Happy New Year

A trail of whispering clouds pass across the low horizon, with occasional speckles of golden sunlight permeating through their thin veneer - a welcome relief after many days of incessant winter rain. As the late afternoon sky turns to dusk, a biting wind attempts on stealing the attention of a couple sitting on a park bench, in an affectionate and warming embrace. To this sharp decline in temperature, they remain oblivious. 

the high level branch

In the year 1851, when all that glittering roof was built, in order to exhibit the petty arts of our fashionable luxury carved bedsteads of Vienna, glued toys of Switzerland and gay jewellery from France - in that very year, I say, the greatest pictures of Venetian masters were rotting at Venice in the rain, for want of a roof to cover them, with holes made by cannon shot through their canvas.

the last night on earth

If its the last night on earth i'm flying away with the flamingos   

Leningrad 1944

We brought out vodka. We sang, cried and laughed. A great work had ended, impossible deeds had been done. But we also felt confusion. How should we live now?

i wish i was here

everything everything anything

Adidas United

Empty. But still here.

Empty. But still here.

green dream

The emerald lawn. That's all he could remember, it was all he had. Perhaps it was because he had been so drawn to it in the first place, as he found the inch-perfect green beryl carpet deeply satisfying; nature standing to attention. A swirl of emerald, dark green with a greyish hue - this he had, no more.

There was something about the Burgh Island Hotel lawn; at the meticulous and delicate hands of an expert gardener it became a veneration of the dazzling yet orderly geometric lines of the new building.

Running water. Edward's hazy emerald dream came to an abrupt end. A stream of water was flowing from the lavish nickel plated taps of his en-suite bathroom. He raised from his bed - too quick - he was out again; first black, then green.

Tiger

yes i know what you mean when i picked him up

yesterday he done five lots of pooh on the way

home. And when we got in he done it all

over my new carpet so i thought you

had given him something on christmas day

to upset him. Never mind.

Animals do that sometimes. Paul

Kamila

thin sheets of ice cling to the riverbank

a wisp of cloud for her breath

a dark and hasty water

gently she steps into the boat; an uneven welcome

pulls away from the magnificant bridge;

gold leaf paint and turquoise blue

upstream, the city now distant

she is the ice queen

Pump up the jam / pump it up / why your feet are stomping? / And the jam is pumping / look at it get the crowd jumpin' / pump it up a little more ...

look at this naughty Ford sign, with its soft, bulbous letters and neon perimeter lighting:

Let's build a dreamland together in the sand..

Blow in her face and she'll follow you anywhere

Hit her with tangy Tiaplet Cherry, Or rich grapey Tipalet Burgandy. Or luscious Tipalet Blueberry. Its Wild!

A puff in her direction and she'll follow you anywhere.

Here's something good from my head:

It is the 20th June 1984. Somewhere in the foothills of the Bavarian Alps, a rich German businessman is gunning his jet black Porsche 911 turbo, up and up the winding roads to his bauhaus power-pad (fully glazed facade, coloured glass-block partition walls, mezzanine love-nest, cocktail bar, sun terrace).

The sun has been shining down every day for over a month. He is slurping on a can of Pepsi and nodding along to some terrible German rock music on the cassette player. The threads? Leather jacket, white shirt, grey trousers, white socks and expensive shoes. The look? Medium sized mullet and well groomed moustache (naturlich).

Upon arrival (crunchy gravel drive) he goes to the bedroom and changes into an absolutely amazing dark green addidas tracksuit with white zip. He walks through to the spotlessly clean lounge, opens the sliding doors and hits the ice-white Turnturi fitness-bike; flicks the dial to 'schwer' (hard) and pumps for 30 mins.

He glances up at the Seiko drop dial wall clock. Its 8.15pm. The match kicks off in fifteen minutes. Perfect. He sits down on the pea-green leather sofa and pours out a healthy slug of apple schnapps. 560 miles away in Paris, West Germany are about to play their last UEFA 84 group match against Spain in the Parc de Princes. The TV pundits are in confident mood, lauding Rudi Vollers' clinical brace in the 2-1 defeat of Romania. Just one point needed tonight and yet another final beckons.

The sun begins to set behind the mountains, turning the sky a luxurious red. He pours another schnapps, lights a cigarette and smiles to himself. The referee blows his whistle....

Leeds International Baths: iconic 1967 brutalist swimming pool

adjoining fitness centre with naughty concrete starburst cladding

sent to the dogs

abandoned 1954 modernist Grande Hotel in Mozambique, with olympic sized swimming pool overlooking the Indian Ocean, now occupied by over 2000 squatters?

check

unbelievable how many people there are

even a stopped clock tells the right time twice a day

tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock…

Gerald loved the design of his chrome based, nikel plated, black Bakelite and beige marble alarm clock.

7.15am on the 28th of May 1924: time to get out of bed. Today Gerald was going to the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley; the greatest display of Britain’s colonial might since Hyde Park all those years ago.

In all the excitement of the hour, Gerald almost forgot his latest copy of ‘Metroland’ – a comprehensive guide to the exhibition - full of the Metropolitan Railway Company’s (MRC) brash confidence in their ability to transport the estimated 27million visitors along the line.

Baker Street to Wembley, he would be there in less than 25 minutes.

What a sight; thousands of people everywhere. But where to start? The Palace of Engineering (the worlds largest reinforced concrete building); The Flying Scotsman; The Empire Aquadome; The 150,000 capacity Empire Stadium; The India Pavilion; 58 countries on display over 216 acres…. Surely too much…

Gerald opted for the Palace of Arts, housing a series of rooms in the styles of 1750, the 1820’s and 1924. Leading furniture designer Waring & Gillow was in occupation, flaunting its replica Georgian Library, Chinese Lacquer Room, and best of all, the Bauhaus kitchen.

…1934 1944 1954 1964 1974…

tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock

The mint-blue swatch wall clock remained a mosquito-like irritant to Gerald. But he couldn’t even lift a finger. 7.15am on the 24th April 1984: time for his medicine.

After more than sixty years, the vast decaying land confined within the boundaries of Empire Way had become a bleak and foreboding sight. True, the Empire Stadium had gone on to become a national landmark, but it was surrounded by dereliction and faceless, brutal out-of-town office and retail parks. Only the Pavilion of Industry remained, unknowingly occupied by a parcel delivery service.

Gerald was in a similar state of decline. Not so far away from Wembley, in a nursing home in Southgate, he closed his eyes and lay to rest. Outside his residence, two ‘World Globe’ lights, set in classic modernist iron posts, stood tall and proud – they had in fact illuminated the entrance to the Empire exhibition for two years – and they still survive today, in this now forgotten corner of Metroland.