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Upwardly mobile: the demolition of the old P&O building

As Newton determined, what goes up must come down, but buildings don’t usually come down like this.

I took a detour on the way to work this morning, and strolled to 122 Leadenhall Street, where the old P&O building is being taken down, floor by floor upwards. It can’t happen very often, even in London. Not quite believing it when I first heard about it, suddenly, as I turned the corner, there it was, large as life, with seven floors remaining.

Making way for the Richard Rogers-designed 52-storey ‘Cheese Grater’ tower, the stripped office block appears to hover like some sort of shiny square spaceship, or a surreal glass cubist tree. One of four buildings in the city built in such a way that getting rid of the lower floors first is the only way in which it can disappear from the ever-changing skyline; the 15-floor structure was an imposing sight.

Each of the floors is suspended from a large beam at the top of the tower, and supported by a concrete central core. This will be dismantled in the conventional way from the top down, and it is this that is gradually being revealed, like a nineteenth-century aristocratic dame slowly hitching up her skirt to reveal her legs.

Sunshine at The O2

It’s hardly worth writing about; we were that unimpressed. But, it’s good to keep a record of places we’ve been.

En-route to see friends in town for drinks this afternoon, we stopped off at the revitalised The O2. Previously the Millennium Dome, somehow a visit had escaped me when the venue first opened in late 1999. Bestowing interesting shows and exhibits upon its visitors, it was a modest success, until the government pulled the plug some years later, when it had served its purpose and they didn’t know what to do with it anymore.

I’ve always thought the building interesting architecturally, and was looking forward to seeing the makeshift beach, which had reportedly been sculpted from 1,000 tonnes of golden sand, and promised beachside drinks and relaxation.

Oh, what a disappointment.

‘The Beach at The O2‘ turned out to be a circular area of sand, slightly domed to reflect its surroundings, with plastic palm trees arranged to echo the instantly recognisable yellow masts, which hold up the strong white canopy of the structure itself. The ‘sea’ was blue floor paint, and even the comedy shark fins (quite apt after the supposedly Great White sightings and Jaws-mania in Cornwall this week), couldn’t raise a smile.

Until 4.30pm, it was teaming with children, too (which is fine as film evenings, volleyball contests, and other events come later), but so much for that relaxing and cooling drink by the ‘shoreline’ on what was a very hot weekend. We were looking quite forward to it, after moving those five tonnes of shingle from the front drive to the back of the raised bed in the garden at the house yesterday.

There were other places to have a drink and a bit to eat, admittedly, but apart from a cinema and the live arena which is obviously geared for evening concerts (and where Prince is currently enjoying a 21-night seat on the O2 throne), that’s literally all there is at the rejuvenated complex.

It was made all the more annoying because we could have spent more time with the ladies later, sipping our cranberry juices and soaking up the laid-back north London atmosphere on a Sunday afternoon.

If you so wish, you can pay a visit to The Beach at The O2 until 27 August. But, for the second time in as many months, we felt let down by what east London had offered us.

Milton Court, London  

I walk through it every day, and was unaware of its plight.

Milton Court forms part of my walk to work, which starts at Liverpool Street, and takes in parts of the City including the Barbican, St Paul’s, Holborn Viaduct, and finally High Holborn, which leads to Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Marking the north east corner of the Barbican estate, it is a concrete beacon, and signifies the start of the most enjoyable part of my strolls to and from the office.

I’d noticed recently that a few of the rooms were now unoccupied, but didn’t realise that it could be facing a dusty and rubbly end at a swing of the wrecker’s ball. Designed by the same architects as the Grade II-listed Barbican, it was a trial run as to how their visionary architecture would look, and how it could change the way people lived.

Milton Court is brutal in style, just as with the massive complex which came later – maybe even more so than the Barbican itself. While the bigger concrete city within a city was hailed as an architectural masterpiece and an eyesore in equal measure, and had the untouchable order placed upon it, Milton Court escaped such an award, and now faces possible demolition.

It was, at its inception in 1963, a small city in itself. An ‘amenities building’ for the larger entertainment centre, a self-contained fire station, coroner’s court, office of weights and measures, civil defence school, and mortuary were all integrated into its stark, cubist form. A small residential block and public walkways (with curved science-fiction-looking tops) gave visionaries and key public service workers somewhere to live, and paths with which to navigate their way around the exciting, new concrete structure.

Old buildings can live alongside new ones: save Milton Court

Owned by the Corporation of London, the top of the building is elevated on stilt-like pilotis, which raise it above ground level, making the uppermost part almost hover. Differing window arrangements set into the flat walls let each floor tell their own story.

Architects have come up with both new and exciting ways to redevelop and resculpture the original building, or to build something entirely modern, but with a knowing sympathy to the neighbouring Barbican. Some sources state that Milton Court already been evaluated and could be ready to disappear forever, while others tell stories of redevelopment. What ‘redevelop’ means is anyone’s guess, though. The Save Milton Court website even outlines radical plans to demolish the building, and build a 43-floor residential tower block in its place, with facilities for the Guildhall School of Music & Drama at its base.

The Twentieth Century Society recommended that Milton Court be listed last summer, a decision which the Department of Culture, Media and Sport is reportedly still giving some thought. Originally turned down in 2002, its future doesn’t look good.

As if proof of this was needed, a tall glass structure has been slowly emerging from the pavement at the corner of the Barbican’s Speed Highwalk, which overlooks Milton Court. Is this finally a sign that this seemingly unloved building is to be reduced to the ground? Is it, as I fear, a new lift to take members of the public up to the Barbican once the footbridge which carries passengers above Silk Street (and links Milton Court to its equally brutalist brother) has disappeared?

Is this to replace Milton Court’s Highwalks?

I’m with the Twentieth Century Society and Save Milton Court campaigners. Too much of our architectural heritage is being torn down. I didn’t realise that Milton Court was not actually officially part of the Barbican complex – I thought (by its style and age) that it was. Milton Court should be embraced under the Barbican’s wing, and recognised as part of the complex.

It would be a great shame it this building was to disappear, to be replaced by yet another shiny glass sliver of a building. Yes, modern and old can live happily side-by-side, but just because it’s not listed, it doesn’t mean it has to go. Ironically though, this is why it could go.

The iconic Barbican has been saved; Milton Court should be, too.