Several weekends ago, eagle eyed readers to this WordPress may have seen my architectural series of posts titled Trellick Tower! Well seeing as I was in London I took many photos throughout the day and thought I’d share within a post, and why not because I really enjoy looking at personal photos from bloggers I follow.
A London themed ‘photo dump’……………. as the cool internet bloggers say!
Is it me feeling jaded and forgetful, or do Christmas celebrations seem to arrive earlier and earlier each year? Hmm I’d guess a mixture of both or in other words I’m getting old!
Stepping out into the sunshine from London’s Underground Railway Station, and btw it takes a great deal to surprise me these days, the sight of a ‘full blown’ ice rink was the last thing I’d expected to see, oh and accompanied by gleeful shrieks of joy from skaters young and old.
……………….incidentally adorned with the most impressive Christmas Tree I’ve seen this year. (You should see the pathetic example my home Town erected last week!)
….……..and before you ask NO I don’t ice skate.
Below a typical London Tube Station, and I do love riding the Underground system of subterranean tunnels crisscrossing the city, with its interconnecting stations whisking commuters out into the suburbs, and if you’ve ever visited my Capital city then you’ll know this is the quickest and most efficient way of getting around. Just a matter of metres above lie Streets choked with traffic now travelling slower than the horses and carts of 200 hundred years ago.
I secretly took these photos below of unsuspecting fellow passengers with heads bowed gazing into their media devices, it’s always interesting to reading the posters and gigantic screens advertising theatre shows whilst riding the escalators.
Below modern day versions of London’s iconic ‘Black Cab’ and scarlet ‘Red Bus’, images you’ll have seen working these same streets 100 hundred years ago and even earlier by horse and carriage. And here’s a topical fact you won’t have heard of, before becoming Prime Minister Boris Johnson lying asshole and then London Mayor reintroduced an updated Routemaster bus, and I’d suggest there’s more than passing resemblance to the old one pictured beneath, they even have conductors walking the isles selling tickets to tourists also commuters.
Having time to spare also a one day all access travelcard to hand, I briefly visited St. Pancreas railway Station notable for it’s incredible gothic architecture, you’ll not see the like of this grandeur built in London ever again. (Below)
Metres away from St. Pancreas Station home of the Eurostar, you’ll walk through the entrance of King’s Cross Railway Station surrounded by cheap Hotels and rented apartments and YES prostitutes servicing horny male commuters…………. and YOU think I’m joking for comic effect!! (Below)
The gigantic red poppy inside King’s Cross Station marked the Remembrance Sunday celebrations that same weekend, the fact many hundreds of soldiers departed this Station for the trenches in World War One wasn’t lost on me………… and sadly many didn’t return home.
Hmm….. I’m wondering how many people when they gaze to the roof will notice King’s Cross new Station ceiling? Nearly as impressive as the train hall itself.
And because I love trains, I just had to take some pictures of locomotives below!
Walking on through King’s Cross station and quite by chance a famous nameplate caught my eye, eblazoned across the front cab of one locomotive read ‘Flying Scotsman’, though I have to admit looking considerably less spectacular than its steam predecessor bearing the same iconic name. (Notice the very same roof canopy, lol interests me anyway 😀 )
So there you are, photos taken by myself from a daytrip to London earlier this November.
Original fiction written by myself (Andrew 🙂 ) and after rather painful reading one week later, I wished I’d waited because lol the beginning to my ‘erotic’ tale is rather painful reading. Just so as you know I’ve edited slightly, lol you live and learn!
Let us agree to descibe this as flawed but fun?
(And btw a tale of Voyeurism and NOT the movie ‘Rear Window’)
🙂 Now please read on………………………..
One late summer’s evening ten or so years ago, standing whilst leaning against my bedroom window-sill I gazed out upon a typically British urban scene, though not necessarily looking at the detached house of my neighbours opposite, if you really wish to know and I hope you do for the purposes of this tale, I’d awoken that summer’s night to watch one of natures true wonders, sheet lightning illuminating the pitch dark sky accompanied by ear shattering claps of thunder, so loud I’d flinch with shock! I don’t believe in God and creationism, but watching this impending thunder storm, a true marvel of our natural world, I couldn’t wait for the lashing rain, perhaps on evenings such as these I’ll contemplate ‘the meaning of life’, because surely some divine ruler must have created this spectacular display!
