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Sep. 21st, 2009
Open House Weekend Part One
Start off at the Village Underground in Shoreditch and then the Great Eastern Hotel at Liverpool Street, two places I've tried to visit before but have been put off by the queues (we also try to go to the Broadgate Tower, the Bank of England and the Royal Ballet School but are intimidated by the long lines). Both are lovely, in different ways. The tube trains live on a roof above, and with a view of, the City and have been converted into offices and studios. They still have the Jubilee line maps and the strap-hangings. They reminds me of narrowboats, the very London concept of transforming a utilitarian thing into a workable space. Conversely the Great Eastern, or Andaz as it's now known, was purpose built and is poshness in extremis. The ambient temperature is just so, it smells of expensive wine and coffee and their dining recommendations appear on flat screen TVs as you sit on the soft sofas in the lobby. The best thing though is the Masonic Temple (not as splendiferous as the main Masonic Lodge in Holborn, but it puts on a good show) which "apparently" was Jack the Ripper's Lodge. Hmm.
Cycle into town and visit Pushkin House which is not particularly architecturally special, but is noticeable for its many goth visitors and us bumping into Matt and Lucy who are off to the Swedenborg Institute. We grab a sarnie and a coffee in Wild and Wood, another flat white find in a cosy/poky wood-paneled space which makes me think of the original coffee shops
Set off back to Hackney, decide to visit the Shoreditch Trust, but end up on the wrong side of Kingsland road wandering around peaceful Albion Square and ending up circling the Haggerston Estate, a half-dead LCC carbuncle with boarded up windows and an air of eerie calm made all the more so as you come out onto the canal into the vista of a fancy new ship-shaped building and feeling like you've just time shifted from 1920 to 2020.
The Trust building also overlooks the canal. Instead of courtyard plants, there are vegetables growing in pots: salads, herbs, tomatoes, beans, and a barge which doubles up as an allotment. Bees live on the roof; opposite, on the other side is the canal wall which reminds me of south coast beach huts.
Open House Weekend Part Two
Today is all about height, climbing and views. First off, two local places - a house nearby because I love nosing around other people's abodes (and it's the nearest open house to our flat). It's a pretty normal Victorian terrace but with an architect designed mezzanine floor, literally a box suspended above the kitchen that you climb up stacks to reach. The family use it as a place for visitors to sleep. I think anyone who tried to make me sleep in a box with a trapdoor would soon be defriended or at least unvisited.
Then onto St Augustine's Tower, Hackney's oldest building and the 'campanile' for the parish church. We arrive at 11 on the dot and some minutes later a flustered woman turns up with a box of buns. She fiddles with the keys for a long time whilst a queue forms behind us until David manfully steps in, unlocks the tower and is rewarded with a cup of tea and a rocky road cornflake crisp. The tower was definitely made for 13th century people; one feels like Alice climbing up the narrower and narrower stairs. There are floors to rest on, one where you can see the workings of the 17th century clock. The views are great, even if I am embarrassed by not being able to fit through the door to the viewing platform (due to unbendy legs, not obesity) whilst walking stick using septuagenarians are having no problems.
Onto Broadgate Tower for our second attempt at entry. We queue for about 20 minutes whilst wild rumours are toted around by fleece-wearing out-of-towners that they're letting 80 people in at a time/it'll be another hour at least until we get to the front of the queue and they let the people in front of us in but not us! Except that a couple of minutes later, they relent and let five more people through. It's worth it: futuristic office art, the whizzy lift that only stops at odd numbered floors, and then - wow - the massive space of the 17th floor, huge banker suicide-jump plate glass windows and views views views.
We lunch at Taylor St Baristas, expensive sandwiches, nice flat whites.
