Listening to the River: the changing nature of one city waterway.

Glasgow’s had some balmy weather recently. We had many days over 20°, the kind of temperature where some ‘taps’ come ‘aff’. For those of us who keep our clothes on, double figures on the thermometer is still worth paying attention to. Many days have been known to pass in Glasgow between sightings of the sun. We like to pay our respects each and every time, just in case. On one recent summery day, I happened upon the river and decided to catch the last of the afternoon sun.

Glasgow’s most well-known river, the Clyde,  is a well-known point of interest in the city. It also flows through many of central Scotland’s towns – Including Lanark, Hamilton, Motherwell, Dumbarton and Erskine.

As seen from the Erskine Bridge.

The River Clyde is around 108 miles long (8th longest in the UK; 2nd longest in Scotland), and flows from the Daer water in South Lanarkshire through to Greenock. From here, the river spills to the sea through the Firth of Clyde.

A hint of an industrial past

In the city of Glasgow,  the river is central to neighbourhoods such as Dalmarnock, the Gorbals and Govan  The Clyde also features at many leading tourist attractions – including Glasgow Green, the Tall Ship, the Science Centre and of course, the eponymously named Riverside museum .

Riverside Museum and the Tall Ship

Of course there are also many notable points of interest for social history, one such being the Broomielaw. The Broomielaw is closely intertwined with Irish Immigration to the city, as well as Scottish Migration. It is also fondly remembered as the starting point of many  Glaswegian and Scottish family holidays, as families set sail ‘doon the watter’. Of course, I didn’t set sail but rather just sit doon next to the water. I lay on the grass for about ten minutes, closed my eyes and decided to pay attention to the sounds of the river. A ‘soundscape’ is an important part of pyschogeography and mapping a space. What you hear is an interesting way to gather clues to what’s taking place around you. In just a few minutes, I was able to note many sounds. The most intrusive included the ebb and flow of traffic at the lights behind me; I could also hear clearly the raucous shouts and chatter of a crowd of young, drunk people to my left. Intermittent noises included the shrill chirrup of a signalling bike bell on the pathway, and the whirr of cycle wheels spinning by. The soft slap of trainers on the concrete as runners’ passed.  Small children chattered and laughed with their families nearby, and the pleasant melodies of different languages being spoken. More distinct noises were heard – the pop of a cork leaving a bottle, the quiet thud of falling sycamore seeds hitting my notebook.

So, the Riverside offered up sounds that suggested it was a gathering-place, a place to meet, to socialise; a place of recreation and of individual sporting pursuits. The soundscape doesn’t just highlight what ‘is’;  the soundscape can also offer clues to what’s not around you. What was missing? Well,if the riverbanks were alive with people socialising, exercising and travelling, the river itself was surprisingly quiet. By no means is the river waterway redundant. Scheduled sailings still take place on the World’s last passenger-carrying, seagoing paddle steamer, the Waverley. Shipbuilding, although a shrunken and much troubled industry, still takes place on the banks of the Clyde. However, at the time of my listening exercise, I did not hear a single boat or rivercraft pass me by. This is particularly poignant when you consider that  Glasgow once made 20% of the world’s ships in her yards. The water that flows through the Clyde has been critical to the industrial development and success of the city of Glasgow.  The river was a key part of the story of population growth and the arrival and departure point of peoples’ journeys . Journeys to work, pleasure or to new lives. Whilst the Clyde continues to ribbon through the heart and future of the city, the recent history of de-industrialisation  means that  ships, steamers, ferries and boats have a strangely minimal role to play in the future life of the river. Unless of course, you’ve ‘heard’ differently…?







11 ways in which Instagram improved my life in 2015.

