Hexagon Tower – Blackley Manchester

Manchester Orbital – a coach trip around the outer and upper limits of the city’s Modernist Architecture.

Organised by the Manchester Modernist Society

http://www.modernist-society.org

“Seifert’s corporate buildings were regularly bold, those in Manchester no exception, but this is perhaps the most monolithic of his North-West schemes. The site, in a depression adjacent the River Irk in Blackley, was formerly owned by ICI, by whom the building was commissioned. At one time, a four storey ICI laboratory building by émigré architect Serge Chermayeff also stood close. Here, the simple massing, formed by the junction of horizontal and vertical volumes, bears several of Seifert and Partners trademark gestures; the hexagonal geometries, the cut away sections of wall to form entrance ways between structural elements, and the repetitive facade. The end wall is reminiscent of Tolworth Tower, also by Seifert. The tower and podium configuration is a product of the brief; the machine hall had to be at ground level and have no construction above. The narrow tower has no internal columns, the structural grid is mirrored in the services arrangement and the two co-exist outside the usable volume of the laboratory space, in the walls and floor. This solution is expressed in the deep reveals of the main façade, services travel vertically between the window modules. Whilst somewhat hidden, the building reveals itself fantastically from elevated vantage points, the tram south from Bowker Vale station being one such location. Originally it was intended that four of these towers would be built and run along the river valley in some sort of massive futurist domino arrangement.”

With thanks to Mainstream Modern

http://www.mainstreammodern.co.uk/casestudies.aspx/Detail/72/hexagon-tower

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Post Office Tower

The man from BT he says “No!”

I only asked.

Everyone’s life is towered over by one obsessive dream or other.

So why not have an overpowering, towering dream of a Tower?

I asked to come in, he said no.

What was once ours, opened in 1965 by PM Harold Wilson at the behest of Tony Benn, was sold by PM Margaret Thatcher.

– “It’s good to talk.”

It’s bad to gift ownership of other peoples’ towers to other people, in the name of “popular capitalism.”

So I dry my eyes, pick myself up and engage in an immersive therapy, absorbing the visual culture of the seemingly unobtainable Tower – like an eternally embittered Rapunzel in reverse.

Marine Court – St Leonards on Sea

It’s ever so easy to fall in love with a building, that’s ever so lovable.

So much of its time and place – a perfect piece of Seaside Moderne.

Sun soaked and whiter than white, against almost clear blue southern skies.

A luxury liner beached and beloved, now returned to showroom condition.

Go see for y’self.

http://www.modernistbritain.co.uk/post/building/Marine+Court/

Washeteria – Hastings

Don’t forget to forget.

Big is not large, not small.

This is a dirty blue,  washed-out pale yellow, Alice in Wonderland un-wonderful land.

Time will not stand still – you’re in a spin, oh what a spin that you’re in.

Walk in, wash and wish.

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Launderette – London Road St Leonards

Mid blue linoleum tiles, patched here there.

And everywhere.

Signs

Everywhere.

In an uncertain universe, you can almost always rely on the launderette, to guide you on life’s soapy journey, through a complex series of immutable do’s and don’ts, arrows, slots, buttons and bows.

Giant is the new big is the new large.

I feel so small.

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The Wash Inn – Hastings

Standing alone in an unattended laundrette can be a chilling experience, a heightened state of awareness abounds, accentuating that all pervasive absence of presence.

The unseen hand, that write the notes, that speak to you in emphatic hurried caps, pinned or taped precisely on the walls.

The ghosts of clothes, still warm, now gone.

A Proust defying amalgam of aromas, that almost fills the air.

Just you and a series of slots, demotic instructions, care worn utilitarian surfaces and time.

Wash Inn get out.

Pevensey – Oyster Bungalows

Hardly by accident, passing Pevensey Bay by bike one sunny summer’s day, hurriedly intent on catching up with old friends.

Having visited here some years ago, under the guidance of pal Pauline, I was as ever, over eager to renew our previously brief acquaintance.

There they were waiting patiently, to the left of a long straight road, running parallel to the adjacent shore.

Oyster Bungalows – so called for their cylindrical form and formerly scalloped barge boards.

Holiday homes the work of designer / architect: Martin & Saunders Limited built: 1937 – 1939.

Small and perfectly formed, they all seem to have suffered the indignities of ageing none to gracefully.

Subject to the whims of fashion and the uPVC expediency of our age.

Typically no two are the same, variegated planting, neglect and graceless addenda grace the previously pristine homes.

For all that, their diminutive charm remains undiminished.

My spirits lifted as I strolled by, inevitably yours will too.

Llanidloes – Shopfronts

In the heart of Wales, former centre of the flannel industry, stands Llanidloes.

Through civic pride, love and local doggedness, the decorative shopfront prevails unabashed.

The finest selection of carved and moulded wooden filigree, hand painted signs, large open panes, tile work and the odd suspended folk-art sheep, adorn substantial Victorian properties, rich in the market town tradition of controlled opulence. A varied typology, the majority continuing to trade, the odd domestic conversion retaining its retail characteristics, whilst maintaining its modesty, behind tightly drawn net curtains.

