Raves and resistance: the hidden history of Kings Cross
The Disappearing City
King’s Cross was once the epicentre of the second Summer of Love, but there’s nothing about it to hint at that these days: take a walk across the newly regenerated Granary Square and you’ll find a clean, upmarket development with kids playing in fountains and young professionals hanging out on fake grass. But during one fabled summer in 1988, rave culture was coming up in that same spot, with giant warehouses full of happy, sweaty people dancing to acid house until the morning.
“The queue to get in is enormous but you can hear this baseline, it’s throbbing and it’s like the walls are shaking,” Natalie Wade says in the Kings X Clubland documentary, describing the first time she blagged her way into a King’s Cross rave when she was 15. “You get in and there’s this enormous room in front of you, it’s so loud and it’s heaving with bodies and light and movement. For a moment you feel like you’ve walked into a cult, as everyone understands what’s going on but you… It’s one of the memorable sensory experiences I’ve ever had in my life.”
The regeneration of King’s Cross is one of the biggest in London, covering 67 acres of the area behind King’s Cross and St Pancras stations known as the railway lands. Starting in 2007 and set to complete in 2023, it’s already a remarkable transformation of what was mostly ex-industrial brownfield land. For such a central piece of London, the Cross was surprisingly derelict and wild.
Little about the new King’s Cross reveals that the area used to have a reputation for drugs, sex work, and homelessness. Coal Drops Yard (which once held 15,000 tons of coal for a fuel-hungry city) is now home to cool, pricey retail – the kind that appeals to ageing, well-moneyed millennials – with gender-neutral toilets and space to lounge. At the Granary Building (once storing Lincolnshire wheat for London’s bakers), Caravan serves excellent avocado toast with a choice of sourdough, grain, or gluten free bread.
This new branding of Coal Drops Yard looks far better than the standard corporate fare (think face tattoos and hotdogs with toothpaste), but it’s really not very long ago that the Cross had a counter-culture that really couldn’t be used to sell upmarket soap. For better or worse, the old King’s Cross had an edgy, rebellious energy; it was so run down, and in parts so downright scary, that people would meet by the station to walk in groups over to The Bell, the legendary LGBTQ hub on Pentonville Road.
The regeneration of the railway lands will create at least 50 new buildings, 20 new streets, 10 new public spaces and 1,900 new homes, and see to the refurbishment of 20 historic buildings and structures. But it’s had a significant gentrification effect on the rest of neighbourhood, a patch of inner London that’s always been pretty grotty. (In fact, a renaming was considered as the regeneration efforts began, because who would want to live in King’s Cross?) But while the people who can afford the new flats inside the once-rusting gasholders might never have come here back in the day, the Cross has always had a community of locals who call it home.
King’s Cross used to be called Battlebridge, named for a battle that may or may not have involved Queen Boudicca and the bridge over the river Fleet, and it was in a sorry state. This is why, as new housing was being built in the 1820s, developers got their way and changed the name – it’s “King’s Cross” because King George IV had just assumed the crown, historian Andrew Whitehead tells me.
There was certainly nothing regal about the area back then. In his book Curious King’s Cross, Whitehead describes it as “a huge mound of horse bones, a smallpox hospital and a few pockets of dilapidated housing.” Consequently, the Cross was cheap, and attracted an interesting set of characters.
“A lot of left wing organisations have had their national offices in the area. There’s also a real tradition of radicalism and occupations,” says Whitehead, listing off events in the late 1970s and early 80s: the occupation of the Elizabeth Garrett Anderson Hospital to prevent its closure; the occupation of Camden Town Hall to protest poor housing; and the sex workers’ occupation of Holy Cross Church (just around the corner from Argyle Square, at the time London’s premier red light area) in protest of police harassment.
“The Communist party was once strong in the area,” says Whitehead, adding that the red flag used to fly from St Pancras Town Hall on May Day. “And The Bell was a gay activist pub. A lot of the solidary meetings for the miners’ strike were held there.” The Bell is gone now (the Big Chill bar is in its spot), but the alliance between Lesbians and Gay Men Support the Miners (LGSM) and the strikers in South Wales became a turning point for gay rights by fostering ties with the trade unions.
Today, nowhere else in King’s Cross embodies the spirit of activism more than Housmans, the “radical booksellers” at the bottom of Caledonian Road. The windows are full of posters: the Anarchist Festival, Justice for Grenfell, the Karl Marx Walking Tour, and you can still buy a t-shirt from the 1984 ‘Pits and Perverts’ LGSM fundraising event. Albert Beale, one of the building’s trustees, meets me by the door, walking me through a maze of room with books stacked floor to ceiling before finding a place to sit.
The building is owned by Peace News Trustees, a non-profit which also oversees the publication Peace News. An engaging storyteller, Beale’s mind is an encyclopedia of the history of the area – he’s been associated with Peace House since 1972.
“The rest of the building is let out to other worthy progressive groups,” he says, explaining that the building has never been afraid of controversy, housing the Gay Liberation Front in the days before full decriminalisation: “Others might think, ‘Oh, dodgy issue!’ But we’re just, ‘Great, come on in.’” Current residents are War Resisters International, Network for Peace, Forces Watch (which scrutinises military recruitment), and anti-sweatshop outfit No Sweat. Switchboard – a lifeline for the LGBTQ community – started out operating from Peace House in 1974 (it’s based just up the road now).
The (subsidised) rental income keeps the building running, but the reason why Housmans has been able to resist the many attempts by developers to convert the block is because they actually own the property and refuse to sell. “The politics behind what we’re doing isn’t just about changing the world on a big scale, but also being rooted in the community you find yourself in,” says Beale. “The local folks didn’t want local shops and pubs knocked down to build an office tower, so we weren’t going to go along with that.”
