The loss of distant horizons – almost, but not quite, a literature review…

On my way to school pickup one smoggy, sweltering summer afternoon, I heard an older woman just ahead of me telling two small boys they’d have to go straight home that day. “It’s good to be outside,” she said, “but sometimes the air is not good air.”
– Beth Gardiner: Choked

As soon as I had gotten out of the heavy air of Rome and from the stink of the smoky chimneys thereof, which being stirred, poured forth whatever pestilential vapours and soot they had enclosed in them, I felt an alteration of my disposition.
– Lucius Annaeus Seneca the Younger

Some describe sixteenth-century Bolivia, where the Potosí silver mine was the largest in the world at the time, as the start of the Anthropocene – the geological era in which human activity began to have a significant impact on the natural world. The air would never be the same.
– Tim Smedley: Clearing the Air

The last act when life comes to a close is the letting out of the breath. And hence, its admission must have been the beginning.
– Aristotle: On Youth and Old Age, On Life and Death, On Breathing

Introduction
When I originally started researching the subject of air pollution, at the beginning of March 2019 – driven by personal health issues to produce something in-depth for my blog that would, hopefully, also heighten awareness of this worrying subject (especially in this rural Elysium that is Warwickshire’s Feldon: where defilement of any kind probably seems at its most improbable), I had aimed to put the resultant article to bed in time for World Environment Day on 5 June 2019 (whose theme, this year, was, fittingly, #BeatAirPollution).

What air’s from home…

Sometimes – and sometimes more fittingly than we may care to observe… – Mother Nature schedules her tasks and happenings more fruitfully and frequently (and therefore with much more granularity) than simply the succession of seasons obvious to even the most imperceptive of eyes. Waking late, yesterday morning, my habitual appraisal of the front garden, and the youngish oak which stands sentinel over it, revealed a large selection of cleanly-broken twigs on the green verges beneath, scattered by the recent sharp winds (harbingers, it seems, of yet more of Winter’s cold, unforgiving, grasp; and its reluctance to depart – despite Spring puncturing the jackstrawn turf with the tiny xanthous blooms of narcissus and primrose; and the local finches’ songs, above, swelling with Summer warmth…).

Anniversary (a)musings…

Just a little set of amuse-bouches – of hastily-scribbled, reasonably relevant, limericks… – to celebrate four years of blogging! (Photo courtesy of the wonderful people at Dr C P Grey Opticians.)

Read ’em and weep

The Bard of the village of Tysoe
Did wonder and worry just why so
     Few views were logged
     Of the words he had blogged
The paucity making him cry so

Hot off the press

There once was a brilliant Bard
Who typed so exceedingly hard
     That his fingers were numb
     (As was his poor bum)
And the keyboard he hammered was charred

Did Cicero say anything?

The Orchestra’s Writer-in-Residence
Loves using his words to set precedence
     With notes so unique
     They could well be in Greek
Ή ακόμα και για τους γούνιους ελέφαντες†

“This section does not make sense as drafted…”

I’m sorry so little is happening on this blog at the moment: but serious issues with my health mean that other things must take priority. However, if you’re interested in the progress (or otherwise) of the “Pre-consultation draft” of the Neighbourhood Development Plan, I’d like to point you to Stratford-on-Avon District Council’s gritty response – from 31 July 2017. It may not be quite as detailed as mine – but it certainly is pithy! Thanks to Duke Senior, as always, for the heads-up!

All the remain is “Welcome”…!

Welcome to the blog of the Bard of Tysoe… – especially if this is your first visit (hopefully, of many)! If you’ve arrived here after noticing the advert in the Tysoe & District Record (right), then a big ‘thank you’ for tapping in the address of this site manually: you are indeed – as the Old English would say – a wilcuma – that is, ‘a person whose coming is pleasing’ (and from where we get the word ’welcome’ itself). Hopefully, you will find posts that similarly(?) tell you something you didn’t know before; that entertain; make you scratch your head (in deep thought; or perhaps bafflement); and – in the case of reviews – make you wish you had been at that event (that is, presuming that you weren’t…). You may nod in unanimity; or disagree deeply with what I have to say; or simply have a question, as a result… – in which case, please feel free to leave a comment (the form appears at the bottom of each post); and I will, once I’ve (moderated and) published it (if your remarks haven’t broken my scant and simple rules of decency and defamation, etc.), try and answer it (if applicable) as soon as I can. (If you’re really fortunate, you may even get a post written especially for you, in response!)

Et in Arcadia ego… (part III)

INTRODUCTION
Over the past four years – commencing with the huge amount of research I carried out to produce the Sustainable Tysoe? briefing paper (against the proposed Gladman development on Oxhill Road) – I have collated a large (digital) stack of documents dealing with various aspects of planning (specifically, neighbourhood planning) and development (not only of buildings, but of communities, of individuals, of neighbourhood resources). I have also contributed to this pile with the articles I have posted on my blog – The Bard of Tysoe – at least fifteen of which are responses to (mostly direct; although some do, admittedly, take a rather sideways glance at…) our parish’s various attempts to produce something resembling a neighbourhood (development) plan (NDP).

Great planning does not mean either “most restrictive” or “most laissez-faire”. It means creating the conditions for growth and change while maintaining a vision of the common good. It balances competing interests. It includes a grasp of the cumulative effect of individual decisions…. It can protect long-term benefits against damage from short-term profit. It has the ability to spot problems before they become crises and find a way to address them. It can review alternative approaches to an issue, such as population growth, and promote the best ones. It has clarity and consistency, so everyone knows where they stand. It has the ability to review the results of its own decisions, and learn from them. It is informed by knowledge, not guesswork. It is the result of genuine and transparent public debate.
– Rowan Moore: Boris, we agree London is a great city…

In my latest post on the subject – as it finally looked like there might be a version of the NDP submitted for examination (although not without a large amount of revision, and late-night cramming…) – I simply linked to these previous writings: as they (sadly, in the case of the ones offering constructive criticism) are still vitally relevant and pertinent (even those written three years ago). However, having all been ignored or denounced – and then summarily removed from the trail of documentary evidence that is needed to explain the evolution of the ideas captured within the Plan (as well as those so discounted) – I feel now is the time to collate (and, where needs be, summarize) their ideas in one place: not just to demonstrate how my prescience has, sadly, come to pass; but to use the inherent research and reasoning to explain, more thoroughly:

• why I think the latest version of the NDP only narrowly fits that sobriquet or description;
• why I (therefore) oppose it; and
• how – had my writings (and, I suspect, others’) been heeded – residents could have contributed effectively to something more wide-ranging, more nuanced, more relevant, more complete, more useful (rather than – as with so much of the content – being paid lip-service).

