The Heart of a Town

The memorial plaque to the 1993 IRA bombings in Warrington, which claimed the lives of two children, and which has been stolen by scrap metal thieves.

For the first sixteen years of my life, I lived and grew up in an industrial town in north west England called Warrington. Today that town is all over the news, and not for very good reasons.

A little background. In 1993, the IRA detonated a series of bombs in the town. The first was at a disused gasworks, and injured no one- though a policeman was shot and injured by the terrorists. The second and third went off consecutively in the crowded town centre, injuring many and killing two young children: Tim Parry and Johnathan Ball.

Since that day, the attrocity has become part of the town’s mythology. Tim Parry’s parents set up a charitable trust to promote peace, I remember studying the bombings at school, the town’s two MPs wrote to Bill Clinton to ask him to stop American citizens funding the IRA- and a memorial “River of Life” fountain was built in the town centre, where the bombs went off.

But today the news is all over the media that the plaque from that fountain has been stolen. Residents are sadden and confused, and Tim Parry’s father has voiced his disgust. It’s a reaction I think is impossible to share.

This wasn’t an attack on the town, or on the memory of the event. It would almost be understandable if it were. But this was nothing ideological, it was simply that the plaque was bronze and could be sold for scrap. The Telegraph are reporting that it would have been worth £30.

The memory of an act of atrocity, the murder of two innocent children, and more importantly the dignified response of the town has been desecrated for the sake of £30.

I don’t want to believe that anyone from the town, that anyone who understood what it signified, could have done this. I don’t know who did, but I hope that they are caught and punished- not out of some desire for vengeance, but so that they can know what it is that they’ve stolen, what it signifies, and why it is important.

Something similar happened in Maidenhead a while back. A statue, erected as a memorial to three children who were killed on a school trip, was stolen from the town centre for its value as scrap. The entire community felt disgust and outrage, that the meaning behind the statue had been so disrespected.

Metal theft has been a growing problem for a while, but the theft of such items as Warrington’s plaque and the Maidenhead statue, not to mention war memorials around the country which have seen similar treatment, are a step above the lead off roofs. It shows a disrespect for communities, for the ties that bind them together, and for the greater meaning behind these things.

Today, my heart weeps for my hometown, as it struggles to come to terms with this heartless act. That plaque was more than just a piece of metal. It was a reminder of what we can overcome and of the dignity that we are capable of.

Well-Rested and Recovered

Hola from sunny Barcelona!

Some of you may have noticed that this blog has fallen pretty silent over the last week or so. No, I haven’t lost interest and decided to shut up since the election, and reports of my death or defection are very greatly exaggerated. I have, in fact, been in Barcelona.

Having worked myself to a state of near exhaustion during the campaign (yeah, all that leaflet-delivering and door-knocking? That was me. No army of activists, just me) I decided I needed a break. Fortunately this coincided with Ashleigh handing in the last of her final year university work, and deciding much the same thing.

So off we went to Southend’s shiny new airport, hopped on a plane, and a couple of hours later we were sunning ourselves in the Catalan capital. I exaggerate the simplicity, but not really by much.

It was, needless to say, wonderful. Barcelona is a beautiful city, and in five days I feel that we touched a little of what it has to offer. We went with an itenerary that filled up barely half of each day, giving us time to explore and find those little gems that hide away in quiet parts of town.

And the food. I think emergency diet procedures will have to be begun fairly imminently, because I have seldom eaten so well. And if any of you ever find yourself in the Sant Antoni area of Barcelona, whether you’re vegetarian or not go and find the little restaurant Sesamo. You will absolutely not be disappointed.

But I’m back now. I’ve seen the Sagrada Familia, Park Guell, Las Ramblas, the Olympic Port (if our Olympic infrastructure lasts half as well as Barcelona’s, then it might have been worth the cost. Might.) and a thousand other must see sights. And I feel more rested than I have in a long time.

Life can take the vitality out of you a bit sometimes, and politics even more so. So many nights of good sleep and days of worry-free enjoyment have wiped away most of the accumulated exhaustion. And spending the time with the woman I love made it all the more perfect.

So for those hoping I had gone away permanently, my apologies. Because I’m back now, with a renewed appetite for life and for the fight. Let’s see what tomorrow has to offer, shall we?

Danger! High Water!

The flood risk for the Wargrave area is not yet anything like this bad (picture from 2008), but it still merits a bit of caution.

No one knows just how bad the weather has been lately more than the election campaigners who have been canvassing up and down the country. The irony of there being a drought and hosepipe ban at the same time as all this rain would probably be a lot more amusing had I not been out in it putting leaflets through doors and talking to residents. I strongly suspect that the occasional respites of blue skies and sunshine are just mother nature mocking me.

