Good Evening Viewers.|
Wembley and me, where do I begin. Maybe back in 1998. I remember it well.
When I hit upon the love for this giant of stadium,
it was already on the hit list for the elimination squads, but this place that i'd
been a guest of for most of my life I had indeed taken for granted, this mass of echoing
concrete that i'd passed on through and always expected to be there, not that i'd ever
given it much thought. But after yet another reading of yet another premature obituary
by the baying for blood tabloids, the greatness of our wonderful monument became clear.
What a fantastic creation it was. What a fantastic building, and how famous it was too,
and how dare they think of destroying it, and why? I could not believe it, and felt
personally aggrieved at the potential loss. And so I grew to love Wembley's Twin Towers
even more, and followed the destructive process, hoping from a distance that sense would
prevail, and our nations heritage would be around for all time.
My attention and angst were cemented when I visited Wembley the year after, this being
for a rock music concert by those American chaps 'Aerosmith' who would dedicate their
concert to the already comdemned Twin Towers. The band leaders, former addicts monickered
'Toxic Twins' refered to this gig as the 'Toxic Twin Towers Ball', and in many ways was
its real swansong, a real rip roaring event devoid of any sorrowful footballing failure.
It was June 1999, and prior to the gig, I lay neath the Towers in the warmth and sunshine,
just marvelling over this brillance soon to be trashed into history for nothing.
Momentarily I was sickened to think that anything like this might really be happening.
It had suddenly become that important to me. Those bastards just had to be stopped.
The next year was the final operating year, the year 2000. Last matches, last gigs, but
no effort on anyones part to save the Towers. I couldnt believe it all, all the big
business pressure, all the unfeeling media, no expense spared in the march towards
destruction, and absolutely no interest in nor mention of the case for preservation.
It was the greatest of shames. I realised my impotence of stature in my futile attempts
to write letters, at least to motivate some kind of lobby. But nothing. The destruction
camp had run a cruel campaign. All thoughts tuned in to old Wembley's supposedly
unsolvable failings. All talk in reference to the Towers and their outmoded appearance.
The towers were a dead man. You would think from the media that this was hell that needed
to be buried, not preserved of refurbished.
So in August 2000 I made a special trip, my first in life to Wembley just to see the architecture. And on that heavenly day Wembley
Stadiums Twin Towers stood splendid on the horizon. Wasnt this place so special?
I stood on the balcony, with the bust of Sir Elvin by my side, looking over Wembley
Way, but depressed by the death clouds soon to be upon this Venue of Legends. Inside,
the omenous misery of this delightful Banqueting Hall, ghosts of major events now laid
rest by a ghastly defacement by exhibition showing the new stadium designs, once again
no expense spared at selling this sickening stinking plasticated soulless pap to the
easily convinced public. Absolutely horrific. I took my photographs, touched the Towers
for the last time, sat in sadness, then left for home. What to do. What to do.
That was when this Website was born, at least in my head, and I published its first efforts on 11 September 2000. A base for my grief and a tribute to one of humans finest
creations, now lost forever. But for a few years I maintained things and followed the story through, writing to everyone I could, with the site as an HQ. It was fantastic as
I met the first people online who supported preservation as I did. And it was great
therapy to write in praise of the towers, just to do something. For ultimately, i'm just
one with a quiet voice, that loved and lost something beautiful.
George (May 2003)