Et in Arcadia ego… (part II)

As I pointed out in my previous post on the proposed Tysoe Neighbourhood Development Plan, my request for copies of the Representation Form in alternate formats for those of us who are disabled not only fell on fallow ground, but were deliberately deleted from the Tysoe Parish & Community website. As I cannot complete either the online form, or the paper one, I am therefore asserting my right – under the Equality Act 2010 – to provide my Pre-Submission Regulation 14 Consultation feedback in an alternate format – namely by way of this blog post, and all the other blog posts I have written on the subject, listed below:

• Other comments… – 22 July 2014
• Living in glass houses… – 30 September 2014
• Further comments… – 8 December 2014
• I’ve tried walking sideways… – 30 December 2014
• Don’t leave me this way… – 3 January 2015
• Fly me to the moon… – 6 January 2015
• The only way in the village… – 7 January 2015
• NP-headed… – 10 April 2015
• Taking a stand (in the place where you live…) – 11 April 2015
• Time to stop and think… – 6 May 2015
• A tale of two societies… – 14 July 2015
• Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me… – 24 November 2015
• I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills… – 14 September 2016
• Et in Arcadia Ego… (part I) – 12 June 2017
  

Please note that should all these comments once more vanish into the ether, and not be appended as “evidence” to the version of the Neighbourhood Development Plan submitted for inspection, I shall ensure – through whatever channels are available to me – that they are put forward to the relevant bodies both as proof of long-term opposition to the Plan’s approval, methodologies and non-democratic nature; and as testimony to the fallacy of the supposed “consultation” that has been falsely promoted within the Plan itself (as most villagers would concur).

Et in Arcadia ego… (part I)

Introduction
Surprise ballot results are all the rage, it seems: deflating arrogance; defying expectation; demonstrating the real power of real people. Being at the heart of “the Shires”, huge local majorities for Brexit and a part-time, non-resident Tory MP (more interested in property and anti-environmental, non-executive, share-bearing, board positions) are givens… – however, as with last week’s General Election, seeing (what is now called) The Neighbourhood Development Plan – rather amusingly (as it covers the years 2011–2031) entitled TYSOE – A village for the 21st Century and Beyond – through to implementation (whatever that means) may not be so simple or predictable.

A few days ago, a piece of paper entitled “Save Upper Tysoe” fell through our letterbox. Yes – another campaign against another invidious building scheme: proposing another dense housing development in another unsuitable place. No – not by one of the accustomed large property developers or house-builders… – but as outlined by that aforementioned Neighbourhood Development Plan (NDP).

Yes – really.

Rape and pillage; rinse and repeat…

“Those stupid yokels in Tysoe won’t be up for another fight,” says Fat Greedy Bastard No.1 (FGB1) to FGB2. “We almost won, last time,” is the reply, between loosely-gritted teeth; “and I’ve already noticed that there are a lot fewer objections”. “Perhaps it’s because no-one can be bothered to fight anymore… – just as we planned. I certainly haven’t seen any of those notices we had, last time, pinned to trees, fences and lamp-posts; nor any of those huge village meetings.”

“It’s in the can, then, isn’t it?” gloats FGB1. “Instead of eighty houses in one place, splitting them over two fields seems to have done the trick.” “I think you’re right,” smirks FGB2. “Those on the Oxhill side won’t give a flying duck about those in Middleton Close; and vice versa. Divide and conquer. That’s what I always say. Divide and conquer.”

“I do think it’s wonderful that we’re allowed to simply walk in to – and walk all over – a field that cost thousands to defend, and just do it all again. Attrition – that’s my keyword. Grind the buggers down; and they’ll just roll over, and let you do whatever you want. Attrition. That’s the beauty of brass!”

So, where are the leaflets, hand-delivered by the “neighbourhood champions”? Are the People’s Front of Tysoe – or whatever they called themselves (The People’s Front of NoIdea?) – still so pissed-off at being found out (or having the Riot Act read out to them) by the Parish Council, that they’re cutting off their noses to spite their faces… (apart from the Great Tew: from whom I must beg forgiveness…)? Or are all we so happy/pissed-off (delete according to political nous) ourselves at #Brexit that we just haven’t noticed? Great timing, innit?! Chilcot, anyone?

The deadline has passed for the planning application that would literally flood Middleton Close were it to come to fruition – which, to a cynic such as myself, just looks like trying to build houses for thirty families who could then traipse their children up the hill to the nearest nursery, raising even more cash for its progenitor. But, we still have until next Wednesday to object to Gladman Mk.II.

All the previous reasons for not granting this permission, last time, actually apply to both applications; and, if you can be bothered, most of the points made in the following comprehensive document (about a 20 Mb download, I’m afraid) – which I produced, with the help of several others, thirty months ago – actually still also therefore apply to both. Copy and paste as much, or as little, of it, as you wish into the links above; and then barrage your local councillor – and of course, Chris ‘Teflon’ Saint, with as much vitriol as you want. (By the way, has anyone seen our MP, recently… – apart from in this week’s Herald, looking rather fetching in one of George Osborne’s high-vis jackets and matching hard hat…?)

That the planning laws are a whole herd of mega-donkeys, in allowing us to keep having to defend the same parcel of land from rapacious invaders again and again, is in no doubt. But, last time, we showed what we were made of; and I pray we can do it again… rather than slip in it.

I am far too disabled to go through what I went through last time – not sleeping for days on end – continually researching the law; producing leaflets; collating contact details; starting this blog, even… – but we would be just as stupid as the two FGBs above assume if we were not to fight back; and we would just get what we deserve. So that’s me done. Sorry.

Joseph Ashby, my much greater and more virtuous predecessor, must be rolling in his grave. Me, though, I’m off to have my head scanned. Literally.

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me…

The Ballad of Windmill Hill
For Keith…

The man clambered to the windmill, blunt pencil in his hand;

Head empty as his notebook: as nothing yet was planned.

But he sat down on his jacket: spine cold against the stone

Where the bread had once been moulded; the seed had once been blown;

Where the stooped-back miller once had toiled for hour upon hour

To turn the labour of the harvest into finest golden flour;

And he soon began to scribble, as the wind began to call

From the houses far below him; from cottage, church and hall.

And this is what he registered – inspired by what he learned –

Never passing any judgment on what his neighbours clearly yearned.

All we want is something simple, that we all can understand:

Nothing complex or beyond us; notions rooted in the land;

A village with a future; where each to each is known;

A place which folk find welcoming; that is everybody’s own;

Where, gradually, in union, with corresponding power,

We spread this presence evenly, and remember well that our

Stay upon this well-tilled soil means little to time’s sprawl;

Though man is one of many visitors whose impact may be small

Next to heaven’s mighty globes and the voyages they’ve turned;

But that yet we must be wary of the furrows that we’ve churned.

What wisdom can we manifest; who amongst us will take stand

To garner our agreement; stop our wishes turn to sand?

How will we ever vanquish those who want to reign alone:

Whose voices shout much harsher, whose only word is sown

On fallow ground, whose every thought is selfish, sharp and sour;

With no empathy or sympathy: their lust set on the tower

Of ruling over everyone; of leering over all;

Of meeting our petitions with an egoistic bawl?

Are there those amongst us brave enough – whose regard we know is earned –

Who will help us stand together; guarantee such fools are spurned?

And then the breeze veered westerly; and light glowed on the hand

Of one, then two, then several more, until a mighty band

Of villagers of every class who all had always shown

Great steadfastness and loyalty to the place in which they’d grown

Stood strong and straight in unity – no longer would they cower:

This was the land they loved – each tree, each bird, each flower –

And they would hold forever, brought together by that call,

To ensure that all three Tysoes could never ever fall;

Would from here deal right and fairly with each resident concerned;

Would from here shine bright with passion that in every heart now burned.

Upon the hill, the man awoke; his blank pad on the grass;

Yet sure that all he’d seen and heard would shortly come to pass.

