St Pancras Renaissance Hotel: a gothic reprise

The very recent re-opening of the resplendent St Pancras Renaissance Hotel has blind-sided and dealt a sucker-punch to all, especially at a time where we’re being told to respect restraint and shrink from avarice. Well, obviously someone didn’t get the memo. The Sir George Gilbert Scott Gothic Revival ‘magnus opus’, with its Hogwarts-style steeples and gargoyles, has stood for over 150 years as a reminder of Victorian assertiveness and potency. A location that has, nevertheless, been lying to waste for over 20 years with nothing but apparitions, vermin, the occasional vagrant and the echoes of its former eminence as occupants. Yet now, at a time where buildings tend to look forward and financers are tightening their purse strings, this remarkable salvage enterprise has been restored and revamped with no expense or lack of quality spared. It is without doubt a celebration of British workmanship and endeavor of the utmost level.

This story really begins back in 1863 when, not wanting to miss out on trade opportunities and consequential prominence of the industrial revolution, the coal pit owners and factory bosses of the East Midlands constructed a train line from Leeds to London and other branches throughout the country. (The Midland Railway Company would go on to become the largest transporters of coal in Britain.) Land in the parish of St. Pancras was bought for their terminal, right next to their rivals, the Great Northern Railway station at King’s Cross. Public uproar arose at the sheer number of houses that had to be knocked down without compensation and the volume of bodies from St. Pancras Old Church and neighbouring St. Giles-in-the-Fields that were unceremoniously removed and interred into a massive pit beneath the railway. In short, the public’s perception of the project needed to be boosted and in an effort to elevate themselves above their adversaries, the Midland Railway Co. in May 1865 held an architectural contest for the 150-bed Midland Grand Hotel to compete with GNR’s Great Northern Hotel. George Gilbert Scott (The Albert Memorial, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office in Whitehall and St. Mary’s Cathedral in Edinburgh) offered up a most jaw-dropping vision of neo-gothic extravagance that literally blew the intellect and original budget of the Midland railwaymen. A brazen and shameless submission, yet Scott played cleverly to the egos and vanity of his paymasters. It took roughly 10 years for builders, carpenters, stonemasons and artists to bring to life Scott’s vision and on completion it was described alternately as “the most perfect in every possible respect in the world” and as “completely obsolete and hopeless”. When Queen Victoria officially opened the Midland Grand Hotel on the 5^th May 1873,the final bill totalled at £438,000, (around £438 million today). It was pretentious and grandiose in every sense, quite the opposite to Victorian modesty, showing off the best of the Midlands with 14 different types of granite and limestone with an abundance of gold leaf, stencil and mural decoration. It was the first privately owned building to install hydraulic lifts, electric bells, flushing toilets and its own pioneering ‘revolving door’. The aisles were ample enough in width to accommodate the bustles of 2 ladies passing each other, and the ceilings high enough for the oil and gas burners not to irritate the eyes. Fireplaces were designed to fall in on themselves so that the fire would last all night. There were roughly 20 social rooms for gentlemen, including a cosey, a hairdresser, a billiards room, an American bar, 20 smoking rooms and 1 ladies smoking room. ( At the time, this was a first in Europe and therefore deemed rather overly generous)

For 20 years it stood as the marker for excellence and modernity until suddenly it all went horribly wrong. Built on the back end of the industrial revolution, the structure was too obstinate for change, so the deep fireproof concrete floors meant that plumbing and electrics could not be altered. Washing facilities had to be shared meaning that 5 baths served 300 bedrooms. By 1901 20 rooms had en-suite bathrooms whilst the rest still had to contend with a potty beneath the bed. Even the addition of a Moroccan coffee house and an in-house orchestra was not enough to entice the dwindling number of guests and so by 1935 it closed it doors to later become offices for the nationalised British Rail. Opulence was replaced with austerity, seeing most of the original stencilled and painted surfaces whitewashed over and the stonework boarded up. Always the subject of derision, city planners often threatened to knock it down, calling it degenerate and a hindrance to progress. Had it not been for the campaigning work and stalwart resilience of the poet and founding member of the Victorian Society, Sir John Betjemen, the building would not be standing as it is today. In 1967 he secured a Grade 1 listing for the structure, despite his apprehension that St Pancras was “too beautiful and too romantic to survive”. Yet ironically, after so much attention to save it, the site was only occasionally used as a film set with nothing to stop its slow downward spiral into dilapidation and neglect. It was only more recently when its owner Harry Handelsman together with the Marriott group that they decided to make it their flagship hotel and give it the attention to restore it to its former glory.

One person to witness this metamorphosis is the former caretaker, Royden Stock. He has marched these halls and passageways for over 15 years now. His enthusiasm and understanding for the place is paramount, – familiar with every crack, shadow and whisper, he made it his business to collect anything he could find on the old place and often corrects historians who are of the opinion that they know better. A peerless and extraordinary man that could only have been drawn to an exceptional building as this, it only seems appropriate that he was asked to front the tours upon its re-opening.

He starts you off in the main reception, or ‘Hansom Hall’ as it used to be called, which used to be the entrance for the horse drawn Hansom Cabs, with the hotel on one side and St Pancras station on the other. Royden points out that the new framework of the hotel never actually touches upon the old structure, evident in the mismatched shades of pipes and beams. Similarly, the Booking Office Bar that aligns the curve of the old ticket office never actually comes into contact with it, but lines up around the shape of it like an impeded parasite with commitment issues. The bar itself serves a wide range of popular Victorian drinks such as punch, porters, ales and a range of cocktails inspired by Victorian celebrity chef, Alexis Soyer. Royden continues in painting the complete George Gilbert Scott vision of gothic drama throughout the rest of the hotel, directing your eyes from the obvious to the diminutive details: the gold and red fleur-de-lis wallpaper design; the original gas fittings; the ornate peacock wall paintings that were discovered beneath the ugly whitewash; the Minton Hollins floor tiles perfectly restored, the original Wilton Axminster carpet design, the ornate wrought iron ballustrading that snakes up the three stories of the heart-stopping Grand Staircase to the ecclesiastical vaulted ceiling. Scott collaborated on over 800 churches and worked on all but 2 of Britain’s Cathedrals in his time, so when you take in the repetitive symbols of stars, virtues and the heraldic arms of Midland Railway across the vaulted ceiling, the rest of the hotel and station you can see that Scott has craftily created a ‘Cathedral-of-sorts’ in homage of the Midlands Railway Company.

The rebirth of the St Pancras Renaissance has been painstaking in its attention to detail thanks to the perseverance of owner Harry Handelsman and the guiding hands of English Heritage, and although I’d like to see it through the rose-tinted glasses of John Betjemen, you can’t help not believe that this was all just a gameplan in sentimentality and the return of traditional methods. Eurostar showed a record number of 9.5 million customers in 2010, something that has helped rejuvenate the economy of such struggling towns as Derby, Nottingham and Huddersfield with ticket sales. Analysts even suggest the beginning of a golden age in the luxury hotel business and that multinationals like the Marriott, InterContinental, Wyndham and Hilton groups will each have in excess of 1 million rooms across the globe by 2020. Business aside, I’d still like to look upon the St Pancras Rennaissance as a shining example of ‘out with the new and in with the old’, a setting of excessive space that invites your imagination to lose itself, for here there is a sense of mystery and magic that no amount of money can afford. Just to prove my point, as Royden finishes telling us one of his countless ghost stories at the top of the Grand Staircase, an absorbing and ominous rumble quietly rolls its way from the depths below. No-one moves, but it takes just a second to realise that it’s an underground train. Giving nothing away, Royden tries desperately to hide his amusement, offering up that “… that one was free of charge”. Indeed, one would hope so.

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Tours of St Pancras Renaissance Hotel can be booked by contacting Royden Stock – 020 7841 3540 or royden.stock@renaissancehotels.com

 

 

 

Christmas Past at the Geffrye Museum

1630

The Christmas period lasted for 12 days from the 25th of December. It was a time for generosity, compassion and goodwill with your family and community. Presents would be given throughout the season culminating with celebrations on The New Year and Twelfth Night.  This table is set for the 2nd course with ‘sugar-sculpted’ sweets humorously imitating foods such as bacon and eggs, pears and walnuts. Sugar was considered an expensive luxury and reserved for special occasions. In the middle lies a chequerboard of gilded and white leach, similar to Turkish delight. The use of evergreens above the mantle dates back to Pagan tradition and also early Christians who used it a s a symbol for everlasting life.

