The Write Way

15 September 2006

How High Can You Go?

Greetings,

I was reading an article in last Sunday's paper about the threat to high-rise developments along our Glitz Strip on the Gold Coast. It seems that rising damp just doesn't begin to describe what they're in for when (not if) we get any serious storms.

Back in the 50s, when I used to visit the area with my family to visit one of my aunts who lived in Surfers Paradise, there were only a couple of two- and three-storey buildings (flash hotels for the most part) and most of the houses were what is known as highset. That means they were built up on stilts so that air could circulate under the houses to help cool them through the Queensland summers. 

The houses were high enough for adults to walk under without bumping their heads and were great places to play in wet weather, provided you didn't get too tangled in the washing that would be pegged out on lines strung between the foundation piers (known locally as stumps). Actually, once the washing had dried a bit, it made t'riffic walls for cubby houses ... and all would be well as long as my cousin and I didn't get too excited playing Flash Gordon pursuing Ming the Merciless and bring down the line of clothes. Best not to recall the reaction from not one but two irate mothers when that happened! 

But I digress ...

The Gold Coast (for those not familiar with this region) is an area of coast that stretches nearly 30 km from Coolangatta in the south to Southport in the north (no, trust me ... Southport is the northern point), and it's all beach. 

It's also all high-rise now! (See photos taken from half-way up Q1 - the world's tallest residential tower ... at the moment.)

Gone are the highset timber and fibro two-bedroom houses that used to line the beach; now it's all multi-million dollar towers. But if newspaper reports are to be believed, (and no, Cheeky, that's not meant to be an oxymoron!) the residents of said towers are all going to have waterfronts.

Scientists have been charting regional climate change and weather patterns over the past 200 years and claim that we're due for the Big One. We've had drought conditions for the past 30+ years, and now with global warming and the possibility of a return to normal storm patterns, there could be tidal surges of 6 metres (that's getting on for 20 foot!) And since the majority of these towers are built only marginally above sea level, that could make for some interesting times ahead.

But what leapt off the page when I read this article wasn't just the possibility of these storms. No, dear reader, what had my little grey cells feeling pale and wan was the comment by one Professor Clyde Wild, who works at Griffith University's School of Environment and Applied Sciences. The good professor commented, "It will cause a lot of harm and destruction. When buildings reach their use-by-date on the shoreline, you won't be replacing them."

"Ah!" I thought, "Well, they're ruddy great things, they cost squillions, so that's all right then. No cause for alarm any time soon."

But then I read on, "Dr Wild said some buildings have a 50-year lifespan, allowing sufficient time for an orderly withdrawal right along the coast."

Fifty years?

As I said, these towers cost a motza. The Sydney Morning Herald reported that, "Research carried out in September 2005 shows about $42 billion worth of new development either under construction or in the planning stages on the Gold Coast and in the Tweed Heads region. This compares with $22.8 billion in 2003 and $13.8 billion in 2001."

Yep ... that's right, boys and girls. Forty-two BILLION, and they'll only last maybe 50 years!

Huh! Tell that to the pyramid builders.

Or to those who constructed the five-storied pagoda of the Horyuji, a Buddhist temple on the outskirts of the ancient capital of Nara. This is recognised as the oldest surviving wooden structure in the world and is on the UNESCO World Heritage list.

Scientists have recently learnt that, "the 'heart post' that passes through the center of the pagoda, showed that the hinoki (Japanese cypress) wood used for this post was felled in A.D. 594. Assuming this timber was used shortly after it was felled, it means that the construction of the pagoda took place not at the beginning of the eighth century (around 711), as is generally believed, but about a century earlier.

"The generally held theory has it that Horyuji, including the pagoda, was first built around 607 by Prince Shotoku, the prince regent. These structures were burnt down in 670, and the temple was rebuilt some 100 meters away from the original site, being completed by around 711. The buildings rebuilt then constitute the present Sai-in, the western precinct of the temple. As the oldest surviving wooden buildings in the world, the quality of their construction is recognized by specialists throughout the world. In spite of the fact that the structure consists almost entirely of interlocking pieces of wood, the five-story pagoda has not succumbed to earthquakes, even though Japan is in a major earthquake zone."   

Not bad, eh? A wooden building, held together like a nifty Lego house without the use of nails, built in an earthquake zone nearly a millennium and a half ago ... and it's still standing!

The English language is a bit like this, isn't it? I mean, no matter how hard you hit it over the head with a stick, it just keeps bouncing back.

It was bad enough when those pesky Romans finally withdrew, leaving behind their new-fangled Latin, but the doughty Anglo-Saxons hoisted their pitchforks on their shoulders and sheepishly carried on using the Latin they'd brought with them from the continent (street, wine, inch, mile etc) plus all those other words the Romans had left behind.

But no sooner had they recovered from the Romans than the Vikings arrived. Again, they left behind not just the occasional blue-eyed souvenir of their stay, but also lots of words: freckle, skull, dazzle, scream, husband.