With apologies to Zola…

For those who live in Tysoe: I have just received a copy of the Neighbourhood Plan Steering Group’s vile, solipsistic, spoilt, infantile, misleading and propagandist j’accuse-style resignation letter to the Parish Council. I think, from its wording and the misinformation it contains, that it may have been penned with the help of Jeremy Hunt, or possibly Grant Shapps. Its insulting lack of self-knowledge – blaming others for their own actions; not recognizing their own obvious faults… – and the absence of reason, are phenomenal (and yet somehow hilarious)! However, as tempted as I am to crow about vindication and my utter joy at this turn of events – and the painful, long-drawn-out, apparent victory for common sense – this paragraph is all I will write on the matter. If you need more information, please attend the next Parish Council meeting (on 7 December 2015); or contact your nearest Parish Councillor. The truth is out there.

Roses are red…

This book is different: it is a book about housing, but it does not advocate building many more homes. This book does not add more support to many of the usual solutions offered. It does not suggest that so-called affordable housing schemes are good, or that we necessarily need thousands of new ‘council homes’ to be built. It does suggest that the housing problem requires a more serious solution than merely building more homes. This conclusion has resulted partly from concerns about the near-future, not about the present. Solutions such as home-building, which look as if they might solve some of our present woes, may not be the panacea many imagine if we continue to allow a few to get richer and richer through exploitation of what the housing system has become. Building more may result in the wealthy owning even more houses, more families renting some of those homes, but more being empty at any one time and in greater future inequality, unless we address rising inequalities in how housing is shared out.
– Danny Dorling: All That is Solid: The Great Housing Disaster

This week's Herald – and its headline about the “number of homes [that] just keeps on rising” with each revision of Stratford-on-Avon District Council’s Core Strategy (about as strategic as this household’s weekly shopping list) – crystallized thoughts I have been having for some time; and is one of a continually-growing number of reasons why I now wonder if there is any point to Neighbourhood Plans (at least in their current form and lack of legal standing): especially when “The Government is very clear that it will not be possible to use [them] to stop development.” (They do not, therefore, as some appear to believe, “protect the village”.)

As long as we, as a community, as a district, as a country, continue to espouse the simplistic mantra that building more and more homes is the answer to life, the universe and everything, I cannot see any purpose in producing a “vision” for Tysoe that can then be crumpled and crushed in an instant by the Vogon triumvirate of government, property and finance. We may as well wield fly-swatters in the paths of oncoming bulldozers (or lie down in front of them wearing our dressing-gowns), as to mount a defence of the status quo (which is what I believe we are really trying to achieve – not many people are in a position to readily welcome change, in any form…) with a glossy, Panglossian compilation of complex protocols. Indeed, as I have written before: “I am concerned that this could just simply be yet another time- and money-consuming exercise: designed to keep us ‘plebs’ occupied, and therefore from being able to interfere in, or protest against, Tory diktats” – the latest in a long line of increasingly-bizarrely-named documents that, momentarily, repeatedly, give us the blurred illusions of localism, local power, local choice. When will we learn…?

And, from sage comments made (and quoted) previously on these pages, perhaps I am not the only one who thinks like this: “It doesn't even have to be the Neighbourhood Plan. It could simply be our plan. A plan for Tysoe.”

¶

I think I have (finally) reached Frost’s “Two roads diverged”; and, like him, will take “the one less traveled by”. I have spent far too much time critiquing our attempts at pulling a plan together (but not “together” with most residents of the village…); and making suggestions – long have “I stood And looked down… as far as I could” – many having fallen on fallow ground; a few, perhaps (if appearances count for anything) permeating the ears of our still-wet-behind-the-ears Parish Council.

Accordingly, I suppose, like the great poet, I should be “telling this with a sigh” – but I feel I have said all that there is to be said; and, now, it seems, about something with as many sharp bits as a ball-bearing. So: my main emotion is actually relief. And, as a result, unless there is a massive change in both process and direction, I no longer see any further sense in giving my opinions on it; and will focus my meagre resources and “lucid words” on things of importance to me. I will also, therefore, of course, be voting against it.

However, if you feel differently, then may I suggest that tonight’s PC meeting is definitely worth attending?!

Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live. And unselfishness is letting other people’s lives alone, not interfering with them. Selfishness always aims at creating around it an absolute uniformity of type. Unselfishness recognizes infinite variety of type as a delightful thing, accepts it, acquiesces in it, enjoys it. It is not selfish to think for oneself. A man who does not think for himself does not think at all. It is grossly selfish to require of one’s neighbour that he should think in the same way, and hold the same opinions. Why should he? If he can think, he will probably think differently. If he cannot think, it is monstrous to require thought of any kind from him. A red rose is not selfish because it wants to be a red rose. It would be horribly selfish if it wanted all the other flowers in the garden to be both red and roses.
– Oscar Wilde

A tale of two societies…

It sometimes takes a long(ish – only ever “ish”, with my health…) walk to settle my thoughts (and maybe yours, too?): and it was only after pootling around Packwood House’s meandering meadows and tree-lined byways that my feelings crystallized – seeded during time away relearning Dorset and Wiltshire’s delightful wonderments – and I realized how much I missed the place where I once lived; but how little I missed (and how much it stressed me) being connected permanently to the Internet (that is, of course, until I returned to Tysoe and a seemingly infinite queue of unread emails…).

As my friend Duke Senior recently opined – and reported (by email!) – though, whilst I was away on my travels in the land of the hill-fort, barrow and henge:

Dorset. A delightful part of the country, where there are still some old style ways of living, and virtues, to be found among the Hardy-esque rural bliss. Like it or not, we here in the Midlands, albeit as rural oasis in the midst of urban and suburban existence, are not like that. The question is, critically, how to retain the oasis-like qualities, when the historical agricultural foundations are somewhat fragile; and there appears little inclination or potential to foster alternative cottage industries, such as prevalent in Dorset, Somerset, Cornwall, for example. But there are heartening signs of all sorts of activities in the village, including overwhelming support for the Post Office, that suggest there are grounds for hope that something can be fashioned, to avoid this becoming just a commuter village, with retirement homes.

And thus it was good to find myself, as the PO was just opening – a couple of days after I had returned to this “better place” – at the end of a sizeable snake of villagers, wending its way towards the counter, eager to make use of its manifold offerings. As always, familiar faces filled the shop; and both conversation and service were friendly and welcoming. So, as June’s edition of Oxhill News reinforces: “Use it or lose it” (and contact Nadhim whilst you’re at it…)! Oh, and please walk there, if you can….

I only make this request, because, whilst incomprehensible rumours circulate of a third draft of the itself‑confusing (in both process and content) Neighbourhood Plan – which I had believed was on hold, whilst the Parish Council wrestled with it, and perhaps wrested back some form of control (it’s amazing what can happen when you leave the village for a short while…) – as well as a proposed/supposed “Simple English” or “Plain English” version – which makes me wonder what language the ‘official’ rounceval is in…) – there continue to be mutterings of “the risk of urbanization” in quelling the seemingly permanent rush of traffic on our tiny roads; as well as the massive increase of ofttimes dangerous/illegal parking outside the concentration of our public facilities (churches, school, village hall, shop, pub, hairdresser, etc. – including, of course, our threatened Post Office) – and not just at peak times any more.

But I do wonder if, maybe, some form of such controls/constraints are exactly what we need? Do we, as a community, really prioritize appearance and the picturesque above safety and common sense? (Hard to believe, I know, considering the attempted mass-Poundburying – like Bunburying, only different – diktats of the NP.)

