Picture: 'Billy in Ceasar'

As part of a studio exhibition at London's Southbank Centre, a bunch of the artists got to decorate stacks of cardboard boxes, which were then arranged like pillars or totem poles around which spectators could wander, absorbing the content in her own way. At the last minute, there was an empty space on one of the boxes and this is what I came up with. It's all true, by the way.

Column: December 2017

Spoke ‘n’ words

There is a two-wheel paradox on the

estate. All around us are invitations

to get on our bikes. There are two

Santander cycle stations on Golden

Lane, barely 100 metres apart. Other new bike-hire schemes seem

to be popping up regularly. Nearby Old Street sees a daily rat

run of pedal pushers, speeding like

guided missiles to work and back.

They even have their own café,

Look Mum No Hands! And cycling

certainly fits the City Corporation’s

Air Quality Strategy.

Yet here inside the estate, there are

NO CYCLING signs everywhere.

The one on the wall of Hatfield House

is terrifying: “Action may be taken

against anyone ignoring this

request under the 1990 Environmental

Protection Act”.

The threat is backed by action.

Children on bikes are ordered to

dismount, and last month a bunch

of parkour stunt riders, having sneaked

onto the Great Arthur House roof

garden, were promptly marched off

the estate by police.

Draconian policies are unfortunate,

because the estate’s design is so

enticing to cyclists. It looks like an

urban playground, and despite

technically being a private estate, its openness is one of its most attractive

features. It is built on a series of

raised platforms, so heavy use

impacts on the underlying structure.

This is why attempts to control the footfall of marching City workers

and delinquent cyclists are not

entirely unreasonable.

A hint at a third-way solution arrived

last year when we got a community

cargo bike. Up to now it has been

used mainly as a fun ride for children

(and parents), but it has recently

come under new management so

maybe now it will be steered towards more suitable activities such as

ferrying shopping, bits of furniture

and bags of waste to and fro.

The success of the cargo bike shows

how strict rules can, with measured

regulation and cooperation, be gently

broken with no great loss to public

order or safety. In time we might

even get a few NO KIDS IN CARGO

BIKE signs, but that would be a

small price to pay to see wheels

spinning freely around the estate.

On the move...

Other forms of transportation have

found a niche locally. There is the

Baltic Street Chapter, a bunch of

motorcycle couriers who hang out

in the no-man’s land between Baltic Street East and Baltic Street

West, eating sandwiches and looking

tough; there is the early-evening

mass occupation of Kennedy’s fish

and chip shop on Whitecross Street

by black-cab drivers. And a yellow

minibus trundles around our streets,

leisurely picking up and dropping off

passengers.

This is the 812 hail-and-ride service

provided, strangely, by Hackney

Community Transport (hackneyct.org).

You wave it down like a taxi. Seniors

and children under 16 go free,

otherwise it’s £1 per journey. The route

takes in Golden Lane, then snakes up to Sainsbury’s at the Angel and

onward to somewhere around

Haggerston. Its friendliness is one

of the service’s best-kept secrets.

Branch out…

The Tree Council’s National Tree

Week passed recently without much

fuss hereabouts, but for die-hard

enthusiasts Golden Lane does have

a few quality tick-list specimens.

At west end of Bowater House there

is a monster Indian Bean Tree. At the other end of Bowater, on Fann Street is

a Canadian Sugar Maple. And in the

beds at Hatfield Lawn there is a

Judas Tree, the national tree of Israel.

Add others (Mexican Cherry, Cedar of

Lebanon), and on the Golden Lane

Estate you can practically travel the world in trees. If you did so, it

would not be without controversy.  

At the west end of Bayer House

stands what official documents say

is a beech tree. But one of my

Basterfield House neighbours is

adamant that it is not a beech but a

poplar. Now an expert has stepped

in to verify that the disputed tree,

planted in 1989, is in fact a beech, Fagus Sylvatica, a “fastigate

form of beech that typically grows to a height of 12 metres”.

Live and learn...

The Gresham College website

(gresham.ac.uk) is the place to go

for a juicy free lecture. There are

plenty on offer, both to attend at a real

college in Holborn and at other City locations, or to watch online. There

was a good one recently about how

Scotland tried to ban Christmas carols

in 1582, but I have become hooked

on two in particular: ‘From Mr Pickwick

to Tiny Tim: Charles Dickens and

Medicine’ and ‘A World Without News?’, by former Guardian editor Alan

Rusbridger. Bliss.

An edited version of this column appeared in the City Matters newspaper,
edition number 061.

Diary: November 2017

1 November 2017, London

Last night at the Action for Happiness meeting, the task I pledged to try for next week was to turn a negative into a positive. One a day. I am calling this project N2P. 

*****

Today I went in search of pumpkins. On 5 November the Baggers are having a Harvest Celebration to mark the end of the growing season and the start of the festive season. In the promo, pumpkins were promised and S discovered that all the local suppliers had run out. I decided that Hoxton Street was a good bet, but no, I was wrong. This is my NEGATIVE. I turned it into a positive simply by enjoying a stroll around Hoxton Street and marvelling at the vibrancy of life in this small area of south Hackney. And then, by accident, another POSITIVE arrived. On the bus home, I stopped off at St Luke’s and they had a spare pumpkin, homegrown by M, and possibly three more on Friday when the kitchen have decided whether or not to use their supply to make soup.

