The Story Conference.
Waiting for the washing machine to wheeze itself into an exhausted slump I had a free moment so decided to check my latest Twitter follower. I'm never rude to individuals, and I don't mean to be nasty or negative, especially as the follower represents a sizeable chunk of my part of the city, but I couldn't let this pass without comment.
I'm no architecture critic. Personally I loathe the look of the decking that seems to be fixed to the top of Waterman's Place (and I wish they'd decide if there was an apostrophe or not. I don't mind either way, just don't do both, it makes you look amateurish.) What the heck are scruffy planks doing on the side of a building anyway? And I'm no graphics/typography tyro, though when I see all that text underlined I wonder if someone has forgotten their Ritalin this morning. It's a bit unnerving. My main point, as always, is the writing.
Look at that underlined sentence for a start. Would you really want to bring attention to it? What does it say other than "we have a lovely empty building, come and do something in it!" "Flexible" space for a "variety" of uses hardly takes your breath away, and I'd prefer a bog standard, bricks and mortar pub to a "thrilling bar concept!" I can't get pissed in a concept.
Then there's that cringeworthy estate agent phrase, "located in a situation . . . " Do I really need to explain why that is just wrong? Or why a place that is a five minute walk South of the city centre is not "at the very heart of Leeds." That's just thoughtless and lazy. Using vague words with no understanding what they might refer to.
The gormlessness just keeps on coming. How many times do you need to mention the city's "heart?" Or is that the "heart of the city's industrial past?" The two aren't necessarily in the same place; in fact, usually the industry is nowhere near the city centre. Holbeck is not Leeds.
What really annoyed me enough to rant about this brochure was that misuse of "compliment." Perhaps the word they were looking for was "complement?" A lazy mistake; any decent writer would not make it, any half-decent copy editor would have corrected it. The rest of the brochure is equally suspect. Lots of vapid adjectives rapidly flicker across your consciousness, not really saying anything specific, just making an agreeable impression, so long as you don't stop to think and inquire about the reality . . . innovative, significant, impressive, spectacular, unique . . . how, precisely? Give me some substance. And what exactly is an "innovative brick architectural design?" Is it just a foolish way of saying we've built some nice buildings . . . in brick?
Is Waterman's Place "surrounded by water?" According to the map next to that phrase, Waterman's place is next to the River Aire. That means there is water on one side, and if we're being liberal there's the canal around the corner. That hardly constitutes "surrounded." And I assume that "The endeavour . . . to allow some of the units to have external trading aligned to the public square" means that there'll be some shops that people can buy stuff from? Ooh, that's an idea.
Candle House is a cylindrical building. I love it! Reminds me of something I once built in Lego when I was nine. It's a very appealling place which seems to defy the laws of physics by overlooking the canal "from all aspects!" Now that is innovative and I'd pay to see that. Even better than a tardis. Hats off to the architects who made that possible.
The "reinvented" railway Arches are "fascinating and atmospheric in shape" yet "manageable in size," . . . a bit like a flump? Or a cloud? Or a Cadbury's Creme Egg? Obviously the Victorians that built the Arches made a mistake somehow? Like the viaducts haven't been in constant use since they were built!
Holbeck Urban Village is described accurately as an "Award winning regeneration area." It's a lovely place and contains some of my favourite empty offices in the city. It is home to plenty of design and media companies. It's just a pity that the design and media types who work there all bugger off home after work leaving the place a dead and dreary place after 8 o clock. Not to worry though, there's another 20,000 people working in "the same proximity!" I'm not sure how to measure a "proximity" or where the different "proximity" starts, . . . I assume the working people don't include the ladies who work two minutes away down canal street and on towards Domestic Street? Those workers rarely get a mention in glossy brochures like this.
Just another silly fairy tale. Back to my washing.
A's Anti-Social Behaviour, the sort that's committed by chavs, and
I was listening to Mike Garry's poem "Regeneration" this morning after another conversation on Twitter with @mikechitty. I decided to have a go at my own South Leeds version . . . it's not as gloomy as Mikes's poem, and I cobbled it together over my coffee break so it hardly constitutes literature. I had fun writing it though. It kept my brain ticking over at least.
Anyone with a delicate disposition be warned, this isn't a pretty verse about squirrels and fake village quaintness. This stuff really happens around the corner. As I strolled out one summer mornIs there anything more excruciating, more desperate, more ridiculous than a one-sided declaration of love? I can't think of much. And what if the suitor wrote you a love letter IN FULL CAPS? What would you think? Needy? Creepy? Slightly deranged? But then what if the declaration of devotion was not only in full caps but underlined and repeated page after page? Would you want to meet that person? Would that approach really win you over? Would you think, Aw bless! They genuinely do think I'm the applet of their iPhone, the best thing since PlayStation 3! Or would you be more likely to call the police and get a restraining order? If you were unlucky enough to find yourself in the same room as that person would you make sure that you had an unimpeded, fast route to the exit, and maybe a couple of cans of Mace, just in case things kicked off?
