Open House: London's Town Halls London is awash with Town Halls. 32 are current, but there are umpteen redundant town halls because most modern boroughs are amalgamations of three pre-1965 boroughs. Over Open House weekend several of these town halls, old and new, were open, so I tried visiting lots of them. Call it civic pride. Or call it an attempt to avoid queueing, because it seems very few Londoners shared my desire to look inside these municipal temples. Here's a brief report on six of them, progressing chronologically so you can see how architectural styles change.
Stratford Old Town Hall (Opened: 1869) (Style: Italian Gothic) (Current use: conference & wedding venue) [factsheet] Despite living nearby, I hadn't realised that the old West Ham Town Hall on Stratford Broadway was usually open to the public. A ground floor corridor hosts exhibitions, of a sort, and the rear courtyard houses a cafe which runs with minimal publicity [photo]. But we got to see rather more than that, behind the scenes of what is now a venue hired out by the council to all and sundry. On Sunday that meant sharing the building with several evangelical churches, some of them extremely loud as they chanted and screeched and sang for the Lord. We saw the main hall, its chandeliers crafted on what is now the Olympic Stadium site, and its plasterwork restored to former glories after a vicious fire in 1982. We went down into the basement to see a row of 24 cells where they now store all the spare tables and chairs. And, best of all, we went up the belltower to look out across the length of Stratford Broadway [photo][photo]. If the new (ambitious) centre manager gets her way, climbing up here might not remain a once-a-year treat in the future. Here's hoping. (Tour guide: member of staff) (Tour size: 15) (Worth seeing? Yes)
Finsbury Town Hall (Opened: 1899) (Style: Free Renaissance) (Current use: dance school) [factsheet] One of the early London town halls this, initially a Vestry Hall from the years when church boards ran public infrastructure, but upgraded with an overstated exterior flourish. It's also a very early example of Art Nouveau, as you may have seen from the rather gorgeous stained glass nameplates on the wrought iron canopy in Rosebery Avenue. The Great Hall is most impressive, as it had to be in those days to encourage bookings. The ceiling is covered by elaborate plasterwork throughout, while the light fittings comprise ethereal winged figures carrying sprays of illuminated bulbs [photo]. This lovely town hall's been underused since 1965 when Islington displaced Finsbury, and redundant since 2003 when the registrar's office moved out. The new tenant is a dance school, whose students cavort and sing and get generally artistic within ornate Victorian walls. Looks like the transformation's working well. (Tour guide: volunteer) (Tour size: 9) (Worth seeing? Yes)
Lambeth Town Hall (Opened: 1908) (Style: Edwardian Baroque) (Current use: Town Hall) [factsheet] You'll have seen this one - it dominates Brixton town centre on the corner opposite KFC. I walked in through the automatic doors behind a very drunk man, who hurled some unintelligible verbal abuse, waved a can of lager and then stumbled out. Other than that, this was my most civilised and informative tour, led by one of Lambeth's esteemed councillors no less. He had a deep knowledge of everything he was showing us, from the type of marble on the grand staircase to identifying the seat John Major used to sit on in the council chamber [photo]. Best of all, this was the only tour of an existing town hall where we were allowed into the Mayor's Parlour. Our councillor had never held the role, but knew all about the Doulton on the sideboard and the origin of the two spades on the wall. All the rest of the tour was of public spaces open to all, but brought to life with verve even for a non borough resident like me. (Tour guide: councillor) (Tour size: 3) (Worth seeing? Yes, for locals)