2 November 2017, London

Today’s N2P is about Cripplegate 's Alderman. My default view is that he is a ruddy-faced over-privileged uppercrust tosser worthy only of contempt (NEGATIVE). But in the last two meetings I have seen him at he has said things that were not entirely contemptible, and in a recent spat on the Golden Lane website about planning and the decision-making around Bernard Morgan House, he gained my admiration (POSITIVE) just for taking part. Say what you like about him, at least he gets stuck into the conversation. He also turned up to a Baggers open day earlier this year. He came, went, and came back to buy £3 worth of homemade biscuits.

3 November 2017, London

This morning J was telling me about a government ‘policy lab’ she had visited, up a spiral staircase into the Sky Room, housed in a Westminster tower overlooking Big Ben. Here is where lots wonks and nerdy researchers chill out in an informal working environment and toss ideas up and down to see if any of them have legs. I said it sounded idyllic and far from the fevered offices she works in where graduate fast-streamers plot the overthrow of one another, and senior civil servants act out bit parts from The Thick Of It and Yes, Minister. We have recently felt the loss of the TV satire W1A, in which the BBC pulls of the masterstroke of taking the piss out of itself and getting the last laugh. I told Jane that the daily updates of her working life were starting to resemble W1A. She replied suggesting SW1A as the TV title of a new Westminster satire.

*****

Today's N2P is no biggie. While hearing P moan about her shitty, unengaged students at City University (NEGATIVE), I started to really listen to her (POSITIVE). 

4 November 2017, London

Today's N2P was gifted to me. I’d worked myself up (NEGATIVE) for an argument about the City's plans for the development of our estate's community centre, but circumstances robbed me of my rage. What I thought was a drop-in meeting was in fact a presentation, and one I came away from cheery and heartened (POSITIVE). Signs of optimism.

5 November 2017, London

N2P. Badly hung over (NEGATIVE), but still managed to pick up my spirits for the Harvest Celebration on the estate, which was brilliant and very well attended (POSITIVE).

*****

At Harvest Celebration, while eating a scone in the Ralph Perring Centre, M complained to her mother D  about the yucky butter S had provided. It tasted horrible, she said of the “posh butter”. It was President unsalted spreadable.

6 November 2017, London

N2P. Sink blocked as dishwasher and washing machine simultaneously in action (NEGATIVE), so missed Guardian OAE class. Got an email from E saying the class had to leave early anyway, so I would only have been useful for around half an hour. This I count as a POSITIVE.

7 November 2017, London

Bumped into H on Golden Lane. Her Great Grandchildren call her Fevvie, which she says is an old family nickname.

*****

N2P. The treadmill in the gym is boring (NEGATIVE), so I have turned it into a POSITIVE by using it to practise 'Tandem Walking', which is similar to the hip-wriggly stroll supermodels do on the catwalk.

*****

In the film The Killing of the Sacred Deer, the characters played by Colin Farrell and Nicole Kidman do a sex role-play thing in which she starts to undress then asks him, “General anaesthetic?” whereupon she sprawls naked across the bed and plays dead.

8 November 2017, London

Got the 10am yellow hail-and-ride 812 bus from Golden Lane to Lever Street for St Luke’s. On Bunhill Row, two chatterbox white women boarded, exchanged some casual banter with the black woman driver, and sat down. As the bus crossed Old Street and moved along Bath street towards City Road, the chat continued. Then one of the passengers rose to disembark, somewhere near the junction with Radnor Street. As the bus slowed to stop, the passenger moved towards the door, but tripped slightly on a device used to secure wheelchairs or walking frames. She recovered, huffing and puffing, and got off just before City Road, but only after warning words from the driver about remaining seated until the bus has stopped. As we continued onward, the remaining passengers (other than me) spoke about the recently disembarked woman. I overheard that she had two children of her own but had been a working childminder and foster parent for more than 20 years. On hearing this, the driver added that she had a friend who fostered 800 children. This sounded almost impossible, and one of the passengers questioned the number 800 in an astonished tone of voice. The driver clarified: her friend HAD fostered  A TOTAL OF 800, not 800 all at once but 800 altogether, in her life. It still seemed an awful lot.

14 November 2017, London

There is a stunning moment at the end of a new film called The Florida Project. A young seven-year-old girl is about to be taken from her tattooed slatternly mother and placed in care. She shakes free from the social workers and police officers enacting the deed. She runs to her best friend's apartment and bangs on the door. Her friend, also around seven, senses something is wrong. They both gaze into each other's eyes, desperation rising. The child on the inside of the apartment stutters, asking what the matter is. The child on the outside is lost for words, but continues to lock eyes with her best friend. Then she bursts into tears. Uncontrollable sorrow pours out of her. Her friend does not know how to respond so instinct takes over. She takes her friend's hand and leads her on a dash of freedom through a web of Orlando's tacky tourist traps.

