(no subject)
I drove through the Ferrier Estate yesterday - or what's left of it. Large amounts have now been pulled down and the remaining blocks have huge notices on announcing their imminent destruction (presumably to discourage squatters). There are vast heaps of rubble everywhere. It's all very strange. After all, I watched them build the thing - you could see it from the train by which I commuted to school - and I didn't suppose I'd live to see its destruction.
I have to rejoice. The Ferrier was a monument to two mistaken ideas: that a house is a machine for living in, and that common ground belongs to everybody. Actually, putting people in identical boxes robs them of any feeling of home, and common ground belongs to those who are strong enough to take it (the Ferrier became one of London's most dangerous hotbeds of gang culture). Still, when I saw a half-demolished block, looking like bomb damage, the wallpaper on the still-standing walls, I couldn't help thinking that that was somebody's home.
I have to rejoice. The Ferrier was a monument to two mistaken ideas: that a house is a machine for living in, and that common ground belongs to everybody. Actually, putting people in identical boxes robs them of any feeling of home, and common ground belongs to those who are strong enough to take it (the Ferrier became one of London's most dangerous hotbeds of gang culture). Still, when I saw a half-demolished block, looking like bomb damage, the wallpaper on the still-standing walls, I couldn't help thinking that that was somebody's home.