Walthamstow Town Hall (Opened: 1938) (Style: Swedish inter-war) (Current use: town hall) [factsheet] It looks most impressive from the road outside, viewed across lawns with municipal flowerbeds and a whopping great fountain [photo]. A little less so inside, especially when the Open House volunteer hasn't turned up. So I got taken round by the bloke who's whatever the official title for a caretaker is, and he was wonderful. If you want to know how a building really works, ask the bloke who keeps it ticking over. This is where they split one of the meeting rooms in two, sorry this door's locked, and here are the Chesterfields where the councillors mingle before a big meeting. He didn't know that pre-war spending cuts had led to terrazo being used in the foyer instead of marble, but he could recount where the queue for social services used to sit, and where the awards cabinet was, and what it's like to have to hand a note to the chairman during an important council meeting [photo]. Not what the man was expecting to do on his morning shift, but oh so very much appreciated. (Tour guide: caretaker) (Tour size: 1) (Worth seeing? Ish)
Brent Town Hall (Opened: 1940) (Style: Dutch modernist) (Current use: town hall) [factsheet] According to the Open House Guide, Pevsner believed this to be 'The best of the pre-war modern Town Halls around London'. He can't have gone inside. I've rarely been more underwhelmed by a building, but with a charming caretakery bloke showing us around I was far too polite to say so. He took us first into a large committee room with ugly brown furniture, which could easily have been transported from a mothballed failed secondary school. And then into the council chamber which, apart from its wood veneer walls, failed to inspire any architectural enthusiasm in me at all. Even viewing it from the public gallery didn't add anything, except for wasted time. The main hall might have looked better but there was a Hindu wedding kicking off in there, and they'd tarted up the space by covering the entire ceiling and all four walls with drapes. Sorry Brent, it may function well but yours was by far the most tedious town hall I saw over my Open House weekend. [no photo] (Tour guide: member of staff) (Tour size: 2) (Worth seeing? No, really not)
Westminster City Hall (Opened: 1966) (Style: Sixties UglyTower) (Current use: city hall) There are few architectural reasons for visiting Westminster's local seat of government. It's a hideous tower block on Victoria Street, whose only redeeming feature is that it's very tall. This means there's an excellent view from the 18th floor, where the Mayoral suite is located, and to which the public was admitted throughout Saturday. If you didn't get up to the top of 55 Broadway, this was the next best (or maybe better) thing [photo][photo]. There was also rare access to the top floor vault where the borough's plate collection is stored. This being Westminster some of that was pretty special, most notably a series of silver Tobacco Boxes whose exteriors are covered by metal plates commemorating 'notable events'. Over two and half centuries these events range from the battle of Culloden to the imposition of the Congestion Charge, plus a suitably eclectic bunch inbetween. As for the rest of the building, and how the council HQ actually functions, not a clue. (Venue guide: member of staff) (Tour size: n/a) (Worth seeing? Yes, for the view)
Merton Civic Centre (Opened: 1962/1985) (Style: curved monolithic) (Former use: office block) [factsheet] Hang on, I covered this one on Saturday. Enough already.
Most of my Open House visits on Sunday had a common theme, which I'll bore you with tomorrow. But today I'll tell you about the odd one out, the one I've walked past scores of times without ever guessing what was inside. The temporary millennial project that survived, against the odds. Destination North Greenwich.
When the Millennium Dome was built, one of the less rubbish ideas the organisers had was to litter the perimeter of the site with sculpture. Nothing normal, but zeitgeisty pieces created in response to the environment. With the environment being a reclaimed gasworks on a sweeping meander in the Thames, this led to more bonkers ideas than usual. There was a sound sculpture emitting the blare of ships' horns, and an Anish Kapoor parabolic mirror, and some argon-filled tubes creating aerial blue text. There was even a "vending machine displaying LED 'prayers' inspired by the names of chocolate bars", called It Pays To Pray. No, I don't remember that last one either. And then there was SliceofReality, which my Millennium Experience Guide describes thus...
An ingenious response to the Dome's riverside location and to the 'slicing' of the Meridian Line through the site; this sculpture sits in the Thames itself. This vertical cross-section of a ship from bridge to hull is a celebration of merchant shipping on the Thames. Richard Wilson is well known for cutting and slicing architectural forms; he was nominated for the Turner Prize in 1988.
