Found lost cat was not lost.

Cats are never lost, they know exactly where they are. It is their 'owners' who are lost having formed an un-natural dependency upon the most independent creature on the planet.

Unoccupied Social housing in Notting Hill/Ladbroke Grove.

This part of West London has a serious housing problem. There is not, according to RBKC housing department, enough social housing to meet the needs of the massive waiting list.

Why is it then that there are many, many empty, untennanted properties in the area?

I've noticed a lot of long term empty homes in the neighbourhood and assumed that they were privately owned, but having checked out the social housing database I find that a large number of the places are Council or Housing Association owned.  During a short walk down one road in W11 I identified 3 definitely empty Council owned flats flats. Spotting the empty basements is simple, the weed covered entrances are a giveaway. I have no idea how many of the upper flats are empty.

I would be very interested to know the actual number of unlet Council and Housing Association flats here. It looks like RBKC don't really want to house the people on the waiting list after all.  I wonder why?

Below are photographs of some of the properties I identified:

Three bedroom flat in Westbourne Park Road. Empty for 3 years. Managed by Notting Hill Housing.

 

Basement flat, obviously unoccupied. The path is covered in untrodden weeds.                                    

Another basement flat with overgrown path and doorway.

I'll be adding to this list in due course and speaking to RBKC about the matter.

If you want to check your street the database is HERE

My 'post Grenfell' Utopian dream.

One result of the Grenfell disaster must be a complete change in attitude to social housing and the people living within it. Grenfell has opened a can of worms, the can is labelled Grenfell Tower but now opened we find the contents be, not the occupants but RBKC, successive governments and a privileged elite. For decades we have been miss sold the notion that poor people are the problem. It is time to turn that notion on its head.

A tower block is a village.

Villages traditionally grew organically in places that were not accidental or random but because of a natural resource or a social need: it may have been a river crossing, a water source, geological or agricultural resources, a major crossroad, a castle, a church, a need for a staging post for weary horses and travellers... The list is endless. As villages grew in size elements arrived to support the needs of the people...  The village pump or well, the pub, the baker, the village store, the village hall, the church, the village bobby. These services were provided by enterprising villagers or incomers who themselves became part of the community. Modern transport systems and the out of town superstore have put paid to much of the self sufficiency of small communities but much is still there, most importantly the village green which is sacred.

A tower block is a village.

Through careless planning, disregard for the inhabitants and thoughtlessness over the past 70 years or so these 'villages' have been erected throughout Britain. Villages intentionally created without the infrastructure that would allow soul or character to flourish. Multi story carcass parks.

My Utopian vision:

In my tower block there is:

A village green on the roof, planted with wild flowers, a children's garden, bee hives.

Within the building on a mid level floor that is open plan, a cafe and small kids play area by day then a peaceful meeting place in the evening, perhaps a gallery space too,  a place for  children birthday parties and the like. A social place, a village pump. This must not be stigmatised by the patronising title of 'community centre'. Multi purpose spaces can work, Westbank Gallery under the Westway is a good example.

A floor for teenagers with a pool table perhaps, a pinball machine, sounds,  a soundproofed practice room for the Joe Strummers of the future... Ask them what they want and, within reason, give it to them.

A shop or two.

A women only space, a refuge from men.This is not a modern concept, the W.I has existed for generations.

Four lifts, two stairwells, one built into a central concrete core to act as fire escape.

At ground level, a double height entrance lobby, lots of plate glass to break down the barrier that exists presently in such buildings with their steel doors and blank walls. A 24 hour concierge. A seating/meeting area (in an hotel this would be called the lobby lounge and would be considered essential).  Perhaps a small cafe  also catering for a seating area outside the building.  A lavatory/washroom.  I could go on.

My tower will not be clad. It will be painted on a 5 year cycle. The design/colour scheme will be decided by a competition open to all. It will be as dazzling as a honey coloured Cotswold village in its way.

The cost and practicalities. Where is the money going to come from?

Ring fence the council tax and rental income and plough it back into the building and its occupants. Put in place additional subsidies. Scrap Trident.

The services created within the building create jobs. Give those jobs to residents and provide them with training and support if needed.