For example: why not install a pelican crossing – or, indeed, pelican, crossing – outside Tysoe Children’s Group – where, possibly, the sight of a large, non-native bird with a beak full of fish – accompanied by other exotic fauna, elsewhere – would finally tame our speeding idiots/motorists…? Or even an Ettington-style priority system on entering Middle Tysoe from the Banbury Road, just before you hit (hopefully not literally) Church Farm Court; and/or on the Oxhill Road, before Windmill Way and Sandpits Road?

And I only ask this, because – on my many meanderings, walking stick as essential prop – I all too-frequently espy familiar, local cars parked in the centre of the village, no more than fifteen minutes amble from their points of origin; or ignoring the now freshly-painted road markings. (In Warwickshire dialect, the word ‘slow’, now writ large in several places on our byways in gleaming, titanium white, obviously means the opposite of what my grammar school English teacher beat into me: in the same way that ‘sick’ – I am informed by my backwards-wearing-baseball-capped intimates of a certain youthful disposition – means something is rather what-I-at-a-similar-age-would-simply-have-referred-to-as ‘spiffing’. And we are obviously using some longer parochial measure than the mile for our speed limit signs – a maximum, remember; not a target to be accelerated past as soon as the laws of physics permit….)

Perhaps (just for a change (ahem)) I am being cynical; but I do wonder (and not for the first time, of course) how many of these repeatedly-recognizable vehicles have crawled – or, in many cases, zoomed (watching the guys carefully laying down the new lines in Main Street made me realize how courageous you have to be as a Tysoe pedestrian: even in high-viz habiliments…) – half-a-mile or less, without the objective of travelling any further than the return journey home. And it is noticeable, coming back from the slightly behind-the-times-feeling south-west – although I’m not saying that motorists in Wessex villages are any better behaved (well, maybe slightly; and certainly more polite…) – how driving (and living) does feel considerably calmer away from motorways and major cities. No-one appears to be in the permanent rush that so characterizes the A3400, A422, A429 and the Fosse Way; and driving just at or below the legal limit is no longer punishable by Velcro-like tailgating or insane, risk-taking overtaking on blind bends and summits. Time (and traffic) seems to pass just a tad more slowly and sensibly….

I am sure that, if we really felt the need to install them, there are methods of managing vehicles and their speed which would not make the core of Tysoe resemble the centres of Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwick, Banbury, or Coventry. But I am equally certain that real improvements come from changes to behaviour, rather than systems.

As the World War II poster (and the motoring organizations, when there’s a light dusting of infrequent snow) asks: “Is your journey really necessary?” And, if it is, can you do it on foot (as I politely requested earlier); or by bicycle or bus – or even on the hoof…? And, finally, can you also do it calmly, and within the law? If not, perhaps you also need a vacation away from traffic both digital and mechanical…. I can highly recommend it….

Time to stop and think…

If voting changed anything they’d abolish it

– Ken Livingstone

Introduction (and an explanation)

I started writing this in the early hours of Tuesday, 14 April: a few hours after the last Parish Council meeting: and, like a few villagers I know, was intending to sit down and review the latest draft – particularly the proposed ‘policies’ – of the Neighbourhood Plan in detail (for reasons that will become apparent).

But it quickly became obvious that, as it stands, it is too large a document for one person to assimilate; too high a monument for one person to climb – and a Sisyphean one at that: because, if it carries on in its current form – straying from its original purpose; growing like Topsy – it will burst at its seams with increasing numbers of increasingly irrelevant appendices and decrees. Any final vote on its acceptance by Tysoe, therefore, will also be rendered as meaningless as the document itself: as all (or at least the great majority) of the parishioners eligible to approve or reject it will similarly not have been able to readily absorb its contents (much like some of the current political manifestos).

This is not because we are all stupid; neither that we are unwilling, and do not care about our village’s future, or our fellow villagers. It is obvious from many of the events of the last eighteen months that we are lucky to live in a place peopled with fiercely intelligent souls who love where they live; and, given the opportunity, will defend it with great spirit and great thought.

What it does mean, though – as I have suspected for many months (and as evidenced by this blog) – is that the production and implementation of the Plan has lost all the trappings, the raiments, as well as the substance, of democracy. It is not for the people, or of the people. It is merely an exercise in solipsistic bureaucracy: and, therefore, is not worthy – in my opinion – to bear the title it has been given. As I wrote recently to my friend, Duke Senior, discussing the “further consultation” that was described in correspondence at the end of that Parish Council meeting:

It will be intriguing to see… if these meetings create more than a momentary sense of resistance, rather than a joined-up revolution. That is not to say that I don’t think they are useful: they are; and are, of course, what the Neighbourhood Plan steering-wheel-with-a-very-loose-nut group should have done in the first place…. I am starting to feel, though, that the village doesn’t – as a living, breathing, just-getting-on-with-it entity – see the need for its course to be planned or prepared for: they will respond to the prevailing winds as they have always done, tacking silently and apparently passively; slightly resisting the change, but eventually accepting it, without trying to mix too many ruffled water metaphors; and the whole thing is just seen to be an exercise in keeping certain… factions busy whilst doing so.

But it is not up to me to say whether or not we need, or should have, a Neighbourhood Plan (however public my opinions – which is all they are: I do not seek to direct the village, as would some…). It was proposed to the Parish Council; and they accepted it. The Plan’s future is solely in their hands. Therefore, accepting that, at the moment, it exists; and we, as villagers, have been ‘invited’ to provide feedback; what follows are my original (and resulting), somewhat fragmentary, thoughts: prompted by my attempted review; occasionally interspersed with a little bit of context, now that I have failed to accomplish what – even with my past criticisms – I set out to do in good faith, for the sake of our village….

¶

If one meets a powerful person – Rupert Murdoch, perhaps, or Joe Stalin or Hitler – one can ask five questions: what power do you have; where did you get it; in whose interests do you exercise it; to whom are you accountable; and, how can we get rid of you? Anyone who cannot answer the last of those questions does not live in a democratic system.

– Tony Benn

14 April 2015

We were told – several times, in fact – at last night’s Parish Council meeting, that, despite the consultation period for the second draft (even though we’re not now supposed to use such numbering) of the Neighbourhood Plan now being closed (or, at least, that’s what I think was said), some members (past or present?) of the steering group currently responsible for it were perturbed (and I’m generalizing a little, here: i.e. my report is not verbatim – for reasons that will have become clear in an earlier post) by the lack of critical feedback on the actual ‘policies’ delineated in the Plan (and which I, for one, still feel have originated out of nowhere: as I cannot find a clear public audit trail leading me back to villagers’ suggestions of, or agreement with, the highly-detailed rules proposed).

Although this described “lack” is not actually true, of course – as I for one have questioned the, to me, ridiculous dependency on ironstone; and the inexcusable ban on windpower, etc.; and the Plan’s own appendices also prove this – I am always happy to try my best (as I always do, of course) to keep fellow residents happy with what I am told are my “lucid words”; and to do what I have been asked (although I have been told that quite a few other villagers also feel that they are being “bullied” into accepting the Plan in its current-bun form: which I empathize with…). So here are a selection of the responses of the Bardic jury. (I do not want to fall into the trap of producing a document that is as over-long and -convoluted as the current Plan draft: thus hiding my opinions in plain sight… – so, like its authors (see below), I am, of course, being highly selective in my choices.)