Those who’ve been around the Cross for a long time have always known the railway lands would be done up – it’s always just been a matter of time. (“They kept some of the old buildings, and the things they built are not as ugly as they could be, I’ll give you that,” says Beale.) But during the early regeneration debate, the hope among locals was for the development to be more squarely focused on the needs of this not-so-leafy part of Islington and Camden: “We [wanted to have] a secondary school there, parks, social housing, a health centre, and all those things that are needed in a grotty inner city area,” says Beale.
The short version is that the publicly owned railway lands ended up being sold off, and while the councils have some say, the estate is now privately owned by the King’s Cross Central Limited Partnership (consisting of property developers Argent and a pension fund called AustralianSuper). While the public has access, the creep of pseudo-public space is a London-wide concern. As Beale puts it: “If I went down to Granary Square and gave out a leaflet saying, ‘This should be public land’, the security guards would ask me to leave.”
In his play King’s Cross (REMIX), live artist Tom Marshman shares collected stories from London’s LGBTQ communities in the 1980s. Originally from Bristol, he was drawn to the area after hearing the song “King’s Cross” by the Pet Shop Boys, which speaks about coming into London and hoping for the streets to be paved with gold. “But King’s Cross was so grotty,” he remembers. “It was a seedy place where if you were a young gay man you might be walking into a world where you could become a sex worker.”
Marshman adds that, for many, King’s Cross was “hedonistic and full of parties, and people being very expressive and exploring their sexuality”. But his show is also a story about the devastating impact of HIV and Aids on the gay community. The Cross used to be dark – literally, as there wasn’t much street lighting – and this would engender certain behaviours.
“We lived in a squat,” says Ramón Salgado-Touzón in Elly Clarke’s King’s Cross oral history project Queer Encounters. “We would score drugs, get a few punters first to get the money for the drugs.”
Salgado-Touzón describes a kebab shop (there’s a Five Guys in that spot now) where pimps would gather outside: “We were all avoiding that area, because you could just tell, you didn’t want to look directly into their eyes as there was that feeling of threat.” But Salgado-Touzón still has fond memories of the Cross: “It was my favourite place because there was always something happening there. There was always some excitement or risk. It was a dangerous place. I’m surprised I’m alive from the things I’ve done.”
To hear the truly euphoric stories about King’s Cross, ask a raver who discovered Bagley’s in the mid-late 80s – chances are their eyes will light up. “It was so free,” Anne Marie Garbutt says in the Kings X Clubland documentary. “If you went to go to the toilet it’d take you an hour, as you were just chatting to people on the way there, on the way back. You certainly didn’t want to [leave the floor] when your favourite tune came on, as it might not come back on again that night, or that morning – it went on from 4am to 2pm on a Sunday afternoon.”
Until the party ended for good on New Year’s Day 2008, King’s Cross was the perfect spot for a rave. The club was called Bagley’s because the warehouse – the Eastern Coal Drops where Barrafina restaurant is now – used to be owned by glass bottle manufacturer Bagley, Wild and Company. The building was used as a location for music videos and fashion shoots in the early ’80s, and in the first few years the raves were unofficial, illegal events. As it grew, a licence was secured to admit 2,500 people, although as many as 3-4,000 might have been in there at its peak.
“It was a perfect storm. It really blew up – this whole new underground scene,” Debby Lee, who started working at Bagley’s in the 80s as a young promoter, tells me. “It came as a breath of fresh air. The whole scene was very raw. It was in the middle of King’s Cross and it felt dangerous, and it was this dirty old warehouse.”
Bagley’s (later Canvas), alongside The Cross and The Key, became a unifying hub where clubbers would gather after the West End had closed for the night, no matter what music or scene they were usually into. “You have to consider the political backdrop of the time, with Margaret Thatcher – that whole idea of everyone having to go and work in the city and drive flash cars,” says Lee. “It was a rebellion against this glossy, shiny life that we were being sold as kids.”
In the midst of this new youth culture was also a new drug culture – you can’t help but wonder if one of the reasons everyone remembers it as one big love fest is because of all the ecstasy. Lee says the police mostly left them alone, in part because they didn’t understand rave culture but also because they were busy dealing with street crime: “A few kids having a party was really the last of their worries, so it was a bit of a Wild West… It was a loving atmosphere where everyone got along, and it broke down a lot of cultural barriers.”
It got tricker once the scene got really big, says Lee – a separate economy emerged for drugs, and this started to attract less savoury characters looking to take advantage. “We had a few incidents, but we were never really exposed to the serious gangland issues,” says Lee, adding they never had to call the police. But, she stresses, it’s not like there was a strategy – everyone were learning on their feet, figuring out how to handle the drug culture while keeping people safe: “We were kids too.”
As regeneration schemes go, the general consensus seems to be that King’s Cross is a pretty decent one – while some have more concerns than others, everyone I spoke to concluded that it’s really not bad. Pancras Square (between the station and the canal) is a hub of corporate new builds, housing Google, Louis Vuitton and Universal Music, but there’s also a fair amount of new affordable housing: out of a total 1,900, there were supposed to be 750 affordable homes, 500 of which are available for social rent (although this has since come down to 637). The sustainability report from the King’s Cross Central Limited Partnership speaks to a desire to be “a lasting place for people and a community with a long-term future”, with promises of sports areas open to the public, a job centre, a leisure centre with a pool, a library, a school for deaf kids, an on-site low-carbon power plant and a zero-waste-to-landfill programme, to name some.
One thing that’s notably absent from the plans is a dancefloor – for an area so central to the UK’s clubbing heritage this feels like an omission. Ian Freshwater, Project Director at Argent and head of the Regeneration team at the King’s Cross Central Limited Partnership, says a potential club venue is still in the mix – the site isn’t done yet. “The place has changed and it’s is more residential now, but we aspire to deliver King’s Cross as a piece of the city,” Freshwater tells me.