Treat people with respect and they will invariable reciprocate. Treat people with respect and they will invariably respect their environment.

Regeneration should apply to the occupants as well as the real estate. This applies to all social housing schemes, not just high rise.

Trust me... I'm a dreamer.

Scientology and Tragedy and other Grenfell Tower stories.

There was an extraordinary event yesterday under the Westway. I'll write about it later.

What I want to write about now is this:

As I walked to the event I spotted a bright yellow, high viz van parked adjacent to the flyover. The van informed me that it was the Church of Scientology.


Later as I sat in the garden of the Maxilla centre I noticed that same high viz yellow, this time on T shirts dotted among the crowds adorning those apparently part of the organisation.



The organisers of the event were wearing tags around their necks, one such man was also wearing a high viz yellow cap. I approached him, inspected his tag and asked if he was an organiser of the event. He replied to the positive. I then asked who was behind it all. He pointed to his companion's T shirt, you guessed it, high viz yellow emblazoned with the words: 'Scientology Volunteer Minister'.

I asked him to confirm that. He did.

I went back to my seat and my companion who was carrying a  professional video camera. We then sat and watched as the entire Scientology presence evaporated within seconds. They vanished.

I find this highly disturbing. The Church of Scientology is the last presence one needs in such a situation. They prey on victims, they prey on the marginalised, they prey on the weak, they prey on the confused and all they offer is the impossible. The implausibly sick impossible.

Why were they allowed anywhere near here?

To be continued

Previously unseen Rothko found in West London.

Arts Correspondent Jan Nieupjur writes:

Walk through Notting Hills streets these days and the chances are you will stumble upon a Banksy screaming to be noticed and then scraped from its wall in order to be sold to save a youth club or some such worthy institution.  However if you open your mind to the unexpected far more worthy works of art are to be found.

The image above is one of a series of panels commissioned from Mark Rothko by the Four Seasons burger bar in the 60's. Prior to delivering the works Rothko visited the restaurant and was horrified by the quality of the images of plastic looking food on the walls and promptly withdrew from the contract, selling the panels to a firm of hoarding contractors in Shepherds Bush. The panels have remained hidden in their warehouse until recently when they were used at the Sarm West Studios site in Basing Street W11.

The works are important in that they show clearly how Rothko was moving away from Abstract depressionism towards the light of 'Nieupjurism' to which I had introduced him in the late 50's.

These paintings should be preserved for the nation but sadly one must assume that they will be overpainted by some Banksy wannabe in the near future.

The works in situ along with 'Bags of Rubbish' by Sala Murat and 'Postbox' by Tracey Emin.



Jan Nieupjur is Emeritus Professor of daubing at the University of Life. He is the founder of both the Abstract Depressionist movement and the Nieupjurist school of painting. His Autobiography, 'A figment of my imagination' is unlikely to ever see the light of day.

When a pelican becomes a lemon.

The Pelican pub on All Saints Road has always been a bit of a lemon. Tucked away behind Portobello Road it managed to avoid attracting too many customers. It has had a history punctuated by misfortune; if it wasn't burning down it was being subjected to drug raids or being thieved from. It closed down a few weeks ago after an attempt to turn it into some sort of ersatz country gastro pub type thing failed.

The place has now reopened with a new name: 'THE RED LEMON'. Judging from the menu posted outside the place considers itself to be some kind gastro pub. We shall see.

This part of London has a strange relationship with its pubs, most of which have closed now. The public house was historically the refuge of what was once called the working class.  RBKC and the developers are systematically displacing the indigenous population in favour of wealthy incomers who will most certainly not be frequenting boozers, preferring the likes of the Electric or E&O which begs the question: Who is the Red Lemon aimed at?

Beer prices in pubs are now ridiculous, in the recently refurbished KPH on Ladbroke Grove, a pint is £5 making a trip to the pub a luxury for most ordinary people, leaving a small nucleus of dysfunctional barflies to prop up both the bars and the finances of what few pubs are left.

UPDATE: I wandered int the red lemon for a beer this evening at 7.45 and suddenly found myself in a local pub, you know, how pubs used to be, people talking to each other. How cool is that!

