Anderby Creek is not somewhere you arrive at by accident. In fact, I went looking for it and still struggled to find it after driving through deepest and darkest Lincolnshire. Part of the problem is due to the fact that it doesn't consist of a great deal bar a large number of caravans and a wide expanse of (very pleasant) sandy beach. However since 1 April 2009 it has also been the location of the world's first 'Official Cloudspotting Area'. As member number 14364 of the Cloud Appreciation Society it was a personal must-see.

The Anderby Creek Cloud Bar, to give its official title, came into being after a disused beach shelter was given a new lease of life as part of the Bathing Beauties project. Designed by Michael Trainor, it's a simple wooden (larch I believe), building featuring a number of cloud spotting menus, some cloud viewing seating, (which admittedly is better to look at than to sit on), and some slightly Heath Robinson styled self-operating parabolic cloud-mirrors - to aid in the viewing of clouds across the wide East coast skies.

I arrived as the sun was coming up and if nothing else, the view of the North Sea from the Cloud Bar’s viewing platform was worth the journey alone. When it opened earlier in the year the weather wasn’t very kind at all, in fact the day was marred by, well, by clear blue skies. I had no such problem during my visit, in fact quite the opposite in so much that almost as soon as the sun appeared it disappeared behind a thick unrelenting band of Altostratus. Not the most attractive of clouds I suppose, but cloud all the same.

It may seem a little perverse to travel any kind of distance to view something that’s available to you outside your front door but the Cloud Bar is worth a visit nevertheless. As Gavin Pretor-Pinney, founder of The Cloud Appreciation Society, said: "The Cloud Bar is an inspired way to remind the public that some of nature's most varied and beautiful displays take place daily above our heads". Something we could all do with being reminded of, eh?

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Posted by Daniel Weir on December 06, 2009 | Permalink

The gentlemen’s toilets in Rothesay are a veritable palace of public convenience. Described by Lucinda Lambton, architectural historian and well known cludgie connoisseur as “jewels in the sanitarian’s crown”, they are one of the finest examples of late Victorian lavatories left in the UK.

In 1899 when the toilets were built, Rothesay on the Isle of Bute was a bustling seaside resort. Hordes of visitors would come “doon the watter” (the water being the Firth of Clyde) from Glasgow. The pier, now dominated by CalMac ferries, was jammed with paddle steamers and holidaymakers eager to spend a penny. So it was only fitting that Rothesay’s WCs should welcome them in style.

Situated close to the ferry terminal, the toilet building is fairly anonymous. The tile-clad exterior is nothing to write home about, but inside it’s a different story. There’s an explosion of colour and decoration, and the fittings – oh my! No wonder Lucinda Lambton called them “the most beautiful in the world”.

Fourteen fantastic porcelain urinals stand erect along one wall, with another six in a circular centrepiece. Made from white Fireclay pottery and topped with imitation green St Anne’s marble, ‘THE “ADAMANT”’ is stamped onto each along with the Twyford’s crest. Although the Victorians were rather prim, there’s nothing discreet about them. They are out and proud.

All in all, they are an architectural triumph. The original glass-sided cisterns feed the water supply through shiny copper pipes, providing a gentle soundtrack while you tinkle. The glass roof lets in lots of natural light, making a pee a pleasure. For those wishing to bide a wee there are cubicles where the lavvy pans, as they are known in these parts, have commodious wooden seats. The bowl is marked “THE DELUGE”, which inspires great confidence in its abilities.

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Posted by Anne on October 16, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Blink and you’d miss Ebenezer Place in Wick, but that’s the point – it’s the world’s shortest street. This is a closely fought title and at 2.06 metres (6 ft 9 inches in old money) it has done well to knock Elgin Street in Lancashire, a comparative boulevard at 5.2 metres, off its perch.

To be fair, there is some debate about whether or not you could call it a street. Ebenezer Place sits at the front of a triangular block (imagine a short, squat, Caithness version of New York’s Flatiron Building) and the straight area constituting the 'street' is only wide enough for a narrow doorway and two brass plaques on either side. The plaques say 'No.1', which is the address (kind of redundant when there’s only room for one doorway) and the name of the occupant – the No.1 Bistro, part of MacKay’s Hotel.

It’s only when you see the building from a distance that the words 'Ebenezer Place' are visible, etched into the top of the building. When it was constructed by Alexander Sinclair in 1883 the Council told the owner to paint a name on the building. It was officially declared a street in 1887.

This went largely unnoticed until Murray Lamont, manager of MacKay’s Hotel, did some research and began a long process of getting it accredited by the Guinness Book of Records. In 2006 Craig Glenday, the editor in chief battled all the way to the far north of Scotland, through wind and rain to see it for himself, and declared it a bona fide record breaker.

To find it, look right at the sharp bend on the road leading into Wick, just before Pulteney Bridge. If you can't make it this far north check out The Wedge in Millport (on the island of Great Cumbrae off the west coast of Scotland), reputed to be Britain’s narrowest house, or The Smallest House in Britain in the Welsh town of Conwy.

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Posted by Anne on September 19, 2009 | Permalink

Piers are remarkable things. Remnants of a former era when British seaside resorts were thriving places, they stick their necks out against the tide in more ways than one. And they are all remarkable in different ways. It’s not the longest, shortest or oldest, but Boscombe Pier, near Bournemouth in Dorset has come to be known as Britain’s coolest.

In contrast to the delicate wrought-iron and ornate detail of Britain’s Victorian piers, Boscombe Pier is a modern streamlined affair. It has an audacious, almost Googie-style entrance with a geometric cantilevered roof, for all intents and purposes like the wings of a jet. The message is clear – Boscombe Pier has landed.

