The campervan is booked in to have yet another worn-out part replaced: I shall drop it off at the garage on my way to the dentist’s, where I myself am booked in to have a worn-out part replaced. I suppose there is an element of desperation here, insofar as the van and I resemble a couple of long-time friends who, having shared experiences over the years, cling to the fond hope of stringing it out for a bit longer. After all, there are so many adventures still to be had together. (I use the word “adventure” not in the heroic sense – one’s ambitions are tempered by age – but more modestly to describe the smaller discoveries and achievements of daily life that add value to mere existence.)
One fine day last week, we drove to Totnes, a town that is to South Devon what Hebden Bridge is to West Yorkshire, i.e. a legendary centre of alternative lifestyles, colonised in the 1970s and now maturing nicely, as its pioneers have settled into more comfortable circumstances, including holding sway over local politics. My first impression was that Totnes is a caricature of itself, which may account for the tendency people have to make fun of it. Nevertheless, its denizens are doing a great job of maintaining its otherness and for that, I am thankful. I had great coffee in the vegan café at the community education hub, then greedily bagged some of the locally-produced delicacies from the indie shops before retiring to a high street micro-brewery (bring your own food!) to consume some of my purchases with a pint of Totnes’ finest ale. It was there that I opened a copy of The Light, a newspaper-styled publication that promised – and delivered – an anti-establishment view of, primarily, the covid vaccination programme.
The writing failed to keep a balance of rational argument, descending instead into impassioned ranting and extended riffing on a theory of conspiratorial power-grabs by the likes of Bill Gates. It was an unpalatable read so, when later I passed the distribution table on the street, I stopped to ask for a lucid explanation of the “anti-vax” position. Maybe I was just lucky but, instead of being berated by some swivel-eyed fanatic, I was properly engaged by an ex-teacher whose ability to present a coherent set of reasons (subject to fact-checking) not prejudices, was a joy to my ears and a challenge to my preconceptions. The Light has since been resting on my coffee table at home, where it awaits my further consideration – providing I can work up the enthusiasm to digest its proselytising style.
Meanwhile, back at the roots of alternative lifestyles, I have just spent some time ‘forest-bathing’ with friends who, somewhat late in life, have purchased a few acres of woodland in which to practise what they preach, which is (as far as I can tell) to honour nature and do their bit to encourage it to thrive in the face of the challenges presented by the Anthropocene era: that and to relax off-grid as and when they are able to make the time in their otherwise urban schedule. It seems to me they have bitten off more than they can chew, but then I have grown wary of taking on projects that have a time-scale beyond my own life-expectation, which is the understandable perspective of a non-parent. That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy the fleeting return to youth in the form of a feeling of boyish adventure brought on by the open fire and improvised shelter. But, along with that and the joy of contemplating daffodils and green shoots, there was work to be done – a dying ash tree needed felling. I assisted with the aftermath, sawing up the smaller branches in a show of manly vigour and woodworking expertise. All very satisfying, except that I was woken in the early hours of the next morning by persistent pain in my shoulder, symptom of yet another worn-out part, I have no doubt.
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