¶

“In architecture, originality is a crime,” consoled his wife and collaborator, Margaret Macdonald. “Especially to those who can themselves only be copyists.”

– Oliver Wainwright: The Guardian

6 May 2015

But I fell at the first hurdle, of course. I opened up the current draft (and, yes, I actually had a large tumbler of whisky in my hand, to numb the forthcoming pain), and started reading; and soon realized two things: firstly, this was not actually a neighbourhood plan – it was an unstructured compilation of often irrelevant exercises that the authors had felt capable of producing – and, secondly, a lot of it was either unintelligible (and I hope I have proved with my “lucid words” that my command of English is reasonably decent: even though I studied engineering at university…), or relied on a series of obfuscating references, tied up in stacked, serial appendices and ofttimes unfathomable, unfollowable, algorithms and tables – a veritable Gordian knot of confusion.

Withdrawing my metaphorical sword from its sheath, whichever way I sliced the resulting mess (and I tried to do so several times – with decreasing reward – over the intervening weeks), I was left with two overwhelming feelings: insofar as much as this is a plan, it is extremely authoritarian (seemingly wanting us all to live in identical ironstone boxes); and it requires keener steel than mine to both cut through the confusion and excise the unnecessary pap.

Great planning does not mean either “most restrictive” or “most laissez-faire”. It means creating the conditions for growth and change while maintaining a vision of the common good. It balances competing interests. It includes a grasp of the cumulative effect of individual decisions…. It can protect long-term benefits against damage from short-term profit. It has the ability to spot problems before they become crises and find a way to address them. It can review alternative approaches to an issue, such as population growth, and promote the best ones. It has clarity and consistency, so everyone knows where they stand. It has the ability to review the results of its own decisions, and learn from them. It is informed by knowledge, not guesswork. It is the result of genuine and transparent public debate.

– Rowan Moore: The Observer

¶

We want it to meet the needs of the whole community now and into the future.

– Percy Sewell

Foregone conclusions

Of course, if I had wielded the Bardic blade with more success, the results still wouldn’t explain where the Plan’s policies – good, bad, indifferent; prescriptive, proscriptive; intelligible or vague – originated from; or why a document that should be idea- and people-led is being wagged by the originality-threatening tail of process, and deadlines continually stacked like rickety pallets up into the south Warwickshire skies, Jenga-like and ultimately fragile, and increasingly divorced from the village. Wouldn’t it be nice if the Neighbourhood Plan authors made Percy’s statement (when discussing the Village Hall – a much-loved facility they seem keen on demolishing…) their mantra?

¶

From the pain come the dream

From the dream come the vision

From the vision come the people

From the people come the power

From this power come the change

– Peter Gabriel

We the People

However, as I mentioned above, it seems that change – however small – is afoot, thankfully, to remedy all this: and that the as-yet-unnamed small groups (I don’t want to use the ‘focus’ word – as that’s not what they are about; in fact they are about the exact opposite – talking about whatever comes to mind, and as widely as possible about the village) are being put together, semi-informally, to chat about any and all aspects of our beloved home. The hope is, that, in freeing people’s minds – after removing the shackles of time and obedience; and unleashing them from procedures, methodologies, algorithms and those foregone conclusions – we can (and will) all discover or even stumble upon the broad seams and nuggets of ideas that we know are out there. (There are probably some buzzing around your head, right now.)

These groups – it is hoped (the first of which was held just after the last Parish Council meeting) – will also unlock the passion for the parish and inspirations for its future development (and I don’t just mean land-based…) that is currently noticeably absent (apart from the odd angry middle-aged man disobeying Parish Council protocol); or even actively being steamrolled – letting that vision at last gush forth unimpeded; and from which all else should spring. (And not the other way around: as is currently the case.)

As even the Government’s own guidance states:

Neighbourhood planning can inspire local people and businesses to consider other ways to improve their neighbourhood than through the development and use of land. They may identify specific action or policies to deliver these improvements. Wider community aspirations than those relating to development and use of land can be included in a neighbourhood plan….

But, as any marketer will tell you: you don’t start big and then work small – so (as I discussed with Duke Senior), why is it only now that these groups are being convened: nearly a year after the first drafts of the village questionnaire were being put together (and which included questions, therefore, that did not stem from the village – but, yet again, from a self-selected, select few; and which, as I have written before, obviously reflected their innate biases)?

¶

Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less.

– Marie Curie

If we, as residents, do not take and feel ownership; if the Parish Council does not maintain control of the Plan’s development with thorough and rigorous oversight, and a representative love for the place they govern; and if the group that produces it does not listen – and keep striving to listen (even to uncomfortable truths); as well as learning to follow, rather than leading us by our noses – then the resulting document will be a wasted opportunity; a waste of time and effort; and a waste of the paper it is printed on.

In every deliberation, we must consider the impact on the seventh generation… even if it requires having skin as thick as the bark of a pine.

– The constitution of the Iroquois nations (paraphrased)

We do not need a shopping list of fields for developers to target. What we need is a Tysoe which develops – as much as it can: as much as any “precious stone set in the silver sea” – in a way that we all recognize and wish for; and which does not lead our children and grandchildren continually to curse us for bequeathing them a village that is sterile through repetitious housing developments; even more isolated than now, because we did not grasp the chance to become subsistent in non-fossil-fuel-based power and motivation; or that has crumbled into a hollow, unrecognizable ghost and an uncomfortable locale to inhabit… because all we cared about was now, was instant gratification, was ourselves.

What we need is a Tysoe which belongs to us all; and where every resident has an important say and a strong hand in how it grows; and where everyone is happy listening to those voices; grateful for their words; and shakes those hands in friendship – joining them together in building a future that everyone believes in.

The power of the people and the power of reason are one.

– Georg Büchner

An open letter to our new Parish Council…

Dear Councillors –

Since I moved to Tysoe, four years ago – after falling in love with the place at first sight – I have not attended as many Parish Council meetings as I would have liked. Broadly, there are four reasons for this:

1. Like many other villagers, I was unaware of the important rôle the Council plays in governing the village; in caring for it (with hearts, minds, and actions); and ensuring that, pragmatically, it continues to develop in a way that respects its past, whilst incorporating the most appropriate of modern instruments and technologies. It is also the last formal bastion we have in defending the erosion of true localism against both large corporations and the extremely remote forces of national and international government – in other words, it is the nearest thing we have, in our small corner of rural England, to realpolitik and direct involvement.
2. Having said that, much of what occurs during the meetings I have attended has not felt relevant to me – and it took an outsider, Keith Risk (publically raising the threat that Gladman Developments posed to the village, and calling both residents and Councillors to arms), to make me realize how wrong I had been: and that it is each resident’s duty to play their part in continually supporting the Parish Council, however small that part may be.
3. Information on the Council’s meetings was not always easy to come by; and the procedures are somewhat arcane.
4. I am badly disabled – meaning that I struggle to sit down, without great pain, for long periods of time. I also struggle to navigate the narrow and labyrinthine entrance to the Reading Rooms, with walking stick in hand. In parallel, I am extremely hard of hearing (even with the latest digital hearing aids): and, therefore, when I do attend, I often miss large chunks of the proceedings; and then fail to understand the context of the bits I do hear.