Like many of its peers (sorry) Boscombe Pier has not had its troubles to seek. Originally built in 1888, it had no head until 1926. It was partly demolished for security reasons during the Second World War and lay in a sorry state until the 1950s. Opinion was divided on what to do next. A war of words broke out in the Beaches and Pavilion Committee with one councillor proclaiming “Piers are really redundant” and another that “A seaside without a pier is like a pig without ears”.

The consensus was that Boscombe needed a lift and the pier was rebuilt. The borough architect, John Burton, designed the terribly modish entrance building in line with the Modernist style of the late-1950s. The pier neck was rebuilt in reinforced and pre-stressed concrete (so this one shouldn’t burn down) and The Mermaid Theatre at the head was opened in 1962 with the ultimate in modern entertainment – a roller rink.

Over time its popularity faded and The Mermaid Theatre closed in 1989. It was later demolished, and as the entrance building was also closed for health and safety reasons the future of the pier looked bleak once again. A council survey in 2003 showed overwhelming support for the pier’s regeneration, and Grade II listing ensured that its character was kept intact. Plans were drawn up for some big names to put Boscombe back on the map.

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Posted by Anne on June 28, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (1)

Marine Court, a hulking Art Deco apartment block, dominates the seafront at St Leonards-on-Sea in East Sussex. When it opened in 1937 it was the tallest block of flats in the UK. The strange thing is its sheer bulk makes the wonder of its design easy to miss. From St Leonards it is a shabby block of flats, but look at it along the coast from Eastbourne or Hastings and it becomes clear that this architectural behemoth is a graceful ocean liner ready to set sail.

Once you know this it's impossible to see it any other way. Marine Court was modelled on the Queen Mary, Cunard's famous liner which first sailed in 1934. To describe it takes a mixture of architectural and nautical terms. At the eastern end, the curved lower floors protrude like a ship’s bow and the floors above recede like the stacked decks of a liner. At the west end the balconies end in a graceful curl, leaving a gap at the stern. The architects, Kenneth Dalgleish and Roger K Pullen, stopped short of adding portholes but it’s a simple but effective set of visual clues. On a sunny day, residents could feel like they were enjoying a luxury cruise from the comfort of their own flat.

However, not everyone could see the bright side. A competition to name the building had suggestions like ‘Monstrosity Mansions’ and ‘Have No Care House’. When it opened it contained 153 flats and 3 restaurants. In the 1960s it was home to The Cobweb, also known as the Witch Doctor - a nightclub that saw Jimi Hendrix, David Bowie and other luminaries play. Today, it's much quieter and the "comfort superstore" that occupies the ground floor is more suited to its current, mostly elderly inhabitants.

Grade II listed in 1999, it is starting to show its age. The exterior is a bit tatty, and the original details have been compromised by double glazing and rogue DIY. But it could have been a lot worse. It's still standing and it’s lived in. It looks like it has a few stories to tell.

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Posted by Anne on May 07, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Tyneham in Dorset is a curious thing - a ghost village. Being ghostly, it’s not the easiest thing to find. We couldn’t see it on any road signs, but the boards saying "Village: Open" were a dead giveaway. So we followed these until some roofless cottages and an ornate white phonebox appeared - a rare K1 no less, designed by Sir George Gilbert Scott in 1921. Ironically, it’s the one of the few things in Tyneham left intact.

Until 1943 this was a bustling community of 200, with its own post office, church, school and rectory. When the War Office (now the Ministry of Defence) needed some land for firing practice, the residents were asked to leave. On the door of St Mary's Church a poignant note remains:

'Please treat the church and houses with care; we have given up our homes where many of us lived for generations to help win the war to keep men free. We shall return one day and thank you for treating the village kindly.'

But they never did return. In 1948 the War Office took out a compulsory purchase order and the land was commandeered for military use. Information boards in the empty houses tell the story of the village and the campaign to get Tyneham back. Photos show residents as youngsters in the village, and as pensioners camping at the gates with placards saying "Get our village back".

In the end, the campaign to get the village back lasted longer than the war. It took over 30 years for access to the village to be restored and even then, it's only for a few days every year (officially 137). In whatever state it continues to delight and intrigue. Patrick Wright who wrote a book about it calls it "the symbol of a vanished England".

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Posted by Anne on April 08, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Not so much a case of there being nothing to see here, as there being (almost) no way of getting here. Vallay House lies abandoned on a tiny island off an island off the far northwest of Scotland, only accessible by land at particular times when the tide recedes. It is a rather eerie experience stepping out across somewhere that the sea has just momentarily revealed, knowing that it’ll eventually come back.

This wasn’t helped by a local telling me the ominous sounding tale of a woman who was making her away across the sands to Vallay Island one day when the mists descended. She apparently wandered round and round in circles, unable to make her way back to the shore, getting more and more lost until the tides crept back and she was drowned.

Vallay House was the creation of Erskine Beveridge, the head of a successful linen company based in the town of Dunfermline in Fife in the nineteenth century. Beveridge was known as not only an industrialist but an antiquarian with a passion for photography. Armed with his tripod and weighty box camera, he wandered Scotland recording the country’s landscapes and buildings, documenting its vanishing edges.

Beveridge was particularly enamoured with North Uist and visited here on holiday many times. Then around 1901-02, he commissioned the building of Vallay House to provide a more permanent base for his trips to the edge of the world. After Beveridge’s death in 1920, his son George inherited the house. Living alone here obviously got to George, as he turned to the drink, selling off the family silver in order to fund his habit. Tragedy struck in 1944 when George, undoubtedly after a few too many bevvies, drowned whilst attempting to cross one of the island’s causeways.