Go take a look.

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Margate – Car Park

There’s a world going on underground.

At ground level.

Fenced off, rather poorly though.

Not much here to deter even the faint hearted urban explorer.

Find a gap and get in.

Join the taggers and lollygaggers,

Underground.

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Margate – Arlington House

Arlington House is a 58 metre high eighteen-storey residential apartment block in Margate, Kent, England.

It was built in 1964, it has 142 apartments, and was designed by Russell Diplock & Associates, developed by Bernard Sunley Trust, and built by the contractors Bernard Sunley & Sons.

The sides of the building have a wave-like design, providing both inland and sea views.

It was initially advertised as Britain’s first park and buy shopping centre with luxury flats , incorporating a theatre, restaurant and rooftop swimming pool.

Arlington Margate

I’ll try anything twice.

So off I went to Margate, on a train, again.

Rushing out of the station agog, eager, looking for a long lost friend.

An impudent exclamation mark at the end of a rowdy Georgian row.

Arlington House.

A mad amalgam of angles, incautious concrete surfaces and glass.

Entranced, enchanted, we both stare out to sea and eye each other admiringly.

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Deal – Seaside Shelters

Two.

Parachuted from who knows where, onto the unsuspecting seafront.

Backed by a rambling range of well behaved Georgian terraces, facing a remorselessly mutable sea.

Affording space age shelter to the passing pilot of an ever imminent future.

Sit in, look through, out and beyond.

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Pottons – Cliftonville Margate

Should you, as I did wander down Northdown Road, Cliftonville, you will chance upon Pottons at 262.

By now however, ingress is more than somewhat inhibited.

It’s closed.

The most exciting and extant period fascia, once gave way to oak fittings and fixtures festooned with all manner of menswear, exotic and plain accoutrements, now inaccessible.

It’s gone.

A few sad remnants were on sale, administered in their final days by Lorraine, employed for 35 years in a family business, whose trade had once included made to measure, fine millinery and quality accessories for the discerning gent around town.

No more.

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Laundrette – Rhayader

There is a sign.

An Illuminated sign.

There are signs.

Handwritten signs – notices, instructions, scribbled hurriedly, underlined, highlighted, boxed for emphasis.

Taped up.

There are machines, top loaders, best left half empty.

Terrazzo floor, leatherette banquette.

Out of disorder comes out of order.

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Close the door when you leave

North Wales – B&B

Just two Bs and an ampersand, but what volumes they speak, secrets they contain, what does go on behind closed doors?

Bed and breakfast, an immovable feast.

Various does not begin to describe their variety, a cornucopia of dolorous decor, quizzical cuisine, curios, carpets and cohabitees.

So knock on, walk into the hall, up the stairs, open that door – who knows what fate awaits you.

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North Wales – Shelters

There are days when there is little else to do on the seashore than stare endlessly out to sea, seeking respite from the unrelenting rays of the sun, or conversely turning one’s back on the incoming squall.

Hunker down and hope.

For these very same and sane reasons, the urban district councils have provided you with the very means to realise the wildest of your wildest dreams.

The shelter

No two are the same, look carefully – they are nuanced, under financed, resilient and emboldened against the elements. Design applied by untutored hand, cast in concrete, stone and brick, glazed, unglazed and amazing.

Set a spell, take your shoes off.

Y’all come back now, y’hear?

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Hastings – Sea Front Shelters

The very first time I visited Hastings, I was immediately enchanted by the seafront and its enchanting shelters.

Perfectly formed cast concrete poetry, facing the swelling channel.

Offering shade and respite from coastal sun, wind and rain.

Temporary home to some.

Decorated in the finest style.

A short endless walk, sea to the right, back again, to your left.

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St Leonards Bulverhythe – Valley of the Lost Ice Cream Vans

Somewhere at the edge of the World ice cream vans go to die, I know I saw them from the train back from Brighton, I just had to go and have a look. I was received warmly by the busy proprietors going busily about their business, readying the working vans for their working day on the coast. It seems they break the invalids up for spares keeping the ageing vehicles on the road for another season – dispensing joy to jolly girls and boys in cornet, tub and lolly form. There is however something inevitably heartbreakingly poignant, seeing the signage fade, in the southern sun, as brambles weave in and out of open window, steering wheel, wheel arch and fridge. Ask not for whom the chimes chime. They chime for you. Nevermore.

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Ashton under Lyne – Laundrette

Cycling along Curzon Road one sunny Sunday afternoon, I found to my surprise, facing me across the Whiteacre Road junction.

– An empty yet extant launderette.

One lone drier tumbling, lonely – an absence of presence, save myself.

The usual spartan interior almost unkempt, enlivened by four legged, almost alien, ovalish plastic laundry baskets. A sunlit shimmer of brushed steel surfaces, low lit and deeply shadowed linoleum tiles.

Under the illuminating hum of bare fluorescent tubes.

I snapped and exited, unwashed.

Great!

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