Argent spent five years consulting with locals on what the future King’s Cross should look like, receiving over 4,000 responses. Common concerns were accessibility, jobs, good public spaces, and feeling safe. “We’ve always had an emphasis on people – those in the local area, those who’ll come to work here, the students at Central St Martins [now located in the Granary Building], the visitors who step off the Eurostar,” says Freshwater. “We want to ensure this is a livable, recognisable, accessible part of London.”
For some, the regeneration of King’s Cross has become an opportunity to thrive. Word on the Water, the floating bookshop, was about to close down when it found a home there: “Getting mooring in the Granary Square complex about three years ago saved the business from closing,” says Paddy Screech, owner of the book barge alongside Jon Privett and Stephane Chaudat. The charming 100-year-old Dutch barge, which sells new and old books and hosts poetry slams and live music on the roof, is busy on the day I’m visiting, with people browsing and sitting down to read inside by the fireplace. But for the six years before landing at King’s Cross the barge had been a operating without a base, and the requirement to relocate every two weeks was catastrophic for business.
Following a social media campaign, Screech says they were approached by the Canal & River Trust which asked them to pick a spot. “Once we got to Granary Square, they understood it would be good for both us,” says Screech. He thinks it’s a good fit – the barge wouldn’t want to be “a little gnat in the middle of an exclusive corporate wilderness”.
Screech says the owners of the King’s Cross estate have been “mindful of their responsibility to make the area available to people to come and enjoy. … [They’ve] taken a historic thing and made something new and nice happen, in a way that respects the history and takes it in a new direction.”
For a long time, the King’s Cross railway lands were a forgotten afterthought – raves were possible because there was nothing much going on in the old warehouses, and there were no neighbours to complain about noise. While the area is no longer derelict, 40 per cent of the redevelopment is open space – and there’s also still a little bit of that old wilderness left.
While Gasholder Park is a cute way to preserve one of the beloved gasometers, there are better places to connect with nature in the city. The Calthorpe Project is a community garden on Gray’s Inn Road, opening in 1984 following a successful campaign by locals against an office development. The Skip Garden & Kitchen, located at the top of Cubitt Park, is a scrappy DIY element in an otherwise glossy environment. Run by education charity Global Generation, which works with young locals, the café is surrounded by wildflowers, herbs and vegetables, beehives and chicken coops. As the name suggests, everything is planted within skips so it can be easily transported, and the structures are mostly made from materials reclaimed from the surrounding construction.
Open, unstructured space doesn’t stay that way for long in the city, and certainly not in a spot as central as King’s Cross. The rave scene was always on borrowed time – Bagley’s had a six-month running lease – and since the construction began 12 years ago, temporary elements have come and go. As construction around Cubitt Park is close to completion, the Skip Garden will be moving soon, but this is part of the point – it was always supposed to be temporary.
The natural swimming hole that existed in Cubitt Park for 17 months in 2015-16 was never permanent either. The pond was designed by Ooze Architects and artist Marjetica Potrč as part arts installation, part local swimming club – the water in the chemical-free pond was purified through a process using the surrounding wetland. I went for a swim there four years ago when the surrounding area was a full-on construction zone, remembering it as an enchanting, impossible place that felt like it shouldn’t quite exist. A campaign to save the pond was unsuccessful; Ian Freshwater at Argent, who oversaw the pond, tells me that although it was much loved it was expensive to run – it required lifeguards to be on duty and you had to pay to get in. The open parkland that replaced it, he says, is more inclusive.
But for a moment, the pond was a piece of urban magic – the fact that it was temporary made it all the more so. Swimming slow laps amidst the plants, King’s Cross transforming around me, I remember thinking how London is so crowded and it always feels like every square inch has a purpose, but when you stop and look closer that’s really not the case – there’s a lot left of London that’s delightfully devoid of ambition.
The Cross is a lot cleaner now, but there are still pockets left where nothing has changed. This is usually not just a happy accident, but the result of campaigns to keep it that way. Over on Northdown Street is the King Charles I, a local pub which four years ago was saved when 15 regulars bandied together to buy it. The book barge is already an asset to the area: “I think there’s something fundamental about bookshops that creates community, and it’s not even geographical,” says Paddy Screech. “That’s been the real learning experience for us – a couple of old semi-tramps living on boats – we’ve found ourselves at the heart of a large community of people.”
A wander further up the towpath will reveal Camley Street Natural Park, squeezed between the canal and the tracks leading into St Pancras – it’s a former coal drop that was slowly reclaimed by nature, and a campaign by locals and the London Wildlife Trust charity in 1983 successfully secured its future as a nature reserve.
Up past the King’s Cross development, beyond York Way, the railway lands are still unpolished and wild – a bit grotty and useless, but ripe with possibilities for the future. London will never stop evolving, but in between all the rush we need these spaces that lack ambition – because they give the city space to dream.
‘The Disappearing City’ is a series about the changing urban landscapes of London. Previous instalments: The last days of Hackney Wick; the hidden history of Eel Pie Island; and Greek Street, the last great, shit street in Soho.
Published in Hedge Magazine, August 2019. Original article p32-34.
There’s only one game in town for Joe Mares: energy transition in the face of climate change. “This is the defining feature of how to invest in the sector,” says Mares, who’s spent 20 years investing in the oil, gas, metals and mining sectors,. It’s not enough to support the companies already doing their part – Mares wants to go out and talk to the companies who could be doing better on the emissions front and help them put their houses in order: “Most companies want to still be around in 25 years, so it’s about harnessing that instinct.”
It’s the height of summer when I meet Mares at Trium Capital’s offices in the City of London. Mares comes in with a firm handshake, greeting me in a broad American accent. He’s been in Britain since 1999 – he lives in zone one with his wife Etain, an Irish journalist, and their two children. A tall guy in a dark blue suit and striped tie, Mares takes up a lot of space in the room, but he’s also very personable – a few minutes into our conversation I put down my notebook and we just talk. “I like London a lot. It has a wonderful mix of people from all over the world,” he says. “Most people, if you talk to them about their life, they’re very interesting.”