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Posted by Rosalyn on November 16, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Poundbury, Prince Charles’ most famous attempt at town planning sits quietly at one end of Dorchester. So quietly in fact, that we arrived there completely by accident. It isn’t signposted and doesn’t appear on any of the maps we were carrying, in an "if you have to ask you can’t afford it" kind of way.

It’s a "pioneering example of urban development" built on the pillars of ‘A Vision of Britain’, the Prince of Wales' infamous intervention into architecture. Designed by the European architect Leon Krier, planning started in the 1980s, building in 1993. Phases one and two have been completed and work will continue until 2025 when Poundbury will have space for 5,000 people.

What sets Poundbury apart is that it’s a new town built in an old way. The architecture is designed in a traditional Dorset style and built with local materials. In the centre, Pummery Square is dominated by the traditionally-styled Brownsword Hall (above). Across the street is Poundbury Village Stores, or Budgens to you and I but they’re not allowed to say that on the sign in case it ruins the effect. All aspects of town planning are tightly controlled, with any alterations needing approval from the Duchy of Cornwall. This extends right down to signage which has good intentions, but the lack of visual clutter is really weird. It's all a bit too tidy.

In a strange way, these attempts to ensure that the "character" of Poundbury remains intact ensure that it has none whatsoever. It's astonishingly bland, spectacularly banal. There's an amazing lack of patina - the sort of scuffing or wear and tear that makes a place look lived in. In fact, that’s probably against the rules. You get the feeling if anything did become worn a little man would scurry out to touch it up again. As a result it doesn’t seem real, more like a model village than an actual one.

Instead, the “character” is planned in, and sticks out like a sore thumb. Period elements like bricked up windows (a feature of old English houses during the era of the Window Tax) look really hokey. In Dinham Walk there’s a decorative fountain that wouldn’t look out of place in Portmeirion. Prince Charles was greatly inspired by Clough Williams-Ellis’ fantastic Welsh village and it really shows. The difference is that Portmeirion pulls it off. It has tremendous warmth and a gorgeous higgledy-piddledyness but here it’s po-faced and embarrassing. It’s difficult to work out why one works and the other doesn’t - maybe because Portmeirion doesn’t discriminate where it borrows from and was allowed to grow over time. Here it’s all a bit too exclusive and forced. Trying to keep the modern world at bay isn’t sustainable. An architectural flourish on a double garage just doesn’t seem right.

Continue reading "Poundbury, Dorchester" »

Posted by Anne on November 09, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (7)

The trouble with TomToms, and I’m talking sat-navs not drums, is they take all the fun out of finding those tucked away places like Norfolk’s Baconsthorpe Castle.

Of course where I say fun, you might say frustration, but ask me the way and I’d delight in giving you these directions. ‘Follow the Baconsthorpe sign from Holt. Much of the road is single track, so be prepared to pull over when meeting the occasional bit of traffic. Unless the oncoming vehicle’s a tractor or a 4X4, then say your prayers, because the drivers of neither seem to take any prisoners.

Once you’ve entered Baconsthorpe, you want the last left before you leave the village. Don’t look for a sign, because there isn’t one; well there is, but it faces the other way and is sustaining a good growth of ivy.

A short distance on, you’ll see a smaller sign at a field edge. Follow the pointing finger down a farm track towards the two silos, keeping the cabbage field on your right. Once you’ve passed the redundant liquid fertiliser tanker, there’s just three cattle grids to negotiate and you’ve arrived.

You might now be wondering what there ever was in this bit of the back of beyond that was worth defending. The answer’s probably nothing, because Baconsthorpe Castle, or rather what’s left of it, was never actually a castle, but a moated and fortified manor house, so maybe the grander sounding title was adopted by the upwardly mobile early Tudor occupants or is 15th Century Estate Agent speak.

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Posted by Andrew on September 20, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (1)

The sixties were about to swing as 1961 saw the first appearance of the Beatles at Liverpool’s Cavern club. Above the earth Yuri Gagarin became the first man in space, whilst back on terra firma the cold war heated up when the first blocks of the Berlin wall were cemented into place. In South East Asia, 18,000 US ‘advisors’ arrived in Vietnam.

Closer to home the residents of the Elephant and Castle in South London no doubt marvelled, ignored and tut-tut-ted at these developments in equal measure. After the severe bomb damage of WWII their little corner of the world was slowly being reshaped by planners and architects full of exciting new ideas. The future would be a better, sleeker, more exciting place to live, although the dislocation between these ideas of modernity and the ordinary people were already apparent. For one thing locals were pondering the appearance of a huge shiny futuristic metal box in the centre of a roundabout in the middle of the Elephant. Back in 1961 nobody really knew what it was. Thirty years later the same was still true when, in June 1995, the Evening Standard ran a story with a picture of the box headlined ‘But what on earth is it?’

One often repeated urban myth can be discounted immediately, as the steel cube is most definitely not a subterranean home for dance music pioneer Richard D. James (aka the Aphex Twin). Admittedly it would be a great rock ‘n’ roll story if an artist who credits synaesthesia as an inspiration for creating ground-breaking ambient, acid and techno music should chose to burrow a home under one of South London’s busiest roundabouts. Sadly he lives in a converted bank just round the corner.

