Letter: Emily Thornberry MP

I sent a handwritten version of this sometime in March. I was bored and in a very cheeky mood. Thornberry did not reply but passed the letter to Mark Field, who sent me a creepy letter saying there was nothing he could do, etc, not my place to interfere, blah

Dear Ms Thornberry

Islington Council and the City of London Corporation are about to unknowingly gift up to 300 of your constituents to Mark Field MP (Con).

This is the outcome of a proposed plan to redevelop a piece of land on the edge of Islington South formerly occupied by the Richard Cloudesley School to create ‘much needed social housing' and a primary academy.

On paper, the proposals look innocent by modern standards: a two-form primary school and a 14-storey tower block of dual-aspect apartments fronted onto Golden Lane. In practice, the development is a backdoor extension of the Grade II listed Golden Lane Estate.

The Golden Lane Estate is, as you probably already know, a place of worship for architecture students worldwide and a historically important ‘living museum’. It was an attempt to regenerate a badly bomb-damaged area of London after World War II on principles of good functional design, and a socially progressive and humane demonstration of how high-density inner-city living can work and thrive. Key workers from the nearby St Bartholomew’s hospital were among its first residents.

Today it is a much-loved urban oasis of hard-faced concrete, steel framing, coloured wall panels and green spaces. There is a gym, tennis courts and a swimming pool. There is the multi award-winning Golden Baggers allotment project. And we have a soon-to-be updated community hall that recently hosted herds of excited children crawling around the floor while adults sat gently swaying to the sound of a brass band playing David Bowie’s Life on Mars.

Now it has become the plaything of political pygmies. Here we find two councils, City of London Corporation and Islington Council cosied up in a plot to plonk your constituents onto the doorstep of the Golden Lane Estate. Many of them, I am sure, would be very happy about that, but if the current plans go ahead their homes will be managed and controlled by the Corporation of London and, by extension, incorporated into Mark Field MP's constituency of City of London and Westminster. The details of this ugly manoeuvre, plus graphic illustrations of its hideous effects can be found at https://www.facebook.com/groups/GLERA/ Your local Labour colleagues Mary Durcan and William Pimlott can also brief you.

South Islington and Golden Lane residents have lived together happily for many years. We share a lot. We have welcomed our Islington neighbours to events here on Golden Lane and they welcome us to activities around Whitecross Street, King Square and St Luke’s. But now, the partnership of manipulation formed by the City of London and Islington Council in this proposed development is set to blur the borders so much that there is no way your constituents can be adequately represented. In this sense they become hostages to bad politics. I fear Islington has been duped by the dark forces of political chicanery and the desire for an instant solution to key social problems at any cost. The plans are being railroaded forward with unseemly speed and very little proper consultation.

This letter is starting to sound like a Nimby rant, so I will finish, but ask you please to check the details for yourself, for the sake of your displaced constituents and for the reputation of Islington South.

Conversation with Councillors 29.11.16

Somebody said something interesting, eventually

Subject Councillors answer residents' questions
Date Tuesday 29 November, 2016, 19.30h
Location Downstairs, beneath the chess players, Golden Lane Estate community centre

Stanley Cohen House with its Grade II-listed "plastic bags"

Alderman Graves (he is the Big Hat in the posse of our Elected Representatives) began by asking how news of this meeting got around the estate. Did we hear about it via email, paper mail or by some other route such as noticeboards? He soon got the message that things could be improved in that regard before Lee Millam (Great Arthur House) stepped in with an urgent moan about the workmen doing the windows at Great Arthur. 

What were they playing at? Nothing, seemed to be the answer. Drinking tea, rolling fags, discussing whether the universe was infinite or not. Anything but fixing the bloody windows. The Alderman started to take on the ruddy complexion of a man who'd just realised that leaving his new golf clubs in the E-type was probably not such a good idea. One of the other councillors (a lone woman among six men) said something along the lines of "we hear what you're saying", which I'm not sure was the answer Mr Millam was looking for.

The subject moved on in a roundabout way to social housing, right-to-buy, who pays for what, how the housing stock is protected from predatory speculators in the age of Materialism Gone Mad, and the thorny issue of numbers of properties built versus the location of said properties. 

Roughly speaking, at the core of this is whether, for the same money, to build 100 new residential properties in the centre of Cripplegate, or else to build 300 dwellings four miles outside of it. These are the Big Questions those at the Corpy agonise over every minute of their lives, and especially during toilet breaks. Add into this equation a heavy shot of central-government busy-bodying and it's headaches all round. 

Councillor Gareth Moore (he's our guy off the estate) raised some characteristically realist points and explained that it is in the DNA of the Corpy to skew all decision-making towards business and commerce (my words), and that the planning protocols that apply for commercial projects differ entirely from those that apply to residential stuff. My understanding from what he said was that the Planning Committee on the council was overegged with expertise in the commercial field, but very light on expertise in the residential area. This has resulted in no end of bureaucratic constipation for residential matters, but was now being corrected by someone new in charge of things.