So I’ll ask you a question, before an electric lightning thunder show consummates with a pavement smashing deluge of rain, transforming the air icy cold within seconds, how do they begin? Yes and I hope you’re keeping up, that particular evening was uncomfortably warm, a humid balmy atmosphere meaning sleep was restless if not impossible and if you are unacquainted with British weather, evenings such as these happen only three or four times a year in Britain and looking sideways at houses along my street, all my neighbours windows were open with curtains gently fluttering in time with the humid breeze.
Then all of a sudden, catching me totally unawares, an attic room light switched on in the house opposite, a white light so bright against its dark brown tiled pitched roof, this room glowed in the night. The shock quite startled me from contemplative thoughts of life wonderment and creation, and for the life of me I suddenly felt the urge to all but stumble toward a bedroom shelf and grab my pair of birdwatching binoculars and btw I’m NOT a ‘peeping Andrew’ by nature, but yes I’ll admit to watching pretty ladies boobs. Binoculars in hand, I hurriedly returned to my bedroom sill position steadying myself looking at the attic room window across the street (and please be aware I’ve never done this before or since, as for legalities?) I’d propose ‘an Englishman’s home is his castle’ and this bedroom window is mine to peep through if I so wish………… now call the Police!
(Ok I’d agree watching through binoculars was a touch creepy, hey ho!)
With my two elbows propped upon the sill, I can clearly remember physically trembling as I brought the binoculars up to my eyes, then seconds after locating this brilliant white light, finally my neighbour’s room focussed into view and wow that window opposite flooded the optics in entirety and clarity. As if only metres away, I could clearly see the room inside with it’s white painted walls and a second window directly behind looking out onto the farm fields beyond, because this attic room sat below a roof sided apex, it’s very own bedroom walls have you will, only the centre part of the room was tall enough for one person to stand upright in.
Remember this fact because it is important to my tale!
Now to my second heart stopping shock of this truly eventful evening, sparking my imaginations alive the silhouette of a middle aged woman walked into the room’s centre, a slim bodied female pausing opposite our bedroom windows and WOW lucky me watching from across the street. I of course knew this lady well, and let us name her Helen for the purposes of this tale, there she stood motionless, a handsome looking woman 55years old if a day and no taller than 5’5″, yes she’s a girlish Grandmother in the autumn years of her life but with her slender figure, pert bosom and wrinkle free skin, I’m here to tell you mature lady Helen would make many a young buck’s groin twitch hard!
I gulped and swallowed, my trembling hands trying their utmost to keep the binoculars steady, yet my imagination has seldom felt more alive before or since because I’m telling you now, watching any woman is thrilling and sure to make my penis throb hard.
Though the thought crossed my mind, ‘Helen could well be aware Andrew is spying through her window?’
And so for half an hour or so, playing out before my disbelieving eyes began an eroticised performance a guy wishes for in his wildest dreams, sexual fantasies of near naked women sending him to sleep, curled fingers reigning in his bucking hardness, tingling balls within a bulging scrotum ready to shoot their warm sticky seed!
With every nerve in my body electrified alive, I watched as my neighbour Helen wandered the tiny space for what I always assumed was a bedroom, left then right she moved but always returning to her room’s middle window and my transfixed view, only disappearing for seconds at a time, Helen would pause motionless and the thought crossed my mind ‘was she hoping expecting I’m watching her slim figure clothed by only a mustard yellow tee shirt?’ Oh and white shorts clearly visible above her deep silled window.
Then suddenly she turned to lean out the opposite window, gaze for herself at the electric lightning show beyond, and oh my god like a proverbial streak of lightning, I realised those weren’t shorts Helen was wearing because in the process of stretching and leaning forward, the tops of two pink thighs came into view exposing just a hint of rosy buttock cheeks, oh my sweet Jesus… ‘Helen wore panties and NOT shorts after all!’
Shocks like these aren’t healthy for a man my age but instinctively I knew I’d never watch the like of this ever again, secretly viewing attractive knicker wearing women come only once in a lucky man’s lifetime.
Perhaps now bored of watching God’s lighting show, or having decided Andrew had seen quite enough of her ass, Helen glanced into the room’s centre and proceeded to shock me yet again. Holy %&’$ is this woman trying to murder me for in one choreographed graceful movement she slipped off her panties before tossing to one side so revealing a triangular mop of brown pubic hair to match her locks of brunette, a shoulder length style that suited her thinnish pretty face for as I said Helen’s a handsome woman.