Then in 1066, the Normans came prancing in and plonked down their language alongside that of the English. But because they were the ruling class, they got to have all the flash words. So we owe the Normans for our words for skilled occupations, fashion, government, the law and just generally living the good life. 

All the basic activities of human existence have their origins in Anglo-Saxon words ... and I'll leave it to you to sift through your memory banks and dredge up some of our classic Anglo-Saxon expressions. 

From the Normans, we have sovereign, prince, countess, chivalry etc justice, jury, traitor, surrender, mason, tailor, painter, marriage, parliament, beef, bacon, custard, lavender, platter ...

Here's a great list of the French words we've borrowed: 

And to discover everything about everything, you can't go past Encyclopaedia Britannica. Get a free trial now.  

This week's quiz:

Match up these architectural words with their meanings:

antebellum, cupola, balustrade, clerestory, embrasure, corbel, googie, merlon, pilaster, cob 

1. portion of an interior rising above adjacent rooftops and having windows admitting daylight to the interior 

2. mixture of clay and straw, used as a building material 

3.  elegant plantation homes built in the American South in the 30 years or so preceding the Civil War 

4. the solid part between two crenels in a battlement 

5. row of repeating small posts which support the upper rail of a railing 

6. a shallow rectangular feature projecting from a wall, having a capital and base and usually imitating the form of a column

7. short horizontal timber supporting a girder 

8. a light structure on a dome or roof; any of various domelike structures 

9. a splayed enlargement of a door or window toward the inner face of a wall; an opening, as a loophole or crenel, through which missiles may be discharged 

10. a futuristic, often outrageous, building style that evolved in the United States during the 1950s; designed to attract customers 

Here's a non-PC story about builders ... if you think it will offend you, don't read it:

After returning to the building site from purchasing supplies at the local hardware shop, the foreman addressed his workmen and delegated the day's duties.

"Tom, take Jim and Chris down and finish digging out the drainage ditch. Bill, keep running the electricity leads, and Wong, you're in charge of the supplies."

The men went about their designated duties, and it wasn't until some hours later that the foreman realised that the supplies were still in the back of the truck. Not seeing Wong anywhere around, the foreman went in search of his wayward worker.

Just as the foreman had given up hope, Wong jumped out from behind a drum and yelled, "SUPPLIES!"

No, don't write to me complaining now ... I told you not to read it ...

Last week's quiz:

Banana bender: person from Queensland

Beyond the Black Stump: a long way away; the back of nowhere

Chook: a chicken, most often seen frozen as part of a chook raffle at the local pub

Cozzie: swimming costume

Crikey: exclamation of astonishment or surprise

Deadset: true, the truth

Fair dinkum: true, genuine

Fair go: a chance ("give a bloke a fair go")

Full as a goog: drunk. "Goog" is a variation of the northern English slang word "googie" meaning an egg.

Lair: a flashily dressed young man of brash and vulgar behaviour; to dress up in flashy clothes; to renovate or dress up something in bad taste. Also "flash as a rat with a gold tooth." Sadly, idiomatic expressions like these are being replaced by the ubiquitous phrases from TV land.

Lob, lob in: drop in to see someone ("The rellies have lobbed! Hide the scotch!")

Not the full quid: not bright intellectually

Ridgy-didge: original, genuine

Rip snorter: great, fantastic ("It was a rip snorter of a party")

She'll be right: it'll turn out okay

Shonky: dubious, underhanded. e.g. a shonky practice, shonky business etc.

Shoot through: leave in a hurry ("He shot through like a Bondi tram when the boss arrived early!")

Shout: turn to buy - a round of drinks usually ("It's your shout")

Skite: boast, brag or the one who does the skiting

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Never-Ending Story

An Ape that wants to play Hamlet after being type-cast as King Kong, a talking anvil and that rottweiller ... Dr Morgenes is still caught in the nightmare that is the casting couch. Help him find a plot!  Just click on the Comments button at the end of the entry to add your contribution. If you have friends who fancy themselves as writers, invite them to contribute (just forward this newsletter in its entirety to them).

A Little Something Extra

A list of the websites of 1000 great buildings compiled by Architect Week magazine.   

The choices range from Aachen Cathedral in Germany (begun in 792) to Zoser's Necropolis designed by Imhotep (and dating back to 2760 BC) and lots of places in between! There are photos and links to information on all these buildings and their architects (where known).

Word of the week: ABBA (as it refers to architecture) a domestic building style popular in the 80s and 90s that consisted of All Bricks and Bloody Arches.

Oxymoron of the week: Fine modern architecture

And this week's Latin phrase is for those of you in the midst of building a house or home renovations or redoing the garden or ...

Me transmitte sursum, caledoni.

[MAY trahns-MEET-tay SOOR-soom kahl-ay-DOH-nee]

Beam me up, Scotty.