So that's a medium-sized ship with its bow and stern sawn off, and only 15% remaining in the middle [photo]. Slice of Reality sat in the river throughout the year 2000 for visitors to stare at, maybe while they were wolfing down a coffee and a slice of pizza in the Greenwich Pavilion. And then when 2001 struck, the organisers asked the various sculptors to take their work back. No thanks, said Richard, my ship's in the river so I think you'll find it lies outside your jurisdiction. And he was right. So he sought the necessary paperwork, and earned his mooring certificate, and hey presto the bit-of-ship became legally his.
Every Open House weekend Richard throws open his doors to the public. What's fun is that his door is quite challenging to reach. The North Greenwich riverside isn't easily accessible, even for somewhere notionally on the Jubilee line. The Dome has no rear exit any more, so you have to find your own way to the Thames Path and then walk round a bit [photo]. Normally the gangplank's up, but yesterday it was down with a welcoming set of steps dangling from the end. Once across and aboard there's no obvious door at the front [photo], so you have to pass under the rusty deck above, along a narrow gangway to the other side of the ship and hunt for thin hatch on the far side.
Blimey, there's far more in here than you'd ever have guessed. A rudimentary kitchen ("do not drink this tap water"), a no-frills toilet, and a drum-kit stacked up in the corner surrounded by files. It's almost as if somebody actually lives here. Surely not? The clues are a little more blatant downstairs (or rather, downladders). First a dark storeroom containing goodness knows what, then a metal mesh bridge over the tidal Thames leading to... a snooker room! There's a green baize table in the centre of the cabin, and a rack of cues below a row of portholes, what else could this be? The perfect blokey hideaway, it seems, aboard a remote rusting hulk round the back of the O2.
A couple of decks higher, on the bridge, the ship's true purpose is revealed. This isn't Richard's home, it's his studio. A wooden worktop faces out downriver, perfect for use as drawing board or workbench. The passing river traffic acts as inspiration, or perhaps as a reassuring background blur while some creative project pans out. There are few physical distractions out here in the Thames, and no neighbours who might ever pop round, leaving the artist alone with his thoughts. That's the plan, anyway, although the gas stove and drumkit and snooker room might suggest otherwise.
There's one more deck above, accessed by vertical metal-runged ladder and therefore not to be rushed. It's a little rusty up here beneath the mast, although the view is excellent because you're well above the O2's paranoid security fence [photo]. Across the water lurks Canary Wharf [photo]. Closer upstream there's Ordnance Jetty sticking out into the river, and the remains of the line which used to mark the path of the meridian through the Millennium Experience site [photo]. The Greenwich Pavilion still stands, although it's not clear for how much longer because a hotel is due to be plonked here in due course [photo]. As for the wetlands that were planned to colonise the riverside after 2000, they're now 'back of house' and are never going to reach their full potential. Indeed one patch has been returfed and reappropriated as a heliport, allowing big stars to chopper in for their arena gigs.
I passed Richard after renegotiating the gangplank and returning to the riverside. He'd popped out for a coffee and sandwiches from North Greenwich bus station (it's a good 20 minute round trip) and was hurrying back to keep an eye on his guests. He looked every inch theinventiveartist, a sort of Caractacus Potts for the new millennium, and exactly the sort of bloke who'd slice up a big boat and then inhabit it. I wish him good luck in maintaining his workspace rust-free into the new decade in continued productive solitude.
There's usually one property on the Open House list which makes you go "ooh, blimey, that's never been open before, I must get in there." And this year, for anyone even vaguely tubegeeky, the hot ticket is 55 Broadway. That's London Underground HQ, for those of you whose transportnerd credentials are a little creaky. Tours filled up over a month ago so you won't get inside on spec, sorry. But for those of us who booked early, and could therefore turn up at reception this weekend clutching our special ID codes, a guided tour was free for the taking.
