Over the past few weeks, my Sunday evenings have been delighted by the presence of Jeremy Paxman presenting a TV series on The Victorians, looking at the history of that era through the art it inspired.

Wonderful stuff and more of the same please.

Anyhow, last night also included a visit to the awesome Crossness pumping station in deepest South-East London.

The pumping station is one of those amazing Victorian buildings which have a very mundane municipal function – in this case, pumping sewerage up from an underground sewer and dumping into the river – but had lavish decoration applied to the structure.

Neglected for quite a while, the building is now being restored, and they have one out of four steam engines fully working again – and are working on the rest thanks to a Lottery grant.

To get a flavour of what the place looks like – you can use the BBC’s iPlayer and skip ahead to 21 minutes – and if that excites you, the details to visit the place yourself are below.

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The place is open to visitors either by pre-booking for most weekends – or on open days where you can just turn up and they will have the mighty Prince Consort pumping engine in full steam.

Sunday 26th April which will focus on the engineering aspects of the giant rotative beam engines that powered the pumps

Sunday 21st June when the theme will be aimed at the Young at Heart with displays of interest to those from age 8 to 80.

Sunday 23 rd August looking to the future with improved visitor facilities and more restored Engines.

This morning I, as is my wont, chose to take the lift down from the 5th floor to leave the building. As I got in and instinctively reached for the G button, my nose was assailed by a most vile stench. Alas, my instinct had resulted in button pressing and before I could escape the door was closing.

OK, I thought – its only a few moments of being wrapped in the gaseous embrace of this malodorous miasma until I can escape to what Londoners try to pretend is called fresh air.

But horrors, as the lift descended though the shaft to the Elysian lands which whispered of an escape, it slowed to allow a fellow traveler embark.

What would the visitor think as they also embarked on the downward journey and started to retch on the stench within? Will I, an innocent bystander in this hell be held accountable for the smell? Shall I forever more be branded the destroyer of worlds, the bringer of stenches?

To spend the rest of my life locked in a Victorian funfair as the Marvelous Sewer Man, brought all the way from hottest North Africa as an ephemeral entertainment for high society?

The doors opened, I stood as far back and tried to look as innocent as is possible when your stomach is twisting in agonies. The women took a step forward – and then beckoned that I should continue the journey alone.

I’m doomed.

Two more floors I descended and finally, escaped the hell within.

In our modern hectic lives, I rarely meet the other occupants of the block of flats I live in, but today I was visited upon by this remnant of a previous occupant of the lift – and for once and glad that their visits are quite rare.

*The first UK lifts, installed in The Midland Grand Hotel were called Accending Rooms.