the perks of being a wallflower

The phrase "the perks of being a wallflower" is far more interesting than the novel of the same name by Stephen Chbosky. It is probably due to the aesthetically pleasing cover, the dreamy-sounding title, or the many recommendations I've had of it that the novel turned out to be the complete and disappointing opposite of what I had expected. I had imagined an understated but affecting tale of unappreciated beauty, but in this case I was judging it entirely by its cover. It's one of those books that I've always been told to read, a supposed 'generation defining' work, adored the world over by a multitude of teens labouring under the misapprehensions of youth. And although I count myself among that multitude, I just didn't get it - I found it trite, condescending, and inconsequential. The plot was weakened by the first person narrative of Charlie, as in an effort to be more accessible perhaps, Chbosky gave his central character only the most basic and functional language to tell his story with. This could quite obviously be a reflection on the character - were Charlie a real person I doubt he'd be prone to verbal acrobatics - but it made the narrative incredibly boring.

Some kids look at me strange in the hallways because I don't decorate my locker, and I'm the one who beat up Sean and couldn't stop crying after he did it. I guess I'm pretty emotional.

Stop press - Strange? Crying? Emotional? The very essence of the troubled youth... In reality, it has more in common with The Story of Tracy Beaker than anything else.

I was trying to find a photo that represented what my idea of a "wallflower" had been, and found this picture:

I took this at the Neue Wache sculpture by Käthe Kollwitz in Berlin. It's a strange memorial, housed in a massive, grim-looking grey concrete box, and dedicated to all those who died in the Second World War - including the Nazis. Anna standing alone had escaped my notice, but I really like the effect of her isolation from the group. She looks almost superimposed, a pale ghost looking on from the outside.

"You're a freak, you know that? Everyone says so. They always have." "I'm trying not to be."

I feel old.

"it looked like Hollyoaks getting off with Trainspotting on the set of Christina Aguilera's Dirrty video"

So said Charlie Brooker on his first impression of Skins way back when the singularly debauched trailer for series one burst forth onto our screens, taking up whole adbreaks with depictions of a house party, the like of which I hadn't seen since the advent of Facebook. The rise and rise of Facebook and the sudden decline in free-for-all house parties is directly linked; news of a parentless house would previously have only spread so far via word of mouth, but these days thousands turn up, cause massive collatoral damage, and get a gleeful Daily Mail in full yoof-damning mode involved. 2007 seems like a simpler time in comparison; Skins was new and exciting, an event, featuring at least one familiar face - 'oh my God, it's About A Boy but all growed up and attractive in a clown-like way!' - and the buzz surrounding the first series was immense. The sheer scale of anticipation showed, more than anything else, how little television there was that was either aimed at teens, or that purported to show them as they are. Aside from the interminably boring OC and Hollyoaks, worlds apart but equally alien to most UK teens' experiences, there was literally nothing for that demographic before Skins stumbled onto our screens in a drunken haze and proceeded to shock middle-England.

Original cast series 1&2

And what made it so schocking exactly? The revelation that teenagers have sex with each other, take drugs, drink and generally behave in an audaciously stupid and dangerous manner most of the time? There is plenty of all of the above in Skins and the argument has been made for all three series that it is gratituous in its portrayal of them. However, logically it wouldn't be a drama without the drama - and it never pretended to be a bastion of high culture, so why expect it to be anything more than a slighty zany and exaggerated view of a dozen or so chlichéd teenagers and their trivial times and trials? That said, I have always felt that for all it's faults, there have been several episodes in each series which were really outstanding pieces of television. The writers Bryan Elslie and Jamie Brittain have formulated some dud episodes between them, but in general the have got their characters very right. Everyone knows a Tony, the arrogant self-assured good-looking one, or a Jal, a brilliant musician who is nonetheless plagued by self-doubt. I'm not sure what this says about teenagers in general - what are we if not clichés I suppose. The character of Cassie played by the beautiful if somewhat rabbity Hannah Murray, may have spawned a thousand pretenders in the real world saying 'wow' in a ditzy way, but her storyline was in fact very well executed. She is frightened of change, uncertain of what she wants or how to get it, things which any teenager could relate to.