1695

During and after the Civil War, Christmas was banned until the restoration of the monarchy in 1660, with Puritans disapproving of the heavy drinking and gambling that the festive period had encouraged. With the return of Christmas it still however retained somewhat of a sober impression. Family, friends and fellow church-goers were invited to listen to music, drink punch, eat olives and anchovies before attending church.

1745

1790

Although turkey had been introduced into this country by the 1530′s, beef was still the main Christmas dish until the late 19th century. It would be served with plum pudding – a boiled pudding of suet, flour, eggs and dried fruit. (the forerunner to Christmas pudding) Landlords showed a wane in charity towards their tenants around the end of the 18th century and their was major concern that Christmas was turning into a celebration only accessible for the rich.

1830

Celebrating Christmas reestablished itself in the early 19th century, particularly in the marking of the Twelfth Night, combining elements of the Christian feast of Epiphany, the visit of the wise men in Bethlehem and the end of the pagan feast of Saturnalia/winter solstice. Taking on from medieval times of role reversal games and elaborate costumes a ‘King’ and ‘Queen’ were chosen for the evenings proceedings to be served by their ‘courtiers’. Inside the Twelfth Night cake hid a dried bean for deciding the King and a pea for the Queen. Such was the random nature of the game that a servant could end up as King being served by his master throughout the night. The different court characters were often chosen by picking cards.

1850

Prince Albert’s enthusiasm for the German tradition of decorating the fir tree finally took off after the Royal family began installing a tree at Windsor every year after his marriage to Victoria in 1840. Here, it dominates the room and has been embellished with candles, toys, sweets and flags.

1890

Unlike the Christmas tree, the ‘Christmas Card’ is actually an English innovation. It was often given by children to their parents to prove their faculty of neat handwriting. The first commercial card was devised by Sir Henry Cole in 1843 in order to save time and money when writing festive greetings to his numerous social and business contacts. By the 1860′s it had taken on in a big way and with a cheap rate stamp introduced for postcards and unsealed envelopes in 1870, the mailing of Christmas cards increased considerably.

1900-14

An Edwardian period drawing room representing the semi-detached style of the new suburbs of North London. Note that electricity is now a feature.

1930′s

A cocktail and canape party to impress the neighbours. Lanterns reflect the fashion for Asian decor and an artificial tree marks the emergence of the eco-conscious household. Everyone will sit down to listen to the King’s Christmas speech on the wireless at 3pm. A tradition that started in 1932 by George V which continues to be broadcast today on the radio, TV and internet with our current Queen Elizabeth II.

1960′s

Christmas Present

Hoping Nigella/Jamie/Heston comes to the rescue this Christmas after last year’s disastrous smoked duck with chorizo stuffing. Better check there’s enough chilled champagne to quell any other cooking dramas.

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…and so, with a most dazzling sprawl of Westminster vista in front of me from my seat on the big wheel in Winter Wonderland do I wish you all a most charitable Christmas and compassionate NewYear…wherever you may be. xx

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Inside the ‘inside-out’ Lloyd’s Building

“Buildings are not idiosyncratic private institutions: they give public performances both to the user and the passerby. Thus the architect’s responsibility must go beyond the client’s program and into the broader public realm. Though the client’s program offers the architect a point of departure, it must be questioned, as the architectural solution lies in the complex and often contradictory interpretation of the needs of the individual, the institution, the place and history. The recognition of history as a principle constituent of the program and an ultimate model of legitimacy is a radical addition to the theories of the Modern Movement.”

(Lord Richard Rogers, Architect – The Lloyd’s Building, Pompidou & Millennium Dome)

I am hurtling up the side of the Lloyd’s Building in one of its numerous exterior glass, cage-like lifts. The view is simply extraordinary. The tapestry before me depicts a city always transforming, transient in its being, like a shifty organism with an itch it can’t quite satiate. The disorderly lines of brightly coloured cranes sporadically break up the layers of Portland stone, glass, cement and steel. Across the road stands 30 St Mary Axe, Norman Foster’s ‘Gherkin’ building for Swiss Re, a little to the south one can clearly see Renzo Piano’s ‘Shard’, not yet complete but already a recognisable icon of the London horizon, and yet even further east you can just make out the Olympic Stadium in its last stages of completion. These modern-thinking buildings have all been greeted with mixed diatribe, mocked and lauded in equal measure, yet like most things, once we get used to them we are sure to end up loving them on some subconscious level. I, for one, am filled with feelings of reassurance and delight when I spot the Gherkin from my seat in a plane, but will not deny that my initial reaction was to chuckle and throw around a few churlish remarks. The Shard seems a tad more promising, but lets not dare approach the subject of Anish Kapoor’s ArcelorMittal Orbit structure for the Olympic park for I fear I do not have enough tissues or vocabulary in expressing my disdain for it. As for Richard Rogers’ utopian Lloyd’s building, my fascination has been drawn each and every time I have walked past it. A colossal structure of ‘winking’ stainless steel and glass that seems to have been assembled unmethodically from a child’s Lego box, this ‘inside-out’ construction has been likened to a mammoth-sized coffee percolator or motorcycle engine. To believe they even forgot to remove the cranes from the roof would be enough to have us all rolling in the aisles. But finally given the chance to view it for myself, I discovered that not only did my laughter quickly subside to a sigh of reverence but also that the ‘truth’ to be a revelation beyond all my expectations.

The curious configuration surrounding the Lloyd’s Building dates back as far as the medieval times. The roads still reflect what would have been the perimeters of crop fields, and such is the stubborn nature of this city that when Christopher Wren drew up plans to reorganise and gentrify the mapping of the streets after the great fire of 1666, the residents immediately took up and rebuilt upon their land, with the smouldering embers hardly having time to extinguish themselves. For all the chaos and clutter that denotes the exterior of Lloyd’s, it is inside where logic and calm overrides. The ambience is almost cathedral-like, with light streaming down from the stadium-sized atrium, down the concrete well to the white marble floor of the Underwriting Room where the oddly irreconcilable Lutine Bell hangs from within the altar-like Rostrum. The bell was recovered from the wreck of The Lutine, (translation: “the tormentress”) a magicienne-class frigate of the French Navy that was captured by the Royal Navy and re-commissioned as HMS Lutine before being lost in 1799. The bell was recovered, entwined amongst the chains that ran from the ship’s wheel to the rudder on 17^th July 1859. Historically, a ship’s bell rings out when another ship goes missing, once for a loss of ship and twice for her return. The bell now serves at the Lloyd’s Building so that underwriters and brokers are simultaneously informed of important happenings, commemorative ceremonies, Armistice Day or when key figures die. Again, one stroke for bad news and two for good.

When Richard Rogers was awarded the job of designing this fourth reincarnation (the original was built an the same site in 1928) he continued with his innovative style from when he designed The Pompidou in Paris with Renzo Piano of positioning all services such as lifts, staircases, water pipes and electrical power conduits on the outside, leaving a meticulous, well-ordered and breathable space inside. The cranes were ‘ingeniously’ left on the roof for future exterior and easily accessible maintenance work. Around the central rectangular well sits 3 main towers and 3 service towers, spanning 14 floors and 88 metres. Each floor, from where the insurance business is conducted, is modular and can be adjusted with the introduction or removal of partitions and walls. The large ceiling lights double up as air extractors and the triple-glazed external layers act as air ducts from ceiling to floor. The 11^th floor houses the starkly contrasting Committee Room, – an 18^th century dining room drafted for the 2^nd Earl of Shelburne by Robert Adam in 1763. Piece-by-piece it has been painstakingly relocated from the previous Lloyd’s Building (1958) across the road. The 12 glass lifts were the first of their kind in the U.K. Lloyd’s of London is currently the world’s most significant insurance market and the reason it has seen so many transformations is due to problems of overcrowding and expansion. This is the very reason why Richard Rogers was chosen for the job. The infrastructure is sympathetic to the emotional and physical needs of the people who use it, not only for the present but also for the future. Rogers goes on to say, – “whereas the frame of the building has a long life expectancy, the servant areas, filled with mechanical equipment have a relatively short life, especially in this energy-critical period. The servant equipment, mechanical services, lifts, toilets, kitchens, fire stairs, and lobbies, sit loosely in the tower framework, easily accessible for maintenance, and replaceable in the case of obsolescence. The key to this changing juxtaposition of parts is the legibility of the role of each technological component, which is functionally expressed to the full.”