Today areas of Ruscombe where I was leafleting were largely submerged. London Road, on the way in from Hare Hatch was particularly bad, as were some of the roads around St James the Great church.

I’ve no objection to wandering around in the rain, really. It’s all part of the democratic process, and I actually enjoy talking to residents. A hot cup of coffee when I get home, and I’m happy enough.

But the downpour has a serious side. Yesterday, the Environmental Agency released flood warnings for the Thames around the Wargrave area. It doesn’t seem to be too serious just yet, and there hasn’t been any announced risk to properties, so there’s no real cause for concern yet.

When you live close to a river it makes sense to be careful, and floods are certainly not to be sniffed at (the devastating floods that hit the country in 2007 are testimony to that). But we’re a long way from any real danger. We just need maybe a pair of wellies (and an umbrella at this rate).

RIP Pam Kennedy

Pamela Joan Kennedy (1933-2012)

Having been off the grid for the better part of a week, I’ve only just learned this tragic piece of news: Pamela Kennedy, a valued and very much loved member of Maidenhead Constituency Labour Party passed away from cancer at the start of the week.

Pam was a member of the executive committee, serving in the role of social secretary and media contact. I’m not sure how long she filled this role, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was longer than I’ve been alive!

Pam was always a very active member, and when I first joined the Labour Party she was there and enthusiastic at the very first meeting I attended. As many will know, local party politics can be an uphill slog in areas with a traditionally ingrained hostility to your flag, but that never seemed to dishearten Pam. Any meeting that she at which she was present- and her attendance was pretty much an assured thing at any meeting themed around her beloved NHS- would benefit from her contributions.

I don’t claim to have known her well or long, but every conversation I had with her left me feeling better for it. The local party, the town of Maidenhead, and Labour as a whole are left poorer without her, but greater for her contributions. She will be missed indeed.

RIP Pamela Joan Kennedy.

The Odd/Even Theory is Bunkum

Khaaaaaaaan!

The last few weeks I’ve been focusing with a near-maniacal dedication on local politics (specifically bin bags), and I have several more such posts in the pipeline for next week, so I hope my readers will forgive me this little sidetrack into fanboy ranting.

I have, lately, been watching a lot of Star Trek. Of this fact, I am resolutely unashamed. I am a Trekie, and what’s more I have been since I was about eight. Go ahead, mock. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.

In returning to my first love, I have done a little re-evaluating. See, I’ve always thought of Deep Space Nine as the shining gem of brilliance amid the rougher edges of the franchise, injecting as it does a sense of gritty realism (well, all things being relative) into the Trek universe. I mean, it had a brutal war that took up the last two seasons and dominated the entire arc of the show. Also, it had more of a story arc, compared to its predecessor The Next Generation, where pretty much every episode ended with them floating off to ruin someone else’s shit next week. If DS9 made a mess, they had to sit in it.

My favourite Trek episode was (and remains) DS9‘s “In the Pale Moonlight”. Without wanting to give too much away, it explores the darker side of the Federation and Starfleet, and what a fight for survival does to its trademark idealism. It was well told, emotive and character driven. In many ways it was ahead of its time- more akin to the reimagined Battlestar Galactica (which I hold to be the best science-fiction show of recent years- an acolade that Joss Whedon’s Firefly might have stolen, had it not been strangled in its infancy).

But I’ve been watching Voyager recently, a series which I enjoyed a lot when it was first broadcast, but subsequently went cold on. I know why I went cold on it. The characters are a bit more cardboard cutout-y than DS9. The insistence on throwing the Borg in whenever they got bored rendered a genuinely scary enemy boring. And the outfits they insisted on putting Seven of Nine in were frankly insulting.

But it was slick, and it was fun. And that covers a multitude of sins. Now I’m thinking I need to rewatch the films. Which brings me to the odd/even rule. This is a principal known to most people who have heard of Star Trek: that the odd numbered films were terrible and the even were good. Which, honestly, is an oversimplification. My opinion of the films is as follows:

• Star Trek (I): The Motion Picture (AKA Kirk vs the Voyager space probe) – Mediocre
• Star Trek (II): The Wrath of Khan (AKA Kirk vs …well, Khan) – Excellent
• Star Trek (III): The Search for Spock (Kirk vs Death. And Klingons) – Very good
• Star Trek (IV): The Voyage Home (Kirk vs Humpback Whales) – Honestly, pretty poor. Very overrated.
• Star Trek (V): The Final Frontier (Kirk vs God) – Terrible. Probably the worst of the lot.
• Star Trek (VI): The Undiscovered Country (Kirk vs the Cold War) – Good. A bit hackneyed, but I liked it a lot)
• Star Trek (VII): Generations (Picard and Kirk vs Heaven) – Very good.
• Star Trek (VIII): First Contact (Picard vs the Borg) – Excellent. Probably my favourite (sacrilege, I know).
• Star Trek (IX): Insurrection (Picard vs the Fountain of Youth) – Terrible. It’s only saving grace was its brevity.
• Star Trek (X): Nemesis (Picard vs himself. Sort of. And Romulans) – Very good. Probably the most underrated of the lot.
• Star Trek (XI)* (Kirk vs Everyone) – Very good, if a bit light.