I’ve come over all BuzzFeed and decided to blog a list of my own. Probably slightly more irreverent than most of my posts, the topic is nonetheless one that is important to me. Instagram.  Some people hate it, finding it vapid and inane. But I love it. With no forethought or expectation, I signed up last April, and rapidly became a huge fan. What I didn’t know was that Instagram would soon enrich my life in  these unexpected ways:

1.Permission to be creative. I’ve spent a lot of my life thinking that I wasn’t as creative as truly creative people. I was dismissive of instagram, thinking it was for fashionable people, young people or celebrities. I am definitely not fashionable people. I’m older than the main demographic of instagram (55% of instagram users are believed to be 29 or under)  Still, after hearing about it for a few years, I finally signed up. I started posting pictures of things I liked. Buildings, mostly. Buildings in my home-town of Cumbernauld, photographs of Glasgow and any other places I happen to visit. When I figured out hashtags properly, I gathered a following and then I was hooked!

Me being all creative with filters and that.

Might have filtered this just a little…

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2.Like-minded community. Instagram hashtags are a gift. If you have a thing for windows, (either the glass-filled,framed viewing device kind or the computer operating system kind)  there’s a feed for that. If you have a thing for organising the ingredients of your dinner or the contents of your handbag  in alignment (#knolling,  it is so pretty) or street art or rich kids or death metal or seals or  cats there is a community of hashtaggers all about that very thing. Instagram makes it easy to find your tribe.

3. A portal to the big wide world. I follow some beautiful accounts all over the world. Plenty right here in Scotland. A lifestyle blogger in Japan. Street photographers in San Francisco, Hong Kong, New York and Edinburgh. Psychogeographers in Detroit and Norwich.  The list is endless. Reciprocity is important on instagram, and makes the experience much more rewarding.

4. New Opportunities. In 2015, directly as a result of instagram I was gifted some brilliant opportunities. I was asked to take photographs at a friend’s wedding. I learned that I both love taking pictures of weddings and that I have a lot to learn about taking wedding photography. I also got some photos in online articles, here and here. Without my instagram habit, it’s hard to see how these opportunities could have come up.

Wedding Snap.

5. New hobbies. Clearly, I do like taking photos or else I’d not have bothered with an app like instagram. But instagram, in conjunction with the decent quality of the camera on my ever present smartphone, switched me on to photography in a big way. The user-friendly filters, by their existence, introduced me to concepts like saturation and contrast in a light-touch way. The newfound passion for photos also led to a new camera. Via instagram, naturally, I found a photography club where I hope to develop my technical ability and improve my photography skills.

6. Sanity. 2015 was like all the other years in that stuff that I’d have preferred not to be going on went on. Normal, tricky real-life stuff with family, relationships, work and studies. The gravitational pull that instagram exerted was stabilising.  When things got a little bit too much, it was always easy to find time to get a few decent pics and post. Reading and following up on comments provided an opportunity for enagagement and escapism.

Escapism through the medium of people watching.

7. Collab with your InstaFam. Or what we call in the real world, making new pals. The ability to connect (see point 2) with like-minded people means conversations that don’t normally crop up take place easily over a photo. Sometimes, if that person is nearby, you might arrange to meet them in the safety of a well-frequented city-centre establishment.  Then you can just nerd out wandering and taking photographs.

Collab with my InstaFam


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8. Postivity. This might not be true of all instagram accounts, but not once has anyone ever said that a photo of mine was a bit rubbish. That doesn’t mean that all my pictures are brilliant. Some have less likes than others. But all the positive energy means I never feel discouraged. And that’s a nice feeling.

9. Random and fulfilling conversations. When out on wanders, taking pictures, I now tend to notice all the other enthusiasts. I’ve sparked up conversations with with pigeon-fanciers, train-spotters,photographers, business owners and graffiti artists. Having a hobby of your own somehow grants you access to ask people about theirs.

10. Walking more. Walking feels like travel, everything else is just transit. On foot, you are free to duck in and out of buildings or take a shortcut over fences and through fields. Breaking the rules (though never breaking and entering- that’s illegal!) helps you find the previously unseen. And, I’ve mentioned it before- getting to know a place on foot absolutely explands and enriches your horizons.

