Pros and Cons

          A tour of the west coast of Scotland, twenty-five years ago, felt to me like an adventure into remote territory. Campsites were rough and ready, there was a scarcity of fresh produce (even seafood), bread was like damp cotton-wool and coffee was too exotic a concept to have caught on. Despite that – and the changeable weather and the midges – the magnetic beauty of the region has kept pulling me back ever since: me and plenty of others, which is why there have been some noticeable changes to the touring experience. It has recently been reported that the single-track roads on the scenic routes are so clogged-up with campervans and motorhomes that residents are questioning the benefits they bring: which has infused this, my latest tour, with a touch of paranoia. My manner has become obsequious as I seek reassurance from the locals, taking care to be polite and to smile, even when paying inflated prices.

          In Applecross, where it was once acceptable for campervanners to pitch freely on the grassy hinterland of the beach, boulders have been placed strategically to oblige them instead to go to the campsite. Fair enough, I thought, as I occupied an elevated pitch looking out over the sea to the mountains of Skye. It’s a picturesque scene – and it was peaceful, until a man-on-a mission with a strimmer turned up to lay waste to the wild-flowers and stray plants that had dared despoil the lawn-like surface of the camping field. It seemed an act of vandalism, incongruous with the surrounding, unkempt hillsides and with the re-wilding zeitgeist. The re-introduction of native trees, red squirrels and otters is proclaimed on various notice boards hereabouts. They may be small-scale, experimental projects, but they do have the potential to create a more diverse ecosystem than the version currently diminished by human economic activity. To escape the roar of the strimmer, I strolled down to the village, where the once solitary Ship Inn now has competition in the form of a trendy bar-cum-pizza-kitchen and a shining aluminium Airstream caravan offering panini, gelato – and fish ‘n’ chips.

          So, does the growth of tourism bring benefits to all parties? The locals enjoy the extra income but have to endure over-strained utilities during the peak months. The visitors enjoy improved facilities but at the expense of the quintessentially remote lifestyle that was unique to the experience. There are some things that benefit both sides. The Victorian walled garden at the ‘Big Hoose’ in Applecross was desolate when I first saw it: now it is well on the way to a restoration that has been made possible by the income generated by visitors. The bleak coastal route into the village now boasts a cliff-top café and bakery, where “artisan bread” is made with organic flour milled in Dundee. It is just down the road from a thriving seafood smokehouse. Traffic congestion is not yet out of control but, if it were to become so, would the authorities build a proper road and, if so, would that ruin the appeal of the place?

          Meanwhile, there are places that remain ‘unimproved’. Such is Lochbuie on the Isle of Mull. The route to it is a twisting, undulating, single-track road that passes over a wild hill, then through a lush valley that is lined so abundantly with pink rhododendrons that the experience of driving through it is like an acid-induced hallucination. At the end, there are pretty bays, dominated by the partly ruined Castle of May and the ‘Big Hoose’ that its owners built to retire to when Castles went out of fashion. There is also an un-staffed wooden shack that is the shop-cum-café, where the system of payment is an honesty box (cheques payable to Flora Corbett). If you fancy the experience, you had better go soon. There were three motorhomes pitched for free on the foreshore when I last looked.

Back in the Day

          Fifty years have passed since I first became friends with Jim and Paul. We were among a batch of graduates bound for Sudan to do Voluntary Service Overseas. We celebrated our anniversary this week in modest style, camping overnight at Llanthony Abbey in Brecon National Park, then hiking the next day along a section of Offa’s Dyke. It was a chance to re-affirm our friendships, make up for time spent apart and reflect on the changes we have witnessed, experienced and contributed to. Time cannot be recaptured, but its passage leaves a story: how it will end, we can only speculate, but even an optimist would struggle to believe that everything will come up roses, given the continuing degradation of our environment. I say this because we lamented – among other things – how much the bird population has diminished since our youth. At the same time, we affected not to care about there being no phone signal in the valley. Just like the good-old days, hey? (On the ridge-top we checked our phones for supposedly crucial communications.)

          I spent several days in the area, before and after the reunion, relishing the rurality of The Marches – the historically fought-over territory between England and Wales. I drove on minor, winding roads, crossing the border so frequently that I evolved a guessing-game, using place-names as clues: Llanvinhangel – Wales; Longtown – England; Grosmont – France. France? Yes, let’s not forget that the Normans were here. One of them, Hubert de Lacey, left his mark in the form of a trio of castles, now in varying stages of ruin but still evocative of 12^th century violence, land-grabbing, extortion and serfdom. Yet, despite their barbaric heritage, some of them are beautiful in their ruination and their quiet, rural settings – especially on a day in May when the sun is shining and what’s left of our wildlife is gently foraging all around.

          Back in the Dark Ages, people huddled together for protection from marauders: even serfdom might have seemed attractive in this respect. But another way – and a voluntary one – was to join a religious order as a monk or, if the strict regime of worship didn’t appeal, a lay brother at one of the many abbeys that dominated the countryside. I used to think that Henry VIII acted beyond the pale when he abolished them but, on reflection, he did future generations a service in breaking up the religio-corporate monopolies and opening up the possibilities for other social structures – such as free-market capitalism – though absolute monarchy was, undoubtedly, his immediate goal.