Today is theSkyride Freecycle day and many Central London roads are closed . We use the ride to get to Hyde Park although at times I feel like taking my chances with cars and vans and buses (even though yesterday, whilst circumnavigating St Paul's, I swore rabidly at a 23 bus driver ("Look, you fucker! Just gimme some fucking room!") who was determined to drive on the double yellow lines) as people keep whipping in front of me or wobbling all over the road or coming to a sudden standstill or riding three abreast (plus: kids). Also, the people shouting into loudhailers seem to have been instructed to promote Mayor Johnson: "Boris's Team have closed down London roads for you!" "Boris was cycling here earlier, wind blowing through his blond hair". And the irony is that when we get to Hyde Park there's nowhere to leave the bikes. I ask a steward whose best suggestion is: "Hide them in the bushes". We end up locking them to a tree, which is strictly verboten if you read TfL's Guide To Locking Bikes. Also, the Queen might not like it. If Boris really was serious about cycling, he would provide resources (cycle lanes, cycle racks) rather than these corporate-sponsored promo days.
I suppose it's fun though - the unicyclists and the penny farthings and the recliners and tandems. One man is dressed as a transvestite Slash in wig, shades and thigh length pink glittery boots, playing Paradise City through a speaker on his trailer. Yesterday, I saw a bald woman in a marionette's outfit carrying a horse's head in her bike basket; I hope she was here today.
We visit the Wellington Arch (for more views) and Apsley House a.k.a Number One, London (for non-photographable treasures) and then we're going to go to the Argentine Ambassador's Residence (for art deco opulence and Ferrero Rocher) but we're Open House-d out so take the freecycle route back to Bank, nip around the crash barriers, up to Moorgate, across Hoxton and home.
Start off at the Village Underground in Shoreditch and then the Great Eastern Hotel at Liverpool Street, two places I've tried to visit before but have been put off by the queues (we also try to go to the Broadgate Tower, the Bank of England and the Royal Ballet School but are intimidated by the long lines). Both are lovely, in different ways. The tube trains live on a roof above, and with a view of, the City and have been converted into offices and studios. They still have the Jubilee line maps and the strap-hangings. They reminds me of narrowboats, the very London concept of transforming a utilitarian thing into a workable space. Conversely the Great Eastern, or Andaz as it's now known, was purpose built and is poshness in extremis. The ambient temperature is just so, it smells of expensive wine and coffee and their dining recommendations appear on flat screen TVs as you sit on the soft sofas in the lobby. The best thing though is the Masonic Temple (not as splendiferous as the main Masonic Lodge in Holborn, but it puts on a good show) which "apparently" was Jack the Ripper's Lodge. Hmm.
Cycle into town and visit Pushkin House which is not particularly architecturally special, but is noticeable for its many goth visitors and us bumping into Matt and Lucy who are off to the Swedenborg Institute. We grab a sarnie and a coffee in Wild and Wood, another flat white find in a cosy/poky wood-paneled space which makes me think of the original coffee shops
Set off back to Hackney, decide to visit the Shoreditch Trust, but end up on the wrong side of Kingsland road wandering around peaceful Albion Square and ending up circling the Haggerston Estate, a half-dead LCC carbuncle with boarded up windows and an air of eerie calm made all the more so as you come out onto the canal into the vista of a fancy new ship-shaped building and feeling like you've just time shifted from 1920 to 2020.
The Trust building also overlooks the canal. Instead of courtyard plants, there are vegetables growing in pots: salads, herbs, tomatoes, beans, and a barge which doubles up as an allotment. Bees live on the roof; opposite, on the other side is the canal wall which reminds me of south coast beach huts.
Open House Weekend Part Two
Today is all about height, climbing and views. First off, two local places - a house nearby because I love nosing around other people's abodes (and it's the nearest open house to our flat). It's a pretty normal Victorian terrace but with an architect designed mezzanine floor, literally a box suspended above the kitchen that you climb up stacks to reach. The family use it as a place for visitors to sleep. I think anyone who tried to make me sleep in a box with a trapdoor would soon be defriended or at least unvisited.