Now naked from the waist down, well just below her hairy covered vulva and no not even my binoculars could focus that passport ‘slit’ to heaven, Helen again began to glide her tiny bedroom space all the time with pieces of cloth to hand, five glorious minutes passed by though I have a feeling Helen’s laundry folding display took a good while longer, yet again catching me unawares my sexy neighbour paused, her slim body framed picture perfect behind the attic window, her pretty face wistfully gazing across the room through a stare of deep concentration, and that’s when the ‘proverbial penny dropped’, at last I understood the reason she’d stare into space, ‘Helen’s gazing at her reflection in a mirror opposite isn’t she!’
Placing two hands aside her hips, she all but swayed in a rhythmic arc, first to the left then to the right all the while eyes fixed upon a distant object perhaps a full body length mirror? Oh yes I’ve never been more certain of a fact in my life Helen was admiring her reflection of that I’m now sure, then catching me quite unawares how many more times can this happen? She smoothed her hands across the cotton tee shirt, palms gliding up and over two gentle mounds of pert peaky bosom, only pausing to cup hold and squeeze and why not for she possessed a shapely pair of tits.
My groin ‘bucked’ as if about to ejaculate creamy sticky semen, but I didn’t cum as pleasure giving chemicals coursed through my brain, I gulped hard to catch a breath because for truly the first time that humid summer’s evening, I sensed something near unbelievable was about to happen yes and oh my sweet Jesus yes, Helen began to remove a last remaining garment, with two hands gently clasping the hem of her tee shirt, in one flowing movement Helen drew the garment upwards over her head with long hair pulling messily through the opening, before tossing to one side. And there she stood, motionless, eyes transfixed to a reflection gazing back, very nearly naked with her mopped pubic hair, a pink slender torso and breasts enclosed within her brilliant white bra.
‘Yes a bra! And there’s me assuming women just don’t bother when at home?’
God knows how I didn’t cum, though I could hardly breath through cheeks burning hot and a heart racing so fast it was surely about to explode, and there Helen stood for what seemed minutes thoughtfully admiring her beauty with pursed amused lips and hint of girlish smile. Yes she appreciated her aged body because Helen was still a handsome looking lady, then just as my trembling hands calmed she reached behind, stretching her arms she fumbled the clasp on her bra band allowing the delicate garment of intimate lingerie to fall from her body, hoops of bra strap slipping down smooth skinned arms towards the floor.
And there she stood motionless, my sexy neighbour from across the road stark naked from just below her waste up, two gentle mounds of small pointy breasts and if my eyes didn’t deceive me I’d guess they were a double AA cup. Que the culmination of this evening’s excitement, almost the instant she dropped her bra I climaxed, came hard within my night time boxers shorts, and all without hand stimulation for remember they gripped my binoculars! Feeling my groin ejaculate warm sticky semen stream across my inner thighs, and if you’re really curious my first hands free orgasm at the sight of a naked woman.
Two thousand seconds had ticked from the alarm clock on the bedside table, that’s how long our strip show lasted, a voyeurs delight the like of which I’d only seen in ‘dirty videos’, and now as Helen smiled at her reflection, my breathless mind began to regain composure, feeling utterly exhausted I lent back perching on the side of my bed, nights such as these come but once in a lucky guy’s lifetime, and as for all you readers shaking their head and muttering phrases like,
“Dirty Peeping Tom!”
Remember the window I gazed out of this balmy summer’s evening is on my property, yes you could label me voyeuristic and pervy, but this view is mine to own and I would suggest to any lady undressing herself naked, perhaps it’s prudent to close one’s curtains first!
Though hold on just a second, there’s always the hope Helen knew I was watching, timed her attic room strip after seeing my silhouette pressed against the bedroom window, watching this spectacular thunder lightning show. Hmm maybe she wished me to watch? Perhaps she hoped I’d be naughtily masturbating at the sight of her youthful Grandma’s breasts? Who knows but those two thoughts amuse me to this day whenever we meet in the street, hmm are we both playing mind games of,
‘You didn’t know I was watching on that warm summer’s night……. did you?’
So how did my sultry evening’s tale end, I guess after minutes of looking admiringly at her nude reflection and why an earth not, well as abruptly as this theatrical show began, so just as abruptly ‘came’ the finale or as I’d like to muse Helen thought I’d seen quite enough nudity. Just at that point of orgasm she disappeared from view, the attic room turned pitch black and I placed the binoculars upon the window sill beside me. Yes this once in a lifetime finished with my pleasured body cooling, my conscious mind happy and spent I quietly watched tonight’s thunder show’s final climatic scene, the air temperature tumbled as cooling rain lashed the tarmac road opposite, so cold in fact I returned to my bed a satisfied but exhausted man.
