Moretown Building 2 Thomas More Street

So, there I was, standing outside Moretown Building 2 Thomas More Street, trying to take a selfie with a very aggressive-looking pigeon. I failed, obviously. The bird won, and I ended up with a blurry photo of my own confused face. But that’s exactly the kind of energy this place has: chaotic, unpolished, and a little bit absurd.

Let’s be real for a second. You’ve probably walked past this building a hundred times without giving it a second glance. It’s not the Shard, and it’s definitely not a glassy tech hub. It’s a brick-and-concrete brute from the 1970s—the era that gave us brown corduroy and questionable architecture. And somehow, it works.

The building that refuses to be invisible

Moretown Building 2 sits on Thomas More Street, right in the heart of London’s really-not-that-glamorous-but-we-pretend-it-is East End. It’s the kind of building you’d describe as “functional” to avoid hurting its feelings. But here’s the kicker: it’s mysteriously full of life. Step inside, and you’re hit with the smell of old coffee, floor polish, and ambition.

The ground floor? A tiny reception desk manned by a security guard who has probably seen more human drama than a soap opera. There’s a lift that makes a sound like a tired cat when it stops. And the walls? They’re painted a shade of sickly beige that screams “budget meeting circa 1992.” I love it.

Who actually works here?

Good question. From what I could gather, this building houses a bizarre mix: a startup that designs apps for dog walkers, a law firm with a name like “Gable & Crunch,” and a mysterious door on the third floor that says “Studio 17” but has no other information. What happens in Studio 17? I’m convinced it’s either a cult HQ or someone’s very ambitious Etsy store.

I spoke to a woman named Priya who works for the dog-walking app. She told me, “The Wi-Fi cuts out three times a day, but the view from the 4th floor is unexpectedly beautiful. You can see the whole city skyline—if you squint past the pigeon.” She laughed. “It’s chaotic, but it’s ours.” That word—ours—kept coming up.

Moretown | Fidelidade Property

And that’s the secret sauce, isn’t it? Moretown Building 2 isn’t trying to impress anyone. It’s not a landmark; it’s a landmark of the ordinary. It’s for people who need a desk, a plug socket that might work, and a place to argue about deadlines.

The awkward charm of “just enough”

Notice I haven’t mentioned the windows. Oh, the windows. They’re these thin, metal-framed things that let in exactly 30% of the light you actually want. In winter, they’re drafty. In summer, they become low-grade heaters. But here’s the thing: everyone remembers them. A graphic designer I met on the stairs said, “I once watched a whole thunderstorm through this window. It was the most productive hour I had all month. The building forced me to look up.”

See what I mean? Irony of ironies: a poorly designed window becomes the highlight of someone’s Wednesday. That’s Moretown Building 2 for you—accidentally poetic.

A quick reality check (with numbers)

Let’s talk logistics, because I know some of you are corporate souls who need data. The building has six floors. Its floor plates are weirdly shaped—like someone cut a rectangle with scissors while distracted. The fire escape is a spiral staircase that makes you dizzy. There is one toilet on each floor, and it’s always the one with the broken lock.

Moretown – Thirdway

But guess what? It’s mostly full. Rents here are 30% cheaper than in the slick glass towers nearby. You trade a luxury lobby for a community of weirdness. And the location? You’re a five-minute walk from the Barbican, ten minutes from Spitalfields Market, and right next to a very decent sandwich shop that does a breakfast bap you’ll dream about.

The verdict from a pigeon-hater

I left the building feeling oddly protective of it. It’s like that friend who shows up to a party in a wrinkled shirt but ends up being the most interesting person there. Moretown Building 2 Thomas More Street isn’t Instagrammable. It’s experience-able. You have to live in it, breathe its dusty air, and accept that the lift might trap you for a minute.

And if you do? You’ll find a quiet, stubborn beauty. The kind that doesn’t demand attention but deserves it. So next time you walk past, don’t take a selfie with the pigeon. Just smile at the building. It’s trying its best, and honestly? That’s more than enough.

P.S. — I never did find out what happens in Studio 17. If you know, please email me. I’m dying to know if it’s a pottery class or a secret board meeting about garden gnomes. Don’t leave me hanging.