It’s a question all Cardiffians have asked: “Who the hell lives in those apartment blocks down the Bay?” Well, after weeks of surveillance watching comings and goings, I have the answer: some are let to businesses for managers attending a conference or a corporate jamboree; some are used by the BBC as temporary digs for actors or as venues for end-of-production parties; some are hired out as bases for weekend-long stag and hen dos; some are in the hands of nice retired couples from Ceredigion up in Sin City twice-a-year for a show at the WMC; some are brothels; some are cannabis factories; some are warehouses for knocked-off goods; some contain hives of illegal immigrants sleeping in shifts; some are left empty to accrue value as a pension pot; some are repossessed awaiting auction; and a few, a very few, are actually peoples’ homes. The poor sods.
The names, with their idiot-proof suggestiveness, vacuous anonymity and no-Welsh-spoken-here malevolence say it all: Adventurers Quay, Admirals Landing, Scott Harbour, Sovereign Quay, Celestia, Strata, Rigarossa, Vega House, Maia House, Atlas House, Electra House, Aquila House, Sirius House, Waterquarter, Caspian Point, Harbour Point, Century Wharf, Isis, etc. They glower behind razor-wired security gates and batteries of CCTV cameras around the Roath Basin, the Graving Docks, Dumballs Road and Lloyd George Avenue (the intended grand boulevard linking town and Bay that ended up a sinisterly empty muggers’ paradise leading from nowhere in particular to a set of traffic lights under Herbert Street railway bridge). Over half of all Bay apartments were bought off plan, sight unseen, by overseas investors. Most of the rest went to amateur investors jumping on the buy-to-let bandwagon, or spoon-fed saps taking out 120% mortgages based on fantasy self-certified incomes to buy into the café latte lifestyle, like wot they seen on thu telly. Absenteeism, transience, short-termism and isolation, the inevitable consequences when gluttonous property developers are given a free hand to determine the nature of housing, combine to eliminate even the slimmest possibility of ever creating a community in these soulless non-places.
At night the towers don’t twinkle with the glittering lifestyles of affluent swingers, but stand dark and forlorn, surplus to requirements. Only 10% of Bay flats are actually owner-occupied; the rest are let, sub-let and then sub-sub-let. The few permanent residents are overwhelmingly aged from 19 to 30, living on six-month leases in a state of constant flux: shop assistants, trainees, interns, students with parents who bought as an investment rather than pay their offspring’s rent, institutionalised gay men who obediently self-ghettoise, benefit claimants who slip past the letting agents’ checks, callow girls from the Vale who have watched too many episodes of Sex And the City, lovers testing their relationship to destruction in miniscule spaces, and unsocialised young yobs newly liberated from parents to puke in the foyer, leave rubbish to rot in corridors and blast out thumping tunes through wafer-thin walls.
Inside, you can smell what next door is having for supper and hear your neighbours flushing the toilet, but you never actually meet them. Tenants don’t speak; why bother, when everybody relocates regularly and nobody plans to stay for long. And since the owners are either overseas hedge funds who don’t give a damn, or avaricious novices from the unlovely English middle classes, there are endless fractious disputes over repairs, faults, leaks and breakdowns. While resentful and neglectful of their obligations, these landlords suddenly become fussy and demanding if a tenant wants to hang a picture on a wall or when it’s time for the deposit to be returned. And you can guess who is asked to pick up the tab when the fancy panels and funky facades of the towers begin to crumble: yes, it’s all slapped on the “service charge” – meaning tenants don’t just have the privilege of paying their masters’ mortgages; they also get to maintain the parasites’ buildings.
Further south, on the peninsular between the Taff and Ely numbingly named, in a triple breach of the Trade Descriptions Act, the ‘International Sports Village’, the cheap’n’nasty blocks look out over tracts of fenced-off rubble, car parks, roundabouts to nowhere, paths blocked by barricades, and the rotting debris of junk culture, blowing in the wind. Among all the new buildings and roads, not one acknowledges Cardiff or Wales in its name. Here the past is erased, the present is ephemeral and the future is x-rated.
