High anxiety

Fenchurch is a restaurant that is scared of terrorists. It cowers at the top of 20 Fenchurch Street, a skyscraper which looks like an enormous and unfashionable Nokia 3120 mobile telephone; has it been designed explicitly to telephone for assistance? But who would it telephone? The Shard? I cannot imagine the Shard doing anything for anyone. It is 525 foot high blah and replaces a building that was only 299 foot high blah and so deserved to fail, being so mean and little; I never tire of the rampant Freudian anxiety of property developers and their architect slaves, because, like the phenomenon of the competitive super-yacht, it tells me they, too, are frightened; isn’t everyone? The Nokia 3120 also reminds me quite startlingly of Tony Blair, but 525 foot high blah and therefore more annoying.

The entrance is a security checkpoint next to a lift. The initial interaction with Fenchurch is, therefore, reminiscent of the security aisle at Gatwick South Terminal, but without the possibility of escape to somewhere better, or a W.H.