In truth it’s easy to sweep the mystery away. Just use one of the pedestrian crossings that link the urban mainland to the traffic island and take a look at the stone inscription on the north side of the box. This tells you that the stainless steel structure is a memorial to local boy done good Michael Faraday, who, although not the most famous south Londoner, was one of the most amazing individuals the capital has ever produced. Born into poverty in 1791, Faraday received only basic schooling but in his teens a fascination with science led him down the road of self improvement. By his early twenties he secured a post as a chemical assistant at the Royal Institution. Over the following years Faraday worked extensively on the principles of electricity, discovering in 1831 electromagnetic induction, the principle behind the electric transformer. This pioneering research laid the basis for the commercial exploitation of electricity. So the next time you switch on your kettle give a little salute to Michael Faraday.

Continue reading "Michael Faraday Memorial, London" »

Posted by Maurice on September 14, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (5)

The place marked "Rumbling Bridge" on my map intrigued me for so long that eventually I had to take a look. Not particularly convenient for anywhere else in deepest Perthshire, it's a bit of an adventure. Often these places can be a bit of a let down, I was fully prepared for somewhere that didn't have a bridge, nevermind a rumbling one, but there it is - true to its name.

Rumbling Bridge is unusual in two ways - firstly there are two bridges. The original was built in 1713 by William Gray, a local stonemason. Another was added over the top in 1816, to make a picturesque double bridge. The second remarkable thing is the noise. At first I couldn't hear anything different, but then I realised that my ears couldn’t be hearing heavy traffic or a passing jet after all. Instead, this is the famous rumble.

Looking down 120ft from the viewing platform it's pretty clear where the noise comes from. There's a huge drop into a narrow gorge where the River Devon comes thundering down at great speed from the Cauldron Falls. It's pretty dramatic.

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Posted by Anne on September 09, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (2)

‘I say, I say, I say, what’s 450 feet long and home to Britain’s last traditional seaside show?’ ‘I don’t know, what is...?’ Actually, I do know, the answer’s Cromer Pier, and while it might not be the country’s biggest and brightest, the town is justifiably proud of their iconic landmark; so much so that when a 100 ton storm-tossed rig-barge smashed through the middle of it on the night of Remembrance Day 1993, the council immediately made the money available for repairs, and again after substantial storm damage in November 2007.

Unlike most of the piers in the UK’s more popular resorts, stepping onto the boardwalk at Cromer, doesn’t mean first passing through the obligatory amusement arcade. There isn’t one ‘Penny Falls’, ‘A PrizeATime Grabber’, or ‘Pump-It-Up Dance Machine’ to be seen, or thankfully heard.

Instead at the pier head, you’ll find the booking office for the Pavilion Theatre, staffed by two blue-suited matrons. A little further on and opposite Tides Restaurant, there’s Footprints Gift Shop, which might claim to sell traditional seaside favourites, but you could turn the place upside down and not find a sniff of an edible willy, or any other hilarious novelty naughty bits. Sorry, but you’ll have to make do with Belgian chocolates and handmade fudge.

From here on in, your pier experience depends very much on the season and the weather. A bit of sunshine brings out the families and it’s a snapshot of any summer of the last fifty or so years. Kids dangle crab-lines over the rail, while grandad sits in one of the shelters, dangling a roll-up from his lips, and fishermen vie for position between the theatre and the lifeboat house.

Continue reading "Cromer Pier, Norfolk" »

Posted by Andrew on August 20, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Architecture is a serious business. There are swathes of books about great buildings, famous architects, architectural movements and the like. But how many of these great buildings are fun? Well, Bangkok’s Robot Building is.

Strangely enough, the Lonely Planet guide to Thailand fails to mention it so when I saw a pair of eyes peering out across the smoggy Bangkok skyline I thought it was an optical illusion. As the Skytrain snakes around Sathorn, Bangkok’s financial district, it becomes clear that actually the building is a robot. It has eyes and ears (well, antennae), a body and legs. In a sprawling city that has some of the ugliest architecture ever, laid out in a way that suggests someone put lots of buildings in a bag, shook them hard and tipped them out it’s a bolt from the blue, if you'll pardon the pun.

This fantastic building was designed in 1985 by Sumet Jumsai, one of Thailand’s best-loved architects, also famous for the Bangkok's Elephant Building (which looks like an elephant). A contemporary of Buckminster Fuller he took inspiration from his son’s toy robot and let it loose on a design for the Bank of Asia (now United Overseas Bank) headquarters. A sign of the times, this cheery robot signifies the friendly face of technology.

For all that it looks like an elaborate joke, every robotic aspect is well-planned and well-used. His eyes are the dining and meeting rooms of the executive suites, his eyelids are sunshades, his antennae are lightning rods. His nuts were the biggest in the world at time of development. Planning regulations give him his stepped-back sides and the blue curtain walls representing the colour of the Bank of Thailand provide much-needed shade. If that wasn't enough, the robot's eyes were designed to wink at night along to music called "The Robot Symphony" by Jacques Bekaert, a Bangkok composer. I didn't see it at night so amn't sure if that actually happens. Let's hope so.

Continue reading "The Robot Building, Bangkok" »

Posted by Anne on August 02, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Pity the poor Kincardine Bridge. Long since overshadowed by the more famous Forth Road and Rail Bridges, a fourth Forth crossing is about to cock its snook once and for all. For those who cross it regularly it’s not a happy place, full of traffic snarl-ups, but on a clearer day it’s a majestic part of the Scottish road network.

When it was built in 1936 it was the world's longest single span bridge as well as the first road bridge across the Firth of Forth. Built by renowned engineering firm Sir Alexander Gibb and Partners and manufactured by the Cleveland Bridge and Engineering Co., it’s a solid piece of work. Unlike its grander neighbours you don't see it from miles away, but the closer you get the better it looks. It comes into its own as soon as you start to cross. The silver art deco-style lampposts have a real elegance and shine like beacons on a sunny day. Before you know it you’re passing through the central concrete arch where the mottoes of the neighbouring counties of Clackmannan, Stirling and Fife are carved in Portland Stone. It's all rather grand.

