Concrete Rules

I must have watched Mary Mungo and Midge at a very impressionable age: high-rise living has always appealed to me.  Maybe it was the pretty, pastel colours of Mary’s tower block; the sweet, 60s daisies in her window box; the view from her window of the idyllic, little town; the playground; her cute pets… I don’t know but I guess it was the root of my Barbican obsession.  Yes, I know that millions of tons of concrete can’t be described as pretty and window boxes are forbidden in the towers but if you read this article, written by Jonathan Glancey in 2001, just as the buildings were listed, you will get a sense of just how idyllic urban living can be.

From my south-facing balcony, I look across mature gardens to the dome of St Paul's Cathedral.

For any Londoner, and particularly one with a love of architecture, it would be hard to beat a view of this, the greatest of all domes. This view and the light captivated me. The huge skies above the Barbican are things denied to Londoners living in two-, three- and even four-storey homes. The moon seems bigger and more splendid here than it ever can from the pavement, glimpsed through the interstices of city streets. Early-morning jets bound for Heathrow etch silent vapour trails across the sky. Turboprops nosing into City Airport thrum as they turn over St Paul's, animating a skyscape unexpectedy rich in bird life. 

And so it was that yesterday I managed to persuade an estate agent to take us to the 30^th floor of Lauderdale Tower. Standing in the groovy, triangular lobby, I could just see Mungo stood by the lift doors with Midge perched on his nose, pressing the button.

This is the view…

On a crisp, sunny day, the towers of the Barbican rise like the best 50s sculpture up through Piranesian car-park basements and flower-bedecked podiums into the bird- and plane-graced City sky. To date, only Tower 42, the former NatWest Tower, designed by Colonel Seifert, has the temerity to look down on London's tallest housing. On misty days, the Barbican towers vanish, as the Empire State Building does so magically in Manhattan, their sculptural bulk suggesting some ruined castle, Tintagel or Richmond, perhaps. They are never less than a haunting sight.

Sigh... couldn’t have put it better myself.

Hang on! What’s this?

The sheer mass of all those millions of tons of concrete means that homes here are as soundproof as they come this side of the padded cells of an asylum. Maybe there are people here who play the Chemical Brothers or Deep Purple in Rock at full volume. Maybe there are dogs howling illicitly through the night (no dogs, by order: one of the shortcomings of Barbican living). Perhaps there are babies bawling for attention. Yet the Barbican sleeps on, its urban dream pinpricked by the occasional police siren.

Right. I’ve never liked all that dark, brutal concrete. I wouldn’t live there if you paid me.

Fairytale Chateau in the French countryside.. That’s the way to go. They like dogs in France.

Bet the BBC bought that Mary, Mungo and Midge off Frog TV…

Top Tourist Tip - and it's free!

I like to think of the dazzling One New Change and all its shops and restaurants, slap bang next to St Paul's Cathedral as my local shopping centre. Its not really. Morrisons and CarpetLand at the end of the road are but I like to PRETEND that it is. If I had a flat in the Barbican it would be a pleasant stroll away but on Sunday morning you can fly there in ten minutes in the Volvo and nab the best parking space in town for free.

The gleaming escalators glide you down to a tranquil M & S food hall with more staff than customers. All the other shops are open too, but pretty much deserted on a Sunday; it feels like being a figure in an architects drawing. Ed and I took in some tennis on an enormous TV screen; dozens of pristine striped deck chairs laid out on an Astroturf lawn, we ate strawberries in the cool while centre court sweltered.  

Designed by French architects Jean Nouvel the building is a stunner. Nicknamed The Stealth and with 6,000 shaded, smokey glass panels set at different angles like a huge faceted crystal it almost disappears into the grey London sky and in my opinion (but not Prince Charles's) sits in perfect contrast beside the imposing dome of St Paul's (actually designed by Wren to appear even larger and more dominant than it actually is). 

A ride up to the 6th floor in the glass elevator is the most exciting trip I've made in a long time and on Friday evening, after dinner at Jamie Oliver's Barbecoa for Ed's birthday we had the entire roof to ourselves with the most incredible views over the cathedral and the whole of London. 

Highly recommended.