We’re here to talk about the ESG Emissions Impact (Equity Market Neutral) UCITS Fund, of which Mares is Portfolio Manager. An ESG (environmental, social and governance) fund has a mandate of proactive engagement to achieve positive Impact – this one focuses on the “E” in the acronym, engaging with companies in high-emitting sectors to implement strategies to lower CO2 emissions. The official launch date is 30th September, but Mares has been working on it since February: “We’ve used the time to start engaging with companies, discussing our ideas and understanding who actually has the capability to implement some of our suggestions and who doesn’t.”
Asked if the Trium ESG Emissions Impact Fund was Mares’ idea, he answers in the affirmative, before bursting into laughter. He did initiate the fund, I gather by what he says next, but he’s also a team player: “You get things accomplished a lot quicker when you’re not worried about taking the credit!” Because Mares will sometimes be suggesting things to people who probably want to keep that credit to themselves – and he’s fine with that. The key is the action: “In my opinion, what was missing in the ESG discussion was the role that the high-emitting companies could play in terms of reducing their emissions, and [how funds like ours can help] clarify, encourage and reward that.” So if Mares and his team is able to help modify a steel plant, a petrochemical company, a shipping group, or an airline, that’s vital to the overall goal: to reduce CO2 emissions. “We always say it’s not about cleaning your portfolio, it’s about cleaning the planet,” says Mares.
We have 30 years to correct course, according to the United Nations, or life on earth will be changed beyond recognition – “the problem is terrifying”, Mares nods. But instead of just focusing on public companies who’re already engaged, he thinks investors should be looking more broadly: “Take shipping, which is about 2% of global emissions but more like 0.02% of global equity markets. If you asked most ESG industry professionals they’d probably say, ‘It’s a huge problem but it’s not in my equity portfolio.’ Our view is, ‘It’s a huge problem!’ Just because there are a lot of [private] companies in that sector doesn’t mean we don’t need to focus on it,” says Mares. This is where Trium is a little different – Mares doesn’t spend a lot of time talking to companies who have sustainability departments. “We’re talking with companies who’re typically small-to-medium market cap, they actually have the potential to basically change faster, and the solutions can be more radical.” This is also an untapped resource in terms of investing: “Many of those companies don’t have ESG ratings, or they’re rated very badly. But the improvement they can do per dollar of investment is significant.”
Mares thinks the responses from the companies themselves have improved a lot in the last six months. Asked why that is, he says many of them are keen to make changes: “Nobody wants to be a villain, right? Most of them understand the long-term challenge and want to improve.” It helps that at the low-hanging fruit of emissions-cutting initiatives tend to save companies money at first, as they improve existing infrastructure. Also, they can see the writing on the wall – natural resources regulation tends to get tougher over time, and these are sectors accustomed to taking a 20-year view. “Most of the lifetime of an asset is going to be under future regulation,” says Mares. “I always discuss with them not only the governmental regulation but also the changes in the insurance industry, the banks, and their own customers” – things are only going to go one way. “[I tell them,] if you’re the first to prove industrial scale on [a green initiative], you’re going to have a tremendous advantage.”
Mares also thinks too much ESG data is historic, failing to take into account where things are heading for the future – that’s not the reality for how most companies operate: “Even the smaller companies in the sector have to think about the long-term, and they’re thinking about their carbon footprint four or five years out.” Mares likes to tell the companies to save their cash – don’t pay it all back to investors because they’re going to need capex to pay for these initiatives going forward. It’s an unusually long term view for an investor, but it’s indicative of how he sees his role: “If you’re advising people on corporate investments, you have to take a 10-year-plus view.”
Mares (43) grew up in Washington DC, where both his parents worked in the government: “I always thought at some stage I was going to work for the government too.” Mares went to Princeton University’s Woodrow Wilson School, which prepare students for a life in public policy: “We took courses in economics, statistics and public policy, and then Wall Street gobbled us all up,” he laughs – the school has since made changes to try and avoid.
This turn of events sent Mares on an unusual track for an ESG fund manager: he started out as an energy investment banking analyst at Morgan Stanley, spending nearly eight years there ending up as executive director of equity research. He very quickly realised he wanted to be involved in business operations, instead of what he calls “sitting there and trying to figure out how we can put on another layer of debt”. Mares moved on to GLG Partners and then Moore Capital Management, both of which were focused on natural resources in emerging markets. He then spent nearly six years managing an energy, shipping, and renewables portfolio at Societe Generale, before landing at Trium Capital in 2017.
Mares’ best piece of advice came from his first equity research boss, who told him that people are spending too much energy writing overly detailed reports and having a thousand meetings a year: “My boss told me, ‘If you have a good idea, that’s more powerful than a thousand meetings.’ … We would have days where he was like, “Alright, we’re not going to speak to anyone, we’re just going to go sit and talk and think.’ That really inspired me.”
Despite his investment banking pedigree, there’s a different air about Mares – a fact that crystallises when he starts talking about his family: “My father, and grandfather too, was a chemical engineer. When I joined Morgan Stanley, my father said, ‘Wouldn’t it be great if you actually built something, like I and your grandfather did? Moving around money isn’t the only purpose in life.’” Mares pauses for a moment – he looks like he really means it. He never assumes people aren’t interested in wanting to do the right thing: “My father and grandfather were very concerned about plant safety and the environment. There are a lot of people in high-emitting industries who really take pride in what they do, and want to improve. … These organisations are very powerful when you actually provide information, and a direction for them to change.”
There are many ways to make a difference, and Mares certainly believes we need to tackle climate change – soon to be the defining problem of our time – from many fronts. He tells me about the time when he and his father considered running small-scale biodiesel plants in Ireland, only to realise it’s too hard to compete with corporations. “It was an eye-opener for me about how real change will have to be done through scale,” says Mares. “We have to use the existing capital and relationships. If we’re going to actually achieve our goals, corporations are one of the most effective tools we have.”