😀 I gotta leave you with a question, if you caught a glimpse of a sexy person undressing in their bedroom, would you watch or turn away?
(I hope reader’s enjoyed my tale and for those who didn’t, a photo post follows sooon……… unless I change my mind………. which I often do!)
Monday’s post (tomorrow) is original fiction written by me (Andrew 🙂 ). So a question, does that post require an introduction? No not really, read my ‘previous post but one’ if you really want to find out, on the other hand no I wouldn’t bother, all I will add is I’ve loved writing these ‘sexy’ stories because they’re such fun to do, mind you they take an age to dream up! Now for a little self promotion, you’ll find many sexy tales on my blog usually featuring women I’ve known…….. name’s changed which goes without saying!
I had intended to say ‘My Neighbour Is a Stripper’ is a blend of facts and fiction, maybe it is maybe it isn’t, but you cannot be tooo careful can you! Ok read Not my first Blog if you must 😀 where I explain how a real life woman I knew discovered my first blog, which just goes to prove friends and acquaintances read our blogs not forgetting there maybe lurkers reading from the shadows.
Hmm I’m still unsure if I’m happy about this one?
Before I break off for the evening I’ll leave you with one other true story, many months ago I wrote a post themed women’s chatrooms, they’re not quite classed as sex workers as in prostitutes and porn stars, no chatroom ladies are just like you and I, they’re trying to earn money to pay the household bills and feed young children, good on them if men wish to pay purchased tokens and entice them into consensually taking their clothes that’s fine by me.
However to make my post a little more I guess personal, I shared the title page of one particular chat lady to emphasise my point and make it more entertaining, with both name and website changed which goes without saying! Then blow me if several days after posting a woman commented asking to remove the unamed photo from said post, because wait for it…………………….. the photo was of herself!
Well that was a shock and a half I can tell you, what odds that a chatroom stripper happened across my blog post? I near couldn’t believe it true however certain fact tied up, anyways she was very friendly and not the least bit upset, I removed said photo and she commented back with heart and laughing emojies, adding she did actually quite enjoy the post but just goes to show you never know who’s reading 🙂 . If I was careful back then, I’m doubly careful now!
Are you familiar with that British culinary tradition ‘the fried English Breakfast’? I’d suggest even if you live abroad you’ll have heard us non vegans may well start the day with a fried egg bacon and sausage, a side order of buttered slices of bread and a steaming hot mug of builder’s tea! Now be aware I don’t begin everyday eating this ‘fat laden’ potential heart attack, but if I’m day tripping in London (for example my visit to Trellick Tower) I will attempt to find a High Street Café such as Sandro’s in Notting Hill N. London.
……… and NO this post isn’t another themed Trellick Tower!
I prefer to travel light if I’m out and about on a weekend, a rucksack camera waterproof jacket and a little cash is all I require, well after several underground train rides earlier this November, I walked a short distance into the heart of Notting Hill and happened across Sandro’s pictured below. A traditional English cafeteria which has all but disappeared from our High Streets, they do survive and can be found in large Towns and Cities but more often than not these cafés have been replaced by that culinary cancer that IS McDonalds………………. you’ll never find me eating a ‘Big Mac’ in these God awful ‘restaurants’, identical neon eyesores you’ll see the length and breadth of Britain devoid of all character and tradition.
Yes I agree Sandro’s doesn’t appear the most upmarket looking establishment from the outside, though once inside, heat from cooking stoves warming the coldest customers walking in from ice cold November Streets, this ‘homely’ café with white Formica tables and London photos adorning its walls, has a welcoming ambiance befitting the average working man or woman.
And I wonder is that Sandro himself preparing my breakfast behind his counter? No idea, lovely food though and ALL for a little over £5, which surprised even me knowing how expensive London is to live in these days! Burn every KFC and McDonalds to the ground that’s what I say, and let’s have a return to our traditional English cafeterias please 🙂 .
(I AM joking btw.)
Now I’m the first to admit I’m far from a particularly skilled photographer, but I’ll always have my small £8 eBay digital camera to hand (all the photos on this my WordPress are snapped by this internet bargain buy), and as well as taking photos of Brutalist 1970s Tower Blocks, I’m sharing pictures of London taken that same day………. not particularly noteworthy APART from I do enjoy looking at ‘naturalistic’ personal photographs, especially if taken by bloggers I follow from across the globe.
