Wharfians v workers

Canary Wharf on the Isle of Dogs, is one of London's two business districts, and boasts many a majestic bank tower -- they loom in the distance from views along the Thames.

The site in East London was developed by Canadian firm Olympia and York in the 1980s and 1990s. Almost 100 acres of the area is is owned by Canary Wharf Group.

Any vehicle that tries to enter is stopped by security guards and searched before it is allowed to pass at a sort of Checkpoint Charlie. It has always struck me as strange since people can walk freely into the area or  enter by boat, bicycle, bus, from the Docklands Light Railway or the tube.

The area is pure dystopian sci fi -- a post-modern site littered with arcane referents to its historical past as part of the East India Docks where shipments arrived by boat from all over the world.

The roadblocks are manned by people I think of as the Wharfians -- in my mind, a caste of people set apart from the rest of us by the weight of their own self-importance and their symbolic role as our protectors. Their presence gives workers in the Wharf a certain smug cache.

Today as I re-entered the perimeter, one of the Wharfians asked me if I was taking pictures of them and I said no -- because I wasn't I had taken a picture of the road block, not them. I was also trying to get a shot of a black plastic thing they run over the handle of the vehicles, which reminds me of the bomb detectors that Newsnight investigative reporters discovered were just aerials detecting nothing.

When I told the guard I hadn't taken a picture of them, he demanded to take my BlackBerry and look at the pictures on it. I said, "no". He said you can't take pictures, and I said you can't tell me not to and you can't take my blackberry. He wanted to know what I was doing there in the Wharf and I flashed my staff pass at him and I kept going.

I knew they would catch up with me and sure enough a while later, a guard came up behind me saying excuse me -- I let him say it a few times before I responded. He said: I hear you've been taking pictures! I said, yes, I have. He wanted to know what I was doing there and who I am. I said to him, you tell me what you are doing here and who you are -- how is it that you pursue a woman walking alone along the street in such an aggressive manner?

He said you aren't allowed to take pictures, I said I am on camera in this place 24/7 so I don't think you have any grounds to refuse me the right to film here. Also, I pointed out that anyone could take a picture of these chaps without them knowing from a car or the road or even a building nearby.

I ended up showing him my press pass because I didn't want to get frisked, and he did end up looking quite sheepish.

Is it legal to deny people the right to take pictures?

From Neo Bankside to The Shard

The Financial Times ran a story on November 19th, praising the redevelopment of London's Bankside neighbourhood:

"Few places can boast a shop specialising in dog collars, professional boxing gyms and an international art gallery within a short walk of each other. But that’s what makes Bankside one of the most interesting areas of London. For years it suffered the legacy of war damage and industrial decline; a rundown riverside, empty warehouses and decrepit housing; its grimy streets overshadowed by the railway viaducts that lead to that most chaotic of terminals, London Bridge station. So close to the City of London, so near the West End, but so far away.

"Now all that is changing fast. Office blocks have shot up in the More London development and the Shard – a dramatic architectural statement that will be the tallest building in Europe – is to be unveiled in 2012.

"Neo Bankside, a striking quartet of 'pavilions' emerging alongside Tate Modern . . .

"Nothing symbolises the area’s regeneration more than the Tate Modern, which opened in 2000, the FT story states.

But will tower blocks be more appealing than warehouses and railway viaducts?

There is no doubt that modern architecture has a place in London, as it does in every big city.

But do we need to measure the impact of the increasing height of these buildings on London's contemporary historic character?

The FT refers to the Shard, designed by architect Renzo Piano, and under construction behind London Bridge Station, as a "dramatic architectural statement". The Shard will be a pointed high-rise 310 m (1,017 ft) tall (including 72 floors, plus 15 further radiator floors in the roof), entirely clad in glass.

"The shape of the tower is generous at the bottom and narrow at the top, disappearing into the air like a 16th century pinnacle, or the mast top of a very tall ship," Piano says in an "inspiration" statement on The Shard website. "The architecture of the Shard is firmly based in the historic form of London's masts and spires."

But since the tall ships are long gone, how will it fit in with the historic form of London's cityscape?

As a resident of the area, I have noticed that the Shard already dominates the Bankside landscape and beyond. Much like the Norman Foster-designed Gherkin building in the City, it appears "every place and no place", standing out like an alien structure.

For example, The Tower of London is overshadowed by the appearance of The Shard behind it when approaching in a southerly direction from Tower Gateway to the north of the river, despite the geographical distance. Many of Bankside's tiny streets are now dominated by the Shard.

