I'm orf

I know this may come as something of a shock, but I'm just not feeling very sexual this evening. So you only get this solitary photo to make you feel all good:


It's also to compensate you for the devastating news that I'm going away for the weekend, so you'll not be getting any salacious updates from me until Sunday at the earliest. Apologies in advance for my web-silence. But I'm sure you'll cope.

In the meantime, you may want to play again the "Guess Where LeDuc's Gone" game...

A very Minor affair

I was remembering the Morris Minor.


This cuddly-looking car was designed by Alec Issigonis, the maestro who later designed the more famous Mini, and first went on sale in 1948.


As well as 2- and 4-door saloons, a rather swish-looking convertible was part of the range:


And so was an estate version, known as the "Traveller", which sported rather fetching wood framing (traditional in early designs of English car which were intended for use as shooting brakes):


I think the 2-door saloon is rather elegant:


But Morris didn't stop there. They also launched a Morris Minor pick-up truck:


And then there was a van, too (incidentally, I love the 1950s colours in the cars in this post):


It's difficult to think of any modern range of vehicles which is quite so versatile. All these designs were built around a standard engine -- a tiny c.1000cc job (a little less in the earlier versions, a little more in the later ones):


The engine was physically tiny, too, here dwarfed by the capacious engine compartment. The fascia and controls were what may be described as rudimentary -- reflecting the extreme simplicity of these vehicles:


They were rugged things (I once drove 15 miles through a hideous storm in one, with only three functioning cylinders), but also surprisingly roomy (the later Mini was only adequate if you were dwarf-sized or smaller).


My very first car was one of these -- a 2nd (or probably 12th-hand) van in the same navy blue as this:


A modern version would only need a 700cc engine to provide the same power, but modern cars are, of course, vastly more sophisticated. Although unlikely to take kindly to being driven on 3 cylinders.


I had to include that final picture -- an export model in the Netherlands with a delightful NS train in the background.

Leave her behind...

Apologies, but I have no time left this evening.


As a token compensation, you get this pair of random lovelies (or, rather, a pair of the same lovely. But chosen at random. Er... whatever).


Actually, I rather like those photos. A cut way above the normal exhibitionist self-exposure that's flooded flickr like a, er, welcome flood.

More from me tomorrow, I hope.

So that'll be something for you to look forward to, then.

Senses

I saw a profile on a gay personals site the other day for someone who was describing what it would be like to have sex with him.


He started off with something called "blindfolded undressing".


For some reason (even though it's something I might have already tried once or twice, in the dim and distant past, perhaps), it's been sticking in my mind.


And hence you get to enjoy the rather enormous charms of this lovely-looking beefy bloke.


That wasn't sarcastic, incidentally -- I really do find him immensely attractive. And yes, that might also have something to do with him being tied-up: do you want to make something of that?


Um... nothing else to see here, people. Move along, now. Keep moving.

Rule 5...

This morning I had a meeting in this venue. Not my cup of tea, really, but it's clearly pitched at the "professional creatives" market:


I took a couple of photos in the Gents, too:


I wouldn't normally take photos of lavs, I might add, even though these are perfectly pleasant (and more to my taste than the main room, truth be told):


No, it was because I was intrigued by this sign, stuck on the wall outside the lavs in this supposedly upmarket venue:


And, as if that wasn't worth a photo, just along from it was this one:


Wow.

Maybe I'd feel more at home here than I thought.

Doings

My mind was completely blown by this trio of photos...


I mean, for Christ's sake -- isn't that just the ugliest sofa you've ever seen? Who in their right mind would design something like that?


I wouldn't even know where to go to buy something that vile.


It is a truly shocking piece of furniture. I can't imagine what possessed them to use it in this photosequence.

Wombling free

Coincidentally I was in Shoreditch this morning, which turned out to be the first day of service on the brand new London Overground line between Dalston Junction and New Cross. So of course I had to go for a ride.


Shoreditch High Street station is a rather impressively large concrete box, raised on a viaduct: the box is designed, as is the way of these things, for some hideous corporate office block to be built on top of it (no Paris Metro-style sense of space and light here).


Close-up, through rather clever massing and finishing, the sheer bulk is a little less obvious:


That decorative finish makes it the antithesis of Holden's austere Modernist boxes, about which I was going on yesterday (which nonetheless somehow seem much, much warmer and more human than this shiny new station).


Note the wiring poking out of the side of the sign: they are still snagging, and only this section of the eastern extension is now open (it's the bit that used to be the East London Line, plus three or four stations to the north). The new stations use a materials palette consisting of poured concrete, glass, and orange fixtures, along with steel cladding for the exteriors:


The rest of this section of line will open next month, with a further extension in 2011, and the final "missing" link (between New Cross and Clapham Junction, to form an outer ring railway) in early 2012.