I would therefore like to address each of these points in turn: with the joint aims of increasing residents’ comprehension and appreciation of the Parish Council (PC); and, thereby, increasing residents’ participation in the Council’s monthly meetings.

¶

Realpolitik

Having read the Parish Plan (PP), I was impressed by its cogent understanding of the place where we live, and its vision for our future. However, it has become increasingly obvious that the PC had neither the resources to implement it fully (and answer the questions that many residents had posed), nor the discernment to appreciate the ‘lot’ of many of those residents. I do not know how it was produced: but I do know that in responding to those unanswered issues, and applying the same ethos to the forthcoming Neighbourhood Plan (NP), the PC would do much to reconnect with the majority of villagers. More importantly, they would demonstrate that, unlike larger governmental organizations, they really are ‘in touch’ with the needs of their constituents.

In some ways, the NP should have been the ideal vehicle for this: but it is becoming increasingly obvious that it is not fit for its original purpose; and is actually creating greater distance between the PC and the people it claims to represent. It will therefore need the new makeup of the PC (hopefully elected by a majority turnout) to make some brave and direction-changing decisions – for instance:

• publishing the Terms of Reference that govern the relationship between the PC and the NP steering group and authors;
• having these audited by a neutral third party to ensure that all points are being abided by – and, where this is found not to be the case – publically remedying each and every issue discovered;
• as there is already a growing feeling in the village that the NP is being imposed on them from a great height, and that the document as it stands is even less relevant to them than its predecessor (the PP), such remedies may include either taking what work has been done, and repurposing it – once residents have all agreed how this should be done – or even starting from scratch (as with Graham Collier and Keith Risk’s small group meetings, that commence tonight (Wednesday)).

There are, of course, many other ways of involving the parish’s constituents: but it appears to me that the NP is the current, most pressing representation of the failing relationship between governing and governed. Demonstrating that residents are being listened to on this single issue would go a long way to restoring faith in the PC, and encouraging day-to-day involvement.

Relevance

Such action would also “go a long way” in demonstrating how necessary, how important, residents are to the PC in not only supporting them ideologically, but in helping them fulfil objectives that were identical to residents’ own aims and hopes for the village and its surroundings – that villagers’ active participation is required in carrying out both the small (such as repairing benches and kerbs) and the big (raising funds, where government stipends are not enough).

The current relationship between the PC and its constituents strikes me as strained and weak: not only because of the obvious class differences, but because there is a mutual lack of understanding and values. Only if both sides see that this relationship is important, and are willing to put the hard work in to mend it, will trust be reestablished. Concrete opportunities must therefore be presented – and continually – for each side to listen to (not talk at) the other.

Communication and procedure

Again, this overlaps with the previous point. The new community website has gone some way to improving matters – but it can still be difficult (if not impossible) to navigate, and find the information you need. Were a database to be built of those ‘parishioners’ who would prefer the PC to be proactive in disseminating minutes, reports, dates of meetings, etc. by email, say (i.e. in the way those residents preferred; not in the way that things were currently done; or in the way that was easiest), then I would be surprised if villagers did not, as a consequence, take more steps to be involved, even if they were initially reactive.

The monthly meetings themselves do not allow for much resident participation. And holding them in such a small space feels like the PC is excluding more than a few ‘regulars’ from attending. It is closed in capacity as well as in spirit.

For instance, we are allowed to comment on individual planning applications – but not on issues that are relevant or timely to our own lives or predicaments. If the PC are discussing the states of grass verges and easements (to take a recent example), why cannot a resident who is currently fighting their way through the complexities of the planning system for such access, not be given, say, three minutes, to have their say? At the moment, such an interruption is quashed by the chair – albeit politely – and then tabled for the end of the meeting: by which time, both relevance and momentum (not to mention interest) have faded away; and most people are doing their damnedest to leave the building.

Although I accept that there may be a slight impact on timings, and lengths of meetings, the whole process needs democratizing: for the sakes of trust, and efficiency.

Access

There was a wonderful snippet in the Stratford-upon-Avon Herald of 9 April 2015:

Disabled facilities are available at Tysoe Village Hall – paid for with £10,000 from Warwickshire County Council’s Investment Board….

     The money was made available under the Community Access for Disabled People: Changing Places and Sensory Areas Fund, and enabled the installation of toilet facilities that are suitable for wheelchair users, together with two new double doorways between the main hall and the committee room.

     In addition to this, the hall is now also fitted with a hearing loop to improve its accessibility for those with hearing difficulties….

Thanks must therefore go to Percy Sewell, in his rôle as chairman of Tysoe Village Hall Committee, for achieving all this; and for the importance I know he places on accessibility. (I just hope the loop system works; and has been tested by those, like me, who actually wear hearing aids – as many installations, sadly, don’t.) I believe – from what I could hear(?!) at last Monday’s meeting – that the Parish Council also helped; and I would therefore ask why PC meetings aren’t equally accessible?

Perhaps Percy – in his rôle as chair (I believe – or at least as an important trustee) of Tysoe Utility Estate – would like to similarly equip the village’s Reading Rooms, or the Village Hall committee room – so that I can hear all that is going on? (Or, perhaps, so that more people feel able to attend, PC meetings are held in the main hall itself?)

I will only mention the Equality Act in passing, as a slight dig; but approximately one in seven people in this country have hearing problems; and in a parish which is slightly skewed to the older resident (like me), I can only imagine that the local proportion is even higher.

¶

I appreciate that the new Parish Council, in establishing itself with many new members, will have much to learn, much to do. But I truly believe that the points I raise above – if addressed – will go a long way to involving residents, by encouraging them to get involved: thus making the lives of our Parish Councillors so much easier, because of the increased support for, and involvement in, the work they do.

In essence, the problems I raise, and the solutions I proffer, are all about communication – which is always a two-way process. Messages may be proclaimed: but, unless they are received, understood and acted upon, they may as well have been written on paper, shredded, and thrown to the four winds. If we all truly care for Tysoe, then that is an important commonality we can build from. We must make the most of it, whilst we still can.

Taking a stand (in the place where you live…)

Stand in the place where you live

Now face North

Think about direction

Wonder why you haven’t before

Now stand in the place where you work

Now face West

Think about the place where you live

Wonder why you haven’t before

If you are confused, check with the sun

Carry a compass to help you along

Your feet are going to be on the ground

Your head is there to move you around

Stand in the place where you live

Now face North

Think about direction

Wonder why you haven’t before

Now stand in the place where you work

Now face West

Think about the place where you live

Wonder why you haven’t before

Your feet are going to be on the ground

Your head is there to move you around

If wishes were trees, the trees would be falling

Listen to reason, season is calling

Stand in the place where you live

Now face North

Think about direction

Wonder why you haven’t before

Now stand in the place where you work

Now face West

Think about the place where you live

Wonder why you haven’t before

If wishes were trees, the trees would be falling

Listen to reason, reason is calling

Your feet are going to be on the ground

Your head is there to move you around

So Stand

Now face North

Think about direction, wonder why you haven’t before

Now stand

Now face West

Think about the place where you live

Wonder why you haven’t before

Stand in the place where you live

Now face North

Think about direction

Wonder why you haven’t before

Now stand in the place where you work

Now face West

Think about the place where you live

Wonder why you haven’t before

Stand in the place where you are

Now face North

Stand in the place where you are

Now face West

Your feet are going to be on the ground

Stand in the place where you are

Your head is there to move you around, so stand

– R.E.M.: Stand

I was originally going to use this song to headline a completely different post: but, even though Michael Stipe claims he “wrote the most inane lyrics that [he] could possibly write”, I believe that such innate simplicity (and from a naturally-gifted poet) contains some back-to-basics lessons for those misguided souls who seem to believe that each subsequent, more complex, less transparent, draft of the Neighbourhood Plan (and, my goodness, we’re only on the second one – so all I am saying is give the village a chance to get their heads around things…!) is worthy of submission to the authorities.