The FT refers to the Neo Bankside project, designed by Rogers Stirk Harbour + Partners, as "'a striking quartet of pavilions' emerging alongside Tate Modern", when in fact these four soon-to-be glass high-rise residential towers with red accents are still far from complete.

The view of Tate Modern, designed by Giles Gilbert Scott, from the St Paul's side of the River Thames and the Millennium Bridge is already compromised because the structures jut up above it detracting from iconic appearance of the building.

There is nothing new about glass-clad, geometric buildings. Ever since German architect Walter Gropius designed the Fagus Factory (1911-13) major architects have focused on designs using glass and steel to construct buildings.

Listen to the audio version:

France: September 2008

The Louvre

The Louvre

The Louvre

Tuileries -- such a strange light. It started pouring with rain soon after I took this picture.

Chipmonks get creative

  
This origami budgie was made by @maxxmonkey's chipmonks. It is a copy of the budgie I found in the garden a few years ago. It is very well done and I wanted to share it with my faithful readers :)

Growing up without Grayshott

This story was written for the Grayshott Parish Magazine and published in November 2009.

 

Some of my earliest childhood memories were generated in the small Hampshire village where my maternal grandparents lived when I was a child.

A recent bittersweet return visit to Grayshott after a 20-year hiatus was a bit of a disorienting experience, which highlighted the complexities of remembrance and reality.

My grandparents, Herbert and May Levett, lived at "Bidston" on Crossways Road.

Their daughter, my mother, Joan, married Carl Mollins, a Canadian journalist working in London with Reuters, the news agency, 50 years ago on March 21, 1959, at St Luke's Church.

A clipping from the weekly Hindhead Herald newspaper dated March 28, 1959, describes the event:

"The vicar (the Rev. Dr. A. R. Winnett) conducted the wedding service, during which the hymns 'Lead us, Heavenly Father,' and 'Love Divine' were sung. Given away by her father, the bride wore a short full-skirted white lace dress with long fitted sleeves extending in points over the hands, a coronet of orange blossom, and short veil and white satin court shoes.  Her bouquet was of roses, freesias and hyacinths in spray form."

We moved several times when I was a child, which meant we lived in London for only three years before we returned to Canada, where, apart from four years in Washington, D.C., I spent most of my life.

It was an easy trip from London to Grayshott by train and we often visited my grandparents. A cosy, loving atmosphere warmed their chilly home, which was always surrounded by the scent of a bonfire burning rubbish in the garden.

Inside, my sister Tracey and I whiled away the hours by looking at the multitude of ornaments in parlour and sitting room, while outside, we played in tents and with what seemed like a vast amount of plastic garden gnomes and animals.

I also remember the trauma of such outdoor threats as being jumped on by a dog while I was being trundled along the sidewalk in my pushcart.

In an odd twist of fate, since October 2008, I have been working at Reuters in London as my father did, just down the street from where he worked on Fleet Street.

I took a trip back to Toronto, where my parents and sister now live, in March and helped arrange a party for their Golden Wedding Anniversary, which about 50 friends attended.

Returning to Grayshott in recent weeks was a melancholic experience in some ways because my grandparents have passed away, Bidston's garden has been irrevocably changed and the war memorial and green, which my grandfather tended after he retired from Naval service, has been altered with a fence and children's playground.

Everything seemed odd as I wandered around the village trying to piece the past together.

I met for a delicious Sunday dinner at the Fox and Pelican pub with Marie Morris, a lifelong friend of my mother's, who visited us in Toronto several times.

We went for a walk to the Grayshott Pottery and to see the school they attended.

In St Luke's Church, I was intrigued to find the names of relatives on plaques commemorating those villagers who served in both world wars, and most importantly, I was glad that my visit brought to life the building featured in many pictures of my parents' happy wedding day on display  throughout their home.

Deer Carnaby Street

I was happy to see the Christmas lights on Carnaby Street tonight before dinner at C'est ici on Kingly. They went up sometime over the past couple of weeks.

Sorry to see that the nice snowmen from last  year weren't up. The birds below are in the window at Hamley's department store.

Don't worry, I'll go back and take more pictures before Christmas.

Log booms

It must have been listening to Monty Python's "I'm a Lumberjack" song that triggered thoughts of the Ottawa River log booms behind Parliament Hill. The song mixes up lumberjacks with log drivers at the beginning.



Thoughts of the long-gone log booms reminded me of Kate and Anna McGarrigle singing "Log Drivers' Waltz."

Secret Garden

Interlude

Not a tribute

Strange couple of months.

First Fred died of cancer in Maidstone.

Then Ant died of cancer in Toronto.

Back to Canada
Family stuff


Back to UK
Work
Aggro
Travel