Until 1988 a huge portcullis operated inside this gate so that the bridge could be closed to traffic. When it closed the motto of Clackmannan, "Look aboot ye" was spelt out. Good advice for anyone waiting there as the view either way along the river is rather nice. Once the barrier was in place the centre span was able to swing round to let shipping pass. Along with the nearby Silver Link Roadhouse (now a bathroom showroom) it’s a relic of a more stately era of road transportation - the motoring boom of the 1930s. Constant traffic has taken its toll so when the new crossing opens, the bridge, given Category A-listed status by Historic Scotland will be closed for 18 months for a well-deserved upgrade. Enjoy it while you can.

Continue reading "The Kincardine Bridge, Kincardine" »

Posted by Anne on April 06, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (2)

After the Second World War, 150,000 prefabricated houses (prefabs) were built across Britain. Created to host homeless families with young children, these “palaces for the people” as they were called were synonymous not only with comfort and luxury but also with freedom. The Excalibur Estate in Catford south-east London is still one of the largest surviving estates.

The 187 prefabs here were erected in 1946-47, by German and Italian prisoners of war. They were interim housing, a solution to the housing stock shortage after the end of the 2nd World War. They were expected to last between 10 and 15 years but are still standing after 60.

Over the years, Lewisham Council has tried to develop the site many times. In a recent review it found that the housing stock did not meet Decent Homes Standard and the cost for refurbishment would be £8.4 million. In April 2008 there will be a ballot to decide on whether or not stock transfer will go ahead. Residents have been told by the council that if they vote yes, the stock will be transferred to London & Quadrant, and the estate will be demolished. If they vote no, the estate will be put forward for a regeneration scheme, Lewisham Council will select a housing association of its choice, and the estate will be demolished. Either way the future looks bleak.

One of the tenants, Jim Blackender has been vocal in the campaign to save the estate. He writes:

As tenants we are trying to highlight the difficulties we are having trying to save our historic estate from the bulldozers

The Decent Homes Standard has given councils the golden opportunity to write off vast amounts of housing stock as non decent and transfer their stocks to housing associations who build in its place high density housing estates.

The Excalibur Prefab Estate is the largest of its kind now left in Europe. Europe values its war time history, we on the estate think it’s time we did too.

Continue reading "The Excalibur Estate, London" »

Posted by Doctor Boogie on March 09, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (1)

North-East England, in the past few years, has been busily redeveloping itself. Towns have been smartened up, decaying buildings redeveloped, and irredeemable monstrosities torn down. The process started twenty years ago, and it's still ongoing today. In the next few months, a large block of Gateshead town centre, for example, is to be torn down and redeveloped. In the process, the building that is arguably the town's most famous and most prominent landmark will be demolished.

Trinity Square car park stands firmly above Gateshead, by some way the tallest building in the town centre. It's been Gateshead's biggest landmark for over forty years, having been opened in 1967 after five years on the drawing board. Built over a market hall and surrounded by a shopping precinct at its base, it was intended to be a centrepiece of its community. The top floor featured a space for a cafe-bar, with large, gorgeous, square picture windows looking out over Gateshead and Newcastle. It was never used, and has been empty for almost the whole of the building's life. Rather than becoming the centre of its community, the building is instead famous for the role it plays in a film, the 1971 gangster movie "Get Carter". A corrupt (and fictional) property developer shows Michael Caine around the empty cafe, and is later thrown off the building to his death. His grim demise fits well with the film, and with the dark bulk of the car park itself.

By the time the car park was constructed, its Brutalist design was already out of date and unfashionable. Its outdoor shopping precinct quickly became outdated too; shoppers preferred indoor precincts such as Newcastle's Eldon Square or, later, the Metro Centre in suburban Gateshead. Nevertheless, the building is still distinctive, striking, and important. Although the car park is closed off, the precinct surrounding it is still just about accessible. Almost all the tenants have left, now, given the impending closure, their shops hidden behind pastel security shutters. Boots The Chemist was so far as I could see, about the only remaining tenant, when I visited in January 2008. The precinct was still busy with locals, though, using it as a shortcut, hurrying through draughty passageways amid a forest of concrete columns supporting higher-level roads and walkways. The lowest two or three storeys have been slathered in thick cream masonry paint, presumably to help prevent graffiti; but above, the car park is still its original bare grey concrete, alternately dark and light, constantly changing shade with light and weather.

Continue reading "Trinity Car Park, Gateshead" »

Posted by FP on February 03, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (3)

In the 20s and 30s, all Modern architects seemed to be infatuated with Ocean Liners. The curves, contours and towers of a Cunard would be adapted into their houses and flats. The Brutalism of the 60s would, on the other hand, appear to have been a rejection of this high seas frippery for something more earthy and urban.

Wyndham Court in Southampton is the world’s only Brutalist Ocean Liner. This block of flats, which looms over Southampton Central Station, throwing the blandness of its surroundings into sharp relief, is – intentionally or not – a tribute to a bygone era of glamour and luxurious transport, fittingly in the very port where the Queen Mary, the Titanic et al made their voyages.

Making buildings symbolise something is something generally associated with the grisly jokiness of the ‘80s, such as Terry Farrell’s TVAM eggcups and so forth. Wyndham Court, though, makes its associations while never seeming anything less than logical. Twin blocks of flats angling themselves around a central public square, with shops at the edges and turrets sticking out strategically, hewn from white-grey, lustrous concrete, the long, jutting forms unmistakably suggest some sort of Corbusian cruise ship.