11. Paying attention. I know that much controversy abounds about the use of social media for carefully curating your life and editing out the bits that aren’t so glossy. But in many ways, I’m hoping to do the opposite. I’m not opposed to a beautiful landscape shot of the Scottish hills, or a glistening neon cityscape. But there is joy to be find in tiny moments and unusual places. Having the focus of instagram, ‘the need to feed’ means I work hard to really look around. To go slow and observe. I’ve been richly rewarded, finding tiny little artworks tacked on a door-frame in the East End, or spotting a leading parkour artist hanging on a bridge over the River Clyde. It’s a real incentive- you never know what awaits you.



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How do you use your Instagram? What do you think- is it life enriching or soul-sucking?



Psycho-what? The practice of psychogeography as I see it.

I was introduced to psychogeography as part of my community development studies. The exact practice is contested, with no simple agreed definition. But I ‘d like to tell you about what I think it is, and why I think it matters. In the interest of giving context, there’s a decent explanation of psychogeography here . If you get really interested, I’d recommend books such as Merlin Coverley’s ‘Psychogeography’ John Roger’s excellent and comprehensive website ‘The Lost Byway’; Lynsey Hanley’s ‘Estates’or John Grindrod’s ‘Concretopia’.The last two focus on post-war developments in housing and public buildings, but both feature in-depth studies and consideration of urban areas- important elements of psychogeography.  If you are looking for the more academic origins of the subject, read Guy Debord , from whom the term ‘psychogeography’ is derived.

So, back to me. What exactly is it that I get up to on this psychogeography nonsense? I was completely intimidated in the beginning. Firstly, the name sounds pretentious. It did not sound like the sort of thing a working-class woman from a housing scheme (me) would do, even one who was at University. When first asked to carry out a ‘derive’ (a sort of free flowing wander through a cityscape) as part of a course, I thought that I was pretty observant and completely aware of my surroundings. How much harder could I really look, I thought. But time constraints and convenience meant that I was reliant on taking familiar routes to places I knew well. Yes, I was in Glasgow city all the time for work and study, but I stuck to straightforward routes and the main thoroughfares. Psychogeography demands closer attention, a tuning in to your surroundings. The idea is to wander aimlessly through an urban area, the aforementioned derive, giving in-depth contemplation to all that you experience. Psychogeography requires that you have some time to explore, and encourages you to follow unknown paths. Go to the same places at different times. You don’t plan your route. This I found a little daunting at first, but most people are only ever a smartphone away from a map. Or a human away from advice. Are you Intrigued enough to start your own psychogeographical walk? Some things you could consider as a starting point:

  • When you are walking, notice who surrounds you.  Are there women and children present? Older people?  Are people their for work or leisure? Is the area  diverse or populated exclusively by one ethnicity?
  • Look for indicators of social class and divides too. Security guard in the store? Doorman in the entrance way? What pubs have smokers standing in the doorway as opposed to shielded and discrete designated areas?
  • Stop and look at street art. What are the messages in both the officially acceptable (yes, the city council funds most of those beautiful beautiful building-sized murals) and the ‘illegal’ kind, graffiti tags on railway bridges and in city lanes; vinyl stickers slapped on street furniture.
  • Look at litter with the same interest. The debris you see is often indicative of the people who frequent the area even when no-one is there. [In one example, I saw lots of lidless, polystyrene coffee-cups littered a fairly prestigious, seemingly residential area of Glasgow. It didn’t make sense. Returning on another walk at lunchtime, I discovered it was the debris of the pupils from a fee-paying school. They feasted on chicken nuggets and noodles from a nearby corner shop at lunch time. I had to be there at two separate times of day to make the connection]
  • If the street is clean, why? Whose image is being upheld? Are there council workers visible? If not, why not?
  • Engage all of your senses. Certain sounds and smells will stress you, others will calm you- this will change how you interact with a space.
  • What buildings are in the space? Can you enter them freely or are they out of bounds? If so, who gets access and why? Are there abandoned buildings? If so, how does that change the space?
  • What about evidence of retail growth, industrial decline, gentrification?
  • What are the features of areas where  people freely congregate? What is lacking or present in other spaces that prevents people from congregating?