Then onto St Augustine's Tower, Hackney's oldest building and the 'campanile' for the parish church. We arrive at 11 on the dot and some minutes later a flustered woman turns up with a box of buns. She fiddles with the keys for a long time whilst a queue forms behind us until David manfully steps in, unlocks the tower and is rewarded with a cup of tea and a rocky road cornflake crisp. The tower was definitely made for 13th century people; one feels like Alice climbing up the narrower and narrower stairs. There are floors to rest on, one where you can see the workings of the 17th century clock. The views are great, even if I am embarrassed by not being able to fit through the door to the viewing platform (due to unbendy legs, not obesity) whilst walking stick using septuagenarians are having no problems.
Onto Broadgate Tower for our second attempt at entry. We queue for about 20 minutes whilst wild rumours are toted around by fleece-wearing out-of-towners that they're letting 80 people in at a time/it'll be another hour at least until we get to the front of the queue and they let the people in front of us in but not us! Except that a couple of minutes later, they relent and let five more people through. It's worth it: futuristic office art, the whizzy lift that only stops at odd numbered floors, and then - wow - the massive space of the 17th floor, huge banker suicide-jump plate glass windows and views views views.
We lunch at Taylor St Baristas, expensive sandwiches, nice flat whites.
Today is the
I suppose it's fun though - the unicyclists and the penny farthings and the recliners and tandems. One man is dressed as a transvestite Slash in wig, shades and thigh length pink glittery boots, playing Paradise City through a speaker on his trailer. Yesterday, I saw a bald woman in a marionette's outfit carrying a horse's head in her bike basket; I hope she was here today.
We visit the Wellington Arch (for more views) and Apsley House a.k.a Number One, London (for non-photographable treasures) and then we're going to go to the Argentine Ambassador's Residence (for art deco opulence and Ferrero Rocher) but we're Open House-d out so take the freecycle route back to Bank, nip around the crash barriers, up to Moorgate, across Hoxton and home.
Open House Weekend Part One
Start off at the Village Underground in Shoreditch and then the Great Eastern Hotel at Liverpool Street, two places I've tried to visit before but have been put off by the queues (we also try to go to the Broadgate Tower, the Bank of England and the Royal Ballet School but are intimidated by the long lines). Both are lovely, in different ways. The tube trains live on a roof above, and with a view of, the City and have been converted into offices and studios. They still have the Jubilee line maps and the strap-hangings. They reminds me of narrowboats, the very London concept of transforming a utilitarian thing into a workable space. Conversely the Great Eastern, or Andaz as it's now known, was purpose built and is poshness in extremis. The ambient temperature is just so, it smells of expensive wine and coffee and their dining recommendations appear on flat screen TVs as you sit on the soft sofas in the lobby. The best thing though is the Masonic Temple (not as splendiferous as the main Masonic Lodge in Holborn, but it puts on a good show) which "apparently" was Jack the Ripper's Lodge. Hmm.
Cycle into town and visit Pushkin House which is not particularly architecturally special, but is noticeable for its many goth visitors and us bumping into Matt and Lucy who are off to the Swedenborg Institute. We grab a sarnie and a coffee in Wild and Wood, another flat white find in a cosy/poky wood-paneled space which makes me think of the original coffee shops
Set off back to Hackney, decide to visit the Shoreditch Trust, but end up on the wrong side of Kingsland road wandering around peaceful Albion Square and ending up circling the Haggerston Estate, a half-dead LCC carbuncle with boarded up windows and an air of eerie calm made all the more so as you come out onto the canal into the vista of a fancy new ship-shaped building and feeling like you've just time shifted from 1920 to 2020.
The Trust building also overlooks the canal. Instead of courtyard plants, there are vegetables growing in pots: salads, herbs, tomatoes, beans, and a barge which doubles up as an allotment. Bees live on the roof; opposite, on the other side is the canal wall which reminds me of south coast beach huts.
