Battersea Power Station is clearly the finest structure in London, forget Apsley House, you want imposing might, you can’t go further than Sir Giles Gilbert Scott’s magnificent Art Deco monolith of brick.
So he had a stab at the telephone box, and Bankside (or the Tate Modern) is alright, but those four chimney’s rising from clutter of terraces and railway sidings strike an imposing figure over the city skyline. And it’s not surprising, it’s the largest brick building in Europe.
From Pink Floyd to Children of Men, via The Beatles and The Dark Knight, it is scorched into our modern cultural psyche, the Bank of England burnt tens of thousands of pounds in the furnaces there when they thought the Bosch were about to conquer us during WW2. Meanwhile the RAF were using the plumes of smoke to guide them home. Screaming Lord Sutch wanted to cover it in wool and make it look like a dead sheep, John Broome tried to turn it into a theme park.
Now they want to turn it into a naff collection of faux pot plants and cafes, with a riverside walkway way, exterior designed to within an inch of it’s life. They’ll probably fail. But I don’t care, it meant that it was opened for two days for the public to get inside and have a wander, and this just hasn’t happened very often.
(PVZ would have wet himself)
On a different note, but while I have your attention, the next day I attended the Lovebox Weekender, and aside from Goldfrapp having these totally ace guys dressed up like colourful carpets pinging it all over the stage, Wayne Coyne from the Flaming Lips came out in a massive plastic ball and went walking and crawling all over the crowd, oh, and yeah, their show was amazing too