What exactly is the point of all this walking, this wandering and wondering? I quickly realised, from the very first derive, that I was not fully engaged with the spaces I used.  Psychogeography incites new discoveries  and promotes critical thinking. For community development professionals, activists, and ‘ordinary’ citizens alike. Psychogeography hopefully encourage new insights and perceptions of the places that shape us. It should consolidate some existing beliefs and challenge stereotypes. You’ll probably make sobering discoveries. For example, early on, I found that certain prestigious city centre shops and malls are seconds away from loose communities of rough sleepers, amongst the city’s most vulnerable people. To uncover findings like this, you have to deviate from the safe,pedestrianised encouraged and’endorsed’ routes; you have to explore. I hadn’t exactly conceived that those without homes would congregate neatly on the periphery of the city by night to spare others the discomfort of the homelessness problem. But I certainly didn’t imagine that people would bed down at the back door of Glasgow’s luxury retail outlets. Retail premises, incidentally, which take up vast amounts of space and lie unused, with the lights on, by night.

Over time, your endeavours will excavate themes. Control, visibility, order and disorder, claimed and contested spaces (see John Gaventa on this). Discrimination and segregation. Permissions, omissions and transgressions. Beauty and decay. If you get hooked on psychogeography (almost certain) your familiarity and freedom within a space will grow.  Your ability to traverse the city by your own two feet will hopefully astound you, the radical realisation that many places are walk-able by the time you wait for and use a bus will be heartening. The streets will seem to shrink as your knowledge expands. And with the emergence of understanding, your ability to prompt change will increase significantly. I can’t tell you how exactly, because I can’t predict what will affect people most. Perhaps you’ll be moved to document your findings or become more politically aware. Maybe you’ll seek out like-minded people or get involved in activism.  Maybe you’ll feel sickened by the amount we consume and spend in the literal face of others’ adversity. Maybe you’ll go to places you thought were out of bounds. Certainly, all of the above have happened to me.  I’ve already written that I believe places are part of what makes us ‘us’. Irrespective of your background, we all have a stake in shaping the places in which we live, travel and work.  We just need to give ourselves permission to believe it. From exploration, comes insight and understanding. And with understanding, the impetus to act.


Here’s some I spotted earlier…the Festival of Architecture 2016 longlist is announced

Next year is a double whammy for me. Not only does Cumbernauld get a bus pass (The 60th Anniversary falls between 2016 and 2017-don’t ask, it’s complicated) but 2016 is also the Festival of Architecture, a year long celebration of Scotland’s best buildings. I am not an architect, and my interest in the field is new. But, by exploring my interest in place and psychogeography through the medium of  photography (!), I’ve taken a lot of pictures of buildings. There’s no elaborate process, I usually just try and capture buildings I like, with a strong preference for modernist and brutalist architecture emerging.

So it was with more than a smidgen of smugness that I realised, that many of my snaps feature buildings from the long list, contending for the title of best building of the century.  Alas, my mini ego-trip was shortlived. Maybe it’s obvious what makes a great building. Even as an ordinary (non-architect) person navigating cities and towns, maybe I have more architectural literacy than I realise? Perhaps it’s as simple as that good architectural design is easy to spot? These ideas warrant further exploration, but I’ll mull them over and come back to it some other post.

Putting my questions to one side, I am hopeful that more people will be able to think about the buildings in the places in which they live and travel, visit and work. With Assemble winning the Turner Prize and subsequent media furore; and the  FOA2016 coming up, maybe more ‘ordinary people’ will be switched on to the influence and potential of the buildings in our towns and cities, and  of the impact they have on our lives.