One of the problems in such prematurity, to me, appears to be a misunderstanding – either deliberately; or because of a too-deep involvement in, or love of, the technicalities that seem to swamp the current version – of the document’s original aims and objectives. Instead of asking the residents – and of a place that, along with its housing, has “developed on a slow, small-scale, organic development basis” – what they want; the authors have, instead, turned the whole thing on its head, and said we can only have what they seem capable of producing. That is – and forgive me for lapsing into the management consultant speak which peppers the current draft of the Plan – they are driven by their competences; not the wants and needs of their target audience (and employers, let us not forget) – i.e. us.

For a document whose second sentence begins “Investment and change in the years ahead will only be worthwhile if they are what the community wants”, this would be laughable, were it not for the fact that, firstly, we are assigning the future management of our village to a tiny proportion of its population, without any real checks and balances; and, secondly, the further the Plan’s creators move away in words, numbers, figures, tables, maps and technicalities from that phrase, the further they (literally) move away from this (increasingly) obvious lip service.

This is why, although the word “vision” makes around forty appearances in the main document (although that includes contents and summaries), no actual vision really becomes, ahem, visible – and what hints there are of such come across as being contradicted by the summary document that (supposedly) sits alongside it. It’s almost as if you can hear the authors panicking, deep, somewhere, in a candlelit garret, late one night – obviously in response to Keith Risk’s extremely salient question “Where is the vision?” (tabled in the appendices) – but not actually understanding it – all suddenly scrabbling around, trying to insert as many mentions of the dreaded word: like an infinite number of caged monkeys trying to produce Hamlet’s famous soliloquy.

¶

The answer, of course, to Keith’s query, is “out there”; and, as I am sure I have said before, not in the answers to some bureaucratic questionnaire-led exercise. Only from talking to people… Actually, scrub that: Only from listening to people – and every single one of us – will you find it. (I apologize for repeating myself: but, sometimes, that’s what it takes.)

Stand in the place where you live

Now face North

Think about direction

Wonder why you haven’t before

Now stand in the place where you work

Now face West

Think about the place where you live

Wonder why you haven’t before

If you are confused, check with the sun

Carry a compass to help you along

Your feet are going to be on the ground

Your head is there to move you around

Stand in the place where you live

Now face North

Think about direction

Wonder why you haven’t before

Now stand in the place where you work

Now face West

Think about the place where you live

Wonder why you haven’t before

Your feet are going to be on the ground

Your head is there to move you around

If wishes were trees, the trees would be falling

Listen to reason, season is calling

So, a little bit of free advice – not that I feel I am being listened to by those who should be taking it… – lift your head up from your papers: and see what the village really needs: not what you can provide. Ask not what you can do for your village; ask what your village wants from you.

And a plea to the village. Monday evening’s Parish Council meeting will not only be the last one for some very longstanding and dutiful members; but my gut tells me that a currently extremely vague tabled request from a resident may actually be used to try again to get the current poor, rough draft submitted to the powers that be – riding roughshod over what the village and its residents truly stand for.

If this is what you want: fine. But I struggle to believe that those hundreds who turned out in the pouring rain in Kineton, last January, to fight off Gladman – or in the freezing cold in the Village Hall at Keith Risk’s behest – really want “the place where they live” run by closeted pen-pushers.

We need vision and selflessness to succeed as a village; we need soul; we need reason, thought, and thoughtful, listening people: people who care. But, most of all, we all need to be in this together.

NP-headed…

An empty head is not really empty; it is stuffed with rubbish.

– Eric Hoffer

Perhaps I am feeling peeved; perhaps it is the headache and spatial disorientation I am experiencing after reading well over a hundred pages of phrases such as “topography and water courses with historical settlement foci lying in the valley base”; “new residential development, including windfalls”; and “the NDOs will then be agreed with SDC”. But why are Keith Risk’s and Simon Forrester’s – admittedly cogent – emails produced in full in the latest version of the Neighbourhood Flan (it appears to be made up of many excellent individual ingredients: but, somehow, having been baked, now emerges from the oven tasting of nothing, and resembling soggy cardboard); but my blog post is reduced to six highly-condensed table entries and a footnote consisting solely of a link?

Considering, as well, that only thirteen other people (out of a parish of “about 1500 people”) appear to have commented on the first draft, then how (even though it has grow’d like Topsy) can this reflect “the thoughts and feelings of local people”? And were their – these select few – comments equally redacted? After wading through the plethora of links that pepper the document, who (meaning the final inspector) is going to type this long address (accurately) into their Web browser to see that my comments (as well as those provided in response to the original questionnaire) were actually a lot more nuanced than their subjective and summary executions would have you believe?

It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

– Shakespeare: Macbeth

I am also insulted by the two-page ‘Easy-read’ Summary and the childish Purple Stars of Aspiration (and will be trying to scrub the patronizing implications of these from my flesh for many weeks): but have not yet worked out if the relative microscopic size of the not-really-an-abstract-more-an-excuse is because the authors believe us all to be simpletons, incapable of understanding their mighty handiwork; they don’t want us to realize what a complex mess the NP actually is when we (try to) wade through it; or this is yet another of their pathetic attempts at “consultation”. And yet, I am told, again, that the group behind the Plan – as with the first version – believe this is ready for submission: even though it is peppered with notes and gaps (especially with regards to that consultation – or, should I say, almost complete lack of it).

To be honest, if it is supposed to represent the village and its residents, it should not need such a noddy guide. But the group seems incapable of anything but making the readily transparent utterly opaque. Therefore, a lot of the language is similarly prodigiously obscure. For instance what does this – selected at random – actually mean…?

The Tysoe NP is the de jure plan-making process referred to. The sites are ranked through a prioritisation process. This ranking is described in Appendix B6. The questionnaire (Appendix B3) conducted as part of building the evidence base for this plan contributed to the prioritisation process.

It is no wonder so few people have commented.

¶

I could say so much more. But – aside from, as previously stated, the fact that I think this document openly represents the biases of a small élite within the village; that it will probably soon be superseded, like its predecessors; and will have about as much power as a cardboard flan in a Force Nine gale – my blood pressure is already at boiling point. If anyone else in the village agrees, and doesn’t want the NP in its current form representing them, either: then they can say so on the Plan’s website; comment below; or email me and/or the Parish Council. (Remember: the final vote on the Plan only requires 50% of the turnout – not 50% of the village – to say yea….)

Talking of the Parish Council: perhaps the new one (to be elected on 7 May) will consider how its predecessor doled out its claimed “official approval” for the Plan’s development – and whether that should be modified or revoked. Is there a contract governing this relationship? If so, surely it should be in the public domain? And I, for one, therefore, would like to see it: as I feel very under-represented by a document that could, theoretically (however unlikely), govern the next thirty or forty years of my life.

PS Note to the Neighbourhood Plan creators – I would like both this post and my previous two (first and second) to be included in full, please, in the next draft. Thank you.