Of course I'm talking about We Love Holbeck. It's not that I dislike the place or want to do it down. Just the reverse. I live here, got roots in the area going back four generations at least; grandparents lived in Domestic Street
Today I intended to write something about design. Or rather my problems with the design for Holbeck . . . or should that be designs on Holbeck? I had an hour or so free this afternoon so I was going to wander my usual way into town, take a few more photos around the Holbeck Urban Village, then write my blog over a coffee in Out of the Woods. It was a good plan. I'd even scribbled some notes about the democratisation of design, compiled a few links, concocted a witty remark or two. I was looking forward to getting it down on paper.
My usual route into town takes me through the blitzed and boarded up streets off Top Moor Side, passed two burned out and trashed pubs, along bridge Road where the prostitutes work in pairs, and down Sweet Street West, before I finally hit the salubrious part of town. It's a quarter mile of text-book urban blight. I'm pretty much immune to the sights. Nothing can really shock me. Not even the girls who regularly accost passing men between Bridge Road and Water Lane, touting for business, shouting their fees, negotiation is not acceptable . . . twenty pounds for a blow job, twenty five pounds for "everything." I've had several conversations with the girls regarding their unsound grasp of economics and puzzling pricing structure. But I don't think an in depth discussion of the intricacies of business planning is ever going to convince them. You have to admire their entrepreneurial spirit though . . . I've seen some of the girls stop cars! They just seem to know who's likely to be in the market for business. Sweet Street West has recently been improved. The area is still notorious but at least the pot holes have been levelled. Before the improvement the bottom end of Sweet Street was grim. You couldn't walk three yards without the squelch of discarded prophylactic underfoot. The street leads onto some very expensive real estate, however; plush hotels, fancy law firms, accountancy head offices and major banks all have an investment there, big, blank, boring buildings. The council decided that the old Sweet Street was not fit for purpose and laid a very nice new stretch of tarmac so visitors coming off the motorway on the Beeston side could flit through that bit of urban nastiness without noticing too much what was either side. The council didn't touch the wasteland beside the viaduct. Fifty yards or so of high weed, random fly tipping, and dark, gloomy walls. Perfect for "business." Today I noticed a thin line of blue Police Incident tape stretched between three lamp posts. It didn't register what that meant at first. I'd been happily snapping pics on my mobile of scenes that would make anyone love Holbeck; a rat merrily sauntering over the street just outside the derelict Kwik Save, a portly smirking old gentleman leaning to open the passenger door of his company Skoda to a tired and washed out waif of a girl (16 tops,) a bloke oblivious on his mobile who was about to dump a load of old window frames from the back of his van onto the tiny bit of green space just beside Holbeck Towers . . . usual stuff, nothing spectacular.Today though, no more than a minutes walk from Holbeck Urban Village, something pretty nasty had happened. Without really thinking I took a picture of the Police tape. Just that, police tape stretching between the lamposts. I thought it looked rather dramatic. I'd managed to catch the full tawdry, dingy awfulness of Sweet Street West in the foreground with a hint of Granary Wharf jutting up majestic and flawless behind the Satanic looking viaduct. I didn't notice that an unmarked police car was parked next to the tape. I assumed it was a driver who was lost, or having lunch, or just having a nosey. The police officer demanded that I stop taking pictures. Then she asked me to hand over my phone. I was flummoxed for a second . . . she asked me to delete the pictures. I said that I'd obviously delete anything if she could tell me what I'd done wrong, but I didn't see any problem. She said it's not nice to take pictures of a crime scene. I pointed out that my picture was of a triangle of police tape, a triangle which contained nothing but weeds, smashed bits of concrete, and maybe the odd syringe. I showed her my pic . . . it really was rather smashing as an image I argued. I tried to engage her in a conversation about how the composition was an implicit comment on the regeneration agenda, how the only crime contained in the image was the one perpetrated by the developers and their lackeys in the local council, how really it would be an indictment on the whole charade of community policing if she didn't let me keep my little snapshot of what community has come to in South Leeds . . . I'm afraid she was immune to my rapier like thrusts of dialectical brilliance. She was on her radio . . . for back up! I really didn't fancy my chances against back up . . . if one copper was immune to reason I could only imagine double the resistance from back up. I let her have my phone. She deleted everything. She told me not to write anything about the incident either. I had told her what I intended to do with the image, just part of documenting the reality of my bit of the world. She was adamant that blogging about a crime scene "wasn't nice." When I asked why she just said, "I just wouldn't, sir, " and nodded towards a corner of the square of scrubland that she was intent on protecting. There was some kind of plastic tent. Shabby, sagging in the rain. I hadn't even noticed. I heard her radio crackle and a voice say something about them being on their way. I thought it circumspect to retreat. Later, when I got home and started to tweet about it I mentioned my little brush