55 Broadway is the cruciformbuilding that sits above St James's Park station [photo]. It was constructed at the end of the 1920s and has a definite Art Deco twang, although it's not officially of that style. The exterior is of Portland stone and includes a series of carvings chiselled in situ - one the first ever public commission by Henry Moore. The twolargest sculptures are Epsteins, fairly brutal in style, and with genitalia which shocked prudish Westminster eighty years ago. At the heart of the building is a central tower with a flagpole on top, six storeys higher than the rest. Yes, we got to go right up there too. I told you this was a hot ticket.
There's a marvellous old piece of machinery in reception with six brass dials to show the passage of various trains around the network. It doesn't work any more, alas, and has been superseded by a electronic display-on-a-pole just as you might see in your local station. However, every effort has been made to preserve various heritage features throughout the building, from the handles on hallway doors to the mailchutes which once fed letters down to the basement sorting room. Some of the clocks are originals, and there's even a fully functioning drinking fountain on some floors from the days before Coke vending machines were de rigeur. 55 Broadway's certainly got a lot more character than the barely-functional office spaces where you and I spend our working days.
Management are housed on the 7th floor, as they have been since the place was opened. Lord Ashfield, first Chairman of the London Passenger Transport Board, had his office in a splendid high-ceilinged room at the far end of the East Wing. His deputy, design legend Frank Pick, was holed away in a smaller plainer room along the same walnut-faced passageway. These two spaces are now meeting rooms, the District and Central Rooms respectively, as the building adapts to less luxurious 21st century conditions.
On the 10th floor there's a roof terrace and a roof garden, depending on which side of the building you are. Between the two we got to enjoy a diverse exhibition from the TfL archives, although not for very long. Eighty years of passenger operation has generated a unique collection of paperwork and ephemera, including letters sent to the organisation by Sir John Betjeman and the initial sketch for the commemorative Festival of Britain bus ticket. Designs for stations, free travel passes for 1948 Olympic athletes, they're all here (unless they're being stored in a Cheshire salt mine, that is). I took the opportunity to peruse an old route diagram and check the 'official' shortest distance between two tube stations, only to discover that both Covent Garden to Leicester Square and Strand to Charing Cross were 0.16 miles apart. Sorry, did I say we weren't there for very long? Maybe not, but it was clearly long enough.
And then through a side door used normally only by maintenance staff, to ascend an increasingly insubstantial series of staircases to the very top of the tower. Some of the more elderly (or more corpulent) members of the tour party found this a struggle, but they weren't going to let physical exercise (or vertigo) put them off. Finally we emerged onto the roof, beneath a fluttering Underground flag, to admire the view across the heart of historic Westminster. There was Big Ben, the Eye and the Abbey, obviously, with the dome of St Paul's and the City shining beyond. Less delightfully, the Ministry of Justice building loomed up like a maximum security prison to the north, while to the south was the mirrored façade of New Scotland Yard, which we were told not to take photos of under any circumstances.
I'd been told 'no photos' back in reception, when I asked a security guard about the six-dial train-counting contraption. The rule's for copyright reasons, apparently, which I can understand. So when we were told to drop off our bags, I left my camera too because I knew I wouldn't be needing it. Wrong. It turned out that photography was allowed, so long as it was outside on the roof, so I didn't get any photos of the fine views up there. Never mind. As I said, every tubegeek worth his or her salt has taken the same tour already, and they've managed to grab some lovely blue-sky shots to show you what you missed. Here's Ian's (and Ian's write-up). Here's londonstuff's. Here's a photo each from Tom, Chris and David. You can guarantee there'll be more by the endofthisevening.
55 Broadway probably won't be part of next year's Open House - these one-off specials rarely are. But you can always step inside by wandering through the ground floor shopping mall, which used to be part of the building's offices. Or go scrutinise the exterior from the street, there are plenty of architectural surprises therein. And rest assured, next time your train is cancelled or your bus breaks down, that the people directed to keep London moving are trying their hardest from a really jolly nice building indeed.
