E D I T O R I A L . 1 2. a n d . a . h a l f

undated

The GHERKIN aka The Swiss Reinsurance Building

In July 1978, Talking Heads released an album called More Songs about Buildings and Food.

Awkward as their gawky lead-singer David Byrne, the title was a weird conjunction: architecture doesn't usually come all that close to gastronomy.

The only creature that eats tower blocks that I can think of is Godzilla - and even he spits most of them out.

So why should the London public decide to refer to the Swiss Reinsurance Company building as 'the gherkin'?

As a nickname, 'the gherkin' isn't that great as a description of what this 40-storey skyscraper actually looks like.

'The Zeppelin' or 'the Spaceship' would be more accurate - though, strictly, it would have to be 'the Zeppelin stood on end' or 'the Spaceship parked vertically'.

The green and knobbly exterior of a gherkin certainly doesn't tally with the elegant but also tubby glass profile of Norman Foster's latest addition to London's skyline.
In London, with things like this, it's often hard to know what truly comes from the public and what from the Evening Standard's headline writers.

But whatever its origin, it has been almost universally adopted.

And with good reason.

Gherkins, for a start, are far from universally popular - to confirm this, one need only check the treacherous circles of slimy green on the pavement outside any burger restaurant.

But for those that do like them, gherkins add something particular and unique to the taste of a burger - a sour-sweet, vinegary tang. A taste that seems both grown-up and infantile.

And the Swiss Re building, I think, adds something similar to the skyline of the City of London.

Its visual tang alters the way one looks at the buildings around it - it's a snappy, catchy building. It's the architectural equivalent fast-food. The first bite isn't any different from the next or the next or the last. You want more.

I was lucky enough to watch as the building was constructed - the top three-quarters of it, anyway.

The kitchen of the top-floor flat where I used to live faced north towards the City.

Every time I did the washing-up, I was able to check on the day's progress.

Over the months it took to build, I watched how it came together - not just as a form but almost as a movement or a gesture.

It reminded me of two hands going up to make a high catch; they start together, then - rising - the fingers spread out, twisting a little to get a better angle, and, finally, they clasp together around the ball.

There was something incredibly satisfying about seeing that catch made, not fumbled - something entirely different to watching an oblong-profile skyscraper climb, achieve its full number of floors, and then stop dead.

Halfway through construction, the curving girders of the outside of the building looked like an anamorphic sugar-basket or the superstructure of a science fiction Easter Egg.

These associations are incredibly cute, almost kitschy - and the Swiss Re building, like others of Norman Foster, could easily be criticised on these grounds.

But it's very rare that a new, modernist tower block appears and is, from the start, so entirely affable.

This is especially so in comparison with other corporate architecture of recent years.

The gherkin is architecture that says very clearly that it doesn't want to hurt anyone or anything. It's less the Swiss Reinsurance than the Swish Reassurance building.

As Norman Foster's website explains, the gherkin-shape has a practical rationale: to maximise natural light and ventilation - hence cutting fuel costs and lessening environmental impact.

Most people won't argue with this being A Very Good Thing.

But just as with gherkins, it's a matter of personal taste whether you find the Swiss Re building oversweet or just sweet enough, junk food or convenience food, ingratiating or accommodating.

The worst that can be said about it is this - that it looks like a giant version of somegadget that might have appeared in the Innovations catalogue.

The best is that, now it's finished, it seems like it's always been there, - that we'd missit if it disappeared - and, if we ever need to reinsure something Swiss, we'll know exactly where to go.

(This piece was commissioned by BBC Radio 4 Night Waves)