Something about it. There were other options, of course. But something about it.

My house is modelled on the waves. I live inside one of them; my dining table lurks inside its crest.

Outside, the cement is grey and stained and ugly.

But I have always liked ugly things.

*

Built in 1963, Arlington House is an emblem to what became known as the ‘Brutalist’ style: big and blocky, concrete and colossal, driven by a post-war ethos which was community-minded, progressive, even utopian. Visitors to Margate blink and balk at Arlington’s looming crash into the sightline upon alighting from the London train – there it stands in all its angles, in all its greyness and disrepair, unapologetic. There, between station and sea. It is no shrinking violet of a house. It is an I AM of a house. It is, And hear me roar.

*

There weren’t that many other options.

*

Arlington was a solution; Arlington was alteration. Like other Brutalism buildings, it represented the rise of the confident 60s following the austere 50s; there is nothing reserved about Brutalism, nothing is held back, there is no politeness about its corners. So many corners! Such daring, such dynamism, such audaciousness and drive! Arlington contains nearly two hundred flats spread over eighteen floors, and from each flat, from its own wave-like protrusion, the sea can be seen.

*

The other option was let by a lady with blonde locks and several properties. My houses, she said. None of my houses, she said. My tenants, she said. She wouldn’t be a good businesswoman if she didn’t, she said. Three months rent upfront, a fourth as deposit. She believed herself to be very reasonable. I was almost taken in.

*

The original plans included a shopping piazza, theatre, terraced restaurant and rooftop swimming pool with a glass floor. There was marble in the lift lobby; teak was used for the entrance doors. Now, only the teak (scuffed) and marble (cracked) remain. The others – the others never were.

*

She told me she’d had So much interest, other applicants had offered to Pay her more. But she had offered it to me, she said, And wouldn’t go back on that. My heart seized. Everyone wanted this flat. This unfurnished flat with electric heating and bills not included. There was an original fireplace, with original iron grate. That must be it, I thought. Everyone wanted it, and I, lucky girl, could have it. At a price.

*

The word ‘Brutalism’ comes from the French term, Béton-brut, which means ‘raw concrete’. Decades ago, the grey of today was white, flecked with sparkling mica. Arlington doesn’t sparkle today. Rain stains run down the grey like stalactites, gull poo encrusts the windows. Badly hung curtains and broken blinds can be seen lurking wearily behind the glass.

*

At speed, too. Two hours later: Have you decided yet, she said. Of course, I said: Yes. I thanked her profusely. Thanked her for giving it to me. Thanked her for her gift.

*

Beyond style, Brutalism is characterised by its functionality. It was for the people, yes; it offered affordable social housing which was not an afterthought, a residence for those to whom resignation was all that remained, but which was aspirational. It made use of a modular approach, dividing the construction into various zones which together formed the whole. A unified utopia for life and leisure.

*

The heart knows; the heart panicked; I did. A sleepless night and an agonised No. It came, eventually. After the thank you came the apology. I’m sorry, I don’t want what I never wanted. I’m sorry, I don’t want what you said I did. I’m sorry, I don’t want what the others do –

               This has always been my problem.

*

I veered away, I diverted. My now-landlord with his clumsy texts and slow speech and his That’s fines and That’ll be fines. And I came, a month later and alone, to Arlington – to live inside the eyesore, and to tell it, unashamed.