Rogers has largely taken influence from the avant-garde architectural group ‘Archigram’ of the 1950’s. Their futurist designs were considered by many to be pro-consumerist yet lacking in self-importance. They experimented with hypothetical projects through modular technology playing with ideas of mobility through the environment and mass-consumer imagery. Such mega-structure designs included the ‘Plug-in-City’ (a framework into which a dwelling can be slotted), the ‘Walking City’ (roaming pods) and the ‘Instant City’ (floating pods brought in to stimulate underdeveloped towns). It was very much about thinking outside the box. Archigram group member David Green explains, “if we consider for a moment Christo’s seminal work, ‘The Wrapped Coast’, we might see it in two ways, – as a wrapped cliff or, preferably, as the point at which all other cliffs are unwrapped. An Archigram project attempts to achieve this same altered reading of the familiar (in the tradition of Buckminster Fuller’s question, ‘How much does your building weigh?’). It provides a new agenda where nomadism is the dominant social force; where time, exchange and metamorphosis replace stasis; where consumption, lifestyle and transience become the programme; and where the public realm is an electronic surface enclosing the globe.” Rogers has very much taken this on board, having found an even distribution between technical coherence and architectural eloquence. All structural components are fully in evidence giving both the pedestrian outside and the patron inside a comprehensive understanding of just how the building is secured and sustained. In 2008, The 20^th Century Society called for the Lloyd’s Building to be a listed Grade 1, – the tide of taste and reckoning has turned already. And I’m sure the Gherkin will follow suit. Most worthy additions to our enthralling London skyline, – yet, the verdict on Mr. Kapoor’s structure will no doubt have its day of retribution in the coming year. And I know exactly where I stand on that one.

For a more in depth history of the Lloyd’s Building, click ‘here’

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Joe Orton: a talent remembered

[Joe Orton & Kenneth Halliwell]

“Are you the 2.30 or the 2.45?” the ushers of Golders Green Crematorium had inquired matter of factly, without the slightest appreciation or awareness of the unintended pun. Up above, the crackly speaker projected out the words of John Lennon, “I read the news today oh boy” over and over, due to a malfunctioning gramophone needle. Below sat Donald Pleasence and the likes, absorbed in the appellations of Harold Pinter, who was advising the congregation to “not be moved or you’ll miss the joke”. Outside, the TV crews were hankering around like vultures, keen to take advantage of the prominent guests that had come to pay their respects. For this was the funeral of the illuminating playwright, Joe Orton. Indeed a befitting ‘full stop’ for the man whose writings and own brief life had scandalized audiences with its scrutiny of moral corruption, cruelty and sexual rapacity. Today, the adjective ‘ortonesque’ can intimate the oblique innuendo and elaborate on such words as vicious, scathing, vindictive, merciless, scheming, tricky, jocular, tongue-in-cheek, scintillating, extravagant, unorthodox, left-field, piquant, absurd and sensational, – which was everything that Joe was and would have still been today had the hammer-wielding arm of his jealous lover, Kenneth Halliwell, not come down in a rain of exactly nine blows on his unsuspecting body the night of August the 9^th, 1967. Kenneth himself then took his own life by swallowing 22 nembutals with the juice from a tin of grapefruit.

©  The Leicester Mercury/Islington Council

© Islington Council

© Islington Council/The Leicester Mercury

Coming to London from the bleakest of upbringings in Leicester during the 1940’s, Joe found himself ‘accidentally’ in the arms of Halliwell during dancing exams at RADA in 1951. Halliwell was a man full of grandiose pretension that Orton mistook for being ‘cultured’ and in a desperate bid to escape his unsophisticated background he formed an alliance with Halliwell, moving into his one-bedroom flat on 25 Noel Road in Islington and living off the dole and Kenneth’s inheritance. (They used the phrase ‘flat-mate’, least we forget these were the days that being openly homosexual was still a capital offence.) Creatively, they proved to be the perfect team – with Halliwell proving to be the learning and disciplining force to the thrill-seeking and almost Dionysian energy of Orton. However, they had a common goal, which was to get educated, get published and be famous. From the confines of their cramped apartment they lived a frugal diet of rice and fish or rice and golden syrup. They did everything together, insisting on attended meetings together, answering the phones mimicking the other to perfection just to confuse the caller, finishing off and correcting the other’s sentence and whilst they would both sit and write together it was Halliwell that at first seemed the most promising of the two. Friends claim he was a brilliant editor, had an astute way of imagining fantastical and elaborate plots with an acute sense of the ridiculous. It was Orton who would sit in the corner, typing up dictations and ideas gushing from Halliwell. Tracing the camp and witty elements through the English literature of Marlowe, Congreve, Austen, Wilde and Firbank they wrote many a fanciful and often horrendously bad spectacle, carving up a cast of ‘queer’ suspects of religious and royal figures that would reappear through all aspects of their later work. Many of their first manuscripts were rejected as being “entertaining…but unpublishable.”

Through lack of serious work and perhaps boredom too, the two would constantly amuse themselves with pranks and mischievous escapades. Orton imagined and assumed the alter ego of Edna Welthorpe (Mrs), a Mary Whitehouse and theatre snob of the 1950’s, – a staunch guardian of public morals through letters that unwittingly prodded authority figures into divulging their own inborn stupidity and narrow-minded stance. Orton would go on to employ Edna as a fierce critique on his own plays even at the height of his fame.

“Dear Sir, I recently purchased a tin of Morton’s blackcurrant pie filling. It was delicious. Choco-full of rich fruit. Then wishing to try another variety, I came upon Smedley’s raspberry pie filling. And I tried that. And really! How can you call such stuff pie filling? There wasn’t a raspberry in it. I was very disappointed after trying Morton’s blackcurrant. Please do better in the future. And what on earth is ‘EDIBLE STARCH’ and ‘LOCUST BEAN GUM’? If that is what you put into your pie fillings I’m not surprised at the result. I shan’t try any more of your pie fillings until the fruit content is considerably higher. My stomach really turned at what I saw when I opened the tin. Yours sincerely, Edna Welthorpe (Mrs).”

“Dear Sirs, I am puzzled by several letters I have received from you. Apparently you are under the impression that I am organizing something for you, or at least that someone in this flat is. I assure you that there is no one called Mr Orton living here. I am a widow and dwell alone. You state that catalogues are expensive. I have no doubt that they are, but what, may I ask, has that to do with me. You surely cannot imagine that I have stolen your cata-logue. And as for selling anything which your firm makes…Please believe me if I arrived at the New Acol Bridge Club with a catalogue under my arm and explained to my friends that all goods were at cash prices, yet payable by small weekly installments, why I think they would laugh at me. Will you please stop sending letters to me, or I shall seriously have to consider putting the affair into the hands of my solicitor. Yours faithfully, Edna Welthorpe. (Mrs).”

“Dear Sirs, may I add my thoughts to those of David Benedictus on the subject of those much-talked-of awards? I agree that no one could seriously nominate as the play of the year a piece of indecent tomfoolery like LOOT. Drama should be uplifting. The plays of Joe Orton have a most unpleasant effect on me. I was plunged into the dumps for weeks after seeing ENTERTAINING MR. SLOANE. I saw LOOT with my young niece. We both fled from the theatre in horror and amazement well before the end. I could see no humour in it. Yet it is advertised widely as a rib-tickler. Surely this is wrong? I certainly wish Joe Orton joy of his awards. He is a clever young man. Perhaps, in time, he will turn his undoubted talents to more worthwhile subjects. Meantime David Benedictus does well to point out the inadequacies of our present honours system. Yours truly, E. Welthorpe.”

