I’m just waking up at home. To my ears, it doesn’t seem like London up here in the silence of Centre Point. More like so distant realm. I’m on the 20th floor, and I feel as I am with the almighty. Only the birds are higher than where I am now. There is a little bit of madness brewing below. The taxis and the buses are bringing the early commuters into the city, and there are signs of the morning rush on the streets as people begin to dart about Tottenham Court Road.
Under my nose is Soho, behind me is Covent Garden, and above is the amber skies as the sun rises from behind Canary Wharf to the east. The living room is warm and welcoming, engaging with the enduring spirit of the building’s modernity. It is simple, yet robust. Graphic and bold in West-End’s tallest residential tower.
Below my feet, I drop in on The Coral Room at The Bloomsbury hotel before I ride the elevator back up to the top. Back up here, the hotel below is a small red square on the map, with the British Museum further down the street. In many ways, it is difficult to imagine how one could work up here. Given the distracting view of the skyline, I wonder really how I get any work done at all. I begin to delve into my work, and a storm is brewing on the south side of the Thames. I watch the weather creep in, as it soaks the city below. The storm dies, and the light creeps out from under the clouds, casting shadows through the entirety of the apartment. A home like this is a rarity.