Open House weekend is my one annual opportunity to go up things. So I've been up five. Five big tall buildings, each somewhere between 14 and 23 storeys high, to enjoy the view from the top of each [lots of photos]. It's only in the last three quarters of a century that Londoners have had the opportunity to view their city from above, and even then it's a rare treat. Two of my five were in the heart of Westminster, and I'll tell you about those later. But the other three were across suburban south London, where the rooftop panorama is very different, and the BT Tower is but a tiny spike on the horizon. All this plus a tour of an estate of tower blocks, although this time from ground level. Open House day 1, a day in the sky... (as posted from my mobile, and tidied up later)
No 1 Croydon: Croydon is south London's skyscraper capital, so I've come to town to go up a couple. First No 1 Croydon, or the Threepenny Bit building as it's more widely known, which looks like a stack of white-painted polygonal coins [photo]. All very informal - I took the lift to the 21st floor unsupervised and all by myself. Half this octagonal floor was open, and empty of furniture bar a table of planning staff hoping to harvest opinion on the town's future masterplan [photo]. The view from the windows was more interesting, even with the Central London aspect obscured. It's still very green, Croydon, once you look beyond the upstanding inner core. Tiny trams plied the streets below like caterpillars, carrying a cargo of weary shoppers back to the semi-detached avenues beyond [photo]. It was a shame the building's owners hadn't cleaned the windows though, as all the photographs being snapped up top are likely to be heavily dirt-specked. If the council gets their way there'll be a lot more multi-storey development to come in Croydon, which they'll be plotting from their eyrie atop nearby Taberner House. Been up there too [photo][photo]. Nineteen floors this time, to two of the viewing galleries building into the top corners of the building. There's even a 19½th floor, up a mini spiral staircase to a tiny mezzanine staring out towards the Addington Hills. The northern view is much better than the Threepenny Bit's, apart from a Nestlé advert at tower-top height [photo]. There's the City, and then Docklands, in the far distance, their high-rent clusters glinting in the sunlight. Croydon's towers hope one day to steal some of their business away.
posted 16:15
Merton Civic Centre: The London borough of Merton there's only one major highrise building. That's the council offices at the top of Morden High Street, a curved tower with two symmetrical wings erected in the mid 1960s when the borough was created [photo]. Not an especially popular Open House venue, so a mere handful of souls got to be taken up to the roof by a senior member of the building's staff. We were not disappointed. The view from the 15th floor rooftop terrace was excellent, stretching round from Wembley's arch to Croydon's distant-ish metropolis. No haze, so the West End and City were pinpoint sharp, especially when viewed through a pair of municipal binoculars. Lovers of modern architecture could enjoy a tiny Gherkin close to a mini Strata immediately beside an emerging Shard. And in the foreground lay the almost-autumnal hues of Morden Hall Park surrounded by a sea of toytown suburbia [photo]. London's skyline rarely looks so complete [photo]. A warning should you ever drive into the car park below, however, that the curved shape of the building amplifies gusts of wind creating vicious mini-tornadoes with the strength to lift old ladies off the ground! As payback for our rooftop treat, we were then taken down to see a floor of refurbished offices - part of a long-term plan to squeeze in twice as many desks and save lots of money. And finally to the council chamber, where the borough's flip-flop red/blue council meets not many times a year to rubberstamp decisions with due pomp and ceremony. Understated municipal panelling, lush leather seats, and available to hire at very reasonable rates. Me, I'd much rather hold court on the roof.