A London themed ‘photographic dump’ (a phrase the cool kids use) to follow.
Blogging Thoughts Photos and Life isn’t my first foray into the world of blogging, oh no for sure several followers will have remembered my first WordPress which ended it’s life rather unceremoniously, if not darn right hastily 18 months ago. Cutting a short story shorter, a lady I’d known in real life though not seen for a while sent me a message completely out of the blue! That was a shock and a half I can tell you, the tale get’s worse she’d happened across my Blog hadn’t she and I’m still uncertain how but we’re friends of a sort again……………. thankfully.
Well if I told you this lady had been unhappy that would be an understatement because she was frigging apoplectic angry, though I think the personal language and questioning my parentage was a little uncalled for! And the reason for her enraged messaging was all of my own doing, I’d broken a golden rule every blogger should adhere to hadn’t I, I’d shared our tales of sex and bedroom fun and games with the blogosphere and unforgivably gone and used her real ‘first’ name. Well (as you would) she’d recognised herself within the pages of our saucy true tale, and soon after demanded I delete my Blog.
I replied asking if I could just delete the offending post but no this angry lady demanded the whole Blog be deleted NOW. We messaged back and forth with me slowly coming to the realisation MY blog had go, a realisation this regrettable episode was wholly my fault and of my own undoing and closing served me right, so reluctantly I agreed and closed my first WordPress along with all posts lost also a sobering lesson learned! Then again perhaps this scenario only applied to moi? This ‘inconsequential’ mattered because I’d written saucy tales of sexual liaisons with a mature aged lady I’d actually known in real life……………… when I say aged I don’t mean Grandma aged though she ‘was’ a little overweight which is fine 🙂 .
As I said a painful lesson learned though this lady and I are on friendly terms, and I have met with her again but the nature of our relationship was fleeting anyway. So yes the blog had to go this eventful evening long ago, and with it months of written postings were hastily deleted, a handful of electronic files disappearing into cyberspace without a copy being retained, and here’s a thought where do our deleted posts finally end their days?
The point to this tale is yes all content was lost which in hindsight wasn’t a bad thing because the first few were pretty awful, and I’m glad I started afresh with all new writings photos and opinions, however there was one favourite ‘stripper’ tale I wished I’d kept (but didn’t) and I’m now in the process of rewriting, oh and note totally unconnected nor starring that messaging angry lady.
The moral of tonight’s story is bloggers take care when retelling true as happened stories, but I’d suggest there’s no need to get tooo stressed and panicky, just be watchful with the personal facts you divulge because you never know who’s reading? Perhaps always be watchful someone you know could be lurking? Hmm there’s a thought for all you writers. Anyways no harm was done just ‘a little milk spilt’ and an important lesson learned, and I doubt many people read said tale.
So wrapping up this morality lesson I restarted all over again, and the lady hasn’t been in touch since which is a crying a shame because she REALLY did give good head!
(Btw I’ve a stripper true story which follows sooon.)
Perhaps the reason for feeling so down these last few months is little easier to explain than Brexit, the never ending bombardment of truly apocalyptic awful news stories near drain the life out of me, so much so and truthfully I haven’t watched a complete edition of TV News in probably three years!
(Shamefull, that’s truly what’s called sticking one’s head in the sand.)
And yes you did read that correctly, I’ll go further I seldom read Brexit news stories emblazoned across my workmates daily copy of ‘The Metro’ newspaper and ANNOYINGLY I have no choice at the moment, Brexit news stories appear on my laptop homepage and I cannot get rid of them! Yes I’ll Log-on to be presented with a feed of ‘personalised’ stories chosen by Microsoft because apparently I either need or wish to read them! I don’t, but there’s ALWAYS one story that will suck and draw me in, guaranteed to leave me despairing hopeless and thoroughly depressed.
Or perhaps the sadness I feel is that I’m nursing a belated broken heart, you see my father passed away last Spring and now after that first shock, days of funeral preparations, the emotionally draining cremationhas long passed, perhaps my state of mind is little harder to explain than a delayed reaction? We weren’t that close and now I harbor guilty feelings……. but there you are life goes on 🙂 .