© The Orton Estate/ Leicester City Council

© Appears courtesy of the Islington Local History Centre/The Orton Estate

Another avenue of devilment came in their penchant for defacing library books. Dogging both the South and Central Islington libraries, Joe and Kenneth would smuggle the books out, then vandalize the covers with distasteful collage and doctor the inner jacket blurb with shock-tactics. Replacing the books on the shelves they would retreat and observe their audience’s disapproval with relish. For Joe and Kenneth thrived on ruffling people’s feathers, on seeing how far they could disturb, how far they could surprise, maybe as a way of relieving their forbidden ‘gaiety’ on the public in a way that was still hidden. Joe’s sister, Leonie, claims the family didn’t know about him being gay. It simply wasn’t a discussion point in those days, but she remembers when she and her mother first came to stay, they found a picture of a naked man painted above the sink of the toilet and was under the impression of being ‘set-up’ just in order to see their reactions. So everything was a performance for Joe and Kenneth, an amusement provided by the resulting riposte and repercussion. The librarians only became aware of the books by the increasing consternations of ladies of the ‘elder sort’, and despite themselves finding the matter mildly amusing they found they had to take the matter further because it was, nevertheless, lawless sabotage. Suspicions arose against Orton and Halliwell and when a fake letter about an abandoned car on their street was corresponded, the typewritten answer matched the letter type of the revised blurbs. Both men were sent to prison for a staggering 6 months, which they vehemently believed was more over suspicion of being gay rather than the actual crime itself.

© All book covers appear courtesy of the Islington Local History Centre

Prison had an adverse effect on the men and creatively they seemed to branch off at this point. Orton literally thrived and started writing on his own, whereas Halliwell became quite mentally unstable and expressively stagnant. Orton went on to complete his groundbreaking plays “Entertaining Mr. Sloane’, ‘Loot’ and ‘What the Butler saw’, where in contrast Halliwell became a figure of self pity riding off the success of Joe. The combination that they were living in each others’ pockets in cramped living conditions, of Halliwell’s jealousy for Orton’s rampant predilection for public and promiscuous sex and the actuality that Orton was going everywhere and Halliwell nowhere, – many believe that these factors resulted in a ‘fear’ of sorts in Halliwell. He felt so unhappy and lonely in himself. He no longer wanted to live and being so entwined and dependant on Joe, he did not want to die without him. We will never know the real reasons for his moment of insanity, maybe Kenneth somehow believed that murder may put them on equal footing again. Nevertheless, the ultimate legacy remains with Joe.

[© Photograph by Lichfield, 'In Group' commissioned by Jocelyn Stevens on 18th July for Queen Magazine. Back row (left to right) Susannah York, Peter S. Cook, Tom Courtenay, Twiggy, centre row (left to right) Joe Orton, Michael Fish, front row (left to right) Miranda Chiu, Lucy Fleming.]

If there is anything that we can take from their life together is that they were a dedicated, dissident duo who were not only outraged at the lack of acceptance for homosexuality but for all attitudes that were petty and small-minded. For the first time ever, the complete series of surviving defaced book covers has gone on display at the Islington Local History Centre. Ironic that this time round they hold pride of place. It just may go to show just how hard to shock we really now have become.

Malicious Damage exhibition at the Islington Museum, in conjunction with the new book by Ilsa Colsell, runs from 14^th of October 2011 – 25^th of February 2012.

Other useful links:

Joe Orton Online

Joe’s sister, Leonie Barnet-Orton, Interview

Joe Orton TV Interview

Joe Orton, Arena ‘A genius like us’ excerpt

Prick up your ears Movie Trailer

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Check out my new story on Dennis Severs’ House (my blog post on July 13th, 2010) in Time Out Guide Book  2012 Things to do in London, pgs 172-174.

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School Of Life: A Day Of Good Design with Ilse Crawford

“One  of the basic human requirements is the need to dwell, and one of the central human acts is the act of inhabiting, of connecting ourselves, however temporarily, with a place on the planet which belongs to us and to which we belong. This is not, especially in the tumultuous present, an easy act, and it requires help: we need allies in inhabitation.”

Charles Moore, School of Architecture, UCLA

The early morning sun is bursting through the expansive lead panelled windows, setting off a glorious chiaroscuro between the steam of freshly brewed coffee snaking its way up from the white porcelain mugs to the receding and moody charcoal walls. The open plan living space has a fine balance between light and dark, function and decadence, spontaneity and ceremony, and is both resonant and unfussy without it being contradictory: glassware by Ingegerd Raman nestles snugly amongst market finds; the ornate lattice of a Ted Muehling tea strainer sitting atop a self-denying and purist white mug; hundreds of distinguished reference books standing second place behind keepsakes, letters of thanks, gallery invites, spools of thread, tear sheets and other tokens of remembrance. Beyond everything, you can call it a ‘human’ space, – a word its resident owner, the legendary interior designer Ilse Crawford, has come to base her whole works ethic upon.

Having launched British Elle Decoration in 1989, Ilse paved the way for such bright young designers such as Tom Dixon, Nigel Coates and Neisha Crosland. Her outlook was very different to what had come before. She banished pristine set-ups, embraced personal clutter and consciously made a point of introducing people and blurry movement into her magazine spreads. “I was obsessed with the idea that it had to be relevant to people’s lives and ‘alive’, essentially – it couldn’t just be about shopping.” Ilse continued in this vein when she founded her trail-blazing brand identity company Studioilse, who’s peerless portfolio includes Cecconi’s, Soho House New York, the Electric cinema, The Olde Bell coaching Inn, High Road House in Chiswick, Kettner’s of Soho, Rapier’s Battleship Building and the inimitable Babington House in Somerset. Her recent forays into the literary world have produced two very succinct modern bibles for creating living spaces with ‘The sensual home’ and ‘Home is where the heart is’. Both assert a philosophical approach in asking questions in seeking the emotional needs before tackling the design side of a space, in other words, – not what colour or style of chair we think we’d like, but to assess whether you prefer to sit, perch, recline etc., in order to determine if it will enhance or hinder your life. It begs the question, – ‘How can we make a home that will bring out the best in us?’ Ilse claims, that “if we are aware of our human needs, of the desires that lie behind our desires, we can make the right choices. We can make decisions that bring us balance and pleasure. And we can avoid the things that do us harm.” It also comes very much down to how we source materials. “We can reexamine the way we shop. Buying at full retail price from established brands is dull and only shows how gullible and conformist we are. We are seduced into showing off. But nothing is solid. Our newfound happiness melts into air. The more we have the more we need, even if much of it we never use. We need to become more material, to engage with stuff in a more tangible way. To commission pieces, make them ourselves, repair more, borrow more, buy second hand, buy local. This connects us to others, to how things are made, to our roots. And we can benefit the collective good. For instance, we can spend more on things we know have been made well. (And avoid the stuff that has hidden human and ecological costs. The lower the price the more likely that the product has been manufactured irresponsibly.) For this is not just about us as individuals: we are part of something bigger, and gradually the small changes add up. We can do things that make a difference as well as improve our state of mind.”  Influenced from a very early age by the way her mother made everything into a creative proceeding, Ilse makes her point in saying that “we grew up knowing that you could create your world and lack of money was no obstacle to imagination.”

Today Ilse resides in her Borough 2-storey loft apartment with her Columbian husband Oscar Pena Angarita. Carefully planned with the Belgian architect Vincent Van Duysen to harmonize his obstinate minimalism with her hodgepodge of artifacts, the upper layer doubles up as her office, offering a 3-way panorama of London. “We have the sky, which gives infinity, and also the detail of the constant life of the dynamic city of London. It’s an urban landscape, and I love the messiness of the buildings around, with lots of roofs of completely different characters; we can see the big wheel, too, as well as fat pigeons strutting their stuff.” She reiterates the importance of views with big skies and greenscapes with the age-old example of hospital recovery rates aided by pleasant views, saying that really it’s just common sense. With each new project, Ilse’s core team of about 10-12 people first analyze the context to get a background knowledge of the area, to find a core character and a receptiveness and responsiveness of a place. (this also helps when sourcing local tradesmen and materials in the latter stages) Then they look at the site and the confines of the space. Next they analyze the behaviour and needs of the people using the site and lastly, is finalizing everything with the client and finding the balance between the technical and creative elements. This final developmental stage always proves to be the hardest of all, like too many chefs standing around one simmering pot. Many people come to Studioilse asking for Babington House or Soho House New York and find that they have to turn them away, as different spaces require different needs, -“there’s no soul in a place that’s been copied and pasted.” Ilse goes on by saying that many clients in fact have little understanding of design and think that saving money and cutting corners is a job well done. It’s always a battle of sorts, but through needs and practicality it’s the process to find that best result that is the ultimate reward.

