Last weekend I went away for a weekend to Berlin. I’ve been there before, but was surprised at how many more vibrant, offbeat and deliciously unique surprises the city had in store for me. Below are a smattering of the photographs I took over the course of the two days, the most thought-provoking sojourn was definitely our walk out to the Bösebrücke on Bornholmer Straße. The bridge was a key border crossing and the night the Berlin wall fell (9th November 1989) thousands of Berlin’s residents from east and west crowded over the walkway.

Whenever I read about the Berlin wall and all it represented, I have to concentrate really hard on the fact that it is reality; fact. I have to constantly  remind myself that it isn’t some deconstructive work of fiction; that free-thinking citizens lived very literally next door to what might be best described as a Police State. Something about this almost ludicrous juxtaposition sends me reeling every time I think about it.

I’d like to pretend that this is original 1930s detailing but actually the original Egyptian features of the Carreras Cigarette Factory in Camden were lost in the 1960s when the building was converted into offices. The details were restored in the 1990s complete with replica cats. Still, it’s a pretty good knock off job. This building is extremely difficult to photograph due to its unfortunate angle and its proximity to a large busy road. Hopefully these shots give a sense of the general idea.

Ariel Writers Ghost Sign Vauxhall

It had been a bit of a long day at work so I decided to to take a short after hours train ride to Vauxhall. I find the collage of architecture there really soothing and it’s very close to the river which I love to stroll along. Whilst I was there I found two pieces of ghost signage. One for Ariel Writers – leaders in design, apparently. And one for a bakery that sells wedding cakes and Daren bread (used to be a competitor to Hovis).

Close up of Ariel Writers Ghost Sign Vauxhall

Bays Bakery Daren Bread Ghost Sign

Whiteleys dome, London.

Whilst wandering around west London the other day I happened across Whiteleys shopping mall. It dates back to the Victorian era but I’d never been inside. Whilst I was there I took a few shots. This is definitely the most beautiful area of the building. A lot of the original features have been maintained meaning that it puts most other modern-day shopping centres to shame in terms of lines and style.

Whiteley’s tiered levels and dome.

Through the staircase, Whiteleys.

Spiral staircase, Whiteleys.

Staircases and tiers, Whiteleys.

Skylight close up, Whiteleys.

Yesterday when I was out in East London for the day I took the time to photograph one of the area’s forgotten treasures: The Carlton Cinema, Essex Road. The cinema has long since fallen into disuse which, given how beautiful it is, is something of a travesty. As planning permission wars continue and the building gradually degrades further I thought I’d better take some photos whilst the old girl is still standing. I’m not a professional photographer by any stretch but hopefully these give an idea of how intricate the design is.

Last year I asked illustrator Alfie Gallagher to create an image reflecting what The Carlton would have looked like on its opening in 1930 to accompany an article on the cinema’s history. It’s a sharp contrast to how the cinema looks now but once, this old picturehouse was given the love it deserves.

Limited copies of New Empress Magazine issue 2 are still available for anyone wanting to know more about The Carlton Cinema.

I’m not sure what it is about the geometric lines of cranes, the billowing of chimney smoke or the hard hemming of iron fences but, at least as far as I’m concerned, there is something very poetic about industry. The Docklands in London are basically post-modern pornography and yesterday, being photography freaks, me and @jessonyip went down to the Docklands and started snapping away at the desolate beauty of Canary Wharf and beyond.

We disembarked the DLR at Heron Quays and walked along the river’s edge in the general direction of Greenwich. Tourist types should be made aware of the fact that this is not a picturesque route. It’s all grey, grit and grime. It’s building sites and too many lamposts; rubble piles and McDonald’s Drive-Thrus that are only frequented by local workmen. It’s isolation and void. If you want urban cheer go to Covent Garden or China Town. You won’t find anything but your own reflection and a backdrop of unforgiving concrete to keep you company at the Docklands.

You’d think photographing cranes would be enough for me, but no. I happened across a small patch of sand and decided that it was very important, in my best child-like scrawl, to write the message I HEART CRANES. Just in case anyone was in any doubt about the fact. Unfortunately I’m not the best sand-artist in the world, or artist for that matter, and consequently it looks a little bit like I’m writing I HEART GRANS. I do heart Grans. I particularly liked Super Gran as a child and apparently cried when the series ended. Still I would like to make it clear that my sand-art was not a declaration of love for senior citizens but for the mechanical magnificence of cranes.

