[et_pb_section bb_built=”1″][et_pb_row][et_pb_column type=”4_4″][et_pb_text]<\/p>\n
Shoot up in the fast lift,
\npoke the faux gras with toothpick heels.
\nLate lunch at the Coq d\u2019Argent \u2013
\naccept a drink, plan your exit.<\/p>\n
After two pm the old religion can be smelt \u2013
\nsome urban plague myth \u2013 even here,
\nhalfway to the holding stacks
\nof City-bound planes.<\/p>\n
Look out to where domes are clouds,
\nblack antennas stricken trees, people
\nblips fading from someone\u2019s radar.
\nA good place to fail.<\/p>\n
Tender is the man-made view. Two sips of Sauvignon Blanc and all London Robin Houghton<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The trouble with London is\u2026 well, there\u2019s lots of things that are the trouble with London, right now and forever, frankly. But for our purposes the trouble with London \u2013 The City in particular \u2013 is that it is very hard to escape from the cold dead hand of history.<\/p>\n Which means that if you are an architect or a developer looking to leave a distinctive impression on The City, you not only have to come up with something suitably arresting, but then be prepared to take on the brickbats of those who really would rather prefer it if things didn\u2019t have to change thanks all the same.<\/p>\n This is all said because the slightly odd, faded pink building that you walk past when you\u2019re on your way to, more like past, the Bank of England, well this was once the enfant terrible of new developments in The City \u2013 not quite carbuncle or eyesore, but a postmodern wreck built too late \u2013 1997\u2013 when kitsch and cheer and daring were on their way out, to be replaced by a different form of cutting edge conformity.<\/p>\n Of course it was Grade II* listed in 2016.<\/p>\n And now? People know it as mostly the best rooftop terrace in London. Well, most famous. Or more realistically, most notorious. Is it too bleak, too much, to point out that it has become a favoured spot from which people have chosen have chosen to fall to end their lives? It\u2019s 80ft, by all accounts.<\/p>\n I\u2019m not sure to what extent Robin Houghton wants to know \u2013 acknowledge \u2013 this bleak undertow to the building in her poem. I mean, on my second reading of the poem all I<\/em> could see was death: \u201caccept a drink, plan your exit\u201d, the \u201curban plague myth\u201d, \u201cA good place to fail.\u201d<\/p>\n But of course we also see what might have led someone to this place, this moment \u2013 the ending of ambition, the recognition that something else is out there, beyond the accumlation of capital \u2013 say hello to those \u201cholding stacks \/ of City-bound planes\u201d; and you can imagine on sunnier days that the windows and the red lights are lighter, brighter and do not say the end.<\/p>\n Let\u2019s look up not down. This is not a bleak poem. This is a celebration of how you, yes even you, can conquer The City, defy its past to earn the right to lunch in one of its most favoured spots, and from its peak eye your kingdom: \u201call London \/ is under you, your parapet bends \/ eye-level with skinny cranes, \/ arms turning in a show of listening.\u201d<\/p>\n Take off your \u201ctoothpick heels\u201d \u2013 you\u2019ve earned your spot in history.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Rishi Dastidar<\/em><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text admin_label=”Subscribe CTA” background_layout=”light” text_orientation=”left” use_border_color=”off” border_color=”#ffffff” border_style=”solid” background_color=”#6d0606″ custom_padding=”20|20|20|20″ header_text_color=”#ffffff” text_text_color=”#ffffff” saved_tabs=”all”]<\/p>\n If you’re already a subscriber then many thanks for the support as we cannot survive without you!<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n If you don’t yet subscribe, or you have let this lapse, please do consider it carefully. It’s just \u00a324.00 for an annual UK subscription<\/a> (\u00a319 for people living in the UK on a low income).\u00a0 For everyone overseas it\u2019s \u00a336 (\u00a324 plus \u00a312 shipping charge).<\/span><\/p>\n
\nLook down where a scrawl of red tail-lights
\nsings stop in the name of love<\/em>
\nand windows laugh open.<\/p>\n
\nis under you, your parapet bends
\neye-level with skinny cranes,
\narms turning in a show of listening.<\/p>\nSubscribing to The Rialto<\/span><\/h2>\n