Ilse then takes it upon herself to show us a few of her favoured, inspirational corners of London. First stop is the Urban Physics Garden just a stone’s throw from her front door. This space on Union Street is mutated every year to a different theme with a common thesis of thinking ‘outside the box’. Last year there was an urban orchard, and this year sees the transformation into a physics garden where all the plants are concerned with botany, medicine and healing. Still very much a work in progress, the organisers invite volunteers to help with the garden and also encourage lectures, workshops, film screenings and for artists to use the space as a platform. The space enchantingly employs its bedraggled surroundings to its advantage, with the Dickensian, grime-encrusted arches beneath the train-tracks forming a proscenium for the shelves of plants below. It just goes to show that with even a little imagination and sincerity you can bring out the beauty in any space.

Next stop is the Medicine Man installation at the Wellcome Collection. This permanent exhibition displays up to 500 pieces of Sir Henry Wellcome’s extraordinary accumulation of medicinal curiosities that range from amputation saws, prosthetics, obstetrical forceps, amulets, phrenological skulls and models for anatomical demonstration. Highlights include a lock of George III’s hair, (which was found to have traces of arsenic, a common 18^th century treatment for madness) Nelson’s razor, Napoleon’s toothbrush, Darwin’s walking stick, Florence Nightingale’s moccasins, the guillotine blade appointed in the beheading of Jean-Baptiste Carrier, (a French Revolutionary, made famous for his unforgiving cruelty against his enemies) 19^th century Japanese sex aids, a scold’s bridle, a Chinese torture chair, an iron chastity belt, a 14^th century Peruvian Mummy and a 16^th century copy of Hieronymus Bosch’s famous ‘Garden of Earthly Delights’. Head curator, Dr Steve Cross says, “Spending time with Sir Henry Wellcome’s collection has been a revelation. It’s strange to think that as well as building up one of the world’s biggest pharmaceutical companies from scratch, he had time to organize archaeological digs and run an army of collectors and curators scouring the world for interesting objects. I don’t think that even Henry realized that within the dusty storerooms where he kept his collection, much of it unopened, lay one of the world’s great museums, and we’ve barely scratched the surface.” The space was deigned by Gitta Geschwendtner as a huge ‘wunderkammer’ with two separate entrances where visitors are invited to interact with the exhibition by opening drawers and panels in order to feed their own curiosity and sense of discovery. Gitta is here with us on hand to explain that her brief was not to overwhelm visitors but to entice them to explore further should they want, adding that “I wanted to evoke the general mood of a dark and moody Victorian study with walnut and dark finishes, which as they acquire patina will only add to the effect.” The rest of the Wellcome Trust collection is currently stored away at Blythe House in West Kensington.

We end our day by taking a look at an example of Studioilse design in Dennis Paphitis’ Aesop shop space in Mount Street, Mayfair. Ilse is both good friend to Dennis (“a brilliant man with total integrity”) and staunch believer in the Aesop brand, – “like good coffee, once you’ve discovered them you can’t go back.” Like his other shops around the globe, this one has an understated fascia, mixing a vintage colour palette with natural materials, helping it retain both a concurrent and enduring aura. Aesop is known to many as a ‘dog whistle brand’, appreciable to those in the know, and Ilse claims that Dennis very much believes in not overdressing a product that can stand up by itself, when in fact there are more pressing urgencies in life, as sitting with friends and enjoying a good cheese and wine. This is something that I think most of us would agree upon.

To cut a long story short, Ilse points us in a direction that we already know we should be following, – to create a liveable space with a frame that’s tolerant, alive and makes us feel invigorated and enhanced, not miserable and entrenched, so that ultimately we can just get on with life and enjoy it.

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As this marks a sad but possibly not definite end to my School of Life stories, I would like to personally offer my ingratiating and heartfelt thanks to Harriet Warden, Clemmy Balfour, Caroline Brimmer and the rest of the School of Life team for all their amazing efforts. I, for one, feel my eyes have been opened just that fraction more and feel very grateful for it.

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The School Of Life: on Freud and other helpful philosophies.

“So I think where people tend to end up results from a combination of encouragement, accident, and lucky break, etc. etc. Like many others, my career happened like it did because certain doors opened and certain doors closed. You know, at a certain point I thought it would be great to make film documentaries. Well, in fact, I found that to be incredibly hard and very expensive to do and I didn’t really have the courage to keep battling away at that. In another age, I might have been an academic in a university, if the university system had been different. So it’s all about trying to find the best fit between your talents and what the world can offer at that point in time.”

(Alain de Botton)

On the day that we finish our academic years is a day that fills us all with a sense of pride and fulfilment. We feel ready and prepared for whatever life decides to hurl in our general direction, for we are armed with ‘knowledge’. What could possibly go wrong? Then little by little you realize that it’s what you were not taught that proves the most invaluable lessons of all – like how to realise your potential, to be confident, to communicate efficiently, to find a balance in your life or even simply how to remain calm. The School Of Life, based in Central London, strives to challenge traditional teachings and endeavours to reorganise our pre-conceived ideas on life in general. Through addressing different ideas and philosophies the school offers a ‘wisdom’ of sorts and a better sense of direction. Past classes have included ‘How to be a better friend’, ‘How to worry less about money’, ‘How to have a better conversation’ and ‘How to face death’ with weekend cycling trips, reading retreats, a tour of the M1 and even a ‘holiday inside your head’ for the more economically-minded.

This social enterprise was founded in 2008 by the author Alain De Botton, who’s many writings draw upon the relevance of different philosophies in our everyday dealings. His books are widely praised for their lack of condescendence and more therapeutic approach to philosophy. In his School of Life Sunday Sermon on ‘Pessimism’, de Botton formed the argument that we should all be defeatist in our general outlook, that if you have high expectations this can only lead to disappointment and failure, whereas if you lower them then one can only do better. He went on to say that most self-help books get it very wrong when they tell us to gain control and get up and go and do amazing things, that we all have the power and capability to have everything we desire. Realistically there is no room in the world for us all to be Bill Gates, – we can’t all succeed and have it all, all of the time. Success has to be balanced with failure. We also are a society of meritocracy where it is ingrained in our minds that we are owed merit, that we deserve it. In ancient Greece the Stoics would give thanks and make an offering to the Goddess of Fortune if they gained merit because they were fully aware that it could be taken away just as easily. De Botton ended his sermon reminding the congregation of Nietzsche’s claim that only from our darkest moments do we realize exactly what we yearn from life, and thus forth encouraged us all to praise the rain and say “well it was bound to happen anyway”, to listen to Leonard Cohen, to place a skull on ones writing desk (as they did in the Middle Ages to remind oneself of ones looming death), or to even take oneself off to look at glaciers, for it will remind you how small you are, and make you understand that life is short and that we have to keep our priorities real. Guests were then heartily invited into the foyer for a nice cup of tea and some misfortune cookies.

In the forming of The School of Life, De Botton enlisted the help of Tate curator Sophie Howarth and brought together not only the help of numerous philosophers but also contributors from all angles of the cultural spectrum including story-teller Damian Barr, The Idler editor Tom Hodgkinson, V&A Museum curator Zoe Whitley, Magnum photographer Martin Parr and interior design legend Ilse Crawford. The discussion points are varied, but one of the themes that whet my appetite the most is in making ancient/past philosophies accessible and applicable to our modern living. Their ‘Drinks with Freud’ event is headed by philosopher Robert Rowland Smith and whisks us up to leafy Hampstead home of Sigmund Freud for an evening unleashing your unconscious.