Brexit and personal grief are a ghastly combination enough to drain the life blood out of even the most optimistic of cheery souls. Then again perhaps my current downhearted despair is little harder to explain than I haven’t slept with a woman in what seems ages, after all the fleeting ‘pleasures’ a male’s righthand brings has its limitations! An afternoon with Diana would truly gladden the heart, rejuvenate and nourish my downbeat soul, I love her beautiful Polish mind and gorgeous body and seldom felt more alive than when laying beside this wonderful sexy siren’s naked body…………..Diana’s the most exquisite firm plump tits you ever did see ❤ .
Now lol I’ve truly romantic ‘powerful’ ballads performed by two icons of 1980s popular culture, Bonnie Tyler’s ‘Total Eclipse Of The Heart’ and Carol Decker’s ‘China In Your Hand’, they never fail to bring a cheer my sad soul and modern day classic tunes from my youth, just one thing! Make sure you turn up the volume and play them LOUD!!!
So let’s just say I win the lottery, gifted the riches to purchase the home of my wildest dreams and desires, which home do I choose? A quaint pretty cottage set within deepest rural Oxfordshire, a perfumed wild flower meadow with babbling brook streaming through long natural grasses, lazy days of watching butterflies and keeping bees or purchase a top floor duplex apartment in London’s Trellick Tower?
Hmm, I’m genuinely in a quandary deciding which to choose.
For fear of repeating myself you really should read my previous two posts if ‘this’ phrase Trellick Tower intrigues you.
(Five minutes later)
So you have returned, thank you 🙂 (oh and please note all photos taken by myself and feel free to copy if you so wish 🙂 )
So returning to my question which home do I choose? Well, as of this moment and similar to many a rich Londoner in 2019 I’ll purchase both, the idyllic country cottage for the weekend and Trellick Tower for living in Monday to Fridays……. though I have the feeling the shine and novelty would sooon wear off!
But Trellick’s renaissance isn’t a totally happy tale. Originally designed by Ernö Goldfinger as cheap social housing back in 1972, now that ‘brutalism’ has returned to being fashionable and in vogue, a sickening process of ‘social cleansing’ is taking place across London. Private equity firms are purchasing these concrete high rise living spaces from cash strapped London Councils, decanting poor renting families into cheap low level housing, then selling these Tower block apartments for millions of pounds! And here’s the irony, these until recently hated concrete homes in the sky built for the poor, are once again deemed cool living yet only affordable to the rich and wealthy.
And now to Ronan Point where the high rise dream came quite literally crashing down!
The now demolished Ronan Point, a 22 story tower block built as affordable housing, opened in 1968 but tragically partially collapsed soon after unveiling to residents and public. Poorly designed and shoddily constructed Ronan is the complete antithesis of Trellick built but a few miles away in Canning Town East London. On that fateful day 16th May 1968, only two months after Ronan’s completion, a gas explosion caused the collapse of one entire corner of the building (a resident lit a gas stove to boil a kettle), killing four people and injuring 17 this terrible disaster rocked people’s confidence in the safety of high rise living. A judicial enquiry soon followed leading to an overhaul of existing building regulations after uncovering design flaws associated with side wind loading, fire damage and small explosions..
Looking at the photo above I’d suggest the scars of bolted together walls also off-site prefabricated construction are clearly visible, a truly horrific photograph in so many respects leaving Britain’s housing dream in tatters, the consequence all Public confidence was lost in high rise living and has never returned even 50 years or so later……….. such an ugly building as well.
So what fate awaits Trellick Tower? Now Grade 2 listed and deemed architecturally important by the great and the good, this once reviled building is fashionable again, now privately owned and having been made from quality materials I’d suggest this iconic building will outlive me! And truthfully speaking I’m still unsure why I love this building so? All the more strange knowing that I hate concrete tower blocks with a passion.
I hope readers have enjoyed these three posts written from a personal point of view, if you wish a little more insight and detail then I guess the internet is the place to go!
Theme for this week is Trellick Tower, Notting Hill west London.
Brutalism, def: ‘a stark style of functionalist architecture, especially of the 1950s and 1960s, characterized by the use of steel and concrete in massive blocks’
….……… and by any stretch of the imagination Trellick Tower’s an exercise in Brutalism with a capital B!
I’ve been sightseeing in London again, though this time with a sole intention of seeing for myself Trellick Tower also for my first time, an image I’d seen in many a film, documentary and magazine photo yet had never witnessed in the flesh so to speak……………. viewing something you’ve so wished to see, but only ever seen previously via media is an emotionless second hand experience, only when you see a Cityscape (artwork) with your own two eyes do you know if it lives up to ALL the hype.
