I woke half-heartedly this morning, feeling no particular urge to do anything exciting, like clean my teeth, or physically get up and make a cup of tea. I had just enough energy to switch on the button that brings out the television embedded at the foot of our bed and switch it on to watch the news and then Laura Kuenssberg's programme. Cop 27 in Egypt finished with many of Glasgow's promises on fossil fuel from last year left unconfirmed. The scientists say that the goal of a 1.5C maximum upgrade on the temperature in the XIXth century by 2050 is no longer achievable. We will lose many species for sure, more glaciers will melt in the Alps and the Himalayas, most of the coral reef will disappear, and the fires and floods will continue with biblical effects and increasing frequencies. We have just had our 8th billion baby and India has virtually caught up with China in population.The only good news on that front is that Lula has promised to prevent further damage to the rain forests in Brazil, Indonesia has planned to stop utilizing coal and the principle was established of a loss and damage fund for third world nations suffering from climatic disasters. Sadly, however, that fund does not possess a single dollar.
Then we have the Tories desolate because the latest budget will not save them from a calamitous election result and Labour also desolate because the latest budget will give them a bitter victory in two years time in which they will inherit all the tax increases, energy overreach and government cuts that the Tories have postponed. In the meantime we have plunged into recession without an anaesthetic. Thank you, Brexit, Covid, Putin and Truss. Kuenssberg tried to cheer us up with the latest Artemis launch but the thought of humans settling on the Moon by 2030 was not really relevant to our current concerns.
To cheer myself up I decided to view the new retail development at the Battersea Power Station. This gigantic construction, with its two massive turbine rooms and four magnificent concrete chimneys, remains impressive, just as it did in 1929 when it was opened as a single coal-fired power station. The second turbine hall was added in the 1940s to meet with the energy capacity required for London. It was a magnificent piece of industrial architecture designed by Giles Gilbert Scott. I remember in the early 1970s, during the three day week under Edward Heath, standing on Chelsea Bridge at midnight, eating a hot snack from the all night hot dog stall and watching the collier barges surreptitiously and silently sailing into the Battersea Power Station jetty.
Now the building remains colossal and there are lift excursions inside one of the 103 metre chimneys, three storeys of shops and bars and a cinema under the roof. The place is teeming with life. On the north side there is an ice rink and a fun fair reaching to the riverside. Yes, the place has life, but it has no real soul. The building, tamed and gutted for so many years, does not inspire and energize within its lifeless walls.
However, adjoining the south side are some fanciful residential blocks, which look like a badly designed lego construction in white bricks with windowed balconies popping out of the building. Certainly eye catching, and actually a very clever layout of what I am sure are roomy and comfortable interiors.
On the way I had picked up a fresh copy of my dear friend's book, in which my sensuous and lovely Grazyna Maxwell has written about her brother after he got selected for a wrinklies reality show called the "Love Spa". It was an original idea to have people in their sixties and seventies meet and undergo all the toing and froing of a Big Brother experience but with the ambition of showing that these old folk still having a goal in life, and can still find adventure and romance. I have seen pictures in the book of them dancing, dressing up for an XVIIIth century ball and zooming along a high wire, and I have started to read this. I promised to give Grazyna my estimation of the book, and so far it looks promising. I wonder whether it will be a bitchfest, as well as a love in, and whether her brother, who is a widower, actually finds romance. On my way home I dropped in on a retro concert with pre-war Polish and English songs, where a lot of guests turned up in flapper gear. The atmosphere in the POSK basement, the so call Jazz Club, was electric, as the singers crooned to our delight along with some quite suggestive songs, such as "I'm too frightened to sleep alone", which had been a hit in the Polish 1930s cabaret scene. There were some wonderful gifts auctiond off and I got myself a beautiful Japanese doll in a deep red kimono. I paid only £100 and I felt guilty as I think the organizers had hoped to auction it at a higher price. Should I offer them more money? I will ask Albina when she arrives.
No comments:
Post a Comment