Sigmund Freud, the founder of psychoanalysis, moved to London from Vienna after the Anschluss (Nazi invasion) of Austria in 1938. Although he was already 80 years old with just 1 year before his eventual death, together with his family he was able to bring over his entire collection of furniture and antiques. Taking a closer look inside his awe-inspiring study you can observe the Biedermeier furniture alongside his collection of Egyptian, Greek, Roman and Oriental antiques. Amongst the legion of pint-sized figurines on his desk lies a 19^th century Qing Dynasty table screen, figures from Greece’s Hellenistic period (300-250B.C.), the head of Osiris (Egypt, third intermediate period, 1075-716B.C.) and Isis suckling the infant (Egypt, late period, 664-525B.C.). The shelves containing books of his favourite authors (Goethe, Shakespeare, Heine, Multatuli, Anatole France) are adorned with Egyptian death masks from the 19^th Dynasty (1292-1190B.C.) He was clearly a widely read and cultured man who even went so far as to describe himself as a ‘godless Jew’. Throughout his life he travelled to many an archaeological site and often used his collection as a metaphor when comparing our changeable and fading conscious thought to the unchangeable unconscious thought, – “I illustrated my remarks by pointing to the antique objects about my room. They were, in fact, I said, only objects found in a tomb, and their burial had been their preservation.” To the right of his desk stands his illustrious and original analytical couch, made enticing with its array of plump velvety cushions. Freud would himself sit out of view behind his patient in a green tub chair and listen to their ‘free association’. He would start each of his sessions by asking his patient to say whatever came into his/her head without any conscious selection, something that has become a fundamental method of psychoanalysis today. Freud was very fond of his Hampstead home, saying that it was incomparably better to the small and dark apartments in Vienna and since his death his daughter Anna has preserved both the rooms and the garden to how her father left it.

For a name that bears as much levity as other breakthrough thinkers such as Darwin, Newton, Einstein, Marx and Copernicus, how did Freud change the way we think and why is it still relevant today? Robert Rowland Smith, who has spent much of his career as a Prize Fellow of All Souls College, Oxford, and has formed many an argument with the help of Freud’s writings, explains it to us in a nutshell. To start us off, Robert explains Freud’s influence in two very distinct ways: that we have unconscious activity and conscious behaviour that results from how our mind is organized and how it has developed from birth. First we have the ‘id’ (“The part of the mind in which innate instinctive impulses and primary processes are manifest” It’s our untainted and naïve thought. A Freudian slip is when our id escapes and says exactly what it wants to say – n.b. the TV presenter on saying goodbye to Ulrika Jonsson saying “Well, Ulrika, I’d like to spank you very much…”), the ‘ego’ (based on the reality principle of “I want/I need”) and the ‘superego’ (our understanding of rules and social order, or the “you can’t have it”). When we are born all we have is our ‘id’, but pretty soon our ‘ego’ kicks in (I want, I need etc.) and eventually as we grow up our superego begins to counteract against our ego when we discover that we can’t get everything we ask for. Basically the ego is the queue jumper and the superego is the British queue keeper. From these basic factors Freud drew upon different complexes from the stories of Oedipus and Narcissus. With Oedipus, Freud reiterates the perfect circle between baby and mother, – the baby needs milk, the baby gets milk. Momentarily, life is perfect. But then as we grow we have to compete for our mother’s attention (father or other siblings) and soon realize that we no longer get everything that we ask for, so our adult life is a constant battle between the ego and the superego. Our id is our repressed aspirations and wishes that are thrown into this imaginary waste bin that generally only come out through our dreams in our sleep. As for Narcissism, Freud draws upon the story of Narcissus who fell in love with his own reflection as an analogy to people who only think of themselves. This kind of selfish person has failed to connect with other people so they can only connect with themselves. When working with patients, Freud would try to determine the exact moment in that person’s life where they were unable to make that transition from connecting with one’s mother to other people. With this in mind, Robert Rowland Smith then encouraged the room of School of Life participants to engage in conversation with a stranger about money problems, secrets and lies and finally about ones sexual fantasies. In short, Robert instigated a Freudian therapy session of sorts.

So what exactly can Freud do for us? Many people do chose therapy to help steer them back onto the right road, but I for one have not. I don’t have difficulties in confiding with my close friends and family, although I do have to admit to possessing a rather gargantuan ‘id’ waste bin, – for the amount of time I spend scratching my brow whilst pondering over the eldritch and seriously abnormal slant to my dreams, I find that a cognitive interjection would often be most genuinely appreciated. The reality is that Freud only ever cured one person in his lifetime and today his theories face strong criticism. However, most good friendships and family structures are based on the ability to talk about repressed emotions and experiences and not only what’s on the surface but also what’s beneath the surface and Freud was simply showing us the importance of this cathartic release. (…in a nutshell!)

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NEXT TIME ON LONDON INSIGHT: The School of Life’s Day of Good Design with Ilse Crawford

 

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School of Life: Day Trip to London Zoo

“In the long history of humankind (and animal kind, too) those who learned to collaborate and improvise most effectively have prevailed.”

(Charles Darwin, – ‘The theory of evolution by natural selection’)

Here’s a thought for you – the wind is playfully rustling through the leaves of the trees, your shoes lie strewn in abandon, the dappled lights falls idyllically as you ready to gorge yourself upon a carefully selected luncheon, when…along comes a wasp. You try your best to ignore its incessant buzzing in your ear, but its relentless claim to sharing your lunch eventually begs the question… “Do I kill the wasp?” Well, do you? For many, the idea that if it’s not ‘cute and fluffy’ and of insignificant size, then no one will miss it. So kill the beast. However, if you were Hindu then all forms of life appear as a reflection of God whereas a Buddhist believes that you may re-incarnate as an animal in your next life, so for many the life of the wasp has ethical importance. It does indeed have a ‘soul’ and is a vital force within the energy and structure of our ecosystem. So, we ignore the wasp. Our differing attitudes towards animals does not only span across religions but the ages too. In the Western hemisphere, the main pre-Darwin theory centred around the Christian concept of ‘scala naturae’ (ladder of nature) that detailed a strict hierarchical structure of all matter and life, by decree of God, starting with hell, the lowly and most basic of forms moving all the way up to God at the top, closely flanked by the heavenly creatures and humans. So basically, until Charles Darwin came along and turned everything on its head, the poor wasp had a rather subordinate standing whereas in comparison man had a very high conviction of himself. In his groundbreaking book ‘On the Origin of Species’ (1859), Darwin took God out of the equation when he put forward his absorbing evidence that species had evolved through a process called natural selection. If we take into account how humans have progressed through the ages it is undeniably proportionate to a degree that no other species can contend with. Having branched off from their common ancestor, the chimpanzee, around 5-7 million years ago, the ‘homo’ has since developed into ‘homo sapiens’ (wise man), learning to stand and walk erect (- something that marks us out from other creatures, (except birds) who may also have learned how to stand not for walking but for feeding and fighting purposes only) and to employ our opposable thumbs for making tools that has enabled us to manipulate and alter the world around us. Our highly developed brains have the capability of language, post-rational thought, analysis, resolve and wisdom. Yet somewhere along the way we seem to have got it all very wrong. Some would say our ‘sapience’ has made us too wanting. Rather than living in harmony with nature we have elevated ourselves: we wear clothes, drive cars, put make-up on our faces, invent machines that help us work more competently and bury our dead out of respect. We are self-aware and we acquire and store knowledge, – our world should be the most cleverly adapted and efficient planet in the universe, but it’s far from it. We think in terms of ‘self’ rather than ‘community’, and of ‘rich and poor’ instead of ‘capable and incapable’. Our ‘wisdom’ has been misused and as a result, we are slowly destroying our planet.