The beer is not overpriced, it is 80 pence cheaper than Vince Power at the KPH. The place has been painted out cooly in a way that has not been decided by the owners flowery wife and hooray, the emphasis is on it being a pub.

I haven't tried the food yet but will report on that when I have. It seems to be a great deal more inexpensive than the usual run of the mill places.


The new owner is a gutsy woman, Ali, who is determined to make it work and if she has the desire to stand behind the bar for a while and make it her own she may well succeed in giving the pelican wings… Or the lemon zest.

Bess Cavendish at Mau Mau, Portobello Road.

Bess was captivating!

You do not capture a butterfly in a net or a glass jar but in gentle hands that understand every nuance of that butterflies movements. 

Blue door. Portobello Road. Notting Hill. Bollocks!

In reality the 'blue door' in the film 'Notting Hill' no longer exists; it wasn't on Portobello road but on Westbourne Park Road and was sold long ago for an obscene amount of money. Yet the tourists continue to swarm down from Notting Hill Gate in search of the holy grail. I have picked up, from the street, written instructions from tour guides on how to find the door. Amazing! I shall be, from time to time, adding images of other blue doors in the area.

I've walked past this door on All Saints Road many, many times but only now have noticed the Number.

The owners of this one have rebuilt the wall, cut back the plant but thankfully left the door as it was.

Maison du Chien returns to the bumpkin, Westbourne Park road.

From the 28th of september Maison du Chien begins a residency on the top floor of Bumpkin. Expect the unusual as usual. I'll post more information as and when I get it.

Read more HERE

Notting Hill Carnival 2011 post mortem.

FRIDAY.

There is a god or at least there is a god of Carnival. A secular god though; keen on a bit of spliff, a drink or two and steel pan.

Having been forbidden to practice in All Saints Road Mangrove Steelband played in the Tabernacle courtyard. Wow. The rain stopped, the sky turned blue and we were treated to carnival of our own. A brilliant event.

SATURDAY.

The god of Carnival turned out to be a Mangrove fan. Our resident (at the Tabernacle) Steelband won 'Panorama'; a battle of the bands held annually. For 12 months they are now ' The best steel band in the UK. Well done Matthew Phillip (manager and drummer) Arranger Andre White and everyone involved. It is a 12 month labour of love for the whole team.

Photographs: Christopher Scholey


Saturday night found me at 'LOCO' Carnival special at the Grand Union on Great Western Road... A marathon 6 hour session with some great performances from some of our favourites. I managed to get in 20 or so poems with backing from James Simmins and Jono willis. Delphi Newman was great as always as were Mario Nardi, Chrystina Tomlin and Rob Alder. Roger Pomphrey delivered on of his pyrotechnic performances. Fishslice Pbrowse defies description; you would not believe me. It was a happy night.

SUNDAY.

I was wakend at Midday (I had gone back to bed for a little nap) by the loudest fucking noise on the planet. I was house sitting in the middle of Carnival, about 30 metres from the sound system in All Saint's Road. The house was vibrating. The only thing to do was to get out into the thing.

There was a big police presence, far greater than last year. High viz vests in abundance, every street corner held a group of them. It turned out that they were not needed after all. As the day progressed it became more and more clear that this was going to be a very peaceful and happy Carnival. I spent a lot of the day either at Gaz Mayalls stage or at the nearby Tabernacle. It all ended on the dot of 7.00 and I spent the evening walking through the detritus with a friend checking it all out. A lot of police lined the roads as the army of street cleaners went to work. It is extraordinary how they get the place ready for the Monday; they do an amazing job.






To be continued...

The portobello Travel Bookshop is closed.

The film 'Notting Hill' made it famous, made it a tourist hot spot, filled it with camera happy sightseers with no interest in the books or the shop other than some sort of shrine to that tosser Grant and what's her name the american luvvie.

It wasn't even the shop used in the film. It isn't on Portobello Road, it is on Blenheim Crescent.

The tourists have killed the place. It is now closed until a buyer can be found to put some enthusiasm back into a very special local amenity.

The tourists should be asked to pay for photography or fuck off and photograph Hugh Grant's house. I can supply the address.