The balconies of the Isle of Dogs

 

Which phrase may mean very little to you if you don't live in England, maybe even if you don't live in London. 

To give the back story, the 'Isle of Dogs' is an area of East London that was historically docks and Docklands from the mid-19th century till about 1980. Apparently, its name is because the King's hunting dogs were previously bred and trained there.

It also has a very particular geography, and if you watch the opening credits of  British soap 'Eastenders', the Isle of Dogs is that big U-shape made by a 2-mile high loop in the river Thames (below)

Now I said it was docklands until about 1980 and then a huge change began, as the whole area was gradually redeveloped, including the huge business development of Canary Wharf (below).

(Canary Wharf - and the entire Isle of Dogs - seen from across the river in Greenwich)

I lived in this area in 1983 for a few months, and have just spent the weekend staying with my son, who is now living there. There have been big changes! When I arrived, the development was just starting, and locals were quite sceptical.

All those skyscrapers have arrived (and new ones are still being built), and huge numbers of flats have been built where once there were warehouses and scrapyards.

One feature that hasn't changed is the quiet, which is very noticeable for London and is because there is no road crossing of the Thames at the southern end. So at night you only drive on the Isle if you live there. This means on a Sunday morning you can hear birdsong and not traffic noise. When I lived there before you could also hear river traffic and the barking of scrapyard dogs.

But let me get to the balconies. 

Now most of the new flats, including my son's, are built to the cheeseparing standards of London developers, so basically two people can't pass each other in corridors and beds are often quite snug within bedrooms. But also, if there is no place to store things, some of your crap will be on your balcony, especially if it is glazed-in and weatherproof. As I passed on the train I saw suitcases, rice cookers, spare computers, golf equipment, all the clues to the residents' lives. It was a bit ugly, but gave you the same feeling as when you look at the next shopping on the belt at the supermarket tills and try work out what their meals look like.

And as I rolled past all the balconies I remembered how much nicer my own place had been in a very ordinary council estate. And our balcony was never full of crap, even though we twentysomethings may have been.