The idea of ‘herd’ mentality is the main vocation of Mark Earls (author and self-proclaimed recovering advertising and marketing professional and “all-round opinionator”). Opening up discussion for The School of Life’s day trip to London Zoo, Mark begins by divulging that we constantly contradict ourselves because we act in terms of personal achievement yet subconsciously think as a herd. In other words, we strive in one direction but are constrained to the requirements of the people around us, – “we do what we do because of other people”. Mark goes on in saying that when you think in terms of marketing, change management, mergers and acquisitions and social policy reform, “we struggle to make any demonstrable difference to the behaviour of the people involved.” Realistically, most advertising really fails to make much of an impact (except in some cases like Tesco’s “every little helps” and Apple products such as the ipod), the majority of mergers and acquisitions results in reduced shareholder value, and with social reform the struggle to make changes to the attitudes within a community is always paramount. Our whole lives are founded on the reciprocal actions and influences of other people. We simply cannot go through life without relying on the help of other people. Each person has specialist knowledge but depends on a network of knowledge in order to have a rounded sense of capability. Just like a bee colony we each have our standing and role within our community. So how many friends does one person actually need? If you were to seriously take in the ridiculous amounts of ‘friends’ on other people’s Facebook page you might believe that unless you had at least 1000 friends then you’re not worth knowing at all. Not so. For according to primatologist Robin Dunbar, he proposed the roundabout figure of 150. When observing apes he noticed the strong association between the size of the ape’s neocortex (the part of the brain that is responsible for sensory perception, language, conscious thought and generation of movement commands) in relation to the size of their social groupings. He then researched different human cliques that would only reconfirm the number: English villages around the time of the Domesday book – 150; Neolithic tribes form the Middle East – 150; a rudimentary Roman Empire army unit –130; even within bigger pre-industrial tribal bodies there exists smaller clans of around 150. Dunbar even claims that ‘150’ is about the number of Christmas cards you should be sending out each year. (- although clearly the man hasn’t met me yet, since I struggle beyond a card for my mother and my accountant)

As we move around the different enclosures of London Zoo, Mark points out the different behavioural traits: reproductive fitness display (Peacocks and other birds); status display (Gorillas); safety in numbers (Penguins, Fish); grooming as a way of bonding (the Colobus Monkey); empathy (Penguins); collective intelligence (Meerkats and the shoaling patterns of fish); and social learning skills such as ‘I’ll have what she’s having’. (the Colobus Monkey) Mark states that we can observe most of these traits in our own human behaviour, – like a shoal of fish we “get up, get a move on and try not to bump into anyone.”

Gorillas – anthropomorphic, independent, individual, displays of status.

Colobus Monkey – grooming, playful interaction, social learning “I’ll have what he’s having”

Penguin Beach – Safety in numbers, empathy, mirror neurons.

Meerkats – Distributed intelligence, social creatures, learn from each other.

Snowden Aviary – Peacock’s status display behaviour, genetic fitness.

Aquarium – Safety in crowds, shoaling patterns and crowd behaviour.

Just to prove his point we amble along the Regents canal up to Camden market. Amongst the hustle and bustle we could pick out a couple kissing with protective body language (status display), a group of men out on a stag-do all wearing the same cheap straw hats and eating the same doner kebab (‘I’ll have what he’s having’), groups of youths (safety in numbers), young girls preening themselves, trying on brightly coloured accessories (like Peacocks), canoeists on the canal resembling a shoal of fish and a large family of tourists eating while the father looks out. (a collective intelligence – very much like the dynamics of the Meerkats where there is always one member on guard)

So what can we take from all of this? Mark is adamant that we need to understand the dynamics and our place within our herd so that we can understand the word of mouth phenomena. Take a look at the stratospheric rise in SMS texting use over the past couple of years and the phenomenal success of bands like The Arctic Monkeys through word on the street hype as case in point. To further prove the argument, we found this one alley in the Stables Market section of Camden market that was full of sub-mediocre Chinese food stalls. Every single server was clamouring at passers-by, pestering them to taste their food. People would take the free tester yet you never saw anyone actually buying any of the food, yet if you go to Borough Market on any Saturday morning and try and get a coffee at Monmouth’s you’ll be queuing for half an hour. (They have never advertised and you will not find one person leaving that queue) Buying into this truth may not directly save the planet but it may help you manage your goals and make you more productive and proactive within your ‘150’. And you never know, this year you might even get that Christmas card from me.

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All discussion points raised above were debated over throughout the School of Life’s ‘Day Trip to London Zoo’. Based in Bloomsbury, the School of Life offers a wide variety of programmes and services that will challenge your ideas of everyday life. Over the next couple of weeks I will bring you two more School of Life essays (‘Drinks with Freud’ and “A Day of Good Design with Ilse Crawford) in which I dare you to call into question and agree to disagree.

 

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London Beekeeping

I love a bit of honey on my hot, buttered toast or a large golden drizzle on my fruit in the morning. It’s a comfort staple for most people yet the sad fact remains, – there is not enough honey in the world and bee populations are more increasingly in dramatic decline. 2008 saw 1/4 of colonies dying over the winter period in the U.K. and similarly across Europe and the U.S. Contributing factors include bad weather, the Varroa mite, numerous viruses and agricultural chemicals. In the U.K. we consume over 30,000 tonnes of the lovely, golden syrup, yet produce only roughly in the region of 5,000 tonnes. Our supermarket shelves have come to rely on the mass-produced harvests from China, Turkey, Ukraine and Argentina. This honey has been heated and filtered to remove all remnants of wax and pollen, resulting in a clear and well-stored but rather insipid honey. A potential downside to this means that there may be traces of synthetic pesticides and antibiotics within the honey, which can be both harmful to the producer as well as the consumer. In 2002, the Food Standards Agency called the withdrawal of Chinese honey after samples were found to contain the antibiotic chloramphenicol. Since then it has been found that China has been laundering this honey through other countries that don’t even produce honey. The answer to this simply comes down to the importance of supporting locally produced honey. It is not only a matter of limiting your food miles but an essential way of keeping the bee population thriving across the country, which furthermore helps pollinate a wide range of crops and flowering plants. 50% of pollination happens because of bee activity, so without wanting to sound too dramatic, buying local honey will help save your ecosystem. It also acts as a remedy for allergies and hay fever that is specific to your locale, since the pollen has not been filtered out and contains the allergen that will help strengthen your immune system.

But who would think of buying honey made in London? Contrary to what you might already believe, London honey is actually one of the tastiest and cleanest sorts out there: firstly, the pollution in the air does not affect the nectar; secondly, city flowers are not sprayed with pesticides or vast quantities of chemicals like they do in the countryside; and thirdly, London has the most amazing mélange and diversification in plants and flowers. A birds-eye view will reveal just how lush and green London is, so if you compare this in terms of taste to country honey, (which is almost entirely made up from the rapeseed flower, giving a slightly undesirable gritty and peppery texture) it really is the best flavor out there. At the National Honey Show held in London every November people come from all stretches of the world to exhibit their honey, but a London honey most often comes out as victor.

Beekeeping in London has recently seen a most delightful surge where sheltered green areas, city farms and even roofs are being ingeniously adapted in the building of apiaries. Native bees have not been seen in the U.K. since they were wiped out in 1907 due to the Isle of Wight disease, so the regeneration of beekeeping knowledge has been of uppermost importance to the survival of bees in this country. Without the assistance and controlled environment maintained by the adept beekeeper, the hive becomes open to the endless list of hazards that might befall it. There are the many pests and parasites including the endemic Varroa mite that feed off the bodily fluids of adult, pupal and larval bees. If infected during their development stage they will succumb to many deformities. At the end of summer when the hive population reduces in readiness for winter, or because of insufficient foraging, the mite population can take over that of the bees and destroy the hive. They also remain resistant to most treatments. Other abnormal hive conditions include: the Acarine mite (affects the tracheal airways of the honeybee); Nosema (a microsporidian that attacks the intestines which can lead to dysentery and the inability to eliminate waste from inside the hive); small hive beetles (currently a problem in the U.S. where the beetle’s larva is laid in and infests the hive); wax moths (who feed on the wax of the honeycomb); bacterial diseases like European foulbrood (which attacks the mid-gut of bee larva); fungal diseases like chalk brood and stone brood (that will compete with the bee larva for food); viral diseases such as Cripaviridae (abnormal trembling of the wings and body, resulting in flightlessness then death), Dysentery (caused from long periods of inability to make cleansing flights, usually as a result of cold weather which stops wing muscles from functioning, resulting in bees voiding themselves within the hive  and eventual death of the colony); chilled brood (death by sudden cold – as bees wing muscles do not function in cold weather the brood must be kept warm at all times, so when observing the frames to inspect the queen, general health of the bees and honey removal, the beekeeper must open the hive at the warmest part of the day and not obstruct the nurse bees from clustering and keeping the brood warm); pesticide losses (many of which are toxic to bees); and finally, Colony Collapse Disorder ( a misunderstood occurrence where the worker bees from a beehive abruptly disappear, usually from stress-related factors). To cut a long story short, the fabric of the beehive is extremely fragile and susceptible. The role of the beekeeper is to try and anticipate swarming (a natural method of bee colony reproduction that needs to be monitored in order to ensure survival, safe apiary expansion and honey production) and support bees to reproduce in a more controlled method. Early summer swarms are chiefly prized over late summer swarms, as they will have a better chance to fully develop, produce honey and survive the winter. Nevertheless, without the beekeeper the hive would surely not survive more than a year. And now, for city dwellers, beekeeping has proved a therapeutic way of getting close to nature within a limited urban environment, provides a ready source for local honey and a way of trying to maintain a balance in green living. I visit 3 London apiaries to uncover the stresses and joys of making London honey.

