Toddlers and Waddlers

At the weekend I took Ellie and Ben to Edinburgh Zoo. The king penguins were all gathered near the edge of their enclosure, taking a look at Exhibit 1, Homo sapiens.

Oxford

This is Oxford's newest hotel: Malmaison. In the foreground is Becky - say hello, Becky. You might be thinking, hmmm, that hotel looks suspiciously like a prison. That's because it IS a prison, or was, I should say. HMP Oxford was closed in 1996. The Council had to decide how to preserve this piece of heritage and in the end chose to sell it to a hotel chain. A great idea - the result is a wonderful piece of architecture. The hotel rooms are made up of two or three cells knocked together, and use the original three-inch thick doors. All the old stairs, exercise yard, corridors have been kept intact. Go Oxford.

Coincidences

I went to a local church yesterday. A pretty average Anglican affair - but that's just what I was looking for. I could only get to the 9.15 service, and there was no-one my age.

I hung on for a bit, drank some coffee looking very lonely and waited to see who might turn up for the family service. As fortune would have it, I met a very pleasant guy my own age called Rob wearing a fashionable tie.

He works for an estate agents, but it turns out that he went to Durham University the exact same three years that I did - and lived in the college next door to me! How did we miss each other? Well, that's easy actually. Collingwood College and Grey College are the bitterest of enemies. Grey can't stand Collingwood because they know we're better, and Collingwood can't stand Grey because they're so puny. Rob said he only chose Grey College because they had a better pool table; I only visited Grey College to steal their cue ball. Thank goodness I've matured so much since then...

Civic pride

I have a wonderful little brother called Thomas, who is seven years old and attends Goostrey Primary School (left). Schools have become very important places in modern society; alongside pubs, they're the only true local "community" centres, now that church attendances have dropped. Goostrey School is currently celebrating its 150th anniversary. All the children have been involved in creating an exhibition on Goostrey's history. Today, I went to have a look.

I thought I knew quite a lot about my village. I am particularly proud to have been the person to create the Goostrey wikipedia article. How mistaken I was. There were displays on all sorts of aspects of village life, from the Victorian period to evacuees in the war to the importance of Jodrell Bank Observatory. The centre-piece was two 3D maps of Goostrey, showing the village in 1856 and again in 2006. You can see here how much it changed (below right).

Among other things, I learnt that the local viaduct was built by 150 men living in a shanty town; that the current church dates from 1798; and that, in 1959 (?), a man heroically snatched two babies from an oncoming train (his commemorative silver clock was on display).

Yet the most impressive thing about it was how the "community" suddenly coalesced in this insignificant school hall. I turned up at 2pm when the exhibition started, but already the Rev. Otley was present with a small group of elderly residents, accompanied by His Honour the Mayor of Congleton ("just call me Andy"). There was one display about Mrs Kettle, owner of a much-loved bits-and-bobs shop in Goostrey. Other parents and relatives soon turned up.

Later I was talking to my mother about whether "British identity" is threatened by internationalism and immigration. She thought it was, but I argued that actually identities become strongest when they are under threat. Goostrey is the same. There isn't really a "village community" any more. The old farming community has been swamped with rich commuters and pensioners who come and go. But as soon as village life starts to disintegrate, people panic and the identity is given new, enduring life. Last year the Rose Day celebrations became a huge event, and a scarecrow competition was held that is becoming a new tradition. There have been initiatives to improve the park and oppose a gas plant. And now, this celebration of 150 years of village life.

In a way, this new identity is artificial. The community is forced. People move to Goostrey aged 35 looking for a rural idyll, and when it looks to be disappearing they have to create it themselves. But today I developed a new affection for it. Who cares how communities are created, as long as we have them. People now start online "communities" based on their interests. Universities are becoming more important "communities" for the young adult. Is British identity under threat? No - as in Goostrey, British identity is just beginning.

I do have a job really

Despite my persistent claims to be job-hunting, I actually already have a job. At least, I do now. I started work tonight at a local pub called The Bells of Peover. I'll get a picture soon. It was extremely confusing as I have no catering experience and had to direct all my spare brain power to determining which were starter forks and which main forks.

The staff seemed friendly enough. And pretty varied, too. I have this new scheme where when I meet people I try to remember their names. It sounds very simple, but I've never done it successfully before. I think it's working: today I met Richard, Chris, Olly, Tracy, Ross, Ronny (? a woman), Sian, Zadine (I think), Esmelda, John and Tony. I won't say anything about any of them yet in case they become my friends and read this later. I'm sure they're all lovely people.

Splash!

These pictures just needed to be published. Cheers Alison!

Remember this, anyone?

I'm only very slowly figuring out how blogging works. Today I thought I'd give photos a go. I haven't got anything to take a photo of, so I've dug up an old one from November last year. This is me and my friends at Lendel Cellar (a pub) in York. If you don't know me, I'm the guy looking at the camera and smiling far too luridly. Maybe it's because I've got a full pint in my hand. Ah, those were the days...