A social good
On Thursday night Dan and I accompanied a journalist friend to the Big Issue annual party which was being held in the Rankin exhibition space at the Truman Brewery. We arrived just as a Lindy Hop group danced to Johnny Be Good then invited the crowd to join them. There wasn't a homeless person in sight, and the free drink was Tuborg beer and strawberry cider rather than Super Tennants.
The dancefloor was dominated by a man in a light blue suit, cashmere scarf, shirt open to his belly-button, and red snakeskin shoes; and his tanned blonde girlfriend who was wearing a tweed jacket and black latex trousers. I imagined them to look straight out of the Mayfair clubs I've never been to.
Dan talked to John Bird, himself a squatter in the 70s, while our journalist friend tried to get Rankin to say something quotable. I have this curious block whereby once I'm introduced to someone I can talk at ease, but I never dare approach anybody. So I spoke to Sian Berry, former Green Party mayoral candidate for London, finding her to be as charming as I was drunk; but nobody else.
Afterwards we went to the private members club Shoreditch House, where I filled my pockets from the jars of sweets near the pool table, and watched in hunger as waiters took away three-quarter uneaten pizzas. The one person I met described himself as a speechwriter and sculptor ("It's all about crafting, you see"). I wished I was part of this world where it seems so easy to be both creative and rich.
Meanwhile today's the last day of our exhibition in Mayfair. We've had a diverse crowd, including a builder from Sheffield who's working on the house across the road; a French concierge from a nearby hotel, and the owners of a gallery on Mount Street.
The American venture capitalist who lives over the road has come back the last two nights. He's 25 and studied history at Harvard, telling me the institution counted for more than the subject. But he's chosen to leave his job to study for a history PhD at Cambridge. Some crusty old crone attacked him for being an arch-capitalist, though her own achievements remained unknown. He took it in good humour, but I told her she had no right to be rude to him. I realised later that rather optimistically I thought of myself as closer to his world than hers, though I doubt he washes his clothes in a bucket.
There's a lot of alcohol around this place. I've been drinking a bottle or a bottle and a half of red wine each evening. Yesterday my hangover started at 2am but I was fine the next morning. I miss my bike; physically, I'm a wreck.
We've had several live performances which Dan has organised. An Italian tranvestite called Maxime Angel stripped out of a dress then sat nude on the floor drinking wine and spitting it back out, and marking his hands with red crayon which looked like blood. We'd had a friendly conversation the day before so I didn't risk the awkwardness of watching his act.
On a similar vein, former Peckham stripper Becky Fury took off her trousers and top, and invited members of the audience to eat the cupcakes she smeared onto her breasts. One old Russian chap duly obliged. She also smashed a cake into the face of a most unamused lady in the audience, who left the room looking like she wanted a lawyer.
My favourite act has been a five-strong comedy troupe known as the Improsarios. They've played here the last two nights, developing surreal half-hour plays from the slenderest of initial audience suggestions: on the first night "bank robbers"; and on the second, "pancakes". I'm out of the habit of attending live comedy and was amazed that they could invent such surreally funny plots and characters off the cuff, while working so cohesively as a group.
Our headline act last night was the infamous Aaron Barschak, the Comedy Terrorist. You've heard of him - he's the guy who gatecrashed Prince William's 21st birthday party dressed as Osama Bin Laden. He has a long shaggy beard, and dresses in a Guantonomo jump suit or as Jesus. After we booked him I'd read some negative reviews of his stand-up, so was pleasantly surprised when he actually turned out to be funny, confident and not short of material: we had to drag him off when he'd overrun by twenty minutes.
He's performing here again tonight, and so are the Improsarios. It looks like being a great final evening before we go to court tomorrow. We expect to lose, unless the judge has been drinking; and so this building will be turned back into a tomb. But we've enjoyed our time in Mayfair, and have made good use of the space. As I said the last time I was here, I think the small inconvenience caused to the wealthy owners of this building is outweighed by the enjoyment of the hundreds of people who've passed through the doors. In fact, I'd claim what we've done here has been a social good.
The dancefloor was dominated by a man in a light blue suit, cashmere scarf, shirt open to his belly-button, and red snakeskin shoes; and his tanned blonde girlfriend who was wearing a tweed jacket and black latex trousers. I imagined them to look straight out of the Mayfair clubs I've never been to.
Dan talked to John Bird, himself a squatter in the 70s, while our journalist friend tried to get Rankin to say something quotable. I have this curious block whereby once I'm introduced to someone I can talk at ease, but I never dare approach anybody. So I spoke to Sian Berry, former Green Party mayoral candidate for London, finding her to be as charming as I was drunk; but nobody else.
Afterwards we went to the private members club Shoreditch House, where I filled my pockets from the jars of sweets near the pool table, and watched in hunger as waiters took away three-quarter uneaten pizzas. The one person I met described himself as a speechwriter and sculptor ("It's all about crafting, you see"). I wished I was part of this world where it seems so easy to be both creative and rich.
Meanwhile today's the last day of our exhibition in Mayfair. We've had a diverse crowd, including a builder from Sheffield who's working on the house across the road; a French concierge from a nearby hotel, and the owners of a gallery on Mount Street.