Published in BL Magazine, July 2019 (original article p58-61).
The case for making a digital will
When writing a will that determines who gets the house and who gets the good china, take a moment to also consider what should happen also to your digital assets after the final curtain.
We all know you can’t take it with you – but for a lot of our digital assets, there’s no set procedure for how to pass it on to someone else. While the law has provisions for what to do with money even if there’s no will, chances are that your digital assets will be left to languish if you don’t leave instructions.
When we say “digital assets” we’re not talking about things like online bank accounts, as those funds can be inherited like any other financial assets. We’re talking about things like a library of digital photos that reside behind a computer password, sitting in a data centre owned by Google or Microsoft. It’s a music collection worth thousands of pounds on Apple’s iTunes. It’s a library of books on an Amazon Kindle, a gambling account, a Bitcoin wallet, frequent flier miles, a personal website, an Instagram account which makes money from advertising, or a Facebook account that’s just for friends and family.
Only 13% of us have made plans for their social media accounts after death, according to the Digital Legacy Association, and only 2.3% have made plans for our purchased digital assets. But the technology companies that often hold our digital assets won’t just pass on the data to a spouse or parent without clear instruction – to them, user privacy is paramount. Earlier this year, Rachel Thompson successfully requested that a UK court compel Apple to give her access to her late husband’s iPhone, so that she could download his 2,000 family photos for the sake of their young daughter Matilda. Tech companies have usually complied with court orders like this, but as a digitally minded population starts to age, this will become an increasingly common problem and we can’t all go to court.
A tangible asset can be passed down in a will under the law regardless of whether it has value. People assume the same will be true for digital assets, but it’s not. “This is an emerging area of law,” says Gary Rycroft, Partner at Joseph A Jones & Co in Lancaster and Chair of the digital assets working group at the Law Society. Commenting on the Thompson case, Rycroft says: “The point Apple is making is that they’re [holding] data for someone who they have a contractual arrangement with. They don’t want to breach that contract without having either express permission of the person, or a court order.”
Rycroft doesn’t think we’ll all end up in court over this, as long as we catch on to the fact that we need to leave instructions: “Making a will is key. Make it clear what you want, and then Apple or whoever will know that they have your blessing to pass on your digital assets to [your nominated person],” says Rycroft. Several digital services now have procedures to formalise this process: Google’s Inactive Account Manager and Facebook’s Legacy Settings page both let you nominate a trusted contact to handle the account should you pass away.
But the nature of ownership is changing. While one photo storage service will let users rent storage space and retain ownership, others will not – anything you upload to Facebook becomes theirs, for example. And anything that you buy on iTunes isn’t actually yours, but just something you have the right to access – and that right dies with you.
Donna Withers, Head of Probate and Wills at Bedell Cristin in Jersey, says that the matter of digital assets is so new that clients who come to see her don’t often have a good grasp on it. “It’s something that we bring up with people whenever they’re making their ordinary wills. We will ask them what [online] accounts they have,” says Withers. Like most modern day will and probate lawyers, Withers finds herself having to tell people about what is and isn’t possible to cover in a standard will. The fate of people’s digital assets will come down to the terms and conditions of the service in question, and it can vary widely: air miles or flight status will vanish when the user dies, for example. Instagram will memorialise or close down an account upon receipt of a death certificate, while Twitter only offers the option to delete. With Bitcoin, there’s only one password and if that is lost, the money is too – that’s what happened earlier this year when $190 million in cryptocurrency was permanently lost following the death of the person who held the key.
A simple solution to all this is to write down all your online accounts and passwords, alongside instructions for what you want to happen to your email account or Facebook. “But that goes against digital advice that you should never write down your password. Not to mention that you could be in breach of the terms of your contract,” says Withers. As a lawyer she cannot recommend this course of action, but she says it’s common for people to leave sealed envelopes alongside their wills to be handed over after death.
There will be as many as 2 billion dead Facebook accounts by the end of the century, according to the Oxford Internet Institute. Some people like the idea of living on in digital form, whereas others find it distasteful – leaving behind instructions will likely be reassuring both for you and your family. But a will governing the fate of digital assets may not be legally binding, as people are ultimately bound by the individual user contracts with the companies that issued the service. The Digital Legacy Association has templates for a “social media will”, noting that this is a “statement of preferences” and not something that can be enforceable in court.
Elisabeth Ferrara, a Legal Assistant who specialises in wills and probate at Viberts on Jersey, recommends always printing wills and adding physical signatures and two witnesses, even for assets that exist in digital form – the law has yet to recognise a digital signature.
Ferrara also points out there’s a difference between digital assets and digital presence, and you can only leave provisions in your will for the former. While you can argue that a social media account has value, the problem is that the user is probably still bound by the provider’s terms and conditions. “In Jersey we have [two] types of assets: immovable estate is property and land, […] and movable assets which tends to be pretty much everything that isn’t land.” This broad definition is helpful, as a social media account which earns advertising, for example, could count as a movable asset under the law. “The nature of assets is changing with the growth of electronic assets,” says Ferrara, pointing to how we’re actually renting a lot of the things we may think we own. But if the law changes to bring that ownership back into our hands, Ferrara says that the broad definition of movable assets under Jersey law means the jurisdiction should be reasonably well set up to respond to it. “But [currently], it is it is very much up to the company to decide what’s going to happen [to your data] after death.”
Just like you’re not supposed to log into an online service as someone else, writing down your online passwords and putting them somewhere safe is technically not allowed. But that may not be something that most people consider to be very fair – if you’ve paid for the music, shouldn’t it be yours to do with as you please? And if you give your spouse your computer password, is that really a crime? Gary Rycroft expects the law might change to reflect the fact that people don’t find this fair: “In the States there’s been much more activity in terms of law reform, [arguing] we should be able to pass these [assets] on.” Rycroft thinks the UK will follow suit: “There’s increasing awareness by consumers and there [will be] a backlash eventually.”