with the law. I said that I'd experienced Hush Hush Holbeck. Someone said it would make a great name for a website/publication. I'm thinking about doing a subversive little skit about the We Love Holbeck website anyhow so that may be the domain name. Mockery is the poor people's helicopter gunship. Let's face it, they aren't going to listen to reasoned, critical discussion. Watch out for us on Twitter too!Last night I ReTweeted a post from the Creative Class Struggle blog. The blog is dedicated to challenging the Richard Florida approach to urban regeneration. It wasn't a very in-depth critique but I really liked the posters that advertised a conference. They are really worth checking out.Not long afterward I noticed a tweet from the agency I criticised the other day for perpetrating that We Love Holbeck website. They ReTweeted the link from the original source, remarking and...FUCK ME! It's all in CAPS! I took that as a veiled response to my argument that the use of CAPS on the website was a tad excessive. Fair enough I thought, I'm not exactly consistent . . . though the use of CAPS on a political poster with short, snappy slogans did seem more reasonable than on a long discursive website. Just an aesthetic judgment, but one I'm willing to defend. But then minutes after the agency tweeted this;
I was going to play nice today. There really are a lot of positive things going on in South Leeds. Temple Works for instance. I'm definitely going to write lots about that soon. But then I saw the new We Love Holbeck website and I'm afraid I flew into full on fulmination again. I'm not a graphic designer and I'm certainly no web geek so I can't really comment on that side of things . . . though tan text on a brown background did strike me as a bit odd. And I really do feel warm and fuzzy about Holbeck Urban Village . . . I'd love to live there. I wish I could afford to. But I'm one of the indigenous people of Holbeck, which is how we were revealingly described at a showing of Ripples Out at The Round Foundry last month. As that film makes very clear me and my kind are not really expected to contribute significantly to the Urban Village economic and creative powerhouse. Best we can hope for is to exercise our "sophisticated concierge skills." I suppose it's nice to think they trust us down there to know how to open and shut a door. So, We Love Holbeck. Made by those brainboxes down in the HUV, showing off their superiority over us poor benighted locals. I was prepared to bend my head low, doff my flat cap, and shed just the one awe engendered tear. Well, I liked the photos . . . I'm surprised I'm not in one of them as I spend so much time at The Cross Keys and The Midnight Bell. Wonderwood looks spiffing and there's a nice pic of Out of the Woods. But why is all the text IN SCREAMING CAPITALS? Why is WE LOVE HOLBECK underlined every time . . . are they anxious we won't get the message? Why is the punctuation so patchy and the syntax so shoddy . . . would it hurt to craft a tight, punchy sentence once in a while? And, most importantly, where is the love? It sounds like it was written under duress by someone who would rather be back home in Surrey;
This piteous drivel is meant to impress us, is it? Frankly, I'm embarrassed to be associated with it. I don't think they should be allowed to traduce the good name of Holbeck. Holbeck deserves better. Holbeck could do better. I could go out into any street in South Leeds and randomly pick ten people who could eat alphabetti spaghetti and crap better copy than that! And I'm not joking. The funniest bit of the whole thing has to be;
The joke isn't the ludicrous sentence structure (HUV is set in an "environment" . . . well, who would have thought . . . an environment indeed.) Has anyone inspected the Round Foundry car park after 6 o clock? Obviously the people who work there do want to go home . . . out of Holbeck! The fabulous bars and restaurants are dead most evenings after 8. Does anyone really believe this rubbish?
Why would anyone come to Leeds? I mean anyone who didn't know the place, who had only the internet to rely on, who visited only the "official" websites. I was ranting on about this the other day after the Social Media Surgery with one of the other surgeons. He was saying how he'd lived in Barcelona for a few years and how the market there was famous throughout the world . . . it's nowhere near the size or the splendour or the architectural importance of Leeds Market, but who would know that? Plenty of people who live and work in Leeds don't even know the market is there. The guy was saying how he'd approached Leeds City Council with some ideas how to improve the marketing, how he'd even offered to do some work for free, but had gotten fobbed off . . . the in-house team are "taking care of it" apparently. I won't post a link to the market website. I can't bear the thing. Maybe if I was five years old and enjoyed clunky flash animations and patronising sound effects it might appeal. I also appreciate a certain standard of literacy. So when the council "officially endorses" a site that advertises
It does make me cringe. And when it says that some of the market traders are not "adverse" to haggling I have to wonder if the council are in need of some remedial English help.
Leeds is so Unique you had to say it twice in the same sentence? Is Leeds doubly unique then? I'd forgive the slipshod syntax and the stodgy, syrupy style if the rest of the site showed me why Leeds was so unique . . . or at least mentioned something tangible that I could get a grip on. But all we get is
I commented on a blog post this lunchtime. The post was about a film, commissioned by Yorkshire Forward, about the impact of its major regeneration project on where I live. I took all these photos this afternoon as I walked my usual way to town, passing through the Holbeck Urban Village. Just a bit depressing.