your render of the cabin looks a bit to polished,but I'm glad to have learned the name of the old boy who lived in the old shack in the alley.I came here 12 years ago and first saw him then.I haven't seen him there for a while,some of those arches have become bugbug bike storage so perhaps he was moved on or worse.I thought "Portugese Tony" might be an sddition to your collection.Tony is a mobile bike repairer who has a self built trike which has enough spare bike parts on the back to put Evans to shame.He is often at the junction of Blackfriars Bridge rd and stamford st.
My neighbour found George half frozen to death one winter a copuple years back and called the ambulance. He was taken to Guy's which is how I tracked him down and discovered his real name. He was later discharged to a care home where he seems to have spent about three months before coming back to his old turf. His return saddened but didn't surprize me, alas he never re-built his 'home' in the manner of before and I found him sleeping in a doorway for several weeks just off Southwark St.
I passed his space at one point to find it in complete disarray and rumours of trouble with drug addicts in the area. My hope and wish is that he was taken back into care to live out the rest of his days (he was in his eighties). I could never cope with the way the Union Gallery which opened up alongside him would have their openings and the patrons would all be milling beside him drinking their glasses of beer/wine whilst he tried to settle down for the night.
The textures on the cabin are indeed too slick, though they are the actual wood finishes from the building itself, but therein lies one of the ironies of working with a virtual world alongside real locations.
I'll keep an eye out for Tony, I've never seen him. Btw click the thumbnail pic to see the wall in detail. To many it might seem as just a broken bit of wall, but for me it speaks of London's rich social history and the hint of a narrative lost to time.
George's home. He spent time in the army which I think is apparent by the way he kept his possessions in such good order. He was always smartly turned out though never approachable. I built this piece in his honour really, felt he deserved recognition on some level so this was my tribute.
Tolstoy, the answer to your question about C.Islers is a bit late..! The old managing directors were Stanley Goodwin and Edwin J Edwards who used go the london zoo and have meetings with the Directors and tickle Clarissa....the Carp!
They drilled for water which would come to the surface under its own force. Had many many jobs all over the place including one at London Zoo where a terrible accident took place involving our workmen, and to this I remember my flippant comment when I took the call..someone had phoned and said there had been an incident with someone getting gassed..
There had been a pit excavated on the walk
where the elephants used to use. It had been a bank holiday and the pit had been covered up, when old dickie moon went down he collapsed, then young peter went down to help he too collapsed, then another man went down.
It was methane gas that had collected over the holiday and they all died. One theory was the elephant droppings had caused the gas, but I doubt that..I could waffle on about the rest of the office...real characters ..
I love all this. I used to live in Pages Walk from 1999 to 2003. I work on Upper Ground and I used to walk to and from work via various different routes. I loved how so many of the streets were dickensian: dank and dark and full of ancient gloom. I remember vividly walking to London Bridge for the millenium celebrations and seeing a face peering out of a barred window under one of the dank tunnels on the way. It looked like we'd been visited by someone from the previous century - he looked so forlorn, grubby and didn't seem to realise what night it was.
I know there has to be progress and rejeuvenation, but there is so much charm in the shabby gloom of certain streets in Southwark. Not long after that I lived in Kew and I hated it - no layers of history to be found in the fabric of the buildings. Everything seemed so sterile and dull.