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Posted by Owen on July 26, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (5)

Inside the Queen’s Museum of Art in Flushing Meadows Corona Park, New York City spreads out as far as the eye can see. NYC full size is dazzling enough, so who’d have thought a smaller version could be even more remarkable. Words become redundant here – it is massive but also miniscule. The panorama covers 9,335 square metres but to fit the whole New York area in the buildings, all 895,000 of them, are tiny. The Empire State Building is only 15 inches high but that’s not to do it down. The detail is mind-boggling. Every building, park and road is here with New York’s iconic landmarks and bridges perfectly modelled. In the distance there are bridges and gasometers, and even a little tiny plane taking off from La Guardia airport.

As if that wasn’t wonderful enough, when the panorama opened in 1964 for the World’s Fair in what was then the New York Pavilion, 1400 visitors a day were flown over the city in a little car which simulated a helicopter's eye view. These days viewing is from a walkway round the edge but it’s tempting to jump the rail and walk round it like a colossus, peering into windows and frightening the tiny inhabitants.

Conceived by Robert Moses, President of the World’s Fair Corporation, it took a team of 100 people from Raymond Lester & Associates 3 years to build. At the time of its creation it was the world’s largest scale model. The original contract called for less than one percent margin of error. Regular maintenance kept the panorama up to date until 1970 then there was a lull until 60,000 buildings were updated in 1992. Today it is still kept up to date, more or less. The twin towers of the World Trade Center are still standing here with a commemorative plaque nearby.

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Posted by Anne on March 19, 2007 | Permalink

It’s certainly not unusual for buildings to be deemed a danger to public safety. Dodgy slates, subsiding walls or loose panes of glass often result in blocked pavements, stripy warning tape and cheek sucking workmen looking skywards. In the history of remedial construction however there must be precious few examples of an erection being declared unsafe due to the threat of falling penises. Yet in 1930’s London, number 429 Strand, a building dogged by controversy ever since its completion, was irrevocably altered, some would say vandalised, in the name of health and safety.

A stroll along the Strand today would most likely involve a head down battle against the tide of humanity. The street still contains some classic features, including Charing Cross Station and the Savoy hotel, but as a vehicle choked city thoroughfare, it’s not the best place in the capital to admire the view. In 1908 the scene would have been very different. Locals, spared the high doses of CO2, gathered in large crowds at what is now number 429, to view the recently completed headquarters of the British Medical Foundation. The focus of their attention was the series eighteen seven foot high nude sculptures entitled the Ages of Man which adorned the outside of the building. The nakedness of the figures enraged conservative writers of the time and the Evening Standard spearheaded a campaign against art works they considered to be morally retrograde. Father Bernhard Vaughn, a member of the National Vigilance Society raged in the paper that:

“As a Christian in a Christian City, I claim the right to say that I object most emphatically to such indecent statuary being thrust upon my view.”

While the good Father was clearly opposed to any sort of thrusting filth, the vehemence of the morally indignant he represented soon generated a wider public interest. So when the Evening Standard suggested that the statues were the sort that “…no careful father would wish his daughter, or no discriminating young man, his fiancée, to see”, Londoners flocked to the Strand eager to consume their quota of outrage.

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Posted by Maurice on February 20, 2007 | Permalink

Despite being a child of the 60’s the Brunswick centre still feels distinctly futuristic, a neat trick considering its last century lineage predates the technological innovations which define modern notions of cutting edge. Yet among the otherwise genteel Georgian Streets of Bloomsbury the monolithic concrete architecture of the Brunswick still evokes visions of tomorrow. The rectangular slab looks like a super block of reinforced Lego that has fallen from space and embedded itself in north London.

Inside its walls the elevated pedestrian central precinct is a clinical open space, flanked by shops and residential units which run the length of the development and cascade down toward street level. The tiered construction is the architectural equivalent of a tea plantation with the flats terraced back against an invisible hillside. Huge service towers stand watch over the building, reaching for the heavens like the ramparts of a futuristic citadel. The effect is dramatic and distinctly sci-fi, you really wouldn’t be surprised to see a Cyberman or bowler hatted Malcolm McDowell giving the place the once over.

Our visions of the future are usually played out cinematically against two distinct architectural backdrops. On the one hand there is the grim, grimy and nihilistic tomorrow as seen in films such as Robocop. On the other our offspring are seen to inherit a sleek, minimalist, usually white robed world, often harbouring a sinister secret. Check out Jenny Agutter in Logan’s Run for a good example. Before its £24 million revamp the Brunswick centre would have fitted neatly into the former category. In the late 1990s the building was neglected and shabby; its concrete walls turned a dour shade of inner city grey by the British weather. The unloved design coped badly with neglect and the Brunswick looked increasingly like the sort of place Judge Dredd patrols in the pages of 2000AD. This state of affairs was hardly surprising given the history of wrangling and compromise which dogged the development.

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Posted by Maurice on December 12, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)

It goes against the crowd to stand still in New York's Grand Central Station but if you stop for a minute in the right spot you might find a little bit of magic. Underneath the main concourse, on the way to the historic Oyster Bar, there’s a special place known as The Whispering Gallery where the faintest murmur can be heard 40 feet away across the busy passageway.

There are no signs to the Whispering Gallery but look for a place where two walkways intersect, and a vaulted roof forms a shallow dome. Look up and admire the herringbone terra cotta tiles - designed by Rafael Guastavino and Son and found in some of New York's finest buildings. Take a friend or sweetheart and pick diagonal corners. Then turn your faces to the wall and start talking. It feels a little odd at first, but even though you’re a long way away you should hear every word.

