
The restoration of the St Pancras hotel should remind us of Scott, who towered over his profession yet has no biography
I remember it as a rat-infested dump. Water dripped down walls. Wires hung from ceilings. Pigeons colonised turrets and rafters. Gormenghast could not do justice to the profile of that destitute old lady, slumped at the far end of Euston Road. Poor St Pancras hotel embodied the contempt of modernism for anything old, stylish, romantic and, above all, Victorian. The place...
Published on July 07, 2011 16:12