The Enthusiast – Tom Moggach

I visit my good friend Tom Moggach at his home in north London. It’s been an extremely good start to spring and the flora is already an impressive display. Principally concerned with living his life as green as possible, I find him knee-deep in his back garden as he tends his patch, much-aided by his two chatty chickens busily foraging around him. For Tom is one who has always believed in trying to live off the land as much as possible, not in so much a vain or self-righteous way but more in earnest as an approach of knowing how his food has come to be on his plate and to taste fruit and vegetables as nature intended. Learning mostly by intuition he enjoys the whole trial and error process and now even offers learning courses to other willing Londoners to take them through the pitfalls of being an urban gardener. He decided to try his hand at beekeeping 2 years ago, as it seemed a natural extension of all his efforts so far. But believing that bees would take to him just like his ‘fruit and veg’ did was his initial error. “The first course proved me it is far more complex than I naively thought.” He nearly gave up but persevered and has not regretted it a single day. He set up his apiary in his local Kentish Town City Farm and since then has been beset with a “squillion” problems, including swarms, mystery lurgies and rampaging sheep. He has now settled his hives in a secluded field far away from the less concerning animals and hidden from possible vandalism. We come on the first genuinely warm day of spring and Tom tentatively opens the hive to make sure they have survived the winter. The bees are still in docile mode but readying themselves for the busy months ahead. Tom’s modest apiary made a good 40 jars last year and expects to make around the same this year. He claims the taste is second to none. Hoping to slowly build up the colonies in the years to come it shows his confidence and knowledge is blooming in parallel. “You’ve got to start with your eyes open and realize they do need proper commitment – you can’t just swan off traveling for a few months in the summer and leave them to their own devices. You can only acquire knowledge about your bees by being still and observing quietly, which in turn makes you learn practically.”

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The Professional – Toby Mason

Toby Mason has been resident beekeeper at Regents Park for 6 years now. Having turned his back on a high-stress office job he trained as a chef at Leith’s School of Food and Wine before taking up a beekeeping course with North London Beekeepers. He was instantly enamored with the wondrous, strange and unpredictable nature of the bee ‘superorganism’ and eventually managed to turn his hobby into his livelihood. He talks about his bees like an over-protective mother would and his sense of responsibility is paramount especially when he claims that he loves nothing better than walking around Regents Park and spotting his bees foraging amongst the flowers. I visit him in May, the busiest time for beekeepers. Since honey can be harvested only twice yearly (in June and then September/October, pending weather) Toby is now busy giving weekly checks to his hives, observing its health and whether the hives look likely to swarm. When the honey is ready for extraction the whole set of frames are placed vertically in a steel cylinder, spun and when the honey has been collected at the bottom it is then filtered twice through muslin before being bottled into jars. There is no heat involved like in factories, meaning that Regents Park honey maintains all its wonderful and complex flavors. As we move down the sheltered and shady enclosure, a stones-throw away from The Rose Garden and St. John’s Lodge Garden, Toby comes to one particular hive with excited anticipation. After the routine puff from the smoker and conscientious inspection Toby looks very disappointed indeed. He has made a split which is a forced and artificial way of swarm control, reproducing a hive where you make a new set of frames and introduce it with bees, honey and pollen stores and a laying queen in the hope that it will ‘take-off’ as a thriving colony. Things haven’t quite gone the way Toby would have hoped, -“it’s fascinating to watch because they never do what they’re supposed to do.” Although he’s missed the best time of year to do it, he can continue throughout the year with his embryonic efforts. Calling his work both physical and at times mildly intellectual, he hopes that he will keep bees and be able to bring home fresh honey for his family for the rest of his life. He already cannot keep up with the demands from his 1-year-old son. And certainly now what with teaching beekeeping courses and assisting other businesses in setting up their own apiaries, and aspirations that in the future there will be hives throughout all the Royal Parks, here’s hoping the effects of his work go on for a long time yet.

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The Resplendent - Jonathan Miller

“Well it all started as a bit of fun,” admits Jonathan Miller, the sweet grocery buyer for Fortnum and Mason and hive designer, as he proudly presents his four majestic hives on the roof of Fortnum & Mason in Piccadilly. “It was more of a challenge to see if we could actually do it.” After noticing a shortage of English honey on display he decided it was time to take the matter into his own hands. Believing that if Fortnum & Mason were to go ahead in their grand scheme, they would have to come up with something pretty exceptional and state-of-the-art. Installed in 2008, the final design is very much in keeping with the spirit of ‘Fortnum & Mason’ (much resonance to the clock and façade of the store), with a different theme for each hive, – Roman, Mughal, Chinese and Gothic. Each six-foot structure has an aura of a primitive utopia, complete with its own triumphal arch entrance, gold finial beehive pinnacle and is dressed in Fortnum’s signature blue-green eau de nil and gold livery. The roofs are pagoda in-style and, when observed as a group, resemble the waves of the ocean. Once inside, even by bee standards, the space is positively luxurious, and having enlisting the help of Steve Benbow (famous for his enterprising hive roof-conversions at the Tate Modern and Tate Britain) and carpenter Kim Farley-Harper, it seems that only the best for Fortnum’s bees will do. In case you can’t quite believe it, you can even follow their daily routines via the two webcams that flank the hives. Taking me to the edge of the roof, Jonathan points out London’s iconic buildings adding that within a 3-mile radius their bees have access to St. James’ Park, Green Park, Buckingham Palace and numerous private gardens. The honey changes according to the plants that grow around the bees, but Jonathan goes on to say that the first crop usually tastes of chestnut and lime blossom. They produce around 700 jars a year, which usually sell out in a matter of weeks once they emerge in early October. Jonathan stresses that all honey selected for Fortnum’s has to “say something rather than nothing” and are sourced all the way from Salisbury Plain to Pitcairn Island. You will even find some of Toby’s Regents Park honey there. I think I’ll join the queue now…

Champagne tours of Fortnum & Mason’s beehives happen throughout the summer.

Fortnum & Mason honey goes on sale early October.

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Other useful links:

London Beekeepers Association

North London Beekeepers

British Beekeepers Association

City Leaf – Skills for urban food growing

Regents Park Honey – Pure Food

Zootrain – Beekeeping courses in Regents Park

The London Honey Company - Steve Benbow

The Jellied Eel – London’s magazine for ethical eating

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Following up on my story on the extremely talented and beautifully honest Judith Owen, I am thrilled to announce that ‘Losing It’, her show with Ruby Wax has now moved to the West End. Tickets are now available at The Duchess Theatre from the 31st of August to 1st of October 2011.

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The Chap Olympiad 2011

With nearly as much Pimms as there was rain, you would be mistaken for thinking that the moods might be dampened a tad. Far from it, for this year’s Olympiad saw the attire as sharp as the cheating was rife. At the end of the day, when the sun finally showed its fashionably late head, it was style that reigned supreme over both skill and speed. Well, you wouldn’t want to crease the threads now would you? Here are some of the highlights…enjoy.

The Chap Magazine     Fleur De Guerre     Red legs in Soho    Vintage Secret                Lance Paine    Heyday Vintage Style

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The Return of the Pothole Gardener

Last August I gave you the delightful Steve Wheen, aka ‘The Pothole Gardener‘, and his mind-bending guerilla gardening antics. Such was the response to this story that I have decided to forgo my belief that sequels rarely work and bring you a few more little pothole gardens that I enjoyed watching Steve create the other day. Enjoy.

[Wilton's Music Hall]

[Graffiti by Roa]

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