Scroll on to see a selection of my photographs of the longlisted buildings.

Arches and City Chambers, Glasgow. Watson, Salmond and Gray. 1923. 

1927. Bank of Scotland,St Vincent Street, Glasgow. James Miller.

1933. St Anne’s Roman Catholic Church, Dennistoun. Gillespie Kidd and Coia.


1954. Kilsyth Academy, Kilsyth. Basil Spence.


1964. Glasgow College of building and printing, Cathedral Street, Glasgow. Wylie Shanks and Underwood. 

1970 BOAC building, Buchanan Street, Glasgow. Gillespie Kidd and Coia.

1974. University of Stirling, Bridge of Allan. RMJM.

1974. Phase III Housing, St George’s Road, Glasgow. Boswell Mitchell & Johnson.

1999. Homes for the future, the Green. Elder and Cannon.

The public will be able to vote for their favourite building from Spring 2016. There’s a development in Cumbernauld- must be the only houses in the town I’ve not got a picture of (yet)- that I’m tempted to vote for.

Have a look at the longlist (the link here) and let me know what you’ll be voting for. And are there are any obvious omissions from the list?

What’s it Called? Cumbernauld!

My interest in Utopias and psychogeography stems from growing up and living in Scotland’s third new town: Cumbernauld. If you are from the town, or even just owned a television set in the STV region during the eighties, you’ll be familiar with the title phrase. If you’ve never heard this enchanting catchphrase before,  then you can see the delightful piece of propaganda it originates from here.  As a current resident, I can confirm I’ll be asked ‘What’s it called?’ around 84% of the time I mention I live in Cumbernauld. But back to that advert, if the eighties and the decades before (see this from 1970) were all about shameless self-promotion, then how our fortunes changed by the time the new millennium came around.

A little snippet of some bad news:

Despite the weary interviewees in the news clip, it’s worth remembering that Cumbernauld was once hailed a success, at least by architects. In 1967, it won the R.S. Reynolds memorial prize for Community Architecture, beating off stiff competition from the much heralded town of Tapiola in Finland. The architects of Cumbernauld employed a variety of housing styles. In areas that already had some established housing , such as the small Cumbernauld Village and the farming settlement in Kildrum, some attempts were made to keep the scale and appearance of cottage style homes. These homes remain very successful and in demand both as sales on the property market and as social housing (right-to-buy ensured that plenty of the former and less of the latter remain). However, more experimental designs of home did not work as well. Many properties were built as low-rise, medium density housing with flat roofs and substandard materials. Dampness was a problem, and many of these blocks were either demolished or extensively refurbished.

Houses were also purposefully built to face onto gardens and public courtyards rather than the traditional design of homes facing each other. In addition, Cumbernauld planners anticipated a high level of car ownership, and as such there was a garage for nearly every home. To keep residents safe from traffic, many footbridges and underpasses were incorporated into the design, and  today you can still walk through the town without ever needing to cross the road. These are all design elements taken from the Radburn plan, pioneered in New Jersey. These once-lauded elements of town planning are the source of many of the complaints made about Cumbernauld. Not overlooking your neighbours sounds like a good thing until you consider that this makes crime harder to spot. Underpasses become popular places for drinkers to congregate, and some say the incidence of flashing in Cumbernauld was higher because the perpetrators had so many places to hide unseen by passing traffic.

But, by far the biggest architectural problem in Cumbernauld is the main building. The architects, lead by Geoffrey Copcutt, had a strong vision for the town centre, conceiving a large, monolithic concrete structure with different ‘decks’ for different purposes. The intention was that all retail, finance/administrative and leisure and social spaces would be housed in this building. Also incorporated into this megastructure was a level of premium penthouse apartments built on concrete stilts. The architects envisioned that all residents in the newly built housing schemes of Cumbernauld would be able to see the centre from their neighbourhoods. Unfortunately, only a fifth of the proposed centre was ever developed, meaning many of the envisioned uses never materialised. The penthouses were barely occupied, and given over to charity and business use early on. Now, they mostly lie empty, their porthole-like windows are never looked out of. Other parts of the building have been lobotomised, entrance ramps and walkways were hacked off to make way for the shed-like Antonine shopping Centre we were graced with in 2007.

