Layered Lives

Early in the week I watched a documentary film about David Hockney. Made in the early 1970s, much of it was set in a posh part of London (Notting Hill?) where he and his friends were based. It struck me that the buildings they inhabited, grand terraces with imposing facades, appeared shabby from years of neglect and that the cars parked along the kerbsides - Minis, E-type Jaguars, Hillman Imps, Jensens, early BMWs etc. - many of which now would be considered desirable 'classics', looked, for the most part, un-polished and un-loved. In fact the whole environment appeared worn-out and washed-up in contrast to the lively, colourful, creative characters it contained and, more startlingly, in contrast to Hockney's by then famous Californian pool paintings - all sparkling cleanliness, sun-soaked colour and sharp, modern architecture.

To some extent the apparent dinginess of 1970s London might be attributable to the lighting and photographic techniques employed by the director, or to the fading of the film-stock over time. Nevertheless, it matches my personal recollection of the down-at-heel ambience of the place at that time which, far from diminishing the pleasure of being there, actually added piquancy to the experience. It was the product of layers of history, the background vibe to everyday life and it formed the cultural foundation for artists of all kinds. When Hockney first went to California, leaving behind the cultural history of England, he quickly became established as 'the painter of Southern California', perhaps because he saw something the Californians themselves had come to take for granted: the fact that the place had been an empty stage for the new Americans who settled there, one on which they could establish a fresh, novel way of life.

Most of us, however, have to accept innovation being added to what we have inherited. We live in old buildings which have to be adapted to modern facilities such as heating, plumbing and Wi-Fi - which can be very tiresome. This week, fed up with my Wi-Fi signal frequently dropping out, I took advice and moved the router to a more central location - easier said than done, given the fixed position of the incoming phone line and the irregular shape of the apartment. In any case, my attempt was ill-planned and consequently costly: by moving the router without properly untangling the wires at the back I pulled the hard-drive storage box, sending it crashing to the floor. I wouldn't have been so distraught had my phone not developed a fault the same day. I subsequently went through the motions of investigating the feasibility of repairs before too easily succumbing to the temptation of buying new, improved versions of both gadgets. Now I have the problem that they are so new and improved that I'll have to spend days learning how to operate them.

Part-way through this process I took a break and travelled to the ancient market town of Oswestry in Shropshire and its nearby hill fort which, although established three thousand years ago, remains a prominent and remarkable feature of the landscape. The present-day town has grown directly from the fort - as is often the case on the borderlands between Wales and England - which makes it a unique and interesting place. But I was keen to walk around the hill fort and feel the fear of the Britons as they faced the Anglo Saxons (or vice versa). In that respect, however, I was a little disappointed: the fort is close to a housing estate; a road runs alongside it; there is a farmhouse built into one side of it; livestock graze on its crown, and dog-walkers parade around its parapets. No empty stage here: the full weight of layered civilisation is present. There was even a strong 3G signal.