Open House Weekend Part Two
Today is all about height, climbing and views. First off, two local places - a house nearby because I love nosing around other people's abodes (and it's the nearest open house to our flat). It's a pretty normal Victorian terrace but with an architect designed mezzanine floor, literally a box suspended above the kitchen that you climb up stacks to reach. The family use it as a place for visitors to sleep. I think anyone who tried to make me sleep in a box with a trapdoor would soon be defriended or at least unvisited.
Then onto St Augustine's Tower, Hackney's oldest building and the 'campanile' for the parish church. We arrive at 11 on the dot and some minutes later a flustered woman turns up with a box of buns. She fiddles with the keys for a long time whilst a queue forms behind us until David manfully steps in, unlocks the tower and is rewarded with a cup of tea and a rocky road cornflake crisp. The tower was definitely made for 13th century people; one feels like Alice climbing up the narrower and narrower stairs. There are floors to rest on, one where you can see the workings of the 17th century clock. The views are great, even if I am embarrassed by not being able to fit through the door to the viewing platform (due to unbendy legs, not obesity) whilst walking stick using septuagenarians are having no problems.
Onto Broadgate Tower for our second attempt at entry. We queue for about 20 minutes whilst wild rumours are toted around by fleece-wearing out-of-towners that they're letting 80 people in at a time/it'll be another hour at least until we get to the front of the queue and they let the people in front of us in but not us! Except that a couple of minutes later, they relent and let five more people through. It's worth it: futuristic office art, the whizzy lift that only stops at odd numbered floors, and then - wow - the massive space of the 17th floor, huge banker suicide-jump plate glass windows and views views views.
We lunch at Taylor St Baristas, expensive sandwiches, nice flat whites.
Today is theSkyride Freecycle day and many Central London roads are closed . We use the ride to get to Hyde Park although at times I feel like taking my chances with cars and vans and buses (even though yesterday, whilst circumnavigating St Paul's, I swore rabidly at a 23 bus driver ("Look, you fucker! Just gimme some fucking room!") who was determined to drive on the double yellow lines) as people keep whipping in front of me or wobbling all over the road or coming to a sudden standstill or riding three abreast (plus: kids). Also, the people shouting into loudhailers seem to have been instructed to promote Mayor Johnson: "Boris's Team have closed down London roads for you!" "Boris was cycling here earlier, wind blowing through his blond hair". And the irony is that when we get to Hyde Park there's nowhere to leave the bikes. I ask a steward whose best suggestion is: "Hide them in the bushes". We end up locking them to a tree, which is strictly verboten if you read TfL's Guide To Locking Bikes. Also, the Queen might not like it. If Boris really was serious about cycling, he would provide resources (cycle lanes, cycle racks) rather than these corporate-sponsored promo days.
I suppose it's fun though - the unicyclists and the penny farthings and the recliners and tandems. One man is dressed as a transvestite Slash in wig, shades and thigh length pink glittery boots, playing Paradise City through a speaker on his trailer. Yesterday, I saw a bald woman in a marionette's outfit carrying a horse's head in her bike basket; I hope she was here today.
We visit the Wellington Arch (for more views) and Apsley House a.k.a Number One, London (for non-photographable treasures) and then we're going to go to the Argentine Ambassador's Residence (for art deco opulence and Ferrero Rocher) but we're Open House-d out so take the freecycle route back to Bank, nip around the crash barriers, up to Moorgate, across Hoxton and home.
