that it takes. That effort is reflected in the consumption of 90 kilowatts of energy per hour. Considering the average British home runs on just 3,000 watts an hour, I’m not surprised the bus makes all that noise and needs regular rest.

Since the close of the Games, the Czech House and muscular bus have all been packed up. But during the Olympics, I cycled the city streets just a little bit more slowly, on the look-out for black London cabs doing synchronized somersaults or train carriages with legs doing squat thrusts.

With the current mood in the city it seems anything is possible. Except perhaps to predict the weather, which I am contractually obliged to say as a Briton…

Yet.

But the warning signs are there.

A couple of weeks ago the chairman of one of London’s biggest taxi firms was critical of cyclists in comments that were widely reported.

“The rest of us occupying this road space have had to undergo extensive training. We are sitting inside a protected space with impact bars and air bags and paying extortionate amounts of taxes on our vehicle purchase, parking, servicing, insurance and road tax,” said John Griffin of Addison Lee. “It is time for us to say to cyclists: ‘You want to join our gang, get trained and pay up.’”

Pay for training and a license to be able to jump on your bike whenever you fancy? It doesn’t sound likely.

Griffin ruffled more than a few feathers with this and other comments on the rights of London cyclists to be on the streets.

Once his comments had filtered out and inspired some online vitriol, he later conceded the tone of the article “was perhaps a little too inflammatory.” Perhaps. But does he also have a point?

Cycling in London these days can be a little crazy. I lived in London for two years from 2000-2001 and returned in 2009.

The number of cyclists on the road now compared to 10 years ago seems vast. Add to that the advent of Boris Bikes – those clunky machines brought in by current mayor Boris Johnson so people can hop-on and hop-off hired bikes throughout central London – and we’re talking a lot of potential for frustration, road rage and – worst of all – accidents.

And let’s be blunt. Many cyclists aren’t doing themselves or the cause of cycling any favors.

I have a half hour cycle commute each way to work and what I see on a daily basis is often worrying at best, life-threatening at worst.

Cyclists run red lights, often at busy intersections. They pull out into roads whenever they want. Some are on their cell phones.

I hardly ever see cyclists look over their shoulders before they pull out and around other cyclists. Many don’t stop at marked crosswalks where pedestrians have right of way. It must push both drivers and pedestrians to the brink at times.

When riders continuously ignore the basic principles of road safety, things are going to get testy.

As Addison Lee’s Griffiths said, “both cyclists and motorists have a responsibility to use the roads safely.”

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