****

Another thought is how similar my own childhood in Anfield was to that of the children in this film. In one scene a group of children 'accidentally' set a derelict motel block on fire. I remember setting postboxes on fire and calling the fire brigade.

15 November 2017, London

The smiling security attendant greeted me at the Guardian today. He is Asian, and for some reason that makes his smile seem more genuine. He is small and stocky, with slicked-back black hair. I don’t know whether he recognises me from years ago, before the stroke, but whenever he sees me his eyes light up as if spotting a familiar face. I remember him from all those years ago, but I don’t recall ever acknowledging him in any other way than common politeness. Yesterday he saw me approaching from the street. I normally head for the revolving door, but he waved, signalling that he would open the busted disabled entrance for me. I passed through and we exchanged big smiles. I thanked him in an effusive way and went off to the Y6 class I was helping with. He was there again as I exited around 90 minutes later, and I think my gratitude as he opened the door was again a bit too gushing. 

16 November 2017, London

Headway: I don’t know why anyone bothers to play V at dominoes. He is too good and has that knowing smirk when he knows he's got you beaten.

*****

Martin pronounces his surname, Mangan, as “Mongan”, “Martin James Mongan”.

He identifies many of the things he does as work. When he is in the art studio, a painting is a 'job’, and Michelle urges him to "finish the job" or "get the job done". 

*****

On a trip to the Science Museum, B was talking about how Headway might do something collaboratively with the Science Museum. My choice is for something to do with motor learning. Y's lipstick activity (at the pop-up shop) was both fun, engaging and fascinating. Ditto the motor learning research I did with G at NHNN. In that, I even earned some money but what was really interesting was the use of competition as a motivator.

*****

Back from a Headway visit to the Science Museum. I cannot decide whether it was a success or a failure. We went in a Hackney Community Transport minibus, driven by J. By the time we got there, it was time for lunch. They showed us to a quiet, cavernous basement, where we settled at some folding tables to eat sandwiches. The room was dark and forbidding and it freaked out S, so she disappeared with B. Others were demanding a fag break, so we didn't get that much time to explore the museum before we had to get back to Headway HQ. 

I’m not sure if a better outcome was/is possible with a bunch of people with brain injuries and individual care needs. Would any greater or more expert planning have helped with something so inherently unpredictable? And should the point of these outings be anything more than getting members off their arses and into the real world?

*****

17 November 2017, London

Listening to a reading of Rogue Male by Geoffrey Household on BBC Radio 4 Extra last night, one line of description impressed. I cannot remember the setting or context, but it was the labelling of certain characters as the “ecclesiastes of Savile Row and Jermyn Street”.

*****

Also on the radio last night was the brilliant Alexei Sayle’s Imaginary Sandwich Bar, which alongside Andy Hamilton Sort Of Remembers makes listening to the radio these days an unrivalled joy. Both on BBC.

22 November 2017, London

There were two very sad moments when the City of London Corporation clearance team came to dismantle M’s Crerscent House patio. The first was a sobbing M, sat with J and L, all surrounded by police, saying, over and over, “I’m not a bad person”, and the second was the number of residents who passed by claiming to be disgusted at the unfolding events.

*****

The detachment of those involved in the clearance was depressing. The woman from the High Court whose job it was to enforce the order was stiff as a board. When I changed my glasses to read her identity tag, she snapped: “And you are?” I told her I was a resident, but when she later overheard me talking to a Crescent House resident and to a reporter from City Matters, she became aggressive. “I am not an ‘officer’, as you describe, sir,” she barked when I tried to introduce her to the reporter. She was an officer earlier, when I, a mere ‘resident’, asked who she was. Maybe she changed her mind about her job title at some point afterwards. Bev gave our estate manager, who supervised the clearance (which deployed shopping trolleys from Waitrose and Sainsbury) a mouthful of sarcasm, which I enjoyed.

The people moving all the pots and garden furniture were remote but not disrespectful to Maria’s property. I’m told she will be charged for the clearance, so maybe they were sensitive to that. They completed the task with caution rather than care.

*****

I felt like a disappointed loser, though I’m struggling to imagine what more I could have done. This was an unfair battle and one that never should have taken place. I felt helpless, as M did, and I don’t have all of her many problems to deal with. I did my best, but somehow I don't feel anything great was achieved today.

24  November 2017, London

I knocked on D’s door today to see how she is. She is not long out of hospital after a fall. She came to the door with a walking frame and told me she was good, that she was lucky because her son retired just before her fall and can now look after her, and that she has been out, yes, but in a wheelchair only. I told her I would call again soon. My worry is that D might consider herself a failure as a mother if her son was not looking after her. Yet many of her generation are totally on their own. To admit that to strangers would be hard; to ask for help harder still;

25 November 2017, Courtauld Gallery, London

Soutine's portraits.


30 November 2017, London

McDonald’s in Victoria train station has click-and-collect machines to smooth the journey from cradle to heart attack.

*****

P at Headway says that London is a good place for going out with no plans or at short notice. Culture, he says, is plentiful, whereas in Edinburgh, outside of Festival time, cultural activities must be planned in advance.