Until then, the service providers will in likelihood become better at dealing with the fact that customers die – and hopefully start prompting us to fill in the legacy information rather than hiding the form deep down in the settings. And while it’s technically not allowed, many of us will ultimately be leaving a list of passwords somewhere safe, with instructions to our loved ones to download our assets or close up accounts, without needing to go through the formalities.
An extended version of the story published in Broadly by Vice on 16th January 2019.
If your doctor told you to take two paracetamol before coming in for a small medical procedure, what would you expect? As I went in for my first hysteroscopy—a procedure that examines the inside of the uterus with a small camera to explore heavy or unexpected bleeding, pelvic pain, fibroids, polyps, fertility issues, or diagnoses uterine cancer—I figured it might be like a smear test, or maybe an IUD fitting. The hospital leaflet I was given prior to the procedure told me to expect period-like cramping. I took some paracetamol with codeine to be safe, and laid back with my feet in stirrups.
As the doctor inserted the scope through my cervix I felt my uterus fill with cold water. I thought, this feels strange, but ok. But then the pain started and it was no longer ok. I hyperventilated as I clamped down on the nurse’s hand. Soon I was unable to keep quiet, moaning in pain, and as the biopsy was taken I felt a stabbing electric pain spread from my insides and across my entire body. I shouted out, “Fucking hell!” Afterwards, as I was panting and sweating, the nurse asked me pointedly: “Did you forget to take any paracetamol?”
The nurse’s reaction left me thinking maybe I was unusual. Was I being a wimp? It’s hard to feel bold with water running down your legs as they hand you a sanitary towel the size of your shoe. But in the days and months that followed I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Why wasn’t I given pain relief? But what happened to me is not unusual, and in fact, many women’s experience of hysteroscopy is far worse than mine.
“I was hit with this indescribable pain, like a nerve pain but twenty times over. It took my breath away. I wasn’t able to talk, I couldn’t shout out. My legs were twitching, I started to feel sick and I felt hot all over,” says Lorraine (66) from Leicester, who prefers not to give her surname as she might pursue legal action. “I told the doctor afterwards that if childbirth was a 10 on the pain scale, but that was a 15 to 20. He did not seem at all concerned or bothered.” Lorraine’s counsellor has since diagnosed her with PTSD from her experience: “I’m having nightmares, and actually seeing things in the day. I keep seeing this man,” she says, referring to the doctor.
Pain, it seems, is a routine part of hysteroscopy. The dentist will give you a shot before starting to drill—pain relief is available and common. So why does the NHS continue to send women to have their wombs poked and prodded on paracetamol? And why, when women are in obvious pain, do doctors ignore them?
NHS guidelines state that the pain levels accompanying hysteroscopies vary: some women feel “no or only mild pain,” but for others it can be “severe”. In a case like Lorraine’s, the guidelines say the procedure should be stopped and options for pain relief discussed, with options including gas and air, stronger pain medication, conscious sedation, or a up to and including a general anaesthetic.
The current guidelines from the British Society for Gynaecological Endoscopy’s (BSGE), the body overseeing hysteroscopy, does acknowledge that it “can be associated with significant pain.” Consultant Gynaecologist Justin Clark, Vice President of the BSGE, told me that hysteroscopies used to be done under general anaesthesia until the early part of this century, when technological advances meant the scope had become small enough to avoid needing to dilate the cervix. “But [the move to outpatient hysteroscopy] has also been driven by patients—by expectations of immediacy of care and getting a timely diagnosis,” says Clark. For women who find the procedure tolerable, this may well be a better choice: “People recognise that admission to hospital can have disadvantages, such as hospital-acquired infections and the risk of anaesthesia.”
Asked about the lack of concern women report about their pain, Clark is not unsympathetic: “A minority will have a very unpleasant experience, and if we could identify those women in advance that would be advantageous [so they can be given general anesthesia right away].” Revised guidelines from the BSGE are due in 2020, but a patient leaflet that addresses pain in a far more realistic way was issued on 19th December. The Campaign Against Painful Hysteroscopy, which has collected a well of women’s stories, has created a community via their Facebook page and it’s in no small part thanks to their work, supported by sympathetic voices within the BSGE and MPs, that more attention now seems to be paid to pain management.
Clark stressed to me that patient comfort is of the utmost concern for the BSGE, and their newest leaflet is certainly an improvement in ensuring women are fully informed. But the problem is that this information around pain management, and advice on how to mitigate it, is often not communicated to patients by their treating physicians, or mentioned in the leaflet that accompanies their appointment letter. While the option of a general anaesthetic is sometimes mentioned, the leaflets are individual to each hospital and often do not reflect the nuanced guidelines of the BSGE. Most women will simply be given a given a leaflet that makes light of any potential pain and go in trusting that two paracetamol and a stiff upper lip is all that’s required. Clark acknowledges this variation may mean not all women get the full picture: “It’s incumbent on hospitals to make sure their information leaflet is valid, and that they speak to the patient in a clear way.” Most women will trust that their doctors are telling them what they need to know, and not go looking for horror stories on the internet.
Even women who ask directly about the pain ahead of time report that it’s underplayed by doctors, who tell them that most people “tolerate” the procedure well. “When I asked it if would be painful, the doctor and the assistants smiled at each other and told me women get this done all the time,” says Valentina (34) from London, who prefers not to give her last name as she still needs to go back to complete the procedure after it was too painful to endure without sedation. “I wasn’t given the option to make an informed decision.” This attitude from doctors seems typical: “I was told there would be minimal pain like having a smear, and as I’d had children it wouldn’t be a problem. [The doctor said] a local anaesthetic injection into the neck of the womb would be more painful than the procedure, and would prolong the appointment. I decided to grit my teeth and get on with it,” says Liz Vining (65) from Swansea. She describes her experience as barbaric: “I couldn’t believe what had happened to me in the 21st century. 18 months on I still get tearful remembering it.”
