Dancing Here

This was the start of my wander. The old high-rise that I live in has a large monotone entrance. Whenever something is placed in this large hallway, it is moved or taken within minutes. Nothing seems to stick in the space, which makes it seem liminal. So in the spur of the moment, I danced in a space that every occupant of the building used only as a transitional area, from the street to the flat door.

There were no witnesses apart from my partner behind the camera and any unfortunate soul behind the security cameras watching my ungraceful dancing.

The first time I saw the Gherkin was on TV. I loved the TV show The Apprentice. Lord Sugar would always be in the Gherkin ‘firing’ all of the hopeful entrepreneurs. This was ‘peak’ entertainment for 12-year-old me living in the north of England, far removed from the hustle and bustle of the capital. But since moving to London, the Gherkin has always loomed over me. For the first couple of years I moved to London, I worked in a bar in front of the building; in fact, our fire evacuation assembly point was the Gherkin. The majority of people who came into the bar were people who worked in finance, trickling in from the Gherkin and the surrounding financial district. With their perfectly ironed suits but disgruntled faces, they would order a pint on the company card and talk ‘business’ with others. In fact, a contestant of The Apprentice, one of the years I worked there, would frequent the bar.

After a couple of years, I stopped working in the bar, but I did not move on from the Gherkin’s shadow; instead, I moved into the shared flat that I live in now. This flat is behind the towering Gherkin. I see it every day. I don’t work in finance, nor do I know anyone who does, but what I do know is that the Gherkin is a building that facilitates and inhabits the middle of a busy financial part of London. But while it is this capitalist symbol, the building has also sheltered me in its shadow from when I first moved alone to the city at 18, providing me a job to be able to support my studies, to now, where I inhabit behind its presence.

This is all a very detailed way to say that on this unplanned walk, I gravitated towards it. I danced in front of this capitalist pillar and brought some whimsy to the ‘strictly business’ area during rush hour, all while smiling because, despite everything, I actually quite like the building.

Continuing my walk through Bank and Monument, people in business wear were swarming to hop on the next train from Fenchurch Street after a long day at work, like busy bees. The streets are spotless and appear sparkling clean compared to the rest of London. This is probably because nobody usually dwells outside in this area; they are all either in the high glass rectangles that are offices or scurrying underground for a train. The area doesn’t feel alive in any real way; the only register of life is when you have to avoid somebody steamrolling down the pavement while they are looking at a phone. This is why I am dancing with a tree. Not only because this tree was sad looking with its spindly branches, but also because it was probably less miserable than everybody else. Or maybe these people love their jobs but just have strained faces when walking, and I am only projecting this sad disposition onto them because I am 21 and work an awful minimum wage job.

Anyway, I danced with a tree, and nobody saw because they were all distracted by being released from work. Although I think the tree enjoyed my interruption from the economic shenanigans I imagine it is used to.

I start to head towards the Thames. On my way to the river, I walk past a narrow alley that has names of places, people, and events carved into the floor. It makes the floor look like a “word river” that winds through this tight alley. But I know this “word river”; it’s an art installation created in 2004 by Simon Patterson that charts the city’s history.

The alley is also a quiet slip that, at the time, seemed like a solace compared to the busy street I was on. So I crossed the road and wandered to the beginning of the alley. With the fast-paced walkers on the street in front of me as an audience and this “word river” alley as my stage, I danced. I believe some saw my dancing this time. I hope I made them laugh.

I pop out onto a part of the Thames path. People are taking photos with the murky river in the background. There are also many joggers about, and it was a congregation of these joggers near an unseemly construction site that brought me to my final dance.

A whole building is surrounded by scaffolding and tall white boards that protrude into a communal area with workout benches for the public to use. It is the only part for about a 100 meters that isn’t occupied by anyone, probably because the tall boards make it feel incredibly dingy and claustrophobic. I thought that maybe they were putting an extension in and that was why there was such extensive scaffolding, but no. On a small bit of paper, stuck to the boards, it detailed that this was all for “Facade cleaning and installation of new curtain walling”. It also said the dates the construction site will be there for; it’s already been up for over a year. Consequently, I used the mirror on the facade of the boards to indulge in some vanity and danced in front of it. The joggers were definitely looking on in mixed emotions at this; hopefully, they found my dancing less depressing than the bleak construction site. I also danced by the long-forgotten workout benches; at least somebody was exercising near them.

As I danced, I realised how sad this little space is. It was probably a really nice slice of path where people could work out or simply sit. But now everybody there was avoiding it like it housed a fog of miasma. The looming construction had cast a long shadow that really did make it seem dreary and forgettable in an otherwise sunny patch of the Thames path. It remains a question whether my dancing lit up the place or not, but one thing it did do for certain was draw some eyes to a place usually unnoticed or forgotten.