All the world loves a bridge that moves. Usually, the point of a bridge is that it is fixed – when so much trouble has been taken to overcome gravity and tame nature, instability is the last thing that you want – so there is surprise and delight when it confounds its own rigidity. I give you as an example Tower Bridge.
In an overlooked part of east London, weed-strewn and still industrial – a district un-steamrollered by the giant apartment blocks going up in much of the old docklands, close to where the River Lea joins the Thames – two curve-cornered squares of steel frame the view.

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