Architecture – Page 14 – slightly weird

12th February 2020

Not tired of Brick Lane but what’s the future?

Wednesday, 12 February, 2020

One day I will be tired of Brick Lane. Not yet, though.

On Friday, 31st January, we thought of walking down Hackney Road that day, taking the bus from Pembury Circus and wandering down – our eventual destination the cash and carry Bangla Town by Hanbury Street. From the bus, though, we noticed so much construction that the street suddenly seemed less walkable. It wasn’t roadworks but a number of new building sites in various stages of construction. What this means is the street art and curious buildings were disappearing.

So we stayed on the bus to Columbia Road.

Some parts of Hackney Road are unchanged

Perhaps another day I’ll brave Hackney Road again and see what’s left. That day opened my eyes to the increasing disappearance of the old, a microcosm – or not so micro – of London itself.

From Hackney Road we decided to walk over to Brick Lane by the back streets, taking note of all the changes and contrasts along the way.

New and old face each other in the Shoreditch back streets

Quiet Shoreditch is close enough to the bustle

From here, it was a less familiar view of Boundary Estate, from its easterly edge. Built as the nineteenth century merged into the twentieth, it’s stayed the same in appearance but not in its culture.

Boundary Estate is instantly recognisable – with its red brick

Still Boundary Estate - looking towards Arnold Circus — Still Boundary Estate – looking towards Arnold Circus

Once past Boundary estate, it’s time to head over to Brick Lane. The streets here are mostly unchanged but there are signs of the future – construction sites and hoardings – and shops at the top, quiet, end of Brick Lane before you hit Bethnal Green Road are getting smarter. The hipsters are very firmly in place. How will it all look in ten, or even five, years?

The lesser known top end of Brick Lane – very quiet

Way too busy at Brick Lane Beigel – the salt bagels were selling out

From Brick Lane, regeneration is so close

I may have said before that I’ve noticed a new phenomenon at Brick Lane. In most cities I’m familiar with, the ethnic ghettos are expanding. When I lived in North Beach, San Francisco, Chinatown was a short walk away. In more recent visits to North Beach, Chinatown has crept into its streets. In Toronto, Little India has started to creep along Gerrard Street so that you no longer have to go into its centre to find Indian culture. Brick Lane is changing in a different way – instead of exploding, it’s imploding. More and more non-Indian cafes and shops are opening, mingling with the Bengali and Bangladeshi businesses and threatening to overtake them.

What will happen next? When will the current residents move on, as the Huguenot, and then the Jewish immigrants have done? Where will they go? And will they be pushed out, priced out, or will they too climb out? Meanwhile, there’s still time to look around.

Cake on Brick Lane – encroaching on the curry houses today

Sclater Street - demolition and hope — Sclater Street – demolition and hope

One of Dan Kitchener's geishas on Brick Lane — One of Dan Kitchener’s geishas on Brick Lane – aging

Once it was only Sundays that Brick Lane was busy. Then Saturdays started to become busier. Walking along that Friday, the street wasn’t so quiet. Continue reading “Not tired of Brick Lane but what’s the future?”

23rd January 2020

How to get lost in the city

Tuesday, 21 January, 2020

I had a plan for Tuesday. I had a doctor appointment and then five hours to spare. I wanted to go to one of the restaurants on my list – I thought perhaps Gloria, which is supposed to be a flamboyant Italian place, and from there on to Brick Lane to take some photos of new street art followed by picking up food for dinner – Krish’s favourite things. It didn’t go quite as expected.

After the doctor I jumped on the first bus that came along and then jumped off to get one that would take me where I needed to go. I chose the wrong second bus. One of these days I’ll get it right but I chose the one that turns off the main road and travels on other roads. All wasn’t lost. I jumped on a third bus and then off again when I thought I was close to where I needed to go.

No clue where I was. These buildings are anonymous and hide the landmarks — No clue where I was. These new buildings are anonymous and hide the landmarks

Except I had no idea where I was. Heading down a side street to rescue my mission, nothing looked familiar. After a couple of turns, and no idea which direction I was travelling in – there have been times in London where I actually ended up back where I started, just one wrong turn. Never mind, Google would help me out.

Hey Google, I’m lost.
Uh oh. May I give you directions.
Where is Shoreditch High Street.
Turn left onto X street.
Google, there’s no X street, only Y street.
I’m sorry, I can’t help with that.

I decided I’d overshot Gloria so would head to Rosa’s Thai. I read their Instagram faithfully. It looked good and I’d never been.

Hey Google, direct me to Rosa’s Thai Cafe.
Beginning directions to Rosey Cafe.
No, Google – (more carefully) Rosa’s Thai Cafe
Turn left onto A Street
Google, A Street isn’t here. I see B Street.
I’m sorry, I can’t help with that.