The American venture capitalist who lives over the road has come back the last two nights. He's 25 and studied history at Harvard, telling me the institution counted for more than the subject. But he's chosen to leave his job to study for a history PhD at Cambridge. Some crusty old crone attacked him for being an arch-capitalist, though her own achievements remained unknown. He took it in good humour, but I told her she had no right to be rude to him. I realised later that rather optimistically I thought of myself as closer to his world than hers, though I doubt he washes his clothes in a bucket.
There's a lot of alcohol around this place. I've been drinking a bottle or a bottle and a half of red wine each evening. Yesterday my hangover started at 2am but I was fine the next morning. I miss my bike; physically, I'm a wreck.
We've had several live performances which Dan has organised. An Italian tranvestite called Maxime Angel stripped out of a dress then sat nude on the floor drinking wine and spitting it back out, and marking his hands with red crayon which looked like blood. We'd had a friendly conversation the day before so I didn't risk the awkwardness of watching his act.
On a similar vein, former Peckham stripper Becky Fury took off her trousers and top, and invited members of the audience to eat the cupcakes she smeared onto her breasts. One old Russian chap duly obliged. She also smashed a cake into the face of a most unamused lady in the audience, who left the room looking like she wanted a lawyer.
My favourite act has been a five-strong comedy troupe known as the Improsarios. They've played here the last two nights, developing surreal half-hour plays from the slenderest of initial audience suggestions: on the first night "bank robbers"; and on the second, "pancakes". I'm out of the habit of attending live comedy and was amazed that they could invent such surreally funny plots and characters off the cuff, while working so cohesively as a group.
Our headline act last night was the infamous Aaron Barschak, the Comedy Terrorist. You've heard of him - he's the guy who gatecrashed Prince William's 21st birthday party dressed as Osama Bin Laden. He has a long shaggy beard, and dresses in a Guantonomo jump suit or as Jesus. After we booked him I'd read some negative reviews of his stand-up, so was pleasantly surprised when he actually turned out to be funny, confident and not short of material: we had to drag him off when he'd overrun by twenty minutes.
He's performing here again tonight, and so are the Improsarios. It looks like being a great final evening before we go to court tomorrow. We expect to lose, unless the judge has been drinking; and so this building will be turned back into a tomb. But we've enjoyed our time in Mayfair, and have made good use of the space. As I said the last time I was here, I think the small inconvenience caused to the wealthy owners of this building is outweighed by the enjoyment of the hundreds of people who've passed through the doors. In fact, I'd claim what we've done here has been a social good.
Total Comments 6
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i can see the positive side of what you are doing...
surely the negatives outweigh the positives as of the point at which you refuse to leave someone's property on request and they have to take the time, expense and effort to take you to court and actively get rid of you? why not stay there until you are asked to leave and then find somewhere else - you repeatedly say that such properties are not in short supply... |
Posted 20-09-09 at 19:21 by MrSidepot
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Because the moment we're asked to leave is the exact same time as when we begin our programme. It would be impossible to do what we've done here - or what I was involved with in Mayfair before - if we left at first contact with the owner. The media attention and our own publicising of our events is what leads to the crowds that attend and contribute; but it also ensures that the owners know about us and act immediately to get us out.
It really doesn't take the owners much time: they get a phone call from the property firm informing them that squatters have moved in. They say "OH NOES! Get rid of them!!!!". And that's the extent of their involvement. The property firm contact a law firm, who take a witness statement from them and issue proceedings. The time/trouble is good for them, of course, since it's their business. At the end of it, the owner writes a few insignificantly small cheques; a pittance compared to the rent they've chosen not to receive all these years. There aren't many buildings like this left which have genuinely been abandoned, with no building work in progress, no live-in security, no alarms which call out a security company, which aren't derelict, and where we can gain access without causing criminal damage. I can hardly think of anywhere else we can go in the West End. |
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Posted 20-09-09 at 19:29 by luckyjimm
Updated 20-09-09 at 19:32 by luckyjimm |
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The issue of their foregone rent is frankly none of your business. If an individual/organisation wants to buy a property and not rent it out it is up to them. This is unrelated to the fact that you being there costs them money.
Squatters are a fact of life in cities, but please don't dress it up as you being a benefit to society. |
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Posted 22-09-09 at 09:36 by JamesH
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Have to agree with James H here - it is none of your business and whether you and your friends decry the rise of private property makes not the slightest bit of difference. I visited the site, was impressed by some of the art but generally dismayed by the squandering of talent and ambition simply because people aren't willing to put the hard graft in.
It struck me as akin to the Gap year student or Uni Grad who storms out of a job because they aren't allowed to manage and this infuriates them. Success comes later in life for most people, if at all, and a few years learning your "trade" reaps rewards further down the line. There is a consensus in the blogoshere that it takes 10,000 hours to become excellent at something - I fear the Oubliette was thrown together in 10 minutes. Think about it Alex, if they were this talented and incredible they would be able to get themselves exhibited somewhere (pub, gallery, bar, cafe) instead of at expense to others. It doesn't matter that these landlords let their property stand idle, it is their prerogative. You choose not to use your wonderful education, instead you stultify it with wine, navel gazing and pretensions of social good. The people whose property you "liberate / utilize" have used their talents to achieve something... try and do the same fella James |
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Posted 22-09-09 at 10:16 by JBT101
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Eh, you came round and didn't talk to me?
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Posted 22-09-09 at 11:55 by luckyjimm
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indeed - mainly because i was on my way to another engagement and wanted to basically zip around and be gone.
maybe next time |
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Posted 22-09-09 at 13:34 by JBT101
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