Wednesday, 20 December 2017

I never promised you a roof garden

It was all a bit W1A, the visit to [Redacted] HQ on the Strand last month. I accosted a stripling intern wearing the right lanyard in the lobby, only to be told that I had to sign in with the on-the-phone ladies in the lobby's starship deck. The phone calls were quite involved. After a little wait, I shifted gently, from one foot to the other. "I'm going to have to call back later," she said, with an eyeroll directed professionally at the phone, and not me. "I'm at work now."

Upstairs there was a wifi code and a display screen with controls in the next meeting suite, bemused presenters, quality tweet opportunities, new initiatives and disruptions, real-life testimonies from more of the interns. And this:

A balcony with a view

A balcony with a view A balcony with a view

A balcony with a view

Little rows of hunkered lavender and palms, tucked down out of the November wind, warmed by the listed and leaky windows lined the balconies. Access was easy; just a door that the wind whipped out of your hands as you opened it. I was expecting it to be locked away, but why would you lock away a view like this?

Some of the other people at the meeting were muttering about how the other half live, but my office building has a flat roof. We could do this. Most places could.

It's a question of successfully balancing the health opportunities (a view, rainwater recovery, employment opportunities, pollinator stops, insect elevators, pollution soaks, urban greening, mental elevation) against the safety risks (jumping and falling, typically, though there's sometimes some loading and drainage work too) and following your priorities.

This place had very much prioritised the awesome, uninterrupted, impressive view.

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