Everywhere you look there are mini-tragedies. The Sand Wharf blocks contrast tellingly with the 15-storey 1970s Channel View flats they face across the Marl. A few oblique angles + a brightly coloured wall or two + a parking space = sophisticated urban living; a plain rectangle + monochrome panels + Council tenants = hard-to-let sink. But up close and personal the latter are superior in all regards bar the developer’s sales pitch. The vernacular ‘town houses’ of Windsor Quay, with their skinflint square footage and bleak communal no-go zones, were supposedly built for loaded young professionals doing something lucrative in the media, but the shortage of yuppies with money to burn in an area where average annual earnings are barely £20k meant they ended up rented out to housing associations or bought by taxi drivers. The forbidding blocks of Ferry Court form a ghost town of extraordinary ugliness which wouldn’t look out of place on the outskirts of Moscow, grouped around a godforsaken wind-tunnel approachable from the foreshore up a sheer flight of steps. This development was originally called Prospect Place, but because being built at right-angles to the water served up a ‘prospect’ of the four-lane Butetown Link’s round-the-clock crescendo a few metres from the windows on one side and the gloomy walls of companion blocks on the other, the name was soon dropped. Adjacent is Watermark, yet another instantly dated, unsightly speculation. Wandering around aghast I didn’t see a soul, bar a solitary woman pumping iron in the ground-floor gymnasium – she must be that toned, metropolitan high-flyer with improbable teeth featured heavily in the promotional literature.
On the banks of the Ely on the other side of the peninsular are still more, called Victoria Wharf after the warehouses that stood here when it was the Ely tidal harbour. Mostly bought at the peak of the property bubble without a viewing by overseas fund managers and English second-homers as buy-to-lets, their value has tumbled. So, instead of being the city bolt-holes of well-heeled yachtsmen mooring a skiff at Penarth Marina, the six insolent slabs are transit camps where tenants ignore each other in the corridors and relocate as soon as possible. The Cogan Spur rattling the bedroom windows, the bland aluminium barns of the Celtic Gateway Business Park to the north and the shaded position under Llandochau hill aren’t helping those all-important loan-to-value ratios, but developers are hoping for better returns from the next unwanted scheme on the tip of the peninsular: ‘Cardiff Pointe’. The preposterous pretentions conveyed in that silly silent ‘e’ give a clue to what we can expect.
Contrary to the image of achingly hip alluring minimalism for the aspirational peddled by Bellway, Bryant, Wimpey, Redrow, Persimmon, Westbury and all the other developers, all these apartments are actually half-hearted and grudging shoe-boxes kitted out with uniform fixtures and fittings in the sterile style of an airport foyer and bedecked in cosmetic mockeries like phoney porches and ‘Juliet’ balconies too narrow to accommodate an inhaling anorexic. High rise living is high rise living and, just because all the lessons of failed 1960s tower blocks were so soon forgotten, calling something a “penthouse” makes no difference. Nobody really wants to live in mid air; nor ever will. The developments all inadvertently admit this by providing none of the amenities – schools, corner shops, social centres, libraries, pubs, parks, and so on – that are intrinsic to real, evolving communities built to last. It is taken as read that nobody living in a Bay apartment today will be at the same address in 10 years time, let alone spend a life there. And without that core of lifetime residents and their succeeding generations Cardiff Bay will remain forever a disconnected and dislocated wistful wasteland.
Saturation buy-to-let has created misery in Cardiff and is storing up intractable social problems for the future. 10,000 are on the housing waiting-list; at least another 20,000 are functionally homeless as sofa-surfers or in overcrowded conditions; the city has 5,000 empty properties and 7,000 empty commercial premises…yet none of these issues are addressed because putting a roof over your head, that most basic and fundamental human necessity, has been delegated, as has everything in the UK, to the arbitrary mercies of “market forces”. Whenever I hear somebody defending market capitalism I ask them how they’re enjoying the housing market. They soon shut up.
The panoramas of glass and concrete that Cardiff’s rulers so craved, to signify their relevance and dynamism, have been achieved: the view from the Taff Crossing is now one of unalloyed neophilia. But Cardiff has paid the price with the crushing of local character and the sidelining of local needs. And in the city’s bleak, blank apartment blocks, marooned on their dusty, floodlit building sites, a strange new strain of Cardiffian set apart from the rest of the city is being grown like bacteria in a test tube; trapped guinea pigs who will have to learn the hard way that this has always been a city on the run from reality.
Just wondering, did you actually speak to any of the residents of these apartments?