Of course once you reach Greenwich, via the tunnel that runs under the Thames, the whole mood changes. The sky gets bluer, you hear the sound of laughing; the clinking of glasses in pubs, the juvenile ruckus of children playing on the steps of the Maritime Museum. The darkness and gloom of the Docklands is behind you and you can stand pensive amongst the pillars, roam the green expanse of Greenwich Park or even stand on the edge of time – and that’s exactly what we did. I was a woman on the edge of time for about 10 seconds during my visit to the Greenwich Observatory. Unfortunately messing with the time continuum can have catastropic effects as you will see from the last couple of photos. As if this world can cope with more than one me!

My alarm sounded at 4:15am. The alarm on my phone plays a very bizarre, somewhat discordant song that sounds as though it was once the theme tune to a tragic 1980’s game show that was axed before it ever began. Sadly because I chose a contract mobile phone that is more intelligent than I am, I don’t know how to change it to something less caustic to the ear. The plus side is, it makes you get out of bed to turn the damn thing off, which when you’re due to be at King’s Cross for the first train in to Paris is a very good thing.

After getting dressed in the dark, and leaving my flat looking like I had, and enduring a thirty minute tube journey with a strange assortment of North London characters (the odd breed who get up before sunrise on a regular basis) I arrived at St Pancras. The lighting there is not kind at the best of times, but with my tiredness and bleariness its bright bulbs were enough to make my eyes water and make my mind wonder what I was doing out of bed so early. Thankfully my travelling companion had had the foresight to buy me a small cuddly toy as a belated birthday present. I perked up a bit after that.

The unique thrill of chunneling my way to the continent was sadly lost on me as I used the train journey as an opportunity to take a much needed power nap. I was however greeted with a beautiful French dawn when I did eventually prise my eyes open to see the vast wintery landscape collaged beautifully through the window.

Once in Paris we headed straight to Montmatre. Domicile de Amelie Poulin and the Sacre-Coeur: a Roman Catholic church dedicated as the name would suggest to the sacred heart of the saviour. Now I’m not exactly big on Christianity but as a piece of architecture the Sacre-Coeur is breathtaking – for me quite literally. We decided to visit the very top of the structure and unfortunately for me this meant climbing a series of very tight and winding staircases. I think I had to stop three times before we reached the top to catch my breath, but in my defence I hadn’t had any breakfast and I work in an office job where I never leave my seat all day. Of course I’m out of shape.

This said, the rigorous work out and high anxiety were well worth the amazing perspective when we got to the top. We marvelled at the beauty of the early morning Parisian cityscape, at the buildings palid in a sun that was still stretching from it’s sleep and at the Eifel Tower which stood proudly in the distance piercing a sky of the clearest blue.

The descent was easier on my lungs but considerably more dizzying than going up and I think my friend sensed that if we didn’t have breakfast soon I was likely to pass out. We chose a table at a small cafe and were greeted by a waiter who didn’t look all that French.

“You want eggs” he said, as a statement rather than a question.
“Croissants?” I ventured.
“Croissants finished,” he replied. “You want eggs.”

We had eggs. To his credit, they were very nice eggs and I soon managed to get over the disappointment that the waiter didn’t seem to have a penchant for stripy T shirts or wearing berets at a jaunty angle (I think I watched Eurotrip one too many times – Scotty doesn’t know!).

Sadly for my friend having breakfast resulted in me slipping into a rather hyperactive mood fuelled by my sudden sense of being overwhelmed by the romanticism of Paris…and admittedly a little bit of sleep deprivation left over from the night before. From our breakfast table we roamed the city from end to end and I never missed a beat. I just couldn’t help myself. Everytime bells rang I insisted on wailing “the bells, the bells” in my best Quasimodo voice. Everytime we passed a McDonalds I would reconstruct the car scene from Pulp Fiction declaring the words “Royale with Cheese” with enough tongue-in-cheek vigour to make Samuel L Jackson himself very proud. And everytime we passed anything of iconic status I would insist on taking pictures of my new cuddly toy next to said landmark a la Amelie and the gnome.

This caused a great deal of amusement and we could no doubt be heard cackling from far away at Pont Neuf, The Notre Dame and The Eifel Tower. Other tourists weren’t quite sure about my affinity for toy photography overlooking the Seine and passed by looking somewhat bemused before letting a little snigger slip out once they felt they had reached a safe enough distance. What can I say? Regardless of where I go I always like to leave a lasting impression. Besides, people should know better than to let me loose in a strange city equipped with a cuddly toy and a digital camera. It’s just asking for trouble.