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A bad case of trapped wind mars my towering urban masterpiece

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Ian Martin invents matriarchitecture

MONDAY. Resolve to end the oppression of women designers by dividing epic space into patriarchitecture and matriarchitecture.

Who knows what matriarchitects could produce? Patriarchitects have had it their way for too long – scribbling cocks, and often balls, all over the skyline. Time for a REVOLUTION! Oh wait, that was last week.

TUESDAY. Emergency meeting of the Tamworth League to discuss HS3, the high-speed railway system that will be introduced once the ludicrous HS2 has been abandoned.

Under informal arrangements with the coalition, capital city status will revert to Tamworth after the next general election. This will obviously bring economic recovery to everywhere north of Leicester, leaving Greater London (everywhere south of Leicester) to enjoy a quiet retirement as tax haven, heritage park and European Partner.

HS3 will be implemented as soon as Tamworth picks up from where it left off in the eighth century as the political and administrative hub of Mercia/England. There are other major issues to address, such as whether to club together with the rest of The North and join Scotland, but in any case HS3 doesn’t involve laying new track, as the problem’s merely one of under-capacity.

We will simply renationalise everything, restrict First Class to one quiet coach at the back, stick an extra two standard coaches on the front and commission a famous architect to design a new sandwich range.

WEDNESDAY. Sketch out my masterplan for a new city in Pakistan accommodating 10 million people. My strategy is very much about encouraging organic urban growth.

So instead of a grandiose scheme costing billions, I propose to plant a ‘hamlet seed’ and let everything develop naturally. The cost-benefit analysis looks fantastic, and any growth spurts can be contained in what I am calling a ‘shanty cloche’.

THURSDAY. Redesign the recession, giving it more of a niche vibe.

FRIDAY. Once, in a spirit of philanthropic sacrifice, I spent literally days designing a landmark 50-storey ‘skycon’ for Manchester. I suppose it was only a matter of time before the moaning started.

For some time now the Duckworth Tower has – at NO COST to the average Mancunian – completely dominated the city with the sheer quality of its height. Everyone agrees it looks spectacular. Darcy Farquear’say of the Creative on Sunday wrote ‘its scale is breathtaking… the stylish subversion of type so subtle as to be barely discernible…’ Since the building’s completion in 2007, the city has clasped the Duckworth to its pneumatic Northern bosom. The tower even has an affectionate local nickname, ‘The Metal Detectoh’, because of its resemblance to those metal detectors they scan your clothes with at the airport.

Yes, the Duckworth had become very much part of New Manchester. Worth pointing out too that it’s not just a 22-storey hotel where Mancunians are as welcome as anyone else to stay as guests. No. Above the hotel, the other floors are full of luxury apartments available for ordinary Mancunians to buy. And even if ordinary Mancunians can’t afford to go inside the Duckworth, they can still look at it for free, which you’d think they’d be grateful for.

Some people, however, are never satisfied. There have been complaints recently that in high winds the tower makes an eerie ‘farting’ noise that can be heard up to a mile away.

Of course the press has had a field day. ‘LUXURY FLAT-ULENCE!’ screamed the headline in the local evening paper, even though we’re still not sure which end of the tower the farting’s coming from. Plus, hello Manchester people, you selfish bastards, what about the innocent folk IN the Duckworth? Even the shadowy occupant of the ‘pluxury bunga-bunga’ penthouse flat is reported to have heard it, although nobody has ever seen him and there are ridiculous rumours that he’s some kind of vampire. To be brutally honest, anyone who believes in vampires doesn’t even DESERVE a massive farting landmark in their city.

As I told reporters, the farting may be caused by a build-up of wind in the Duckworth’s environmentally-smart digestive system. It is being investigated. Until that investigation is complete everyone should just shut up.

SATURDAY. Five-a-zeitgeist theoretical football. Contoured Neo-Plasticism 0, Tectonic Shelf-Stacking 0, after unpaid extra time.

SUNDAY. Catch up on paperwork in the recliner. Mostly updating my CV, which looks badly out of date now. I’m adding ‘maverick overthinker’ so I sound a bit younger.

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