As part of our #whatsyourstory campaign towards the BLACKFRIARS STORIES events programme with Southwark Council in 2014, our Associate Artistic Director, Patrick Maubert, shares a memory of Blackfriars.

My tale from the Blackfriars Mile comes from a fairly awkward first date.
I had recently tried my hand at the silliness that is Tindr… I felt I needed a stupid distraction from my typical routine.
I met a cute chap…4 years my junior, and hoped to have a nice dinner, quick drink and perhaps a rerouting to my bedroom. It was to be all very easy, breezy and casual. Aren’t most first dates these days? Apparently not:

Midway through our enchiladas at Blackfriars’ own Picante, it became quite clear he and I had as much in common as chalk and cheesy nachos. Not only that, it was evident this lovely young chap was going to be a gentleman and not agree to that wistful rendezvous without some serious strings.

As I am a man of honour and integrity, I told him I didn’t see a future with us (per se) but would he like to come back to mine to finish the night in more physical terms?
Miraculously, he agreed! But first a nightcap at the Blackfriars Wine Bar. Success!

The walk over the bridge must have allowed the cold, hard facts to be absorbed and it was apparent the energy and mood had turned sour as we settled into a cozy booth. In a cruel twist of fate, we found ourselves starring at another couple.
Their mood had most certainly NOT soured as they were entangled within each other’s passion in a sloppy, frantic make-out sesh. Their eyes unashamedly met ours as they boasted they were on a fabulous first date. My Mr. Tindr chirped in that we were as well. He then thought it was high time he unmasked my unsavory intentions to our first-date comrades.

She, our neighbour in the broadest Brisbane brogue:
“What?! So he thinks he can wine, dine and ROOT ya?” she queried
“Apparently so. I was so hopeful this time around,” he cried with disappointment

At this point, the lesbians in the corner piped in with similar disgusted daggers being shot through eyes and words.

I became the most unpopular dick-head in Blackfriars, and quite possibly London proving that you simply cannot have your cake and eat it too…

As part of our #whatsyourstory campaign towards the BLACKFRIARS STORIES
events programme with Southwark Council in 2014, our Artistic Director reflects on what SE1 and Blackfriars means to her.

“Growing up in SE1 means that the area is full of memories, layered
one on top of the other like a delicious millefeuille. As for most people living in London, the riverside walk between London Bridge and Jubilee Gardens has become a familiar and well trodden route, an opportunity for my feet to take the lead while I become distracted by the jostle, the buzz and the sights. Tate Modern, the tiled pathway under the bridge echoing with chatter and a busker’s guitar, the delicious food smells begging the question: bratwurst at Borough Market or savoury crepes in Gabriel’s Wharf? And each time, the mystery – what is the ghost bridge running parallel to Blackfriars Bridge?

Like something out of a Dickens novel, the milestone at St George’s Circus marks the end of the Blackfriars Road, but for me it also denotes the heart of a sprawling area full of memories:

Trying to find a coffee shop on a Sunday morning when we have a full day of rehearsals ahead. Then settling for Subway as nowhere else was open at that time.

The ghostly painted Routemaster bus hidden in a yard on the corner of Borough Road. The day that they boarded up what is now the Clarence Centre, and the years that followed until its recent opening.

The many years spent working for and with London South Bank University, and the various characters that I met there; it’s a lifetime full of chores, laughter, personalities and acronyms! LRC, ARC, TOIL, UCAS, 1B33. Some names still feel like a mantra.

Walking up London Road, cycling down Webber Street, and endless bus routes, all crossing this junction at some point or other.

Drinks at The Crown after work during the summer.

Adding The Mad Hatter pub to our work ‘do’ Christmas dinner shortlist just because I liked the sound of its name. Followed by recognising a familiar face from my past behind the bar.

When I left sixth form, we had a party at Imbibe on Blackfriars Road. One of the girls from my school had hired the whole bar out and put a tab behind the bar to celebrate our graduation. I can still remember the lush purple walls and the heated beer garden, details from a party that marked the end of our school days and the start of our last summer before university.

As a student, almost every weekend was spent strolling along the river and wandering the halls at the Tate Modern. Afternoons sunbathing beneath Olafur Eliasson’s enormous setting sun in the Turbine Hall (part of Tate’s Unilever series in 2003) provided sunshine, culture and shelter on rainy days, and when the sun was out we could grab a shady spot in the garden and reminisce on Louise Bourgeois’ Maman.