So, whilst the best of the films are definitely even numbered, and the worst are definitely odd, it’s an unfair generalisation to say even=good, odd=bad. Or maybe I just need to get out more

*It’s number 11. I don’t care whether it’s a remake, a reboot, or whatever-the-hell. Its the 11th Star Trek film, so it’s number 11. End of.

I Need a Reading Lamp

A reading lamp may be the solution I need for my reading vexations.

I’ve decided that I don’t read enough. This, as you might imagine, is a problem for a writer. It’s not that I don’t enjoy writing any more (I do), or that I can’t afford books (I can- and anyway I get a healthy quantity of my reading material from my local library). It’s because I don’t seem to have the time any more- or rather I don’t make the time.

So much of my day seems to be taken up with politics, work, a thousand and one trivial tasks, or the act of writing itself. Which is great- I love being so active, and I love that I still find plenty of time to write. But as a great man* once said:

“If you don’t have the time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write.“

Which means I have a problem, even if I’m not feeling the effects just yet. So I’ve decided to “schedule” some reading time. Which sounds grander than it actually is. Basically, instead of falling asleep watching a film or TV show, I’ll fall asleep with a book (or my Kindle).

There’s something nice about this. I think it goes back to when I was very young, and my parents used to read to me at bedtime. More times than not, I would fall asleep before they finished, and lose myself in whatever fantastical worlds I was frequenting. Even today it’s a warm and safe feeling. Although a little annoying when I reach the point of reading the same sentence over and over before I realise it’s time to call it a night.

The only problem with this plan is to do with lighting. My lightswitch is next to the door- across the other side of my room. So when I’m tired, ready for sleep, I have to put down my book (or Kindle), get out of bed, cross the room and turn it off. Not exactly the most relaxing end to an evening. Conclusion: I need a reading lamp.

*Mr Stephen King

Revealed: Boris Johnson’s Daring New Policy

The embattled Mayor of London has hit on an excellent Dalek-recycling idea, whilst in Brighton the Greens are welcoming them onto public transport

Spotted today at Tower Hill tube station, it seems Boris Johnson has found an excellent use for all those old, disused Daleks! Given the number of failed invasion attempts that the plunger-armed psuedo-Nazis have launched on the capital, by my reckoning there have to be a fair number of the things cluttering up London streets. Now, as a part of the Mayor’s re-election strategy, they are apparently to find a new lease of life as litter bins on the underground!

Meanwhile, on the sunny south coast, the Green administration of Brighton and Hove seem to be welcoming our alien overlords onto local buses. Perhaps “Dalek bus passes” will be featuring in the Green Party mayorship candidate Jenny Jones’ manifesto.

With all this Who-fever taking over the mayoral race, how long before Ken Livingstone pledges to return blue police boxes to the corner of every road? Only time will tell!

The Whys and Wherefores of Blogging

Last week I was lucky enough to be at a London pub for goodbye drinks for Alex Hern, departing Left Foot Forward for pastures new- quite literally, at the New Statesman. It was a veritable who’s-who of UK left wing political blogging. Daniel Elton, Alex’s boss, led the toasts, and whilst I can’t remember all of what he said, it included something to the gist of:

“…we don’t do it for money, we don’t do it for fame, we don’t do it for glory, we do it for love and because we have something to say…”

(Apologies to Dan- that is almost certainly a horrific mangling of what was genuinely a good toast)

As an explanation for political bloggers, of the more professional strain such as Left Foot Forward and Political Scrapbook, it works perfectly, but it’s gotten me to thinking why it is that I pour so much time, effort and typing into this blog.

When I started it, nearly two years ago, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I started it because I liked writing, because I thought I might have something to say, and (if I’m honest) because everyone else was doing it. At the time I was starting out writing seriously, submitting and hoping to hit the jackpot and get published. The blog was as much a record as that and my life as anything terribly profound.