What, we wonder, will become of the centre? Most call for it to be demolished and for us to start all over again. But, both Modernist and Brutalist architecture seem to be enjoying a resurgence, with people having a fresh appreciation for the honesty of the design principles. London now has a brutalist architecture map, St. Peter’s Seminary at Cardross has been reclaimed by NVA and Sheffield’s Park Hill Estate has been, in part, successfully regenerated (although not as social housing). My own dream would be for the penthouse part of the stucture to become some sort of public space, perhaps with community spaces and a museum. Students from around the world continue to be taught about Cumbernauld as one of the best realisations of modernist planning that was built. No-one is in denial about its problems but uncovering and disecting those issues too help us to understand how people like to live. If the powers-that-be dared to dream, then I think Cumbernauld’s megastructure could enjoy the sort of esteem and acclaim its architects once hoped it would have.

Whilst I wasn’t always a fan of the building, by understanding the ambition and ethos behind it, I have grown to love it. Have you been to the building? Or do you have memories of it? Is it worth saving? I’d love to know what others think.

Do you believe in Utopia?

Utopia.  A perfect place, with people living in harmonious physical and psychosocial conditions. I think it’s something we should try for. Yet I’m sure you’ll agree when I say I believe we’re a long way from realising the Utopian vision.

High-rise living: not Utopia.

I’ve carried out voluntary work for over 20 years.  I’ve previously spent time working with and learning from kids’ clubs, youth groups and befriending adults with disabilities. Latterly, I’ve  supported foreign students with their academic studies and provided consultancy support to charities. Professionally, I’ve been employed in the community development and education sector for over a decade. I’ve worked with some of the most marginalised people in our society. This has included young people with no qualifications; asylum seekers and refugees; lone parents; the long-term unemployed and people with mental health problems.

All of the roles described above have something in common.  All were carried out in geographical communities that experience ‘multiple deprivations’ ( I also live in such a place). Deprivation in this context means issues such as a high proportion of low income households, high youth unemployment, lower than average educational attainment, poor housing and high percentages of lone-parent households. In recent years, my interests and experiences  have led me to seek out higher education, grasping to put names to the things I knew I didn’t know I knew!  I now have  the privilege and benefit of a Community development degree, and I am currently working on my dissertation for an MSc in Teaching Adults.

Both my personal, educational and professional experiences, as described above,  have converged.  I  do understand the importance of the many separate yet interconnected community projects that try to improve society. But I often feel the physical reality of places are overlooked. Thankfully, asides from amassing £20k+ of student debt, my studies have also gifted me with a new tool-  Psychogeography. The exact definition is contested. But I think the term lends itself well to what I am interested in. That is,  exploring and documenting ‘place’ in an attempt to understand the way we live and the problems we face.  I started working towards this almost accidentally on instagram six months ago, capturing images to show the places I see. The questions and themes that emerged in some of my more imaginative and evocative images are the focus of this blog. They include:

  • Where are the places that inspire us?
  • How do people interact with the spaces that they inherit?
  • Who are the rule makers, rule breakers and rule keepers?
  • What evidence exists that people know better than planners?
  • What makes a space a rejected place?

So, pleased to meet you as I embark upon a psychogeographic jaunt and ramble. Mostly, I’ll focus on the beautifully complicated, friendly and gritty city of Glasgow. But there’s also a strong supporting role for Cumbernauld, my newtown hometown. I’m hoping to hear your thoughts along the way. The first thing I’d like to ask- do you believe in Utopia?