(I’d go further, add Trellick to your list of buildings to see if you ever visit Britain’s capital city and you’ll not be disappointed.)
Walking through the Notting Hill’s side streets, my eyes attuned towards the skies hoping for a first glance was an interesting experience, think for a second, how often in life are you consumed by an eager anticipation over an extended period of time? Hardly ever! You’re aware of a soon to be emotional experience, your imagination will be pricked alive yet you don’t know how you’ll react, BUT you know the reaction will be either excitement, incredulity, amazement, maybe a ‘what the fuck whatever’, or a total letdown disappointed…………. but not to worry my initial reaction as Trellick Tower loomed in to view, dominating the skyline above £2,000,000 homes was:
‘Wow, what a beautiful building………. yes I’m SO pleased I came to see!’
Trellick Tower bewitches me, fascinates me, I’m in love with this building so much so I’d do anything to live within one of those top floor self contained apartments for just one week…………. goes without saying because the views across London (I’ve never visited mind you) must be absolutely stunning.
Designed by the architect Ernö Goldfinger in the late 1960s, Trellick Tower is one of London’s most iconic Modernistic apartment blocks, deemed architectural important, and yes his name inspired Ian Fleming’s Goldfinger of James Bond fame (Fleming hated Goldfinger with a passion.)
These concrete monolithic tower blocks were the answer to Britain’s postwar housing shortage, brutalist architecture of the 1970’s now has a notorious reputation, more often than not they were poorly constructed by cash strapped City Councils, with the worst examples populating British cities up and down the land having long since been demolished, and I’d guess both former residents and neighbours living beneath those monstrosities whooped cheered and clapped as they watched them reduced to rubble.
However today 50 years later Brutalism is being re evaluated, the most hideous examples are no more and destruction wasn’t to be Trellick’s final fate, remaining as a beautifully proportioned profile and I particually love the balconies looking across London, lucky residents although they do look extremely dangerous! Trellick Tower is preserved for the nation and according to a recent BBC documentary loved by the residents who live there, one glorious example remains to this day and to be quite honest I’m unsure why I appreciate this building so, an instantly recognisable icon joining an illustrious ‘grade listed’ club alongside notable examples such as The Tower Of London, Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle……………… and I might add a worthy of inclusion.
I’ll finish this evening’s post sharing (borrowed) photographs taken from inside but alas not by me, and WE all love looking inside people’s homes don’t we?
Now be honest, you’re all busy people, do you really want to read a blah blah blah blog where I list the reasons I stopped posting? No of course not, just so as you know I’ve reignited enthusiasm, there’ll be no sex and silliness (that’s a lie) and I’ll be returning with several London themed ‘photo dumps’ (that’s a term the cool kids use), in other words that’s sharing photos I’ve taken to you and I.
Been a while, so what have I been doing? Worrying about Brexit for one (sooo upsettingly depressing), reading blogs written by the (many) middle aged women writers I follow, and for the purposes of today’s post and several to follow, I visited London today, walked the City’s streets (note I’m not a hooker!) and ‘snapped’ lots and lots of photographs.
Only trouble is I’m unsure if any of you lovely people remember me since three months ago, of course you lol don’t? But not to worry as I’ve always said to myself, if at least one person enjoys reading an always original post written by moi, then I’m a happy Andrew.
So why visit London? To see for myself a British architectural icon that is Trellick Tower situated close to the Borough of Notting Hill, and yes that is the ‘Notting Hill’ movie of the same name starring Hugh and Rene, also home to the world famous Carnival. Incidentally the short video below features this 1972 Tower Block built to satisfy Britain’s post war housing shortage, Trellick is now a Grade 2 listed building, a structure recognised by people the length and breadth of Britain with a very short film uploaded onto my YouTube Channel.
(Are you surprised a concrete block of flats has preserved status?)
I’ve never seen this Tower Block for myself before today, it’s an impressive building all the more notable because every major City has been demolishing these grey concrete monoliths, poorly constructed, hated by the residents and quite rightly considered a disastrous exercise to provide cheap social housing for the masses, many have been pulverised to rubble. Isn’t hindsight a wonderful thing, Tower Blocks became synonymous with all that is wrong with inner cities, magnets for drug taking, physical assaults, isolation, deprivation, poverty, devoid of human scale and with a complete absence of (yes) private gardens so loved by the British public, all in all an expensive social engineering project that went disastrously wrong!
