A workman spends his lunch hour looking at paintings in the Whitechapel Gallery, 1933. Photo: Getty
Show Hide image

Tracey Thorn: my London is blue plaques, plague pits and gin not 4x4s and basement gyms

London is both in my blood and not. I am of the place, and not of it, and I feel or imagine sentimental connections at every twist and turn.

I love London – and yet in truth, as time goes by, it becomes harder and harder for me to justify my love. Its current image in the media couldn’t be worse, and my friends in the north are fond of reminding me that it is simply the playground of Boris Johnson and the Candy brothers: a vast, ugly housing bubble populated only by the mega-rich, who don’t even populate it, as they live elsewhere. There is much truth in this. As you walk the streets nowadays you can virtually hear house prices going up and up, like a ticking taxi meter, all around you, but that is no source of delight to those of us who love the city.

My ancestors have been here since the 1850s. My maternal great-great-great-grandfather Job Bush moved from the village of Carleton Rode in Norfolk to St Pancras, bringing something of the country with him and working as a gardener. On Dad’s side, my great-great-grandfather William Julius Thorn was in Chelsea in the 1870s, working as a commercial clerk. In the 1950s, my parents moved out to the suburbs, fleeing the bomb sites and the cramped conditions they’d grown up with, but I moved back as soon as I could in the 1980s. And so London is both in my blood and not. I am of the place, and not of it, and I feel or imagine sentimental connections at every twist and turn. I can point out to you churches where ancestors of mine were wed, streets where they were born.

Hampstead, where I live, is no longer the cosy home of shabby intelligentsia; like anywhere else that’s pretty, its value has been entirely monetised and it is now just cash that lives here. But still, an area can’t shake off its past that easily, and when I walk up and down its hills I try not to notice the 4x4s or the hoardings where another basement gym is being constructed, but instead focus on the blue plaques to Katherine Mansfield and George Orwell, and the statue of Freud, looking severe and pensive at the foot of Fitzjohn’s Avenue. “Is he cross?” my youngest asked when he was five or so. “No, he’s thinking,” I replied.

It was love of London that sent me off on a walking tour of Aldgate last weekend, organised by a company called Footprints of London. The tour guide is Ade Clarke, who I was in a band with aged 17. He loves London as much as I do, which confirms my belief that growing up just outside it predisposes you to overlook its faults and dwell on its beauty and allure.

So if you love the place, you will find beauty in, for instance, contemplation of the spot where a plague pit was dug behind the church of St Botolph without Aldgate. The small group of us on the tour stood there on a Saturday afternoon, as the traffic roared by, lost in the past, surrounded by ghosts, suffused with the feeling that everyone who has ever lived in this city is somehow still here.

That feeling remained, grew stronger even, as we moved on to Wilton’s Music Hall, dating from the 1850s (did any of my ancestors go there, I wondered) and Cable Street, where we swelled with undeserved pride, basking in the memory of the local people who stopped fascists in their tracks. Then, in Altab Ali Park, named after a young Bangladeshi clothing worker who was murdered in 1978 on his way home from work, our spirits fell a little; maybe the fascists weren’t stopped after all?

Outside the Whitechapel Gallery, which for the past 100 years has housed exhibitions from Picasso to Pollock, Ade quoted John Ruskin to us – “Life without industry is guilt, and industry without art is brutality.” On that stirring note, with all the stories of the afternoon ringing in our ears, we retired to the Halal Restaurant, established in 1939 and the oldest Indian eatery in east London, and finally to the Oliver Conquest, a pub that was once the bar for the original Garrick Theatre, and which now offers more than 160 varieties of gin.

We sampled too many of them, of course, and paid the price next day. The Bathtub Gin did me in, and the night ended in slightly more Hogarthian style than we might have intended – but really, what could be more London? God love and preserve the place.

Tracey Thorn is a musician and writer, best known as one half of Everything but the Girl. She writes the fortnightly “Off the Record” column for the New Statesman. Her latest book is Naked at the Albert Hall.

This article first appeared in the 18 June 2014 issue of the New Statesman, Islam tears itself apart

Getty
Show Hide image

The economics of outrage: Why you haven't seen the end of Katie Hopkins

Her distasteful tweet may have cost her a job at LBC, but this isn't the last we've seen of Britain's biggest troll. 

Another atrocity, other surge of grief and fear, and there like clockwork was the UK’s biggest troll. Hours after the explosion at the Manchester Arena that killed 22 mostly young and female concert goers, Katie Hopkins weighed in with a very on-brand tweet calling for a “final solution” to the complex issue of terrorism.

She quickly deleted it, replacing the offending phrase with the words “true solution”, but did not tone down the essentially fascist message. Few thought it had been an innocent mistake on the part of someone unaware of the historical connotations of those two words.  And no matter how many urged their fellow web users not to give Hopkins the attention she craved, it still sparked angry tweets, condemnatory news articles and even reports to the police.

Hopkins has lost her presenting job at LBC radio, but she is yet to lose her column at Mail Online, and it’s quite likely she won’t.

Mail Online and its print counterpart The Daily Mail have regularly shown they are prepared to go down the deliberately divisive path Hopkins was signposting. But even if the site's managing editor Martin Clarke was secretly a liberal sandal-wearer, there are also very good economic reasons for Mail Online to stick with her. The extreme and outrageous is great at gaining attention, and attention is what makes money for Mail Online.

It is ironic that Hopkins’s career was initially helped by TV’s attempts to provide balance. Producers could rely on her to provide a counterweight to even the most committed and rational bleeding-heart liberal.

As Patrick Smith, a former media specialist who is currently a senior reporter at BuzzFeed News points out: “It’s very difficult for producers who are legally bound to be balanced, they will sometimes literally have lawyers in the room.”

“That in a way is why some people who are skirting very close or beyond the bounds of taste and decency get on air.”

But while TV may have made Hopkins, it is online where her extreme views perform best.  As digital publishers have learned, the best way to get the shares, clicks and page views that make them money is to provoke an emotional response. And there are few things as good at provoking an emotional response as extreme and outrageous political views.

And in many ways it doesn’t matter whether that response is negative or positive. Those who complain about what Hopkins says are also the ones who draw attention to it – many will read what she writes in order to know exactly why they should hate her.

Of course using outrageous views as a sales tactic is not confined to the web – The Daily Mail prints columns by Sarah Vine for a reason - but the risks of pushing the boundaries of taste and decency are greater in a linear, analogue world. Cancelling a newspaper subscription or changing radio station is a simpler and often longer-lasting act than pledging to never click on a tempting link on Twitter or Facebook. LBC may have had far more to lose from sticking with Hopkins than Mail Online does, and much less to gain. Someone prepared to say what Hopkins says will not be out of work for long. 

0800 7318496