Grander Designs.....

Property doyen Kevin McCloud has ever spoken out against “identik” architecture and boy, don’t we agree with him. I, too, abhor the sold cheap (ha!) and piled high in the sky, anything is better than nothing approach to housing. But whereas Kevin has spent twenty years demonstrating to TV viewers on how to build a “dream” home, my vision is somewhat more down to earth. Rather than eclectic palaces appealing to ebullient individuals, my grand designs involve sustainable housing en masse. Just to recap on the many building and architectural articles that I have written previously, a well-designed building serves the needs of the people that live and work in it.
The building is made from high-quality materials, and has due regard for its environment and the ecosystem.
It is designed to fit into its landscape or townscape in an elegant and unobtrusive way.
The price is within financial reach of these same people, whether for renting or buying.
The building does not drain resources from other, vital aspects of private or civic life.
The building does not serve merely the interests of shareholders and investors, and its environment does not seek to exclude certain groups on the grounds of age, race, spending powers and other, arbitrary delineations.
A good example of a well-designed building could be a low-rise development, that is, no higher than the tree-line, consisting of one, two and three-bed apartments, with the ground-floor flats reserved for older and disabled people. This low-rise configuration maximises the roof-space available to install solar panels, a feature that provides low-cost, sustainable energy to the occupants. The blocks are made to the same pattern, yet rendered slightly differently for visual interest and identification – think of modernistic furniture units. Grass-grown areas around the separate blocks enable children to play, observed by parents and guardians. Walkways entwine the grassy areas, ramped rather than stepped so that pedestrians can wheel buggies and wheelchairs, with ease. The same walkways allow ease of access to public transport hubs and private cars parked securely in garage banks. If required, an occupant can pay a slightly higher rent for green space that can be cultivated to individual taste – the only “exclusion” inherent in the design. There is nothing “eclectic” involved in building like this but neither is it cold, snooty, arrogant or obtrusive.
Further Information
https://www.amazon.com/Where-Do-You-Live-Dwellings-ebook/dp/B005SST1JU
https://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2019/aug/22/investors-kevin-mccloud-property-schemes-huge-losses

Horticultural delights....

The school holidays have another two weeks to roll, and anyone living in proximity of the M25 could do no better than motor to Bullmoor Lane, (Enfield, North London) where you will find the entrance to Capel Manor Gardens. For the princely sum of £6 pp, (family tickets and concessions available), outdoors’ aficionados will have a ball, blazing a trail about the myriad horticultural delights created by the students of Capel Manor College.

Over 60 separate gardens, the brochure says. Well, I lost count of the vistas of wonder that we worked our way past; a Japanese garden, an Australian garden, a garden filled with spooky trompe l’oeil, numerous rose gardens, lavender gardens and well, just gardens. Jaded with blossoms, we explored the miniature zoo (animals to watch for include meerkats, marmosets and humans), the woodland walk, the fairy forest, the temple lake, the holly maze and much, much more. Around every corner, a surprise that will leave you laughing aloud hits the eyes; broken statues sunken in the earth, enticing building facades that prove to be shams and cute little ponies – is there any other kind? - that turn out to be real. Our mistake was arriving too late in the day to see everything – don’t you do that. Amenities include a cafe, and picnic areas and loos at intervals. Essential for enthusiasts of gardens, of life, and of the weird and wonderful – do not miss! https://www.capelmanorgardens.co.uk

Will mass jet-packing ever take off?

Years ago, I dreamed of a future where the then not invented jet pack would be the main form of commuter transport, at least. Every morning, we were all going to don the j-pack together with the business suit, before grabbing the briefcase with the sandwiches inside. No more traffic jams, bus-waiting anxiety or train station tantrums. We were simply going to power on our j-packs and, like human bumblebees, hover over rooftops and gardens and roadways deserted of people, aside from a few die-hard pedestrians and motorists. “Good morning” we would all say to one another politely, before landing our feet in front of the office, school or university, wherever we were headed.

Jumping jezebels and jiving jitterbugs – no wonder JK Rowling triumphed! Hogwarts itself wasn’t so packed with fantasies; at least Harry, Hermione and the others learned how to fly on broomsticks. In my musings, I had never imagined the hazards in store for humans making free in unregulated air-space. Gracious, we can’t even get it right when we are on the ground. A mere glance out of my window reveals telegraph poles and tree branches, electric wires and chimney pots, birds and even, a distant church spire, all in addition to the certainty of colliding with other humans. Other hazards include the possibility of the j-pack malfunctioning and the subject crashing to earth at his peril and that of others. With all those j-packers making free over private gardens, prison yards and other verboten spaces, trespass law as we know it would have to be redefined. Aside from such minor matters, who would choose daily stratospheric exposure to inclement weather and bird droppings before landing in on a business meeting in preference to a relaxing journey in a vehicle interior, accompanied by hot coffee and the morning paper? The problem with mass jet-packing is that it is just too democratic, humans reduced to functional units defined by a hard hat and a flying suit. The underlying truth is that every human function is intertwined with a narrative of social status. The reason that a j-packing London mayor caught the news was because it was an exclusive experience. It will require another human evolution for j-packing to take off, en masse. We will have to learn how to never collide with each other or anything else, and to never fly over anyone else’s private space. And then pigs really will fly to the moon! https://www.cityam.com/boris-s-vision-jetpack-future-already-here/

One small step.....