Then came an interesting bit, and it came from Alderman Graves, who was by now warming to the occasion and looking a little less likely to burst a blood vessel. It was triggered by Paul Lincoln (Basterfield House), who said that Barbican residents have special status within the Corpy - their very own committee - whereas Golden Lane is some kind of poor relation, forever in receipt of second-hand clothes. Gravesie, as I was now calling him (to myself), put on his 'thinking-cap' face and said that the way forward might be to start up a Golden Lane Working Party. To my ears this sounded like progress, and even the other assembled councillors (who all sit in a row, looking as if they are waiting to be called into the head teacher's office) showed signs of resurrection.

The Alderman's suggestion was not an opportunity to be missed, and after a brief diversion into drains, insurance and a potent question from myself about the poor lighting around the estate, Sue Pearson (Hatfield House) whose middle name is Persistence, raised her hand. Were the assembled officers aware of the newfound love affair between Golden Lane residents and the Corpy, instigated by projects such as the redevelopment of the community centre, the Lord Mayor's float and an overall softening of behavioural tones. After a massive whinge about the "plastic bags" still stuck on the end of Stanley Cohen House, she spoke about evolving plans to find a robust yet sustainable management model for when the community centre is refurbed and reopened. Magically, she screwed a pledge of support from each of the honourable members of Death Row and everybody skipped off home to watch Jordan Banjo getting evicted from I'm a Celebrity...Get Me Out of Here!

Happy days.

Encounter: On Golden Lane

Children and animals - keep your distance from Billy Mann

I don't think I can be faulted for not spotting the approach of this particular missile. I was walking home one afternoon when I became aware of three children further down the road I was on. They were in high spirits, excited and laughing. As I neared them, two peeled off, leaving a girl, I guess around ten years old, standing in front of me. She spoke to me directly.

"Excuse me, mister, but did you know..." 
She stopped, looked slightly bashful, then returned her gaze to mine.
"Did you know that David Cameron..." she started to giggle and looked around for her friends. I thought it was time to say something, so I pulled off my glasses, dipped my head slightly and uttered, "I'm sorry, I don't hear very well..." I thought I was giving her the opportunity to make a quick exit from the encounter, but no, she ploughed on with renewed vigour.
"David Cameron. He's the prime minister." 
I nodded.
"He put his penis in a pig's mouth. I'm sorry, this is very rude." 
The giggles got the better of her and she covered her mouth with her hand. I feigned surprise, opening my eyes wide in mock shock.
"One of his ministers... One of his min... Someone who used to work for him spread it around. It's true. It's all over the internet."
"Was the pig alive?" I asked
"No, it was dead," she replied.
"A dead pig?!"
"Yes."
"Well, thankyou for telling me that. That is a very strange thing to do, isn't it?"
"Yes, bye."

Men's Shed: Ally Pally Garden Centre

Billy Mann joins St Luke's Community Centre Men's Shed on a plant-buying mission north of Old Street

Ally Pally garden centre is a regular destination for St Luke's Men's Shed. It has the twin advantages of being on home turf (or thereabouts) for St Luke's gardening guru Heather, who imparts valuable purchasing advice before each visit, and it is on a route that is permanently etched into our driver's mind. Kishoor, CEO of Kishoor Tours, knows the route like the back of his hand and is not slow to fill us in on the most interesting landmarks that pepper our route.

The outward journey is normally a quiet crawl through north London, but today Graham got the banter off to a speedy start, and by the time we reached Highbury Corner subjects as diverse as FGM, the price of wildflower seeds and a family connection with the Sultan of Brunei had already been tackled. With Magic 105.4fm on the radio (Sister Sledge, Seal), a gentle mood quickly took over, and as we neared the garden centre, climbing the hill behind a sluggish W3 bus, the leaves of autumn were wide awake and flashing their golden glory for all to see.

As we emptied out of the van in the usual spot (next to the pot displays), a light drizzle had started. We had a mission (of sorts). The small plot in King Square garden (kindly donated and supported by Islington Council) that has become the focus of the St Luke's Men's Shed ambitious growing activities is in need of some deep-soil crops to overwinter. So we all scattered in search of potential candidates, leeks being an early favourite. 

The Men's Shed patch in King Square garden

In the past, Ally Pally garden centre has offered so many sightings of celebrities that photographers from Heat magazine, or Closer, or Sleb Cellulite would not look out of place. Today, however, not a jot. Not a bad hair day in sight. Even inside, where row upon row of gardening delights are laid out for casual browsing, not a famous face could be found amid the Hunter wellies and watering cans. The closest we came to excitement arrived just after Kishoor wrenched himself from the cafe to ponce a quick squirt from the lavender hand cream on display. Meanwhile, Graham had a bee in his bonnet about finding a Venus Flytrap to go with the growing collection of carnivorous plants he keeps on his windowsill.

Just in case you are thinking that a laugh and giggle for a bunch of blokes is the sole purpose of these adventures, here is a list of the stuff we bought with cash kindly donated by Islington Council: leeks, wildflowers, green manure, broad beans, red cabbage, green cabbage, spring onion, French beans, pansies, sweet peas, sunflowers, beetroot, onion, carrot and, no we didn't forget, COMPOST. 

It was raining proper as we bundled back into the van, and as we motored south back to St Luke's HQ in Central Street for a cuppa, we all studied our dirty fingernails with pride. Magic 105.4fm got our toes tapping with Come On Eileen and the van reverberated to the sound of multiple reminiscences of childhoods spent hop picking in Kent. All in all, a very productive outing.