The brand new stations are generally rather impressive, and the Overground corporate identity is beginning to shine through (that orange with grey and white is growing on me). But there's evidence of meanness, too -- look at how crushingly low the ceilings are over these platforms:


For the hardcore train nerds among you, those Class 378s are the full-length, 4-car jobs rather than the shortened 3-car units that have been in use elsewhere on the Overground until now.


The new track rides extraordinarily smoothly, and it's only because these CapitalStars have such jittery suspension that you can feel anything.


I'm beginning to admire the vision of whoever came up with the Overground concept: knitting together this completely disparate set of underused or disused suburban railway lines into a coherent system is turning out to be a stroke of utter genius. Formerly remote parts of London suddenly seem easy to reach.

Random assortment

Today's selection has been provided by one of my immensely kind readers, one of a growing band who send me delightful presents like this:


I've always believed in the importance of sharing, so you get half a dozen of them, too.


Incidentally, anyone know anything about that image?

There's such an extraordinary range there must be something for you here.


Yeah, well, tough: the guy in the middle of the back row is definitely mine.


That guy may have been out of his tree on drugs, but I think this next group is operating on pure adrenalin:


And let's end with another WNBR-er:


God, I love that event.

And I particularly love him.

Leading the way

Charles Holden is in my Pantheon of Gods. This unassuming Englishman developed an architecture programme that introduced Modernism to Britain, adapting and simplifying it to suit a culture that was still emotionally attached to the Arts & Crafts Movement, but creating masterworks that have performed beautifully for nearly 80 years:


His portfolio of new stations for the extension to the Piccadilly line on London's Underground is one of the most significant public works ever commissioned in Britain. Starting here, in the modest suburbs of Sudbury Town, Holden produced a pilot station to test his new thinking:


All of the overt Classicism was to be abandoned, replaced with simple buildings made of vernacular brick and glass in basic geometric shapes: cubes, cuboids and drums.


The old, dark caverns were to be a thing of the past, replaced with generous public spaces which let daylight flood in through vast windows -- which, at night, would become natural beacons, the warm, electric light signalling all around that here was the sanctuary of an inviting Underground station.


The prototype was a triumphant success: near-universally acclaimed, but also relatively economical to build (the flat roofs were made of concrete, the materials, while of very good quality, were as far as possible formed into standardised components). The rest of the stations followed:


In general they were architectural riffs on the same theme: they were made larger or smaller depending on the numbers of people who needed to use them (or on population predictions in some places, one or two of which were a little out).


There was no doubting the ownership or purpose of these buildings, and they remained in constant, heavy use. Even where the flows through the station were complex, the architecture was easy to read -- such as this staircase, climbing off the platform to the exit:


Early stations were designed to have a giant Underground sign prominently displayed, but later stations often incorporated the "roundel" into the window glazing -- here's the earlier style:


Quite a few of these stations were built on "rafts" over the tracks, the main entrance at street level on the road bridge:


Others were built below the tracks, which sometimes -- as here -- had the effect of splitting the station in two:


That was South Harrow, incidentally, where with incredible insensitivity, TfL have added some of the bulkiest, ugliest hand-railings know to man on each of the flat roofs, ruining the sense of gentle massing devised by Holden. Here's what those roofs should look like:


As with much architecture, it's often the detail which makes or breaks a building:


As well as brick and glass and brass, these stations were heavy users of pre-cast concrete elements:


Standard designs were used extensively (just as they were on the Midland & Great Northern Railway, about which I've banged-on often enough -- the M&GN pioneered concrete component use on the railways, for posts, fencing and even signage):


I've already mentioned the careful attention paid to light -- both daylight and warm, glowing lights at night -- and you can see those elements here. Alas, ruined by TfL's extraordinary determination to add over-bright fluorescence to everything -- here wasting power even in bright sunlight:


Holden and his boss -- London Transport chairman Frank Pick -- were also great pioneers of the use of typography in identity schemes. At Sudbury Town they commissioned a new alphabet from the great typographer Percy Smith, an extremely elegant "petit serif" form:


And compare the approach to information design in the 1930s (informative) with the 2000s (Big Brother-style warnings and prohibitions).


Even the lesser structures (a side entrance, above, and a platform waiting shelter, below) show care and attention to detail:


I've only used examples from four stations in this post, and there are many more (including my personal favourite, the drum-shaped Arnos Grove). But all of these Holden works are part of the finest collection of Modernist buildings ever created in this country:



This post is for my lovely new friend R., who is extremely generous, and who assured me that the things he liked best on my blog were the trains and the architecture. Be careful what you wish for, that's all I can say...