Ugh.

Oh just shut up, Google.

I resorted to old style ‘I’m lost,’ I told an older lady about to cross the street. ‘OK, where would you like to go?’ ‘Shoreditch High Street.’ ‘I don’t know…’ ‘Oh, OK, thank you.’ ‘But if you walk down there I think there’s a main road.’

I went ‘down there’ and thank goodness, Shoreditch High Street – only two short blocks away. How did she not know? I turned down Folgate Street, shocked at how much had been done since my Christmas visit, then across Commercial Street to find Rosa’s.

It wasn’t too packed and I got a seat easily. The menu didn’t grab me and I’m not a fan of red or green Thai curry but I was hungry and tired so I thought I’d try their pad thai. It was something I knew so could measure it against the others. Quite honestly, I didn’t like it. The noodles were too soft, the chicken had a stewed texture, and the flavour was very sweet. I remembered on Nadiya’s show how she’d been shocked at the sweetness of Thai food. So perhaps it’s ‘authentic.’ And no chopsticks! Only a fork and spoon. I managed the noodles, left a lot of the chicken and I was done.

8th January 20208th January 2020

A new decade – what’s in store?

Tuesday, 7 January, 2020

It feels very strange to type 2020. I hadn’t thought of that before. Am I supposed to make resolutions for the whole decade? I really should. So far my only resolution for the year is to eat at one restaurant on my list every week. In fact, that wouldn’t take too many weeks so definitely doable.

I’d like to be less lazy, waste less time, do more – more of all sorts of things. So far so bad, though. There’s still time, right? Ten years less seven days, anyway.

On the third, I had tickets to go see a children’s version of The Nutcracker at Sadler’s Wells’ Lillian Baylis theatre. I love these shorter version of classic ballets. They’re perfect for my short attention span. First I took the bus to Islington Green at Angel to have a bit of lunch.

I went to Kanada-Ya and had an OK tonkotsu ramen

After lunch I walked along Camden Passage before getting my next bus

Japanese tea room - and the air smelled amazing from the Penhaligon shop — Japanese tea room – and the air smelled amazing from the Penhaligon shop

It's a short bus ride from Angel to Sadler's Wells — It’s a short bus ride from Angel to Sadler’s Wells

Juliet was going to bring her grandson but there was a last minute switch and instead we were taking her granddaughter, Dessi. Dessi was very excited and told me that she’d seen the ballet before, the CBeebies version. With Juliet on the aisle seat, me in the next, and Dessi closest to the centre, we sat and waited.

Even the short ballet version felt long at times. Dessi kept me entertained. After only a couple of minutes she announced I want to be a ballerina just like they are. I thought how lovely it was to be so inspired. When one of the dancers appeared onstage, she announced loudly – the lone voice above the iconic music – It’s the Sugar Plum Fairy, and after a few rapt minutes I love the Sugar Plum Fairy. She then loudly whispered to us, When I go back to your house, grandma, I’m going to dance all the way there. There were six ballerinas sharing roles on stage. Four were slender, two were sturdy. I noticed, just like last year, how lightly they landed with each leap and step. At the end of the show, all children are invited to come down to the stage to take photos with the dancers.

Dessi and I raced down to get there, only to find out that we had come down the wrong way. Up we went again and all the way to the back of the queue.

Anticipation - Dessi told me she wanted to dance on the stage — Anticipation while we waited – Dessi told me she wanted to dance on the stage

Everybody was moving slowly, parents were hogging the spotlight for their children – none of this surprising – and then suddenly with only half the children having moved down to the stage, we seemed to moving extra quickly.

Dessi had told me that she wanted to dance with them on stage so when she stood there, I reminded her and she held her arms above her head, all the dancers following her lead.

Finally, it was Dessi's turn — Finally, it was Dessi’s turn – I was too blind to notice the green light on her face

I reminded Dessi to pose and the dancers all copied her

Dessi glanced around to see that they were all posing with her

Continue reading “A new decade – what’s in store?”

12th December 20193rd January 2020

The Wet City at Christmas

Thursday, 12 December, 2019

Travelling into The City after my Somerset House exhibition had been an afterthought when the rain hijacked my other plans.

An everyday miracle happened when I reached my stop. I walked the correct way towards Leadenhall Market. I have a notoriously bad sense of direction and confusion and retracing is a big part of my explorations. When I’m alone I am mildly frustrated, when with others the confusion can become too large and panic-inducing. Today I nailed it, although at the very last minute I wondered if I’d overstepped Leadenhall. No, it was there!

Was it the rain, my mood, the cold or the reality of election day that dimmed the colour and atmosphere of the market? I’m not sure. The year before people had thronged the arcade, music was playing, the tree was magnificent and it felt like Old London had come alive. Although my photos show it quite well, I thought it oppressive, gloomy and I left quite soon after arriving.