The phenomenon is fairly common, usually found beneath domes or ellipsoid surfaces. Sound "telegraphs" along the line of the curve to reach the other side. Other famous examples are found in St Paul's Catherdal in London and St Peter's Basilica in Rome. I've tried things like this before and stood talking to myself like an idiot, but this one definitely works. It's a popular spot for marriage proposals - word has it jazz legend Charles Mingus proposed here. It can get busy so pick your moment carefully to avoid embarrasment. If he/she says yes, head straight to the Oyster Bar and celebrate in style. It also has Guastavino ceilings so be careful where you whisper your sweet nothings if you don't want the whole place to hear.

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Posted by Anne on December 06, 2006 | Permalink

Seeing the Apollo Pavilion today, it’s hard to imagine how it ever seemed like a good idea. Designed by artist Victor Pasmore and built between 1963 and 1970 in Peterlee, a new town in County Durham, it’s an abstract concrete er, thing - half architecture, half sculpture. At eighty-two feet wide, it's a hulking great brute, spectacularly out-of-scale to everything around it. It’s not so much ugly as inappropriate. Loathed by many, but loved by a dedicated few, it is at once a symbol of the idealism of modernism and the new town movement, and the epitome of where it went horribly wrong.

When Peterlee was founded in 1948, Modernist hero Berthold Lubetkin was brought in as master planner but when his proposals for high-rise living proved unsuitable for mining terrain he left, disillusioned, and become a farmer. Abstract artist Victor Pasmore who was then Master of Painting at Kings College in Newcastle-upon-Tyne stepped into the breach. He designed “The Pivvy” as it's known locally as a bridge and focal point in a problematic area of the Sunny Blunts housing estate where a lake divides the housing estate and the road. Aspirations were high, and it was named The Apollo Pavilion after the moon mission which was reaching for the stars around the same time

Pasmore described it as 'an architecture and sculpture of purely abstract form through which to walk, in which to linger and on which to play, a free and anonymous monument which, because of its independence, can lift the activity and psychology of an urban housing community on to a universal plane.’ Well, he was half-right. People lingered and played alright, but not in a good way. Almost immediately it became a haven for vandals and teeny-tipplers. To add insult to injury, a local government spat ensued when the Peterlee Development Corporation that commissioned the £33,000 work was wound up and the Easington District Council which inherited it refused to touch it with a bargepole, or more usefully a paintbrush.

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Posted by Anne on November 08, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)

In the height of the cold war, back in the days when our foes were defined and known and telephones had wires attached, the post office built a bomb proof telephone exchange on the banks of the Thames, between Cannon Street station and London Bridge. Its concrete is clad in GRP (glass reinforced polyester), bright even after 30 years exposed to the elements. With the windows presenting a dark contrasting surface, it's no shrinking violet. Deep in its subsurface heart, lurks giant generators to power the building in the event of attack from the enemy, evidenced by the huge cooling cubes on the roof of the building.

Designed by architects Hubbard, Ford and Partners, on its completion in 1975 Mondial House was the largest exchange in Europe. The striking stepped-back style allows unobstructed views of St Paul's Cathedral beyond in line with strict planning requirements for the area. The front of the building facing Upper Thames Street, incorporates its name in the concrete that surrounds the building, and also the fire station that sits under one corner.

If anything should be deemed to entitle a building to special protection, it's a slating from Prince Charles, describing it as "the dreadful Mondial House". "To me, this building is redolent of a word processor," he wrote, apparently as criticism. To me, it's more like the seminal Commodore PET computer, but that's a semantic difference - either way, Mondial House is a bold, striking, innovative building.

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Posted by Ian on August 20, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (9)

This small Mid-Wales town - known in full as Llandrindod Wells - has two superb relics of 20th century motoring.

The first, and most obvious, is the Automobile Palace. It was built as a 'Palace Of Sport' in around 1906, and given its current name in 1925. It was a garage until the 1980s and now houses various offices, shops and The National Cycle Collection, a cycling museum. It's on the main A483 road through Llandrindod.

It was built by Tom Norton, an adventurous businessman who arranged commercial flights on the 'Dole' (Welsh 'dol', meaning 'meadow') - a field by the river Ithon/Ieithon. To this day his work on aviation is recorded by the word 'aircraft' alongside 'cycles' and more mundane advertisements on the sides of the building.

The second building is Pritchard's Garage in the centre of town, on the corner of Station Crescent and Temple Street. This is more overlooked but has a beautiful facade which sadly shows signs of decay. Its bright blue and white frontage records the makes of cars once sold there, now passed into motoring history, including Sunbeam and Commer. I believe it still functions as a garage to this day.

Both buildings serve as a reminder that Llandrindod was once a huge draw for tourists in its heyday as a spa town. Though quieter, it's still a lovely place, and well worth a visit.

Continue reading "Llandrindod's Garages, Mid-Wales" »

Posted by Rich on August 16, 2006 | Permalink

If you ask directions to Manchester Metropolitan University's Hollings Campus you might get some blank looks, but if you ask for the Toast Rack everyone will know what you mean. Once you catch sight of it there’s no need to explain its nickname – it's a huge tapering building with parabolic concrete arches on top that give it the look of a great big toastrack. There is a legend that in the 1970s students made a giant slice of polystyrene toast and stuck it on the roof for rag week. And if that wasn't enough, to augment the big breakfast theme there is an adjoining building which being small and round is known as The Fried Egg.

The culinary moniker fits well as the building, described by renowned architectural historian Sir Nikolaus Pevsner as "a perfect piece of pop architecture" began life as a classroom block for Manchester’s Domestic and Trades College which had been teaching cookery and domestic science in various incarnations since 1901. It is now home to MMU's Faculty of Food, Clothing and Hospitality Management. With over 2,000 students it is the largest concentration of domestic science students in the UK - and yes, they do sandwich courses.