Your view of the residents is totally out of kilter with the people that I know who live there.
I agree that their development was seen as a big money earning opportunity by developers and investors and I agree that the impact on the existing locals has been negative and totally out of order. But I think it is wrong to bundle in the residents with these opportunists.
I know quite a few people who love living in these new apartments.
It would have been more balanced if you’d gathered and wrote about their views too.
Apartments take some getting used to. Living in a small space is good, generally, however. Less space. Less energy used.
The post is a little harsh. It takes time for a community to form. I understand the general theme of the post. But the Bay is still waiting to be completed. Still many gaps. I hope that it will have a community one day. One that is different to the other districts of Cardiff – but connected.
A good read and quite true, but I’m sure some people like living there. I just wish the authorities and planners had developed the original fantastic buildings around Bute street which was the heart of the docks. WHat a lost opportunity to regenerate the area in a sensible and sensitive way, keeping the area’s integrity and bringing old and new residents together creating a vibrant community for all.
The post is harsh, that’s true, but having lived in one of these blocks for four years I think it is in many parts accurate and raises many valid points about the availability and nature of affordable housing in Cardiff and indeed in most cities. My husband and I left the block precisely because of many of the negative points identified here. I enjoyed reading this: I just wish there was a realistic hope of an improvement in the quality and availability of affordable housing that is fit for purpose!
A very poetic appraisal, but the process by which these environments are created is not unique to the Bay. It happens all over the UK, as well as Cardiff and Wales. I was down by Llanelli the other day, it’s no different. And urban squalor is everywhere. This is not to excuse it. What troubles me is that, while it is easy to criticise, it is much more difficult to do something about it. Dic mentions some of the main perpetrators, the big housebuilders, but they are only doing what they can get away with. They even think they’re doing a good job. The problem lies in the lack of any shared sense of what used to be called ‘townscape’; of any vision of what our urban environments should look like. It used to be called planning but that’s fallen into disrepute over the last 70 years. Final point(e), regarding the so-called International Sports Village: it wasn’t CBDC who dreamt that up, it was Cardiff Council led by Russell Goodway. Say no more.
Wow. Nice use of language but completely misinformed on many comments passed off as fact, and an overbearing feeling of personal despondency coming through that could use some psycho-analytical support I feel. Not from me I hasten to add. Lets all revert to a no-go area of deprivation and oustide loos.
Paul – a resident
Reblogged this on Bella Woodfield Books Blog and commented:
10,000 are on the housing waiting-list; at least another 20,000 are functionally homeless as sofa-surfers or in overcrowded conditions; the city has 5,000 empty properties and 7,000 empty commercial premises. Yet the council still insist on permitting planning permission for 1000’s more of these overpriced, shoddy shoeboxes…
This is a very biased article. I’ve lived in the bay for the past 10 years and from my point of view, the article is completely wide of the mark. The apartment block I live in has 11 flats, 9 of them are owner occupied – all of whom are on first name terms with each other. The majority of people in our block are aged 50+. In contrast to the bleak picture painted above, our development has a committee of residents managing, we have a community choir, an annual summer barbecue (our version of a street party), an annual Christmas carol singalong, and other social events/ societies organised by residents throughout the year. I would say a big proportion of our residents are actually retired, and are very friendly permanent residents. I’m not sure what the motive behind the article is, but it is obvious to me that although the author mentions our community by name, they haven’t talked to anyone here. Incidentally, we don’t have razor wire around our gardens – in fact I don’t think I’ve seen any flats in the bay that are fenced off with razor wire.
It’s true that I first moved to the bay and chose apartment living, because I couldn’t afford to buy a house in Cardiff. However, I love living here and honestly don’t think I would move away now. People rent houses and flats all over Cardiff, it’s a stepping stone for people who need to save to buy their own property. This is what I did, I don’t begrudge the landlord of the flat I used to live in – from my point of view they provided me with a quality home for the years that I couldn’t afford to buy a property. I think that if it wasn’t for landlords, people in the same situation that I was in 10-15 years ago would have been faced with the prospect of moving out of Cardiff to live and commuting in – which wouldn’t be great for Cardiff at all.
I agree that there is a general shortage of affordable homes for young people to buy in Cardiff (and the wider UK), but a lot of the article above is based in pure fantasy and doesn’t offer a lot of constructive advice.