the ballad of tinsley towers...

tinsley towers prior to last weeks demolition

well, that's the problem with travelling...look away, turn your back for a minute and when you spin round they've gone and changed it all, pulled every damn thing down and put up a parking lot....

a little while ago, back in the spring, you might remember that i visited sheffield to take a peek at the tinsley towers, a pair of rare but delapidated 1940's cooling towers on the rotherham end of the m1, decried by some as an eyesore but admired by others as elegant modernist icons of the regions industrial heritage. click here for my earlier posting:whilst for the whole story and 3 year long campaign, follow this link.

condemned to demolition despite winning channel 4's Big Art Prize, following a vigorous campaign to preserve what could prove to be an integral and unique part of sheffield's burgeoning regeneration plans, i took the edale train over the pennines. i wanted to take a look around, do a spot of delving and try to understand why a city with a brand new bold 'masterplan' was blind to the potential offered by these iconic structures, why they were determined to ignore the pleas of many of its citizens, and why the support of the likes of anthony gormley and anish kapoor, artists well known for their involvment in other successful regeneration packages, fell on firmly deaf ears.

in the journal entry i wrote at the time i expressed some fears about the future of our cities, devoid as they might soon be of any 20th century icons, without remnants of our troublesome century - fears about the determination of our local authorities, planners and the privatised development companies formed to rebrand, reinvent, and culturally whitewash our thousand-year old bunioned, carbunkled and beautifully wrinkled towns and cities into strait jacketed, endlessly repeated narrow visions of 'cosmopolitan sophistication', usually mediocre and doomed to be almost immediately outdated...

lulled into an insane and clearly unwise reverie of optimism as i subsequently travelled across france, mooching happily round the disshevelled glamour of old europe, with its careworn and casual sophistication, i had temporarily forgotten about the threat to the tinsley towers and fondly imagined that such widespread support and stalwart campaigning would at least instigate a stay of execution or perhaps a re-think and some intervention by the woefully mis-named regeneration company in charge, creative sheffield.

yes dear reader, you of course in your wisdom are already laughing bitterly at this display of naivity from a lady of such long years and life experience! for whilst i was away e-on the owners were moving rapidly with plans for their sad demise, dangling a fat wad of cash to the city as compensation, for you've guessed it, a lovely new 'landmark' artwork in their place. giant stainless steel footballs have apparently already been mooted as suitable replacements for the former eyesores.

the towers were demolished last sunday, the bank holiday weekend, at 3am, with a viewing platform kindly provided for the occasion. video footage and media coverage is all over the internet and easily available to anyone wishing to see the death of these elegant but austere architectural classics. i for one can't bear to look but i read with bitter satisfaction that they literally refused to collapse without a fight.

the demolition and rebranding of our cities is continuing, even gathering pace, and there's not much time left to ensure that we are not erasing our histories, our own archaeological moment, our part in the ongoing patina of the metropolis, warts and all, with every vernacular building we carelessly bulldoze or detonate.

english heritage are belatedly catching up with what is being seen as a crisis by an increasing flottila of 20th century historians, cultural geographers, architects and the like, and for the past 10 years has published an annual list of buildings at risk, deciding this year to take a new approach. to coincide with new legislation, the charity has launched the Heritage At Risk list, a comprehensive guide to monuments at risk of being relegated to the past. this now includes not only buildings, but battlefields, parks and shipwrecks. and for a brilliant overview of the state of the nations heritage, covering all periods, try the save britains heritage website .

and finally i beg you to learn more about the precarious state of our 20th century classics by visiting the 20th century society. its an invaluable site with details of cases across the whole country, a building of the month feature, and details of talks to attend and ways to join in and lend support.

read it, subscribe to it, lend your support. go wild and join it! save our future...

Camping part 1: the seige of carcassonne

tonight we are camped below the celebrated walls of carcassonne, like the motley crusaders of pope innocent 3rd before us, hunkered in under the lofty battlements waiting to storm the cite, whilst its expectant inhabitants gird themselves for the fray to come. but this time round it’s we, both invading hordes and faithful pilgrims, who are lambs to the slaughter enticed like the armies of yesteryear by the lure of a fantasy…. pilgrims just as much as those encouraged to besiege the walls by that fateful papal edict.

the camping i imagine is also not so different despite the centuries - pick a good spot, up canvas, shake out the bedding, light a fire, heat up water and prepare a makeshift meal. eat under the stars and plan the operation ahead...

accommodation around cathar country is notoriously tricky to secure, booked up days, weeks in advance. we were turned away from our first attempt, the aptly named 'camping de la cite', and a scrum of camper vans, cars, cyclists and bikers ensued as alternatives were suggested and the caravanserai of pilgrims moved on to lay siege to another hamlet along the route.

our eventual stop is a trusty municipal campsite 5km south, the hulking fairy topped citadel still visible on the horizon, a confection of heritage, a confusion of history. largely the re-creation of the somewhat notorious renovator of france, Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, who perhaps over enthusiastically restored the fortress in 1853, it bears little actual resemblance to the carcassonne of the albigensian crusade. nonetheless its presence is undeniably stirring as the dark gathers and night closes in on our ragged company of brightly coloured vans, canvases and awnings, reminiscent in my romantic dreamings of medieval encampments long ago…

the campsite proper is full as is everywhere else on route, but we are kindly offered the boules field next door on the proviso we are all gone at first light. as we pitch up the makeshift base fills up with others also on the holy trail and we greet the by-now familiar faces as they draw up, congratulating each other on making it, sharing provisions and passing on nuggets of information about local amenities. by dusk the flurry of activity around the field and the evening repast is over, our improvised company is settled, lamps lit, hammocks slung, beds unrolled.