posted 14:08
Alton Estate: I've never previously found it this difficult to plan where to go on Open House weekend. Maybe I've been to too many. And maybe that's why I've kicked off somewhere underwhelming, somewhere that's always open, somewhere I've been before. This time, however, with an expert guide to tell me (and 30 others) more. Up the far end of Roehampton are the Alton Estates, one West and one East, thrown up in the 1950s for South London's displaced slum-dwellers. We've been round both, along with an infectiously enthusiastic speaker from English Heritage and copious handouts. The West is le Corbusian, with mixed development bungalows and tower blocks set among rolling Capability Brown-landscaped grassy slopes [photo][photo]. Tucked away in unexpected corners are Georgian mansions, whose grounds these once were until the London County Council stole them away. This unlikely combination looks impressive in bright sunshine, although I can't help thinking that none of our very middle class crocodile of visitors would ever choose to live here [photo]. Alton East is a little older, with a more Scandinavian outlook, but also with 10-storey highrises of pioneering postwar design. I've learnt a lot more than I ever would wandering around on my own, and heard disquiet that the council plan to replace the central shopping area with that 21st century curse - the supermarket with flats on top [photo]. This tour was scheduled for an hour but actually took two, so I slunk off 90% of the way round (sorry) and am now nipping across Wimbledon Common to save a bit of precious time. I wonder if the Pope's up yet.
Stratford Old Town Hall
Finsbury Town Hall
Lambeth Town Hall
Walthamstow Town Hall
Brent Town Hall
Westminster City Hall
When the Millennium Dome was built, one of the less rubbish ideas the organisers had was to litter the perimeter of the site with sculpture. Nothing normal, but zeitgeisty pieces created in response to the environment. With the environment being a reclaimed gasworks on a sweeping meander in the Thames, this led to more bonkers ideas than usual. There was a sound sculpture emitting the blare of ships' horns, and an Anish Kapoor parabolic mirror, and some argon-filled tubes creating aerial blue text. There was even a "vending machine displaying LED 'prayers' inspired by the names of chocolate bars", called It Pays To Pray. No, I don't remember that last one either. And then there was Slice of Reality, which my Millennium Experience Guide describes thus...
An ingenious response to the Dome's riverside location and to the 'slicing' of the Meridian Line through the site; this sculpture sits in the Thames itself. This vertical cross-section of a ship from bridge to hull is a celebration of merchant shipping on the Thames.So that's a medium-sized ship with its bow and stern sawn off, and only 15% remaining in the middle [photo]. Slice of Reality sat in the river throughout the year 2000 for visitors to stare at, maybe while they were wolfing down a coffee and a slice of pizza in the Greenwich Pavilion. And then when 2001 struck, the organisers asked the various sculptors to take their work back. No thanks, said Richard, my ship's in the river so I think you'll find it lies outside your jurisdiction. And he was right. So he sought the necessary paperwork, and earned his mooring certificate, and hey presto the bit-of-ship became legally his.Blimey, there's far more in here than you'd ever have guessed. A rudimentary kitchen ("do not drink this tap water"), a no-frills toilet, and a drum-kit stacked up in the corner surrounded by files. It's almost as if somebody actually lives here. Surely not? The clues are a little more blatant downstairs (or rather, downladders). First a dark storeroom containing goodness knows what, then a metal mesh bridge over the tidal Thames leading to... a snooker room! There's a green baize table in the centre of the cabin, and a rack of cues below a row of portholes, what else could this be? The perfect blokey hideaway, it seems, aboard a remote rusting hulk round the back of the O2.
55 Broadway is the cruciform building that sits above St James's Park station [photo]. It was constructed at the end of the 1920s and has a definite Art Deco twang, although it's not officially of that style. The exterior is of Portland stone and includes a series of carvings chiselled in situ - one the first ever public commission by Henry Moore. The two largest sculptures are Epsteins, fairly brutal in style, and with genitalia which shocked prudish Westminster eighty years ago. At the heart of the building is a central tower with a flagpole on top, six storeys higher than the rest. Yes, we got to go right up there too. I told you this was a hot ticket.