The buildings were designed in 1958 by City Architect L. C. (Leonard) Howitt who was also responsible for re-modelling the interior of Manchester Free Trade Hall after the original was destroyed in WWII, and designing the Crown Courts in Crown Square. Although it looks playful, there was a practical intent. The tapering shape provides different sized teaching spaces for small or large classes (although the varying room sizes reportedly caused heating problems until the building was refurbished in the 1990s). Beside the main building there are tailoring workshops which were kept separate to minimise noise from the sewing machines, and “The Fried Egg” - a low round building with a circular hall intended for catwalk shows which houses the library and two refectories.

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Posted by Anne on August 08, 2006 | Permalink

The first time visitor to Tobacco Dock could be forgiven for thinking that they have arrived at a building nearing completion. It is immediately clear that the nineteenth century warehouse has been lovingly restored from a repository for imported goods into a modern shopping emporium. Everything is in place, fancy fixtures and fittings, stylish walkways and smart glass fronted units fully prepared for arrival of High Street names to breathe new mercantile life into the historic brick walls. Unfortunately Tobacco Dock is not waiting to be launched but rather sits becalmed after opening its doors in 1990. The crew that once manned the shops have long since abandoned ship and on this retail Marie Celeste CCTV cameras search for non existent miscreants.

Yet the story started so brightly back in the booming mid 80’s when stock markets were sky high and yuppies were busy buying red Porsches, listening to Phil Collins and carrying mobile phones that weighed half a tonne. During these heady days Brian Jackson and Lawrie Cohen had the bold idea to build a version of Covent Garden in the east end. Their ambition cannot be doubted and the selection of the stunning Tobacco Dock as a location seemed inspired.

The warehouse into which Cohen and Jackson would invest millions was designed by architect David Alexander as part of a much larger development built in 1811-14. This was a period of rapid commercial expansion along the Thames and businessmen hurried to keep up with the explosion in the sea-going transportation of goods. With London at the epicentre of the global market the demand for new storage and reception facilities for raw materials was enormous. In response Alexander collaborated with engineer John Rennie to mastermind the construction of London Dock. When completed the site covered 30 acres and specialised in high-value luxury commodities such as ivory, spices, coffee and cocoa as well as wine, tobacco and wool, all stored in elegant warehouses and cellars. Tobacco Dock was one part of this giant scheme and originally covered 20,000 square meters. The two fifths which remain standing today showcase an evolutionary architectural phase which, before the use of metal beams, combined timber and cast iron to make horizontal roof spans.

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Posted by Maurice on August 01, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Many follies are hard to describe and lose their impact over time, but The Pineapple in Dunmore (½ mile (1 km) northwest of Airth in Stirlingshire) needs no introduction. On top of a classical Palladian pavilion, housing a small octagonal room, there is a 45 feet tall stone pineapple. When it was completed in 1761 pineapples had only been grown in Scotland for 30 years and were so exotic few people would have seen one, let alone tasted one, but even today, accustomed as we have become to the fruit it is a joy to see.

Commissioned by John Murray, the 4th Earl of Dunmore, the precise reason for its creation has been lost with time. Many sources suggest that the pineapple was then a symbol of wealth, and follies were certainly in fashion. Pineapples were grown at Dunmore in the Earl's heated greenhouses, and the windows looks out onto a fruit orchard which still survives today. If you're going to design a building in the shape of a fruit and really want to show off, the spikiness and symmetry of a pineapple make it a good choice. Whoever the architect was, he did a sterling job - the detail is breathtaking and it has been designed with care. Each leaf is constructed with its own drainage system in order to avoid frost damage.

Its solid construction probably helped to save it from an ignominious end. By 1970 it was still in good shape while the surrounding buildings were falling into disrepair. The Countess of Perth gifted them to the National Trust for Scotland and with the help of The Landmark Trust they were restored. The gardens are open to the public and the building itself can be rented out as an unusual holiday destination.

If you're planning a visit, the gardens are a nice spot for a picnic and there are some woodland walks but be aware that there are no amenities on site - come prepared. From the car park outside the gates, there is a short walk through the beautifully maintained gardens until a gap in the fruit trees frames The Pineapple to best effect. If you walk towards the building there is an information board with some facts and figures on the building and its history. But most of it is just an architectural wonder which won't fail to bring a smile and a sense of wonder to any visit.

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Posted by Anne on July 30, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)

The beautiful beach at Achmelvich on the Assynt peninsula of North West Scotland is worth a visit for the unspoilt scenery alone. However, many visitors to this corner of paradise probably leave without knowing that they were a short walk from what must be one of Scotland's most unusual castles. To reach the Hermit’s Castle, cross the campsite and go through the small gate on to An Fharaid Bheag. Head due west for about a quarter of a mile and you will see the castle nestled perched over a small inlet.

The Hermit’s Castle was built around 1950 out of concrete and was reputedly built by an artist from the south of England to use as a retreat. From the outside, the castle looks a bit like the concrete pillboxes that you see dotted around the coastlines of Britain. It seems to grow out of the surrounding rock and could easily be overlooked if not for the distinctive windows and chimney stack.

Inside, the castle has only one very small room which has a single concrete bed and a small fireplace. The small windows let in some light but it still looks like a very damp and gloomy place to stay! Nonetheless, the castle is often used as a bothy by walkers in the area and the views from outside the castle are beautiful, particularly at sunset.

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Posted by Gavin on July 01, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)