The Pard of Avon (the first part of several…?)

Thou hast seen these signs…

Perhaps it was the poor council intern from K.E.S., pulling the trolley up Chapel Lane, loaded with identical-shaped and -sized R.S.C. bags, in the sweltering heat, narrowly avoiding a collision, firstly, with the last open air bus of the day, and then a man, with sunglasses and closely-cropped greying hair, badly parallel parking in the Disabled spaces? Perhaps it was the yells emanating from the opened windows of Elizabeth House, as the councillors who had held their seats for the fifteenth time quizzed their new, fresh-faced colleagues as to whatthefuck an “app” was anyhow; and how were they then supposed to downsize it on their mobile telephones, anyway? Perhaps it was the row of white vans on Henley Street, all labelled – some considerably better than others: which did not bode well for the results of their work – with the words “sign”, “design”, “print”, or “type”; and the endless hammering from men with muscles, hard hats, and sweat: all perched precariously on a parallel row of stepladders, and a serial row of planks? Perhaps it was the rapid desecration and sacking of the dictionary corners in what were currently Waterstones and WHSmith – the raping and pillaging of books leaving anything behind, scattered on the floor, not synonym-, paronomasia- or Bard-related? Whatever it was, some powerful plague had infected – or some virulent concoction had been injected into – the retail arteries of Stratford-upon-Avon. And all just before nine o’clock, one unseasonably hot Friday night at the end of May (just as the shops were about to close).

In her first week as the United Kingdom’s second female Prime Minister, Nicola Sturgeon had declared that localism – or “subsidiarity”, as she preferred to call it: seeing as how it was so badly tarnished by Cameron’s feeble, skewed attempts – was the number one policy that would unite a nation riven by the petty squabblings of a general election campaign that, in its final days, had dissolved into name-calling and, sometimes, even outright racism. It was therefore “up to local people to take back local control” – and the newly-formed Stratford-on-Avon District Council (with an unlikely make-up of one representative from each major party – including the freak selection of an SNP member for the newly-defined Red Horse constituency – several ‘outliers’ – including a 97-year-old woman claiming to represent all Warwickshire badgers and hedgehogs – as well as an Independent ‘poet’ named Steve) had interpreted this (or was trying to) as meaning that every single business – especially those which ‘interfaced’ with tourists (and whose onrush was already making its mark in the town) – should be named – and relevantly – with an apposite Shakespeare quote, term, character or play name. Puns were allowed – under certain circumstances (which would be determined by Steve) – but no bastardizations or misspellings. Oh, and all retailers had to apply for their Shakespeare Nominative Outline Term (or S.N.O.T.) licences by midday, the next day. Hence, the “rush into the secret house of death”; or – less poetically – the long tailback from the council offices all the way down to Holy Trinity.

At the head of the queue was a man with a strong French accent screaming that a café sold food: so why could he not retain “Ze Food of Lurve”…? And, for what felt like the forty-seventh time, wafting her face with a battered copy of Twelfth Night, the poor girl behind the counter, trying also to hide behind the necessary rotating fan, now that the air-conditioning had sensibly retired, not wanting to get involved, replied “Because it’s to do with music. Music. M. U. S. I. C.. Not food. And it says here that your ‘appetite may sicken’, and you’ll ‘die’. D.I.E.. I know. I did it for G.C.S.E.. Is that what you really want…? To be associated with food poisoning…? And it’s already been given to the guitar shop, anyway….” But her fading words went unheard.

What was needed was someone (or something) with authority. But, in a building centred around politicians (that is, people with skill-sets that ill-prepared them for government: especially of a town whose population increased, tsunami-like, at the beginning of summer; and whose definition of multiculturalism was a takeaway Balti from Thespians Indian Restaurant), this was as likely as not stumbling into parading columns of famous actors with vast, flaunted, velvet cloaks, pacing perpetually up and down Bancroft Gardens – even in this heat – waiting to be accosted (“Oh: how did you know it was little meee? I was trying sooo hard to blend in, my dear boy…”); or a drunken ex-Hamlet in a dark corner of The Dirty Duck (“Itsh wash my finesht hour, you know. My very finesht. Yesh: mine’sh a double. Thank you, good man. Oh. And a pint of Stella…”).

But, as the Man once said: “A most high miracle!” [Tourist tat and legal potions; 26c Union Street; surprisingly, perhaps – or maybe not – run by an arrogant, and, of course, bearded, hipster, named Sebastian (or so he says).] And, in through the front door – miraculously parting the infinitely long, increasingly stressed and dehydrated crocodile of shopkeepers – entered a tall, quiet, man; in fact, entered what can only be described as a tall, quiet, very wizardy-looking man. Just detectable was his voice. And, just detectable in that voice was a distant Irish brogue – as distant as Dublin and Dubai, maybe; or Dudley and Dundee – but detectable, nonetheless. But was there also a tinge of rural Warwickshire in there…?

“Excuse me,” he said (or possibly whispered: the only noise now was the whirring fan – and even that seemed to have dwindled in the man’s mysterious and powerful presence). “I’m trying to find Fairer Fortune. [Tourist tat and predictions; 26d Union Street; predictably run by a raven-locked woman of indeterminable age and thickly-applied make-up, named Helen, of course.] I have an interview there in ten minutes. But none of the shops have signs on them. And it looks like the street names are all being removed.” The receptionist gave him a map, and scribbled directions – a long arrow, basically – on it. He said “Thank you”; hesitated for a moment, and added: “It looks like you’re having some sort of trouble. I’ll be back. Later.” By the time she had looked up, after putting down her pen, all that was left in front of her quizzical, grateful eyes was an impression of wayward, wispy white hair, a kindly smile, and spectacles that somehow glistened mischievously. She didn’t even wonder why anyone would attend an interview so late. And on a Friday night, too.

¶

The following morning, all the hubbub had died down; the street signs had returned; and finally, after decades of complaints from furious letter-writers to the Stratford-upon-Avon Herald, the fascias on every shop in the centre of town were not only aesthetically pleasing in themselves; but, somehow, magically, you may say, formed a rather wonderful grouping and concatenation of hues and typography. There were even gaps in-between catering establishments – some, even, not purveying “tourist tat” at all. Or coffee.

And yet, for a while, no-one noticed. Only a couple of weeks later, wandering along by the theatre, did a man named Jack notice that Sheep Street’s clothing shop, All the Men and Women, was next door to Merely Players, the gaming-related souvenir shop; followed by Exits and Entrances, the funeral directors; One Man in his Time, the clockmakers; what used to be Mothercare; their offshoot, selling school uniforms; Ann Summers; a sheet-music shop; an Oxfam specializing in ex-military uniforms; a new public house (specializing in roast lunches and dinners); and an old-people’s home. And, on Ely Street, Flat 2b was – possibly amusingly – next to a flat labelled “2c (not 2b)”; next door to a philosopher’s; and then a gun shop; the relocated, and much-expanded, Fairer Fortune; Games Worskshop; and another funeral directors.

But, by the time he reached what he was convinced he believed he knew to be Pizza Express, all thoughts of abnormality had been replaced by hunger: and he singularly failed to notice, that, although the logo looked similar and familiar, his favourite restaurant had been renamed, weirdly, The Proud Man’s Contumely; and the previously friendly waiters had somehow become very rude indeed.