it’s an early start tomorrow, as our weary band readies itself for the battle ahead. guide books are primed, digital cameras poised, as another 'authentic' experience is anticipated, checked off and bagged. but like all armies before us, the eve of battle brings with it both unease and calm, and over the perpetual hush of the citadel above us can be heard a more prosaic quiet, the snores and wheezes of nearby strangers, the snuffling and rustlings of dogs in strange surroundings providing a peculiar, quite unmodern, lullaby....

dawn chorus

in brunswick, on the edge of the metropolis, the day dawns to the roar and rattle of the juggernauts, the incoming commuters, the never ending 24 hour onslaught of city life.


here at the harbour, on the edge of the languedoc's salty etangs, the day dawns to an altogether different rhythm...the caw of a seagull, the splodge at the side of the boat as it lands, bobbles about a while, has a waddle and a stretch, before dipping noisily, hungrily for breakfast.


in that rosy fingered first glow of morning, there's just one at first, and i ignore it, savouring the last few peaceful moments of the new day in my snug cabin, before the whole dawn chorus begins in earnest. he's not such a nuisance this first fellow, skooting about, flopping in and out of the water more for a casual morning wash it seems than any actual feeding intent. i fancy that its the same early riser each time, and that we have forged a fledgling friendship, a mutual agreement that we wont disturb each other's dawn rituals.

then the others drop in. first just a few, splashing and sploshing in the water, ducking and diving for the shoals of tiny fish that skirt the harbour and my little vessel. then the big boys muscle in and the games up. its the seagull equivalent of the arndale fish market when the catch is coming in...

eventually the cawing, cackling and relentless divebombing of the entire neighbourhood colony forces me to face the new day, peer out of my porthole and decide whether its flip flops or sandals as i make the morning trip to the boulangerie for my own breakfast....

green architecture montpelier style

evening has crept up; only the lights of the cafes and restaurants in the harbour and the lamps bobbing and swaying on neighbouring yachts break up the inkyness closing in. i have a brief wifi window so i'm jotting a few impressions down whilst they are still glowing, still vivid, excitable, jumbled and jostling for attention in my head....forgive me if they make little sense.

i'm aboard a tiny boat just outside montpelier in the heart of the languedoc. its the second week of my sojourn but its not my first visit - the region is fertile territory for the flaneur, the archaeologist, the explorer and investigator of the urban phenomena. here the city has survived it all - plague and pestilance, religion, heresy, invasion, inquisition, industrialisation, depression, rediscovery and tourism - its hide a carbuncled palimpsest of grand events and everyday lives.

the region is peppered with history with a capital h. cities like avignon, nimes, carcassonne, arles and albi reverberate with the clashes and cries of the cathars and the crusading church, the battle for hearts and minds in a bloody and relentless civil war, the rigours of the perfecti, the dictacts of popes, the flames and burning oils of orthodoxy versus heresy. the evidence is etched in the fortress cathedrals, the walled citadels, a legacy of fierce independence felt to this day, an isolation from the north and parisian influence that pervades in the dilapidated shutters and arrow slit, seige resistant battlements.

but this isn't the only side to the languedoc - more recently it has experimented with modern architecture, most noticably in nimes and montpelier, both cities that glory in their deep stratigraphy, their ancient and noisy narratives. nimes is of course famed for its venerable roman past with an amphitheatre, temple of diana and magificent aqueduct at its epicentre, whilst montpelier's medieval core and unique cathedral is undoubtedly its drawcard. but neither have been afraid to embrace and commission new architecture not without some controversy.

montpelier is infamous in the guide books for its themed new town, antigone, a sprawling urban development of planned administrative headquarters and new housing, pedestrianised and accessible by its integrated tramways and cycle routes, lush and green boulevards and river running through its middle. but its grand proportions and rather sterile neogeorgian pretensions make it inevitably rather risible in such close comparison to the 'centre historique' and i gave it little thought on my last visit.

however the urban gardening exhibition at urbis this summer alerted me to a couple of treasures lurking in the much derided antigone by the celebrated green architect edouard francois, so this week i hired a velo for the day in montpelier and cycled out in search of these vertical gardens, to see for myself his vision for urban living and the potential for the greening of the contemporary concrete jungle...

riding alongside the tram system, which has cleverly provided room for walking and cycling across 120 km of the city's neighbourhoods is a doddle, and a trick we missed when planning our own metro system. i wasnt really sure where the estate would be but i kept cycling around the vicinity until a curtain of trees and a flash of flowering shrubs and succulents high up amongst some roof tops made me suspicious. sure enough deep amidst this urban verdancy was a series of residencies not dissimiliar in size and scale to the old hulme crescents, but a world away in every other respect.

deck accessed and crescent shaped, perhaps seven stories high and enclosed within communal gardens, the blocks are literally camoflaged by the shrubs, trees and flowering plants emanating from every balcony. these balconies are the piece de resistence, designed as tree houses and wooden look outs. the walls themselves are giant boulders, netted and covered in vines and sprouting succulents, giving the impression that the whole apartment block has risen from the rocks, from nature, threatening to completely envelop it lord of the flies style...

i have taken many photos of this lush and generous vision of high rise living but until i am able to download them, here are a couple of sample snaps taken from the internet to give you an idea. the montpelier flats are now nearly 8 years old and are a riot of green and colour, a visual and olfactory treat!

'sprouting building’, montpellier, france (2000) exterior walls featuring rocks held in place by a stainless-steel net covered in plants.

‘tower flower’ paris, france, 1999, residential building disguised in bamboo trees

if like me you are intrigued by his ideas and designs and wish to know more, follow this link for a short interview and intriguing pictures of his most famous housing schemes - http://www.designboom.com/eng/interview/francois.html