From: tsm@fastmail.ca   
      
   Julian  wrote:   
   > On 18/02/2026 22:14, Tara wrote:   
   >> Julian  wrote:   
   >>> On 18/02/2026 21:43, Tara wrote:   
   >>>> Julian  wrote:   
   >>>>> On 18/02/2026 16:39, Tara wrote:   
   >>>>>> On Feb 18, 2026 at 11:15:57 AM EST, "Wilson"    
   wrote:   
   >>>>>>   
   >>>>>>> On 2/18/2026 11:07 AM, Tara wrote:   
   >>>>>>>> On Feb 18, 2026 at 11:00:04 AM EST, "Wilson"  wrote:   
   >>>>>>>>   
   >>>>>>>>> On 2/18/2026 10:36 AM, Julian wrote:   
   >>>>>>>>>> On 18/02/2026 15:28, Wilson wrote:   
   >>>>>>>>>>> On 2/17/2026 6:20 PM, Tara wrote:   
   >>>>>>>>>>>> Tara  wrote:   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>> On Feb 17, 2026 at 4:24:25 PM EST, "Julian"    
   >>>>>>>>>>>>> wrote:   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> I’ve got a new thriller out this week, under my pen name of   
   S.K.   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Tremayne. I am pleased with the book, and I believe it’s   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> entertaining. I   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> am also aware that, in a tough and competitive market, that may   
   not be   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> enough for it to succeed. I am even more aware that readers   
   might   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> decide   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> the book is dreck. They might give me one star reviews, and no   
   sales.   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Then the book will crater, my publishers will probably abandon   
   me, and   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> my nice career will drift to an end.   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>>   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> And that, of course, is how it should be. No one in any career   
   is   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> entitled to a free ride. That especially applies to people who   
   get   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> to do   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> a desirable, creative job such as novel writing. Whether   
   you’re a   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> writer, actor, director, sculptor or musician – if you want   
   that   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> enviably fun creative profession, you live and die by public   
   approval;   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> and if you are bad, goodbye.   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>>   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Unless, of course, you are an architect. I was reminded of this   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> peculiar   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> anomaly by last week’s furore over the latest architectural   
   wart to   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> attach itself to London’s battered face: the already notorious   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> ‘Belgrove   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> House’, that now dominates a prime corner of Euston Road,   
   where it   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> sits   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> right next to King’s Cross and St Pancras.   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>>   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> I presume it has been situated in London after the original   
   design was   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> rejected by a horrified Uzbek government, as being too ugly for   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Tashkent.   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>>   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> If you have not seen it yet, the best way to get a sense is to   
   look at   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> photos like the one here.   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> https://x.com/ianvisits/status/2020440287785443433   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Briefly. The second best way is for me to describe it, but that   
   is   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> actually quite hard. Because it’s difficult to verbally   
   capture this   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> weird, stupid and meaningless collision of styles, materials,   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> dimensions. The closest visual analogy, to my mind, is one of   
   those   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> plates piled high at a hotel buffet by an idiot: with a splodge   
   of   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> curry, some sauerkraut, five potatoes, some lemon pie, a lamb   
   cutlet,   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> smoked herring, and several cheesy crackers, and everything   
   banal and   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> tasteless even before you smush them together.   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>>   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> In short, the building is appalling, and it’s not going to   
   get better   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> over time. It is a dud. A turkey. A calamitous flop. It is the   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Millennium Dome. It is Fyre Festival. It is Triangle, the BBC   
   soap   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> opera   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> set on a North Sea ferry route. It is Raise the Titanic. It is   
   Harry   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Hill’s I Can’t Sing. It is Keir Starmer’s prime   
   ministerial career,   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> rendered in concrete and plastic. It is my first novel, Absent   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Fathers,   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> which got a cheque for zero pounds zero pence, as a computer   
   could not   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> believe an author could sell so few copies, so sent a cheque   
   anyway.   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Finally, it is the architectural equivalent of Via Galactica   
   (1972), a   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> space-themed musical with actors on trampolines, which lasted   
   seven   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> performances.   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>>   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> But here’s the thing. For all the creative disasters listed   
   above,   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> someone responsible paid a price. Even the lavishly coddled   
   Millennium   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Dome project damaged careers. And yet, if you design and erect a   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> hideous   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> building, equivalent to these aesthetic catastrophes, you pay   
   no price   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> at all. And this despite the fact that, unlike a rubbish novel,   
   you   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> can’t chuck a bad building in a bin. No, the building squats   
   there,   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> for   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> decades, blighting the lives of everyone who must look at it.   
   And   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> given   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> that this particular building is situated in one of the most   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> conspicuous   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> sites in the capital, opposite two of its grandest railway   
   stations,   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> that is going to be a lot of people.   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>>   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Worse, there’s a decent chance the architects of this   
   carbuncle   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> will get   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> an award. Because that’s what they do in architecture world.   
   They have   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> hideous ideas, then they force them on the rest of us, and then   
   they   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> give each other prizes. Until, about 40 years down the line,   
   everyone   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> accepts the obvious truth, and the pile of ugliness is finally   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> demolished.   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>>   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> If you need proof, just look at the lists. Salford’s laughable   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Centenary   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Building, Britain’s very first Stirling Prize winner (in   
   1996), was   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> set   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> to be knocked down just 30 years later, to much applause. The   
   Tricorn   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Centre Portsmouth won the Civic Trust award in 1967 and yet was   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> demolished in 2004. Pimlico Comprehensive School collected a   
   RIBA   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> prize,   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> then it was flattened in despair. Gateshead’s Trinity Square   
   car park   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> was recognised as a ‘most outstanding modernist building’   
   by the 20th   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> century society after it was blasted to hell. Add to this, our   
   own   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Belgrove House: yes it won a World Architecture Festival Award   
   in   
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>> 2023.   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)