The new cast have taken some getting used to, and I personally feel that this series got off to a bad start; the puerile humour increased, and there seemed to be little character development in the first few episodes, which included a particularly cringe-worthy turn from Mackenzie Crook and a frankly perverted Ardal O'Hanlan. This weeks episode completely reversed my opinion however, and I am now hooked once again. It focused entirely on JJ (played by the quite adorable Ollie Barbieri), a nervy autistic boy who can only deal with social interaction by doing magic tricks, who is caught between his feuding friends and completely incapable of dealing with it alone. The question of what it is to be normal was panned out in a creative and unusual way. The scene where he is prescribed more drugs to solve all his problems simply because he is autistic, instead of receiving any real help from the NHS was a sadly accurate reflection of how they treat teenagers - there is a pill for every ill, whether physical or mental.

What made it particularly interesting was that the music was, apart from a live band in a club scene, entirely Debussy. It was a bold device for a show that has knowingly immersed itself in the slightly off-beat indie scene, the frequenters of which have probably never heard of impressionism. That might sound a little condescending but it's probably true to say that most people haven't, unless they play the piano with an obsessive and possibly unhealthy enthusiasm, in which case Debussy is impossible to avoid. Clair de Lune is included in almost every anthology of music, anywhere, ever. Also used in the episode were the Deux Arabesque, and Golliwog's Cake Walk, a brilliant piece I'd forgotten until it appeared while JJ smashed up a psychotherapy unit waiting room, and I immediately sat down to play it after I'd watched the episode. Not entirely sure whether I'm allowed to call it the Golliwog's Cake Walk. I discovered that at a school recital recently, a friend of mine was told she couldn't play it for fear of offending the audience. I thought this was ridiculous over-censorship as this piece was written nearly a century ago and was intended to be a children's piece, but oh well... Bring on the rest of series 3. They've caught me good and proper now.

empty spaces, abandoned places

Smithfield meat market, London

There is a certain romance in abandoned buildings, as they crumble into oblivion. London has hundreds of examples, from the long-derelict Battersea Power Station to the numerous abandoned mansions in Shoreditch. The fate of Smithfield meat market is of particular interest to me; I think as a collection of buildings it is just too beautiful an example of Victorian architecture to destroy. The Fish Market, General Market and Red House of the huge market complex are currently in planning permission limbo, and will probably be scheduled for demolition as soon as a suitable developer of 'affordable' luxury £1m flats approaches City authorities.

Leap frogging in the 'Grand Avenue' at Smithfield

I visited the more modern neighbouring building that still houses London's biggest meat market on a working day, and even in the brightly lit surroundings of the renovated East hall, the macabre scenes of less enlightened days could be clearly imagined; the rivulets of blood still run into the gutters, and the carcasses of animals line the walls. A market has existed on the site for over 1000 years, and it holds a special place in the blood-spattered history of London as a site of executions. In 1726 Daniel Defoe described Smithfield market as "without question, the greatest in the world" - high praise you might think, but then he was a journalist.

Without these wonderful, sprawling structures, London will simply become a collection of Gherkin-esque conceptual office buildings, completely devoid of any true character. It would be a bold step to invest in Smithfield but done correctly it would be manifestly better than any of the new buildings popping up to the East in preparation for the 2012 Olympics - I'm all for the renovation of East London, but Olympic parks tend to look like town planners' wet dreams and not like living spaces for real people once the Olympic charade has left town. Smithfield is one of the last original markets standing, and I think that alone makes it deserving of some attention lavished upon, even without its varied and interesting past. Also, the best scene in Spice World: The Movie was filmed in the green (née purple) building on the corner - voila - justifying its being kept purely as a monument to the Spice Girls.

While I'm on the theme of the empty and abandoned, here are a few photographs from two recent rolls of film. These first two were taken at about 7am at the end of Oxford Street, on my way home after a moderately dreadful night out. The Astoria and the buildings around it are being cleared in order for Crossrail to cut a swathe across it. It wasn't the best of venues, but I still felt a pang of regret at its demise.

"Goodbye Astoria, we love you 14 Jan 09"

Empty underground corridors also have the same effect on me. A solitary walk through the maze of passages towards the platform can give you an entirely new perspective of the Tube.

Notting Hill Gate tube, Central Line

I hope to be able to go and photograph some more abandoned London landmarks soon. Right now I've got my eye on a desolate looking old factory near a friends house in Fulham... Bis dann.