The Lucozade sign, Brentford, 1984 and the Holy Grail

by 5ocietyx

lucozade-ad-Brentford

Recently, the iconic Art Deco Lucozade sign has returned to Brentford, not to the exact same spot as the original building has been demolished but it looks very much like it did before. It was once suggested that the lights would be stored in Gunnersbury Park museum and a modernised updated version would be installed instead. On this occasion the Kingston Zodiac decided to keep the legacy code intact and just drag and drop it to a nearby memory address space.

Best viewed at night when the lights are more visible, it serves as an unofficial marker that says you will soon be entering London proper (depending on congestion on the A4).

The eternally pouring magic bottle that ‘replaces lost energy’ into a glass almost takes on grail-like dimensions considering its proximity to Osterley Park, the sign of Aquarius as well as the holy grail of the Kingston Zodiac.

But it is the synchromystical connection to Orwell’s 1984, set in London, that intrigues us the most, especially as his once tutor at Eton, Aldous Huxley set scenes from Brave New World in Brentford too which we’ll come to next in a separate post.

Although the Lucozade sign had yet to be built when Eric Blair finished his seminal masterpiece, we feel in synchromystical terms linear time-frames become somewhat irrelevant when tapping into the timeless realms of mysticism as we sense Orwell had knowingly or unknowingly done. Particularly so with regards to 1984 where dates and history had been confused by The Party.

‘It struck him that the man’s whole life was playing a part, and that he felt it to be dangerous to drop his assumed personality even for a moment. O’Brien took the decanter by the neck and filled up the glasses with a dark-red liquid. It aroused in Winston dim memories of something seen long ago on a wall or a hoarding — a vast bottle composed of electric lights which seemed to move up and down and pour its contents into a glass. Seen from the top the stuff looked almost black, but in the decanter it gleamed like a ruby. It had a sour-sweet smell. He saw Julia pick up her glass and sniff at it with frank curiosity.’

Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell

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