Feet of Clay

In all the literary and deathly tumult of my last missive I forgot to mention another splendid link from Old St Pancras' yard. Contained within is the self-designed mausoleum of Sir John Soane, he of the Bloomsbury museum. Apparently it was the inspiration for Giles Gilbert Scott's iconic red telephone box: well the roof bit, anyway.

Marvellous joined-up architectural posturing, as it was his grandfather George who drew up the Midland hotel, now the facade of St Pancras International. I'm not sure about young Giles' brickish power stations or his Sally Ann training centre - visit Denmark Hill if you want to be brutalised. But I do like the old boy's sense of enormity: St Pancras station is still an astonishing block of clay, and sits well beside the delightful new British Library. At least someone has had the sense to put a few trees in that building's courtyard recently, somewhere the inmates can wander.

With bricks in mind I returned to the claypits of Bedfordshire, most of which are now aquatic leisure centres. I suppose all our buildings now are timber or steel-framed, clad in adobe.

The first part of the week has seen further rejections from the potential employers of an aging cynic. My part-time consultative work appears to function on a voluntary basis, and my trips abroad are awaiting due diligent acceptance from some new contacts. I find myself at a loose end.

It seems only reasonable now that I enter politics. I have pitched my hat into the ring for elective Mayor of Bedford, although as voting is tomorrow, I may struggle to regain my deposit. Shame, as I have some grand ideas for this riverside gem. I might be able to force a re-count alleging electoral misconduct, thus allowing me in on the Alternative Transferrable Vote. Surely new ideas are what these moribund boroughs need in these days of jaded retail palates?

As for architecture, thank goodness the Gilbert Scotts never saw the wonderful Sixties excrescence that is County Hall in Bedford. Even they might feel that the tenor of the building was incompatible with the tone of the riverside.