Casting my London Eye over Mac Point

I’m a born-and-bred Londoner, which means I still vividly remember the frenzy around celebrating the turn of the millennium. Back then, London introduced not one, but two monumental projects: the Millennium Dome (now The O2) and the London Eye. Both were touted as symbolising Britain’s innovative spirit for a new era. Yet, as I watched the story unfold, it was the London Eye that soared above the Dome—both literally and figuratively.

What was the Dome?

When the Millennium Dome opened in 2000, it felt like everyone in London had an opinion on it. I can still recall the headlines and the grumbles on the Tube:

“It cost nearly £800 million (about $1.6 billion), and I’m paying for it!”
“Why are the exhibits so dull?”
“Didn’t see much inside besides crowds and queues.”

The Dome was meant to be a futuristic festival of Britain, but for many of us locals, it hit the sweet spot between underwhelming and unimpressive. After the initial rush, visitor numbers plummeted, leaving a sense that the government had taken a very expensive gamble with public money. I visited the exhibition myself and walked out none the wiser about its purpose.

The original forecasts? They were off. Waaaay off. Attendance numbers were half of what was projected, and revenues ended up at around a quarter of estimates. It took years (and even more investment) to transform the site into The O2, which is now fairly successful as a concert arena and entertainment district. But let’s not forget how rocky its start was—paid for heavily by taxpayers, poorly attended, and widely criticised. Eventually, it was sold for just £48 million (a fraction of its original cost), leaving the government to swallow a significant loss.

A Giant Wheel Steals the Show

Meanwhile, just a few miles upriver, the London Eye—originally nicknamed the Millennium Wheel—was turning heads. It cost far less (around £70 million or $140 million) and was largely funded by private partners like British Airways and the Tussauds Group. When it started turning in March 2000, it was pretty awesome. You step into one of those glass pods, and suddenly you’re rising above the Thames with a 360-degree view of Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, and the entire London skyline.

Even if you were a cynical Londoner like me, it was hard not to be impressed. Millions of tourists queued up daily, and I remember hearing countless friends say, “We took a spin on the Eye this weekend—stunning views!”. The crowds never really died down; it quickly became one of the UK’s top paid attractions. Because it was open year-round, local businesses and restaurants along the South Bank thrived on the constant foot traffic. The London Eye continues to consistently pull in millions of visitors annually.

What’s This Got to Do with Hobart?

Now, as I see the debate on Hobart’s proposed stadium—and the staggering price tag of $715 million in public funding—it feels eerily familiar. A big, splashy project promising economic growth, world-class events, and boundless civic pride… but at what cost? Stadiums are great for sports fans and big-ticket concerts, but they’re typically empty outside game days, and someone has to foot the ongoing maintenance bill.

The estimated numbers make interesting reading. Apparently each year there will be 7 NRL games, equating to 104,650 visitors to the stadium. I’m no expert, but even I know that rugby league doesn’t have Hobart on its radar.

Contrast that with a year-round, iconic landmark—like a viewing tower, a cultural centre, or even a zip line!  If there’s a chance private investment could take a bigger role (like with the London Eye), Hobart could sidestep many of the pitfalls we saw with the Dome. 

If Hobart wants to leave a truly memorable mark that benefits both tourists and the local community, it might consider a project more in the spirit of the London Eye. After all, who wants a gleaming new building that rarely sees action, when you could have an iconic attraction beckoning the world all year long.

It may even attract NRL fans.