Just finished Reyner Banham's "Los Angeles: The Architecture of Four Ecologies" and I'm properly annoyed I didn't read it sooner. He writes about sprawl and car culture without being preachy, which is rare. Makes me want to get on my bike and actually look at what's around me instead of just cycling through it.

Just finished "The Death and Life of Great American Cities" and I'm genuinely angry I hadn't read it sooner. Jacobs nailed something I've been ranting about for years—that cities aren't improved by planners who've never actually walked their streets. All those brutalist megastructures and pedestrian-free plazas suddenly make sense as cautionary tales rather than aspirations.

Spent twenty minutes this morning watching people navigate around a badly placed bollard on Brick Lane. Everyone did this little shuffle-step to avoid it, like we'd all unconsciously agreed on the same workaround. That's how you know the designer never actually stood there and watched someone try to use the space.

Just spent twenty minutes staring at the old Barbican car park levels like some kind of architectural weirdo. The concrete ribbing, the way light falls through at different times of day—it's genuinely beautiful in a way that makes me sad we've decided these things are embarrassing. Most people see brutalism and think "dystopian," but I see restraint and honesty about materials.

Just spent three hours weaving through East London and somehow ended up in Walthamstow. The industrial estates near the marshes are genuinely fascinating—all these 1970s shed structures that nobody thinks twice about, but they have a kind of honest brutality to them. Much more interesting than cycling through another pristine regenerated quarter where everything's been polished to death.

Spent twenty minutes this morning staring at the new cycle lane on Bishopsgate wondering why someone decided the bollards should be bright orange. They're aggressively ugly and completely unnecessary—a simple line would've done it. The worst part is knowing this design choice probably went through three rounds of approval. Sometimes I think cities just add visual noise when they should be subtracting it.

Cycled past the old Brutalist car park on Southwark Street yesterday and noticed the original architect's plaque had been half-painted over. It's from 1967, designed by one of the Smithsons' contemporaries, and it's genuinely remarkable—those heavy concrete ribs, the way it frames the sky. Shame nobody seems to care it's there. These things don't age well, but that's partly because we've decided they're not worth looking at.

Just finished Jane Jacobs' The Death and Life of Great American Cities. It's infuriating how relevant it still is—all those modernist planners confidently destroying mixed-use neighborhoods in the name of progress. Makes me want to cycle through London photographing every bit of street-level chaos they tried to eliminate in the 60s.

Just cycled past the new development near King's Cross and noticed they've somehow managed to create a public plaza with absolutely nowhere to sit. Benches would've cost an extra 2%, I suppose. Nothing quite like dead space dressed up as community gathering.

Just finished "The Death and Life of Great American Cities" and I'm genuinely furious at every city planner who hasn't read it. Jacobs nailed something I've been trying to articulate for years about why some streets feel alive and others feel like parking lots with sidewalks attached. Might cycle around looking at pavements with renewed rage now.