Joy Lo Dico: It’s (net) curtains for those who seek to rise above the hoi polloi

Public sympathy for the residents of Neo Bankside, the block that has now become the main attraction for visitors to the Tate Modern viewing gallery, has been muted. And now the High Court, asked to rule whether the residents of four flats have had their privacy invaded, has said “live with it”.

The full written judgment is delicious. The residents were upset that their “winter gardens” — the fancy name for the triangular conservatories facing the Tate — have been exposed. They were designed as balconies, but residents merged them into their living rooms so both are now in full view.

Because they’d brought the privacy case under the Human Rights Act, the judge had to decide whether the Tate was a governmental body, and therefore its public terrace was by implication state snooping by the Department for Digital, Culture, Media and Sport. No, seriously.

And Tate Modern director Frances Morris made a hand-wringing appeal that they couldn’t restrict the 360-degree viewing terrace on the grounds of equality — why should north, east and west London be admired but visitors be made to “turn their backs” on south London? “Differing views were expressed in the case about the merits” of this view, said the judge.

The whole case is ripe for a John Lanchester novel.

We, the public, meanwhile live packed close to our neighbours, sharing the smells of their cooking and the sight of half-clothed bodies through open windows, so no wonder there’s little weeping for those who’ve sought to elevate themselves above our shared society into luxury high-rises.

Those who pay extra for floor-to-ceiling glass windows compromise, by the estimation of the judge, their own demands for privacy, and by our estimation of their intelligence. Windows: they work both ways. The flats all had solar blinds but they weren’t good enough. I like to believe there was a touch of class war in the judge’s recommendation that the residents install that great leveller: net curtains.

Make the climate protest a real lesson

Today there was a School Climate Strike outside Parliament. A note from the headmaster came asking if I gave permission for my teenager to miss school to attend. Lessons would have to be made up, etc. It is a liberal school. Yeah, fine, I replied. And I thought: send the teachers too.

Rather than having kids go almost as an act of naughtiness, embrace this as part of the curriculum. Climate change is going to affect everything from biology and geography to economics and literature. And give the kids extra homework too, to make them realise how serious it is.

At least Britain leads the way on FGM

It has been a funny old week. While the parties fragment into many parts over Brexit, there has been one force that unified most of Parliament and that was ending FGM. After Sir Christopher Chope did his old trick of objecting to a Private Member’s Bill last Friday, stopping an amendment to the Children Act to allow interim care orders, the Prime Minister pointedly adopted it as Government business and put it straight to the top of the in tray.

The legislation for the amendment is moving fast through Parliament, with heavyweight backers on every side.

Much praise must go to Nimco Ali, one of the leading British campaigners on FGM. She has also been working with activists in African countries, in particular Kenya, Somaliland and The Gambia, to change the culture there and push their governments to introduce legislation.

If there was ever an example of how global Britain could lead the world by example, it is on this issue. Perhaps not all is lost yet.

Psssst? Want some dirty trainers, mate?

Every day I walk past two different shops, each of which has lines of box-fresh white trainers in the window, displayed on little plinths like works of art. And everyday I wonder how we’ve come to place such a value on a shoe that loses its value as soon as the grime of the London street is attached to it.

So I welcome with some caution the new trend set by Gucci for box-dirty trainers — deliberately grimed up and with a price tag of £615. Dirt cheap? Dirt expensive. But at least they make my muddy trainers fashionable again.