No 1 Croydon: Croydon is south London's skyscraper capital, so I've come to town to go up a couple. First No 1 Croydon, or the Threepenny Bit building as it's more widely known, which looks like a stack of white-painted polygonal coins [photo]. All very informal - I took the lift to the 21st floor unsupervised and all by myself. Half this octagonal floor was open, and empty of furniture bar a table of planning staff hoping to harvest opinion on the town's future masterplan [photo]. The view from the windows was more interesting, even with the Central London aspect obscured. It's still very green, Croydon, once you look beyond the upstanding inner core. Tiny trams plied the streets below like caterpillars, carrying a cargo of weary shoppers back to the semi-detached avenues beyond [photo]. It was a shame the building's owners hadn't cleaned the windows though, as all the photographs being snapped up top are likely to be heavily dirt-specked. If the council gets their way there'll be a lot more multi-storey development to come in Croydon, which they'll be plotting from their eyrie atop nearby Taberner House. Been up there too [photo] [photo]. Nineteen floors this time, to two of the viewing galleries building into the top corners of the building. There's even a 19½th floor, up a mini spiral staircase to a tiny mezzanine staring out towards the Addington Hills. The northern view is much better than the Threepenny Bit's, apart from a Nestlé advert at tower-top height [photo]. There's the City, and then Docklands, in the far distance, their high-rent clusters glinting in the sunlight. Croydon's towers hope one day to steal some of their business away.
posted 16:15Merton Civic Centre: The London borough of Merton there's only one major highrise building. That's the council offices at the top of Morden High Street, a curved tower with two symmetrical wings erected in the mid 1960s when the borough was created [photo]. Not an especially popular Open House venue, so a mere handful of souls got to be taken up to the roof by a senior member of the building's staff. We were not disappointed. The view from the 15th floor rooftop terrace was excellent, stretching round from Wembley's arch to Croydon's distant-ish metropolis. No haze, so the West End and City were pinpoint sharp, especially when viewed through a pair of municipal binoculars. Lovers of modern architecture could enjoy a tiny Gherkin close to a mini Strata immediately beside an emerging Shard. And in the foreground lay the almost-autumnal hues of Morden Hall Park surrounded by a sea of toytown suburbia [photo]. London's skyline rarely looks so complete [photo]. A warning should you ever drive into the car park below, however, that the curved shape of the building amplifies gusts of wind creating vicious mini-tornadoes with the strength to lift old ladies off the ground! As payback for our rooftop treat, we were then taken down to see a floor of refurbished offices - part of a long-term plan to squeeze in twice as many desks and save lots of money. And finally to the council chamber, where the borough's flip-flop red/blue council meets not many times a year to rubberstamp decisions with due pomp and ceremony. Understated municipal panelling, lush leather seats, and available to hire at very reasonable rates. Me, I'd much rather hold court on the roof.
posted 14:08Alton Estate: I've never previously found it this difficult to plan where to go on Open House weekend. Maybe I've been to too many. And maybe that's why I've kicked off somewhere underwhelming, somewhere that's always open, somewhere I've been before. This time, however, with an expert guide to tell me (and 30 others) more. Up the far end of Roehampton are the Alton Estates, one West and one East, thrown up in the 1950s for South London's displaced slum-dwellers. We've been round both, along with an infectiously enthusiastic speaker from English Heritage and copious handouts. The West is le Corbusian, with mixed development bungalows and tower blocks set among rolling Capability Brown-landscaped grassy slopes [photo] [photo]. Tucked away in unexpected corners are Georgian mansions, whose grounds these once were until the London County Council stole them away. This unlikely combination looks impressive in bright sunshine, although I can't help thinking that none of our very middle class crocodile of visitors would ever choose to live here [photo]. Alton East is a little older, with a more Scandinavian outlook, but also with 10-storey highrises of pioneering postwar design. I've learnt a lot more than I ever would wandering around on my own, and heard disquiet that the council plan to replace the central shopping area with that 21st century curse - the supermarket with flats on top [photo]. This tour was scheduled for an hour but actually took two, so I slunk off 90% of the way round (sorry) and am now nipping across Wimbledon Common to save a bit of precious time. I wonder if the Pope's up yet.