It’s changed quite a bit since then. For one thing, I had my first publication. And, as the 2010 general election came around, I had something of a political awakening. My views crystalised, and I joined the Labour party and started spouting off political views. Since then, I’ve been walking the tightrope between politics, writing and general life in my posts. I’m not sure if it’s been good, bad or what, but I’ve kept it going, which I’m reasonably proud of.

But what of now? Anyone reading through my recent posts would notice a clear theme: local politics in Wokingham. A large motivation of this has been coming home after university and getting stuck into politics. Also my standing for the local council. As well as this, though, I’ve been trying to provoke more of a debate. Coming from rowdy Brighton to quieter Berkshire was something of a culture shock, and the lack of political discussion did alarm me.

Since the new year, and my increasing focus on local issues, the views of my blog have leapt skyward, showing that there is clearly an interest in the borough. Bins, libraries, council tax and public loos might seem awfully humdrum, but they’re issues which affect people on a day to day basis.

So here’s to the future- both Alex’s and this blog’s. I’ll be going on as I’ve started, and I aim to hold the council to account as best I can. As long as I’m active in Wokinham’s political sphere, I’ll be blogging about it and calling the council out on their nonsense. And, naturally, I will still be knocking out short stories when the urge takes me.

Here’s to more bins, more libraries, maybe not more council tax, but an upsurge of public toilets! (And, fingers crossed, a few more short story publications).

Coffee at the Old Post Office

The Old Post Office coffee shop in Wargrave is a charming and hopeful new addition to the village high street

Wargrave is a small village, and whilst there is usually a fair bit going on around and about, the high street can be a bit quiet at times. We have quite a lot of pubs (not a complaint), an excellent library and something of a parking problem along the high street. But there has always been one thing missing, until now.

This morning I took a sojourn down to the high street to take a look at the Old Post Office, a new coffee shop where (predictably) the old post office used to be. My attention had been drawn to it by their activity on Facebook and Twitter, and I was intrigued. When I made my maiden visit today, it wasn’t exactly what I expected.

Firstly, it looks very nice. It has a big, open and airy feel to it, and looks rather high class. The big windows onto the street mean that it’s well-lit, and their sofas are very quiet. It’s also, in a bit of architectural fascination, divided into two sections. One is more centred around tables and the “kitchen area”, and the other is more of a lounge area with some very comfortable sofas.

Secondly, the coffee was very good, and very well priced. I spent £3.80 on a latte and a (HUGE!) caramel shortbread, and was able to sit and enjoy them whilst reading the paper, undisturbed by the steady stream of people coming in and out to get their caffeine-based refreshment.

The friendly young man working there told me that they tend to get busy around lunch, and that they do their own club sandwich which has proved very popular. So, naturally, a second visit will be required to sample this culinary curiosity.

A while back I commented that the flight of businesses from Maidenhead high street demonstrated that the local economy was dying, and that too little was being done to encourage growth on a local level. So if food establishments like Burger King are the barometer by which we measure the health of our high streets, I have to say that The Old Post Office shows very good things about Wargrave.

As a village, we now boast a modern, interesting coffee shop, serving good food and drink at a very reasonable price. They even have wi-fi. I very much hope that it flourishes, as it’s an establishment I can definitely see myself frequenting.

Real Life Rears its Head

So, as predicted, I won’t have time to scrutinise the Wokingham local budget. It would be unfair to place blame for this entirely upon the Conservative administration, but their behaviour with local democracy is nothing short of an embarrassment. It’s likely as not that I wouldn’t have had time within the week- the solitarity week!- that they allowed that I wouldn’t have been able to devote the time needed, but even if not yesterday’s migraine made sure of it.

I’ve never liked the word “migraine”. It doesn’t seem to sum up what it feels like. Then again, neither does “headache”. I had my first headache at about age 11. In year 7, it started early in the morning. A niggle, an annoyance, a hint of an ache. By second lesson it had matured, not into a headache but a sensual breakdown. My co-ordination went first, then my speech, then my vision. After a few painkillers and a couple of hours sleep, I was right as rain. But it shook me quite deeply.

I still get them, from time to time. They roll out of clear skies and blot me out for an afternoon. Usually they’re annoying, but nothing more. Yesterday’s was a bit hairier. From about 2pm until 3am this morning I was slipping in and out of consciousness, in utter agony, trying to pop enough painkillers and get enough sleep to make it stop.

Thankfully that’s a rarity, but it blew a hole in plans I had made. The migraine-hurricane hit exactly a sentence into a new story, which has now had it’s flow changed. It may well be that it will end up is better than where I had intended it to go, but I’ve still lost a day writing it. Which is…annoying. But that’s sadly how it goes.

I keep having to manoeuvre my life plans around real life, every time it rears its head.