Buckminster Fuller, or Bucky to the few, once asked his under the wing compatriot of architecture, how much does your building way? Mr Foster was duly stumped by the question, but with his much envied handle on the profession he commands, within a day he was able to answer.
As an employee of Foster and Partners, I live and work in the shadow of the companies’ commander and chief with the aspiration to be as dedicated, as skilful, as phantasmagorical as he is. But after watching the film of which is entitled by the aforementioned question, I was able to answer in seconds out stripping my hero in his ability to answer so promptly. (Below is me trying to be him...poorly)
The answer was zero, the building weighs nothing because it simply does not exist. I haven’t a house to call me own, nor a rented place that I would regard as home. I’m in a state of limbo with little in the way of a positive and stable direction. With the step into the wider world from the general safety of a life of study, the requirements of moving out, finding a job, and learning the trade in the workplace is a reality for most. But London is starting to bring up some rather challenging hurdles, ones which I’m stunningly tripping over on a regular basis.
The cost of rail travel is constant metro daily number to be brought up by journalists, bloggers and commentators a like. The draining plight of the commuter, the unacceptable standards of morning rush hour, and the increasing cost to endure these daily pleasures. But it is the housing of these people that is most troubling.
Whilst the cost of travel is increasing, it is the cost of housing that is kicking me in the face, hard, over and over again, right in the face, in the nose, stamping all over it. My quest these past few months has been turned to the location of suitable accommodation where I can work rest and play, and have a couple of pennies left over for a near frozen pint of Irelands finest, a packed of Rolos, and a vegetable samosa form the those ‘local’ shops that frequent our underground stations.
But as simple as the desire for adequate accommodation at a fair price might be, the staggering rise in rented accommodation is frightful. But worse than the cost of spare rooms where you may have to remove your lifestyle from a selection of luxuries, are the spaces where the less fortunate find themselves. During my hours flicking from page to page of hovel after hovel, the reality of peoples living conditions in this ‘world leading’ city become troubling rather than frustrating.
With rooms at £70 per that offer little more than a single bed, two stoves, a sink, one cupboard and a shared bathroom in an attic, I would argue a case of there being something wrong. Now at this point I would love to offer up a solution, a joyous revolution to the housing crisis that is seeping into the city. Alas, I have nothing…
… and with all things written on staggeringly large issues, there a far wiser, smarter, and ingenious people to listen to, read about, and question than the Saturday afternoon rattling’s of a confused boy.