Start off at the Village Underground in Shoreditch and then the Great Eastern Hotel at Liverpool Street, two places I've tried to visit before but have been put off by the queues (we also try to go to the Broadgate Tower, the Bank of England and the Royal Ballet School but are intimidated by the long lines). Both are lovely, in different ways. The tube trains live on a roof above, and with a view of, the City and have been converted into offices and studios. They still have the Jubilee line maps and the strap-hangings. They reminds me of narrowboats, the very London concept of transforming a utilitarian thing into a workable space. Conversely the Great Eastern, or Andaz as it's now known, was purpose built and is poshness in extremis. The ambient temperature is just so, it smells of expensive wine and coffee and their dining recommendations appear on flat screen TVs as you sit on the soft sofas in the lobby. The best thing though is the Masonic Temple (not as splendiferous as the main Masonic Lodge in Holborn, but it puts on a good show) which "apparently" was Jack the Ripper's Lodge. Hmm.
Cycle into town and visit Pushkin House which is not particularly architecturally special, but is noticeable for its many goth visitors and us bumping into Matt and Lucy who are off to the Swedenborg Institute. We grab a sarnie and a coffee in Wild and Wood, another flat white find in a cosy/poky wood-paneled space which makes me think of the original coffee shops
Set off back to Hackney, decide to visit the Shoreditch Trust, but end up on the wrong side of Kingsland road wandering around peaceful Albion Square and ending up circling the Haggerston Estate, a half-dead LCC carbuncle with boarded up windows and an air of eerie calm made all the more so as you come out onto the canal into the vista of a fancy new ship-shaped building and feeling like you've just time shifted from 1920 to 2020.
The Trust building also overlooks the canal. Instead of courtyard plants, there are vegetables growing in pots: salads, herbs, tomatoes, beans, and a barge which doubles up as an allotment. Bees live on the roof; opposite, on the other side is the canal wall which reminds me of south coast beach huts.
Open House Weekend Part Two
Today is all about height, climbing and views. First off, two local places - a house nearby because I love nosing around other people's abodes (and it's the nearest open house to our flat). It's a pretty normal Victorian terrace but with an architect designed mezzanine floor, literally a box suspended above the kitchen that you climb up stacks to reach. The family use it as a place for visitors to sleep. I think anyone who tried to make me sleep in a box with a trapdoor would soon be defriended or at least unvisited.
Then onto St Augustine's Tower, Hackney's oldest building and the 'campanile' for the parish church. We arrive at 11 on the dot and some minutes later a flustered woman turns up with a box of buns. She fiddles with the keys for a long time whilst a queue forms behind us until David manfully steps in, unlocks the tower and is rewarded with a cup of tea and a rocky road cornflake crisp. The tower was definitely made for 13th century people; one feels like Alice climbing up the narrower and narrower stairs. There are floors to rest on, one where you can see the workings of the 17th century clock. The views are great, even if I am embarrassed by not being able to fit through the door to the viewing platform (due to unbendy legs, not obesity) whilst walking stick using septuagenarians are having no problems.
Onto Broadgate Tower for our second attempt at entry. We queue for about 20 minutes whilst wild rumours are toted around by fleece-wearing out-of-towners that they're letting 80 people in at a time/it'll be another hour at least until we get to the front of the queue and they let the people in front of us in but not us! Except that a couple of minutes later, they relent and let five more people through. It's worth it: futuristic office art, the whizzy lift that only stops at odd numbered floors, and then - wow - the massive space of the 17th floor, huge banker suicide-jump plate glass windows and views views views.
We lunch at Taylor St Baristas, expensive sandwiches, nice flat whites.
Today is the
I suppose it's fun though - the unicyclists and the penny farthings and the recliners and tandems. One man is dressed as a transvestite Slash in wig, shades and thigh length pink glittery boots, playing Paradise City through a speaker on his trailer. Yesterday, I saw a bald woman in a marionette's outfit carrying a horse's head in her bike basket; I hope she was here today.
We visit the Wellington Arch (for more views) and Apsley House a.k.a Number One, London (for non-photographable treasures) and then we're going to go to the Argentine Ambassador's Residence (for art deco opulence and Ferrero Rocher) but we're Open House-d out so take the freecycle route back to Bank, nip around the crash barriers, up to Moorgate, across Hoxton and home.