HOWEVER with London’s housing shortage now at epidemic levels, gazing out the coach window as the city scape passed by, I noticed shiny modern examples are rising lol like a phoenix from the ashes, with I guess many a lesson learnt?……… I do hope so! Yes Tower blocks are disappearing, yet Trellick remains and what’s more it’s Grade 2 listed which means the City planners CANNOT pull it down. Now for a confusing dichotomy, I for one love this important building which surprises me when I hate concrete Blocks of Flats so! 😀
My favourite blogger LA over at wakingupthewrongsideof50 has been discussing accents, by that I mean the spoken accents we all have, either a product of the surroundings we were brought up in, or a particular way of speaking imprinted upon us by our parents. As for myself and thanks for asking I have a regional shires accent, Oxfordshire to be more exact and more than a little rural when played back to my listening ear………….. and for some reason or other a Polish lady I work with has trouble understanding what I say? Makes me laugh anyways as she leans in because I just know she’s having problems!
I haven’t posted on this Blog for months now though I do avidly read the latest thoughts and writings from bloggers I’ve followed for many months, even years! But as for me I’ve kinda fallen out of love with life, I’d suggest the fragile human spirit isn’t strong enough having to live through Britain’s Brexit debacle, so much so I rarely watch the News anymore which isn’t a healthy way to live and guess what? I’ve started receiving Party political junk mail through the post………………….. can anyone tell me if there’s an election on the way?
(So unfortunately Boris didn’t die in a ditch after all!)
Oh yes returning to accents or the distinctive way of pronouncing language.
Reading through comments also replies to LA’s recent post on the whole written by Americans, I was struck by the number of commenters who were of the same opinion, namely we’re elitist towards certain groups of people based solely on the way that they speak. Yes we do judge one another’s intelligence dependent on their accent and yes regrettably we do assume certain regional accents are superior or inferior to our own, and I’d suggest will have a part to play on how far we progress in life, or our ‘given choice’ of employment.
Although distinct British accents are perhaps disappearing I have my favourites also those that grate on my ear so to speak. Sad to say I’m lol neither a fan of the ‘Liverpudlian’ or Birmingham’s ‘Brummie’ accent which does come across as slightly dim witted (awful to admit), though I do love the broad Yorkshire accent of my Grandfather and have a particular soft spot for a North Londoner’s accent………. cockney is a little tooo comedic for my ears and by that I’m not referring to Dick Van Dykes laughable rendition in ‘Mary Poppins’, no I have to admit I do love a North London.
So why have I attached Pink Floyd’s iconic video ‘Another Brick In The Wall’, to a post themed accents? Listen to this brilliant song and in particular to the chorus rendition sung by (and starring) a London children’s choir, and those attuned to British accents will recognise their North London pronunciation…….…. though lol I fear those ‘across the pond’ won’t think it particually noteworthy.
(As an aside I was their exact age back in 1979!)
Band Engineer Nick Griffin recorded the children singing the verse at Islington Green School, close to Pink Floyd’s studio. Alun Renshaw, head of music at the school, said later: “I wanted to make music relevant to the kids – not just sitting around listening to Tchaikovsky. I thought the lyrics were great – ‘We don’t need no education, we don’t need no thought control’ … I just thought it would be a wonderful experience for the kids.”
Renshaw apparently hid the lyrics from the headmistress Margaret Maden, fearing she might stop the recording. Maden said: “I was only told about it after the event, which didn’t please me. But on balance it was part of a very rich musical education.” Renshaw and the children spent a week practicing before he took them to a recording studio near the school. According to Ezrin, when he played the children’s vocals to Waters, “there was a total softening of his face, and you just knew that he knew it was going to be an important record”.
In exchange for performing vocals, the children of Islington Green School received tickets to a Pink Floyd concert, an album, and a single. The footnote to this tale is following a change to UK copyright law in 1996, the children’s choir members became eligible for royalties from broadcasts, and after royalties agent Peter Rowan traced the choir members through ‘Friends Reunited’, they successfully lodged a claim for royalties with the Performing Artists’ Media Rights Association in 2004.
So if there’s any conclusion to be made from this afternoon’s post, we all have our favourite spoken accents, we shouldn’t (but do) judge a person’s worth and intellect by the way they speak and yes Islington’s North London children’s choir is awesomely fabulous…………………. I do hope you listened!