In his 1994 movie London, a classic of poetical-geographical film-making, its director-writer Patrick Keiller speculates that the BT tower, that rises on the site that once contained a flat inhabited by Paul Verlaine and Arthur Rimbaud, is a secret monument to the French poets’ love. This is one of many instances of this structure’s ability to generate myths – legend also had it that, as military secret, it couldn’t be shown on Ordnance Survey maps. With its slender vertical fuselage and long-stalled revolving restaurant, it speaks of the hopeful futurism of the 1960s, of the white heat of technology, of Minis and miniskirts and the Beatles.
Its sale, for £275m, by BT to a hotel group, if it gives the tower a secure future, is welcome. I’m more troubled by the reports that the designer Thomas Heatherwick is to “repurpose” the building. His past work shows that he’s not one to leave well alone, but rather festoon structures with over-sized flower-pots and look-at-me swirling shapes. One can only hope that he discovers some restraint. The BT Tower is already an icon. It’s perfect. Let it be.