I still had a lot of time left before I had to meet Susanne. I decided that I’ll head to Spitalfields Market to see what Christmas looked like there.

The cheeriest sight so far - snack wagon by Spitalfields Market — The cheeriest sight so far – snack wagon by Spitalfields Market

A quite lovely sight - but where are all the people? — A quite lovely sight – but where are all the people?

There was a small crowd inside the new market

The new market's lights were Torino-esque — The new market’s lights were Torino-esque

Looking out from the market - no crowd to be seen — Looking out from the market – no crowd to be seen

Outside - shiny and WET — Outside – shiny and WET

I think I enjoyed things as much as I could in my cold and dampened state. It was good to be here and I tried to still the voice in my head that was telling me to head Susanne off and just go home. One foot in front of the other is always the other little voice in my head.

A year or two ago – when? – Carolyn and I went to the Dennis Severs candlelight at Christmas night. I loved it. I’d considered going again but decided against it. However, I did want to have a quick look at the door. It’s always on my must-see list when I’m showing people around. So I took a look, moved determinedly on and wended my way across Commercial Street towards Andina on Redchurch Street, where I’d meet Susanne.

A little detour - Dennis Severs House on Norton Folgate — A little detour – Dennis Severs House on Norton Folgate

Off Commercial Street, a taste of urban art. I must head back on a better day

Under the railway arch at Shoreditch High Street Station – what is it that stirs me about these scenes?

Bless Susanne for being there already when I arrived early. The restaurant was warm and dry and noisy. The food was good, not extraordinary, the drink was delicious. Chatting was just what I needed. We lingered and then we walked to a nearby hotel where more chat and a welcome pot of tea awaited.

12th December 20193rd January 2020

Christmas on the Strand – too much rain, not enough time

Thursday, 12 December, 2019

The day I had to go to Somerset House, it rained…too much. It was rarely pouring but the darkness and the showers and the cold wind made it difficult to ignore and enjoy things. It felt as if even the lights and the colours struggled to assert themselves. I had imagined that, with three hours of spare time I could slowly look around – I thought maybe Bond Street and Soho would be nice – before I had to meet Susanne for dinner. When the day actually came, the most tempting thought was ‘stay home, wrap up, do nothing,’ especially when Lisa had suggested she may not make it. Bah humbug.

But off I went. I took advantage of my early arrival – once I know I’m going somewhere I just want to get out and deal with the extra time when I get there – to get a SIM card for my new phone. In Dalston the same venture had been painful the day before and I’d remained SIMless. And this was the Strand.

When I was just 17 I got a job there. The job itself was clerical and bottom of the ladder. But I was 17 and each day I’d travel in to Waterloo Station from Woking, where we’d moved one year earlier. From the station I’d walk along the South Bank – a shadow of what South Bank is today but walking along there, taking in the sights on the other side, watching the river, before arriving at the Royal Festival Hall and then going up to street level was exciting every time.

Crossing Waterloo Bridge was the low and the highlight. Low because it seemed long and, when windy or rainy, quite challenging. High because the view from up there was, and still is, the finest in London for me. To the east Saint Pauls, the power station, and Tower bridge. To the west the sweeping view towards Westminster and the Parliament Buildings. Quintessential London was spread out.

The building I worked in was at the head of the bridge, taking up the corner of Waterloo bridge and the Strand. The office was a few floors up. From my window I could see the working side of the Savoy Hotel and, on my breaks, I could go out onto the large balcony and see that east and westward view from a height. I never tired of it.

Every day I’d use a luncheon voucher, which I somehow remember might have been a couple of shillings – part of most London wages in those days, and take myself to lunch. I got in the habit of going to Lyons Corner House along the Strand and buying a tomato sandwich and a drink, which I’d take along to Trafalgar Square and eat in that wonderful setting. While the tomato sandwich was delicious, my method was to hold back some of the money from the voucher and once a week have a magnificent lunch somewhere. It seems to me most of the time this was a European cafe on the east side of the bridge, where the flavours were mysterious and fancy.

Sometimes I’d go to a cafe in what is now the touristy Covent Garden area – something with chips, perhaps egg, sausage and chips. And sometimes I’d meet my dad on Fleet Street where he’d treat me to steak, chips and mushrooms. I was grown up and ‘rich’ and acutely aware of how exciting life and this city was.

So how can I ever go to the Strand and not think about my youthful adventures there, the place where my love affair with London was cemented? (And perhaps where the seed of my love affair with food was planted.)

And yet that day, happy to be there, I also wanted to flee. Somehow I grabbed the minutes I had and did what I could with the soggy time.