The number of women who report their hysteroscopy to be very painful varies, but a is around 20-30 percent. A 2014 study, whose findings are in line with similar studies, found that 20 percent of women described the pain as “intolerable”, 46 percent said “moderate” and 34 percent said “mild”. The pain is usually worse for women who’ve not given vaginal birth, or who’ve gone through menopause. Clark at the BSGE told me that a study of 1,600 outpatient hysteroscopy patients, soon to be published in the British Medical Journal, found that most women tolerate the procedure well: “The acceptability rates are high, over 90 percent. The pain scores [out of ten] are in the region of three to four.”
But it is important to note that this study was just for diagnostic hysteroscopy—entering the uterus with a camera and looking around—and did not include any biopsies or polyp removals. While talking to Clark I realised that the “looking around” part of my hysteroscopy was indeed a three or a four out of ten, but spiked to a nine only during the biopsy. This distinction during clinical research may explain why so many doctors tell patients that hysteroscopy is “tolerable”, but when I was in the stirrups I experienced it as a single event. Consequently, I felt like the doctors had not been truthful about the prospect of pain. Clark conceded this point: “I agree the biopsy is far more uncomfortable that a well-conducted hysteroscopy.”
Consultant Gynaecologist Edward Morris, Vice President of Clinical Quality for BSGE’s umbrella organisation Royal College Obstetricians and Gynaecologists (RCOG), told me that it’s been important to them to listen to women’s experiences ahead of the new guidelines in 2020: “We are aware of some women reporting that they did not feel well informed about the procedure and their options.” Morris told me that women should discuss concerns about pain with their doctors, as an outpatient procedure (without proper pain relief) isn’t right for everyone: “[For example] if she faints during periods because of pain, if she has experienced severe pain during previous vaginal examinations, if she has previous traumatic experience, or if she prefers not to have this examination while awake”. A 2014 study also found that pain may be worse for women who’ve not given vaginal birth or who’ve gone through menopause.
A chilling fact is that hospitals have actually been financially incentivised to perform outpatient hysteroscopies on women. In 2013, the NHS doubled the rates that hospitals would be paid to perform hysteroscopies as an outpatient procedure, and lowered the rates paid for anaesthetised hysteroscopies. The procedure used to be commonly performed under general anaesthetic, until a shift around 2001 in part due to the influence of NHS’s National Clinical Director for Cancer Sean Duffy. In 2001, in response to comments about outpatient hysteroscopy research, Duffy wrote in the British Medical Journal that while a “small proportion of patients do, undeniably, experience considerable pain”, he concluded that for most patients the “minimal discomfort” is worth the convenience of having an outpatient procedure. “Too much emphasis is put on the issue of pain surrounding outpatient hysteroscopy,” wrote Duffy. “A small proportion of patients do, undeniably, experience considerable pain, but most patients do not, and they trade off the minimal discomfort they experience with the convenience and interaction of outpatient hysteroscopy.”
When MP Lyn Brown spoke in Parliament on 11th December she said the NHS’s Best Practice Tariff system encourages quick-and-easy hysteroscopies in a way that prioritises savings over women’s dignity and humanity. Brown said: “The national target is for the risky outpatient hysteroscopies to increase to 70 percent of the total, up from 59 percent. The Department for Health is not working to reduce pain and trauma for women—it is incentivising hysteroscopies without effective pain relief and is taking our choices away.”
Historically, women’s pain is taken less seriously by doctors. One 2001 study found that some doctors believe women have a “natural capacity to endure pain” due to the stresses of childbirth. Deb Drinkwater (56) from Salford says her hysteroscopy took away her dignity, as it left her screaming, crying, and losing consciousness. Drinkwater had previously had a bowel screening, a similar exploration of the back passage where patients are routinely offered sedation (Clark at the BSGE said that colonoscopies and gastrointestinal endoscopies, where the scope goes down the throat, are sedated because the tube goes further into the body and “around bends”). Based on her experiences with both procedures, Drinkwater says she can’t help but wonder if there’s a gender bias: “Colonoscopy is something that both men and women do.”
Drinkwater says she’s really not a wuss: “I know what pain is. I’m not an anxious patient.” But after her hysteroscopy, as she was struggling to stand, she made a nervous joke to the student nurse: “I said, I hope I hadn’t put her off nursing by being in such a state. She said to me, no lie: ‘Don’t worry about it, the woman before you screamed the whole way through it.’”
NHS England performed almost 39,000 “unspecified diagnostic” hysteroscopies last year, and the number is set to rise. 75 percent of women do find having a hysteroscopy bearable, but for the remaining 25 percent who don’t, their experience would be vastly improved if everyone knew in advance they could ask for sedation. If nothing else, being met with understanding when they experience pain—and an awareness that they’re not weak nor even unusual if they require pain medication—would go a long way. Katy Wheatley (46) from Leicester initially felt shame and blamed herself for not being able to get through her hysteroscopy, even when the pain sent her into clinical shock. “But when I look back at it—they must have seen it so many times. No one in the room reacted when I went into shock. You could tell it was routine for them—that in this room, this is what happens to women.”
Hedge Magazine, March 2019. Original article p30-32.
Interview with Doc Horn, Head of Total Return Equities at Pictet Asset Management
Doc Horn, an American in London, loves it here. “In the States, not even in New York, you don’t have the depth of history and cultural diversity of London. It’s so different than anything you can find in any city in the States,” he says – Horn has been living here for seven out of the past nine years, returning to London in the summer of 2017 when the opportunity arose to join Pictet Asset Management as Head of Total Return Equities.
We’ve met in Pictet’s offices in the City, enjoying the view from high up on a cold and sunny winter day. Horn looks sharp in a dark blue suit and green patterned tie, coming across as straight up professional on the topic of work yet open and cheery on other subjects; when they came back to London, he tells me in his mild-mannered way, they lived opposite Hugh Grant in Notting Hill for a time – the ultimate American in London experience.
