There are some advantages to life in the slow lane. When you could be living next door to one of the two neighbours from hell, veteran rock legend Jimmy Page and pop singer (“Let me entertain you”) Robbie Williams, sometimes it’s better to live a humbler life. An existence, perhaps, in which your biggest concern might be the local cat that wees in your garden or the gaping holes in communal fencing allowing foxes to deposit half eaten jars of peanut butter on your lawn.
There are benefits to living in an area where nobody can afford a mega-basement; where most residents are stressing over whether they can afford to stick a dormer window in the attic for their millennial offspring to have a bedsit at home.
Immense wealth involves decisions ordinary folk don’t have to contend with, such as the necessity of constructing nail bars and steam rooms in our homes, the need to have triple garages, cottages for security men and vaults for the wine cellars.
Millionaires Robbie Williams and Jimmy Page were never going to have a lot in common, but both musicians live in London’s posh Holland Park. Page resides in the grade I-listed building Tower House, designed by the renowned Victorian architect William Burges, while Williams owns the lavish pile next door, a property formerly occupied by the flamboyant film producer Michael Winner.
Williams has sought to eradicate as much of Winner’s signature interior as possible (Hollywood eclectic, apparently, including a home cinema, where he presumably screened his tacky movies such as Death Wish to visitors) and now wants to renovate the 46-room mansion. A proposed underground extension would include a gym and a swimming pool, adding amenities for his growing family – and no doubt to increase the value of the £17.5m home.
This epic row between two giant egos began in 2013, and shows no signs of abating. Williams and Page – both creative geniuses who have made music which changed the lives of millions – have never spoken; they communicate through intermediaries. There have been allegations of fantastically bonkers behaviour. Williams was said to have dressed up in a blonde wig and played loud seventies music by Led Zeppelin’s rivals to annoy his neighbour, something he has strongly denied. He is also alleged to have written Page a letter of apology and offered to collaborate on new musical offering – another urban myth both sides deny. Page’s spokesperson announced “that’s a publicist’s wet dream”. I think the world is very unlikely to be enriched by a Williams-Page chart topper in the near future. Both sides have described the other as “impossible” and “a nightmare”.
Doesn’t it all sound so very familiar to anyone who has applied to extend their living room or demolish an ugly hedge?
Robbie’s actor wife Ayda is a judge on the X Factor, a bubbly character who is never lost for words. Meanwhile 75-year-old Jimmy’s consort is a 26-year-old Scarlett Sabet, a poet whose sense of style seems inspired by the pre-Raphaelite paintings Page loves to collect. Both men have form when it comes to outrageous behaviour: Page might look like a greying Steptoe character these days, but a quick read of Hammer of the Gods, the book charting Led Zeppelin’s excesses, gives an insight into his exotic past. Robbie, too, has ditched the outrageous behaviour of the Take That days to be a devoted dad.
Sadly, these neighbours appear to have nothing in common, musically or aesthetically, making the chances of a civilised rapprochement unlikely. Jimmy says he is still waiting (after all these years) for a letter from Robbie to arrange a meeting. As they live within 50 yards of each other, would it not have been easier to wander around (leaving the guitar at home) with a bottle of wine or a vegan beverage? But rockstars always employ staff, so it is through lawyers that this interminable battle has been conducted.
The local council finally approved plans for the Williams’ extension in December, but placed conditions on the construction, imposing financial penalties if Tower House was damaged. Page has maintained throughout that his is a house of national heritage status and would be irreparably damaged by any building work. He wants Williams to come and visit, and see Burges’s beautiful tiles for himself, but these requests are issued in the form of pleas to the media. Perhaps a pot of tea and a quiet grovel might yield a better result.
I have some sympathy, having myself built a house in London on a vacant lot, where I had to contend with objections from local history societies, neighbours and the press. My house was described as “ugly” by ill-informed members of the local council. The planners were a nightmare, nit-picking over every detail and then, after the house was finished, permitting every old building around it to be demolished before changing their mind and marking the street as conservation area. By then, my house was overlooked by brand new apartment blocks with no artistic merit; three decades later, it has just been listed as grade II by Historic England, a triumph over the small-minded planners.
When I moved into my current home, the woman who sold it to me described my neighbour as “very difficult” because they had fallen out over building work. I subsequently discovered the neighbour is delightful, and I’m blessed with similarly nice people on the other side.
In the name of sanity, I’m offering to hold a peace summit between Robbie and Jimmy round at my place.
We’ll tell you what’s true. You can form your own view.
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