Even the smallest card can change the course of a Friday. “Don’t Hog the Cloak” is a Lord of the Rings LCG drinking game centered on this lonely and forgotten card. Then, attach Spare Hood and Cloak to that character.Īnd that leads us to alcohol. It has the text:Īction: Exhaust Spare Hood and Cloak and exhaust attached character to ready another character. Today’s victim is Spare Hood and Cloak, which is a card that you have removed without remorse from several deck lists as you pare it down to 50 cards. In Spotlight Slapdash, I take a card from Ian’s Card Spotlight series, and propel it into unlikely mischief. Today I have also succeeded in damaging some of my cohort in the process, as you will see. My job is to mildly damage myself in order to spread joy among you all. Welcome! I am Piero, and this is my latest mistake. TolkienĪt least, that is how I remember it. Bilbo, having had a whole half already, lifted his mug last of all, and drank lightly.” - The Hobbit, J.R.R. “Drink!” exclaimed Bombur, and one by one each of the Dwarves lifted his mug to his lips. As for a hat, I have got a spare hood and cloak in my luggage.” Dwalin passed his cloak to Bilbo. Photography by: Paul McCredie.“Don’t be precise,” said Dwalin, “and don’t worry! You will have to manage without pocket-handkerchiefs, and a good many other things, before you get to the journey’s end. They’re currently considering building more apartments on the western side of the warehouse roof, which will add more richness to this community in the sky. Not that the Bieringas are prone to such imaginings. It’s not difficult to imagine a successful ground-level iteration of this concept happily occupying a suburban site somewhere. The apartments stand strong on a highly visible street corner like high-profile ambassadors of the promise of higher-density living. Fenton likes the way the apartments sway slightly in the wind, complaining that staying in a solid building on a blustery day means “you have no sense of what’s happening”. The angled windows from the living rooms of each of the three apartments look directly up the harbour, while the view west offers a landscape of warehouse roofs, the lights of traffic on the street below, and the alluring sight of the central city at night. Onlookers may be able to see into aspects of the apartments if they want to (if the blinds aren’t pulled), but despite Fenton’s protestation that he hates “those beach houses that are all view”, the occupants of these apartments can see plenty from up here. “Luit says, ‘when I look down I see hundreds of people’,” Fenton says, “‘and when they look up they see only me’.” Living in these glassy, elegant skyboxes doesn’t feel as fishbowly as people tend to think. Further up, a study looks down on the living room and opens onto its own terrace. The entry to each abode passes bedrooms before ascending to the combined living, dining and kitchen area laid out around the stairwell, with a double-height space Fenton calls “the wintergarden” facing west and opening onto a small deck. To enter, you have to go inside to go out, rising through the original building to an open-air roof terrace connecting the three apartments. Each apartment has three bedrooms, 160 square metres of internal space, and 30 square metres of terraces and decks (each level has a footprint of about 75 square metres), all arranged on what Fenton calls a journey upwards into increasing transparency. Yes, they are dense, stacked over three levels on top of an existing three-storey building. You defy any opponent of density to refuse an offer to explore these fascinating abodes. They were designed in 2001 by architects Chris Kelly and James Fenton, a project led by Luit and Jan Bieringa, who live in the development’s northernmost apartment (the others were purchased by some of their friends). The Wakefield Apartments are a set of three intricately planned and completely joyful residences that overlook the harbour (and the New World supermarket carpark) from atop a hefty 1906 warehouse. Hearteningly, a striking exception to this slapdash rule is just a few blocks away. You’d be hard-pressed to find a starker symbol of architectural regression. The former BNZ building (now a Burger King) on the corner of Wellington’s Manners and Cuba Streets is one of the worst examples, a thoughtfully detailed piece of Victoriana ignominiously topped with the what looks like the flimsiest home from your worst suburban nightmares. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, rooftops all over New Zealand were brutalised, as developers who realised a solid structure could hold a few more floors piled them on as cheaply as they could possibly manage. Wellington’s best apartments are stacked over three levels on top of an existing three-storey building another example of density done wellĪrchitects: Chris Kelly and James Fenton, Architecture Workshop
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