The maw of doom

For the most part I believe I've managed to avoid the majority of the classic male obsessions (such as sport and beer, for example, and, well, women), but I can't help but share that peculiar male fetish for destruction on a grand scale.

A typical working day will see me making my towards Feltham, a town just outside of London, nestling between the busting city and Heathrow airport. Before the company I work for moved there, it was briefly located in temporary offices in the heart of London, just around the corner from Trafalgar Square, in what used to be the Libyan embassy. I worked in the basement, in a room adjacent to an enormous underground safe replete with a two feet thick steel door Those on the upper floors were rather more fortunate - they were blessed with rich carpeting, vast chandeliers and, perhaps most importantly of all, windows and daylight. Suffice it to say, that in terms of grandeur, Feltham can't quite begin to compete with our previous location, it's primary highlight being that it's home to the largest young offenders institute in all of Europe.

Lest I seem to be digressing too far, let's get back to the subject of wanton destruction. Feltham is currently in the initial stages of what looks to be a rather impressive urban regeneration programme. It's become something of a cliche to say that towns and cities are blighted by innumerable problem, from crime, to unemployment, to litter, and more, but in Feltham's case, all these apply and more. It's simply not a pleasant town, nor I imagine a pleasant place to live. My fellow co-workers and I conspire to do our very best to spend as little time there as possible (occasionally to the consternation of certain members of management). If you were to see the place you'd understand why. The center of town is both dominated and ruined by some of the most horrendous sixties and seventies concrete architecture you're likely to encounter. It's notable features include a pedestrian precinct that features regularly on The Bill (when they require an area to film in that has a particular air of destitution), and an adjectiveless tower block. I describe the tower block as adjectiveless, because words simply fail me. How anyone could ever have thought building this thing would benefit anyone escapes me.

Fortunately, everything must go, and the center of the town is now being torn apart, to later rise from the rubble in a form that, judging from an intricate cardboard model on display, looks carefully conceived to appeal to those members middle classes in need of affordable housing within reasonable commuting distance of the center of London (with the added benefit of close proximity to Heathrow). And when I say torn apart, I do mean it. I was initially curious as to how the tower block would be taken down - perhaps I secretly hoped it would be blasted out of existence (a fitting end for the monstrosity), but it's nearness to several key pieces of infrastructure (roads and rail tracks and such like) made that rather unlikely. Instead, over the past several weeks, it's been pecked away at by an enormous mechanical arm, resembling an giant jcb, but with a large claw in place of a scoop. It's an impressive device, and quite hypnotic to watch in action - walking down the high street I regularly have to weave my way through the small crowds that form to stand and stare at it. I've even found myself participating in this staring ritual myself once or twice.

I'm not sure why this carnage should hold such fascination. I suppose anything on any kind of grand scale is always grounds for gawping, be it art or music, nature or architecture. And there's a curious aesthetic at work, watching this great engine of entropy (I couldn't resist the phrase, I'm sorry) tearing into it's hapless prey, a slow primitive ballet of sorts. Perhaps it doesn't really matter in the end. Somewhere ravelled in my genetic structure are a few strands of dna that force me to accept that big machines making bigger buildings go boom is just plain kewl :)

I feel terribly masculine now.