"It's disgusting", said the woman, as she quivered with rage on being asked her opinion of the anticipated moon landing. "Have they nothing better to do?"
"Well, no," I said aloud, to the woman's television image, fifty years after she had spoken. "In 1969, they HAD nothing better to do." Like, what else had they to do in the decade defined by space travel? And it makes me proud that I was born in that there decade, that I was a child of the space race. This week, I have grown addicted to those eerie images of the past, the gas-guzzling cars and the psychedelic clothing, the steam-punky technology of the control centres, the filled ashtrays nestling over monochrome screens locked into grey metal casing. More striking still are the fashions, the male suits and shirts looking cool and contemporary alongside the dated bouffant hairstyles and cats' eye sunglasses of the women. Such an event could only have happened in summer, the Apollo 11 rocket towering against the metaphorical blue skies' backdrop, intent faces trained on Cape Kennedy absorbing the extraordinary events with the same aplomb as they licked their ice-creams. And I punched the air and screamed aloud on seeing the lunar module test flight without its covering of tin foil. Believe me, today's drones are its direct offspring....more to follow.

Essence of Summer

The shopping mall is filled with bustle,
Peeling skin and bright-red faces
Van McCoy is playing The Hustle
Sun-browned limbs in public places – suddenly, it’s summer.

Refracted vistas; walls that waver
Bright-blue sky and plane delayed
Lip sunscreen with fruity flavour
We only find respite in shade–that’s just summer.

Braided hair and straw sunbonnet
Rose-pink dawn and evening stars
A broken flip-flop, jewels upon it
Melting tarmac, dusty cars– bring on summer.

Long, bright days and ice-cream sundae
Salty snacks and cool, sweet drinks
Short, dark night and boredom, Monday
Flaming oranges, shocking pinks –good ol’ summer.

Bright-green salads, dressings oily,
Polka dots on painted nails
Strawberries, cream and paper doily
Stripy beach bag, wind-blown sails – celebrating summer.

Swimming parties by the river,
Gentle breezes, yellowed grasses
Icy water makes us shiver
Clinking cubes in cocktail glasses: we love summer.

Sweaty nights and shirts are sticky
Lightening forks and violent thunder
Broken sleep with dreams so icky
Downpours sudden and – no wonder; it’s summer.

All too soon, maybe tomorrow
The bright sun fades, the darkness conquer
Season’s joy will turn to sorrow
And that is when we will long for – summer.

The poetic 65 bus....

Still on the subject of Seeing Things: A Memoir by Oliver Postgate, it touched me to learn that daily, he hopped on board a no. 65 bus as part of his journey from Finchley to his earliest art lessons at Kingston College. The route has changed somewhat since the late 1930’s, but the bus is still in existence, cutting a transport lifeline through west London. Oh, the poetry of that voyage; originating in Kingston, the 65 bus travels through the streets of Ham, down Sandy Lane and past Petersham Meadow before descending into the art deco delight that is Richmond. Outside of the train station, the bus seems to pause in prep for breathing in the perfumed air that absolutely must waft over the walled enclosure of Kew Gardens. Refreshed, the 65 bus heads through Kew village, past the green and across the bridge, then travels west alongside the sparkling waters of the Thames. Turning north, the bus manoeuvres relentlessly through Brent, skirting Gunnersbury Park and Walpole Park, past classical portico and Gothic spire, until the green and pleasant pastures of Ealing come into sight. I don’t know why, but this event always puts me in the mood for afternoon tea, even if the journey is in the morning. As passengers alight at the terminus, it is tempting to reach out and stroke the body of the bus, parked as it is on the Broadway, like a faithful horse harnessed and ready to canter southward again.

Gather ye round and read my Nog-Blog...

“In the lands of the North, where the black rocks stand guard against the cold sea, in the dark night that is very long the men of the Northlands sit by their great log fires and they tell a tale...”
As I read those words, reproduced in Seeing Things: A Memoir, Oliver Postgate’s sparkling autobiography, the past came rushing back. It was the 1960’s once again, and my siblings and I were seated around a winter fire following a day at school, watching the wonderful Noggin the Nog on television. I quote Postgate: “nobody who has watched those films...will ever hear those words without remembering the slow icy chords with which Vernon Elliot (bassoon) and his daughter Bridget (clarinet) heralded and accompanied that opening speech.” Well, even if they have, I haven’t.
The genius of that Noggin the Nog opener was that it pulled the viewer/listener right into the narrative. You could actually feel the heat from those great log fires that the Northmen sat around – or maybe it was coming from the coals hissing in our domestic grate? And those bassoon and clarinet chords were indeed like icy motes troubling our backs and necks as we watched and listened – or maybe it was actual cold air creeping through our home window fittings – a not unusual occurrence in those days before ubiquitous double glazing? But it matters not.
Noggin was storytelling at its best and as I continued reading Postgate’s narrative, I cried and laughed aloud as he recounted - and I recalled - characters and episodes from the long-running Saga. Nogbad the Bad, for instance, and the Ice Dragon, and a steampunky longship with mechanical wings, built by Olaf the Lofty – I had forgotten him! In his earlier years, Postgate himself had been the inventor of a host of failed devices, and I have no doubt that he derived a measure of glee from channelling his experiences into the cartoon features, created with the equally talented Peter Firmin. Whatever, this Nog-blog is nearly done, and I have had a lot of fun recounting other creations of the Postgate/Firmin duo, Ivor, Clangers, Pingwings, all, characters that will live in the memory of grown-up kids, like you and me...