Horn’s work at Pictet is very much one of being the boss, overseeing total return equity strategies as well as ten small global teams working on different approaches. “What I enjoy most are the conversations I get to have with all these bright minds, and how I get to help them formulate new investment ideas and help them understand risk in their broader portfolio. It’s an incredible opportunity, to be that connector.”
For investors, the choice is to either access the Pictet multi-strategy diversified alpha fund – a “hyper-diversified” fund of 17 strategies with low to no correlation to each other. Or they can pick an individual strategy or region and invest directly: “The idea would be to have numerous differentiated strategies that are focused on either a unique universe of coverage, or style or region of investing.” Three of the single-strategy funds are in Asia – Horn cites the China long-short fund as one of the most compelling strategies in the mix right now. Part of Horn’s job is to identify new strategies – most recently he brought in a specialist in merger arbitrage – that can be added to the mix. They take a long time to hire their managers, says Horn – when they have chosen someone, they invest in them and ensure they have the support of Pictet’s resources. “Then after a time, if we think it’s a viable product that investors would like, and if there’s still capacity or left-over room for more money to come in, then we’ll launch that as a stand-alone fund for investors to access directly.”
Sometimes Pictet will bring in fully formed teams who might have been working together for years, and the ideal approach may well be to pretty much leave them alone. “They know best how their strategy needs to be managed, and the less meddling that we do, the less chance of style-drift,” says Horn, who seems to be relatively hands-off with the process. “We spend a lot of time communicating with the teams, trying to understand the exposures that they have on their positioning, the way they’re thinking about the markets and about risk. We use that to help inform other teams [in the group] and find commonality in exposures or in themes that they’re playing, and connect different teams if necessary.”
Horn says the ideal outcome is when the teams actively work together. “I think that’s a key differentiation from many of our other hedge fund peers. We see collaboration as key to how these teams operate – the whole is greater than sum of its parts,” says Horn. “The knowledge base that exists from a global team [means we have] the ability to share a wealth of data and knowledge, and that is really beneficial to all our investors.”
Horn (39) comes from a small mountain town in Colorado. “I grew up raising llamas” – yes it was unusual, and no, they weren’t for any purpose other than fun. “We had several animals, including a few llamas which I was mostly responsible for.” Horn estimates being trusted with this task from about the age of five. “They were a nightmare when they got out of the stable because they don’t like to come back. You’d get the neighbourhood together for a llama search party,” Horn laughs. He left for New Orleans at 18, studying business at Tulane University. He was “fascinated” by finance: “It just made sense to me. But I’d be lying if I said I was getting the Wall Street Journal delivered to my house at the age of fourteen.” The moment of conviction came at university when he took part in the Burkenroad Reports, a securities analysis programme where students became equity research analysts for a semester. “You’d meet with the company management and you do a full buy-sell-hold report. I had a little oil field services company called Trico Marine. … That was the thing that helped me get into equity research.”
Horn moved to New York after school and joined Fulcrum Global Partners. It was an interesting first job: “My first company meeting was with Ken Lay, the Enron CEO, on the same day the Wall Street Journal published the first article about potential accounting issues within Enron. That meeting was a fascinating entrée into the business. Ken was very smooth. He was an incredible speaker and presenter, probably not a fantastic manager in retrospect.” Asked how the experience shaped his view of the world, Horn says it’s imbibed a certain skepticism. Fulcrum continued to tote Enron as as a Buy recommendation after that day: “I was very junior at the time. As the stock dropped day after day, and more bad news came out, we failed to adapt our opinion on Enron to reflect the new facts. We allowed emotions and stubbornness to guide our rating, and it resulted in a poor recommendation to our clients.” It became an important life lesson: “You have to be pragmatic, and you have to cut your losses. Probably one of the things that has helped me succeed as a portfolio manager, and a manger of team, is a real willingness to look at both sides of the argument, and be willing to change my view.”
Before joining Pictet in 2017, Horn spent almost 12 years at UBS O’Connor, which provided exposure to a range of sectors and later, a variety of geographies including his first stint in London as head of the European team. “My career hasn’t been that long, but the cycles have been more compressed. Experiencing 2001, living through 2008, being in Europe during 2011, seeing the many crises and bubbles that have formed along the way. The one commonality in what I’ve been doing is risk awareness, and taking a very market-neutral approach.”
It can be easy to become a superstar for two years, but then flame out and never recover: “You can have five phenomenal years and one terrible year, and everybody will leave you on the side of the road.” Horn describes himself as a “smart risk-taker” who minimises the amount of volatility he’ll allow in his portfolios. Asked if that’s a controversial position, Horn says it’s more rewarded now in the post-2008 world: “Many investors have gravitated towards a much more risk-conscientious mindset in the past decade, and you see fewer hedge-fund cowboys. Our investors are the same way. That’s the mindset that we cater towards.”
Live to fight another day, in other words. Horn and his wife Lauren have four children aged between two and seven, which takes care of the question of what he does outside of work. He likes going out to eat though: “My favourite restaurant in London right now is a small Italian place, it’s looks like a gelato store front in Camden. But when you go in it’s a phenomenal restaurant, a BYOB place with no charm but outstanding food. It’s called Anima e Cuore.” It’s got increasingly hard to get a table there, says Horn, but he’s got a trick for that: “When you have four kids at home, you’re happy eating at 5.30pm when no one else wants a table.”
One last thing. Why do they call him Doc? His full name is Stanford Everett Zachariah Helms Horn. “My dad thought it would be a funny name for a child to have in nursery,” says Horn – it’s what he’s been called since he was a kid. Funnily enough, his brother Cash is the one who became a doctor, and Doc is in the “cash” business. “My parents got the right industries, just the wrong way around,” he laughs.