My Mouth and I!

Festivals appear to be a commonplace experience of our coastal town and last weekend was no exception. It was the International Festival. Having inadvertently volunteered to carry a flag in the parade (No, I’m not safe in an auction room!), I struck up a conversation with a steward. The topics became numerous, varied and always completely fascinating; the conclusion was a book recommendation and the promise that I would receive the ISBN yesterday. I can only surmise that my mind was so occupied with the notion of a dozen for lunch, that it became disengaged from my mouth. Suffice it to say, twenty minutes after embarking upon a seemingly routine action, I returned to my family without the ISBN; I did, however, have to confess that 30 people and a bouncy castle would be arriving on our doorstep on October 2nd. Now, how did that happen? To be completely fair, I think it had something to do with a moment’s utterly bizarre guilt at being neither Nigerian nor capable of whipping up a show-stopping Michelin starred dish, whilst dancing the can-can on a tightrope above Niagara Falls. (I’m beginning to understand the flag carrying.) The lesson learned is that one may escape from a city and be confident in ones savviness, but beware. Town and country folk are so adept at spotting an unwitting newcomer that any city slicker may only smile wryly whilst acknowledging their unsurpassable prowess!

Country Treats

Living in a coastal town has – six months on – finally woven its tentacles firmly around me.  Working all day, then deciding at 4pm to go to the beach – ours or another further from home – just cannot be matched by life in London.  (Traitorous thoughts!)  Dashing to Crosby beach, watching the Antony Gormley sculptures in various costumes of lichen, algae and sea, whilst following crabs, shellfish and a triple rainbow stunningly reflected across rippled sand, cannot be matched by traffic jams and congestion charges; it simply can’t.  The composition of nature with its constantly changing light, weather and unique love song combined with the occasional friendly encounter – other connoisseurs indulging their senses – and the lasting impression is of more than “home”.  It is the sense that this is what one has been looking for all of ones life.  It has not been an easy journey, but the feeling is one of arrival.

 

London O, London.

Last night and this morning the complete, the total, the wanton destruction of my manor flashed before my eyes.  Nationally downplayed, due to its Olympic Host Borough status, but real, extensive and irreparable damage occurred nonetheless.  Already ailing and wounded businesses attacked, perhaps mortally wounded.  My jeweller’s shop vandalised, ransacked, looted.  Bank and retailers all falling victim to the carnage displayed before us.  This precious, cherished space desecrated by burning buses, looting teenagers and abject moral poverty.  How have we allowed this to happen – on our watch, in our land?  How will we avert further madness and mayhem when there are already too few police and many jobs are going to be cut?

Regardless of where we live, who we are, what we think – these are OUR children.  These angry, aimless, anarchistic beings are our offspring, our future, our heirs.  What have we done (or not done) to allow these the destructive, the vengeful and the lost to commandeer our streets, destroy the work of generation and further impoverish our recession-struck homeland?  What have we done?  Where have we been?

Why didn’t we notice that our children were marching to a very different drum beat from our own?  Why didn’t we see and stop the disaffection displayed in small things?  Why didn’t we heed their speeches and realise that “hope” was a word completely expunged from their vocabulary?

It all has so little to do with the manslaughter of Mr Duggan; yet, it has everything to do with it.  The underlying issues and problems are the same.  Where is the communication – the two way conversation to which each person contributes?  Where is the embedded and deeply ingrained sense of respect, value and inclusion?  Where is the commitment to harmonious, positive, co-dependent living?

We spend hours and millions abolishing childhood, propelling our children from the cot to the catwalk from the nursery to the nightclub, from diapers to disillusionment (with as few stops as possible in between) and then question their lack of responsibility, their earth-shattering immaturity and their all-consuming selfishness.  We all know that the most highly prized plants grow slowly and steadily.  It is the wild flowers and weeds which rush to maturity; invading, disturbing and potentially creating chaos in well-ordered and well-managed surroundings.  For best results, we tackle weeds when young – before they ever have an opportunity to multiply – and consistently monitor and nurture our growing spaces.

So, where have we been?  What have we been doing?  How have we missed the signs?  We know how to cultivate and care.  We know the rules and we have the resources.  This is an alarm call for all of us; our country, our communities and our children – especially the feral ones – require our immediate care, concern and intervention.