          More recent history is evident in the way that local pubs have adapted to socio-economic change. The Swan Inn sits on a crossroads and serves an isolated hamlet. It comprises the front room of Jane’s house – maximum seating capacity ten persons – and is a rural drinking den from the fifties. This is a lifestyle business that, without Jane, would not be viable. Its days are numbered, surely. The Angel Inn, by comparison, lies on a popular tourist route and has long since accommodated the leisure market – as is evident in a poster pinned to the wall that advertises a concert in the barn, held in 1969 and headlined by Fleetwood Mac and Jethro Tull. (Curiously, it was a fund-raiser in aid the Police Dependents Trust and the RSPCA.) Then there is The Half Moon at Llanthony, a basic, cheerless establishment in a remote situation. It appears to be the last stand for its proprietors, a rough-mannered, middle-aged couple of displaced Londoners. A chalkboard sign outside says, “Bikers Welcome!”

          Some things change for the better, some for the worse - it's a matter of opinion - but I am happy to report that there are constants: while all around us is in flux, Jim, Paul and I still share the same politics, ethics and human values that prompted us to volunteer fifty years ago.

Endure a Little, Enjoy a Lot

       Wittgenstein must have given up on philosophy when he came up with the not-so-profound comment, “I don’t know why we are here, but I’m pretty sure that it is not in order to enjoy ourselves.” Perhaps he was just having a bad day. If so, I can understand his sentiment. I experienced one this week, when Windows endowed our PCs with an update, the benefits of which were obscure, but the inconveniences of which were all too apparent. After hours of failed log-ins, password re-sets and niggling personalised-setting tweaks, I restored my good humour by going out for a walk in the real world. The weather was temptingly bright and, besides, I had a more enjoyable mission in mind.

          I was on my way to the Northern Quarter, to visit a music venue that has a monster hi-fi system which is available for the use of customers. My route was via the normally quiet backstreets off the main square, but that day there was a sudden invasion of police. They came in vans, cars, on bicycles and on foot. By their actions, I could tell that they were in hot pursuit of a felon, so I watched them rush around, intrigued to see what a felon looked like. However, the action soon fizzled out and they all dispersed. For a moment, though, it was like watching a film or TV drama – until the illusion was shattered by a couple of un-fit looking coppers lumbering past, wheezing and clueless about where to go. The ones on cycles looked fitter but equally uncertain. At that point, I realised it might be some time – if ever – before I witnessed the denouement, so I resumed my journey, disappointed.

          Music venues abound in the Northern Quarter, but this one allows the punter (me) to take control, not only of the sound-system but also of the playlist. My mission was to set up an evening of jazz for the entertainment of enthusiasts, tentative enthusiasts and friends who are unlikely ever to become enthusiasts but who might enjoy the craic anyway. Live performances are best but, since the artists on my playlist are long deceased, I am relying on their recordings. Not that there is a shortage of live music in the NQ – I was recently at a performance by Trish Clowes, saxophonist and leader of an excellent band. The venue, the legendary Band On The Wall, lacks only one thing, and that is proper cider, so I stopped off on the way at the Crown & Kettle for a pint of invigorating farmhouse dry. A band was playing there too and, when Trish took a break after the first set, I nipped back there for a refresher, to find that yet another band had taken the stage. Trish finished playing early enough for me to call in at Matt & Phred’s, where a young trio were blowing enthusiastically and, afterwards, even as I walked home, I passed three more venues where bands were still playing. Live music thrives, in the NQ at least.

          I didn’t get to see the live band at the next event, a wedding, to which I was invited only because of my partner’s acquaintance with the bride. It was a traditional affair, which meant I had to endure a religious service. I suspect that vicars can sense my resentment: I’m sure that this one sneered at me as I passed him on the way out – just like the last one did. Since I had never met the bride, the groom, or any of their guests, I was prepared to work hard at socialising, but we were offered a lift to the reception venue by Phil and Sue who, being similarly isolated, readily became our best friends for the duration of our hosts’ generous refreshments and, through the rosy glow of bonhomie, I reflected on poor old Wittgenstein and hoped that he had not too many bad days.

Back to the Future?

        
          According to Jerome K. Jerome, “it is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do” and it was on this principle that I decided to spend the afternoon watching the much-vaunted Avengers: Endgame. The genre is not my thing, but the hype (it had even been reviewed favourably by somebody on Radio 4’s Today) overwhelmed me and the prospect of a busy afternoon held little appeal.
          The film started tantalisingly – soundtrack-wise, at least – with Dear Mr. Fantasy (Traffic) and Supersonic Rocket Ship (The Kinks), two glorious old numbers pressed into the service of a story about time-travel (I think). The euphoria of hearing them on the cinema’s monster sound-system whetted my appetite for more and sustained me through quite a lot of introductory dross – including a scene in which a Superhero consumes a white-bread peanut butter sandwich, which is not good role-model behaviour for healthy eating, considering all the young people who are watching. The action sequences to which I had been looking forward materialised eventually, though so heavily interspersed with schmaltzy scenes that I could not sustain my interest and left, a third of the way through, without hearing any more golden oldies.
          The bulk of the afternoon remaining unspent, I went shopping. Following on from a conversation with an old friend concerning comfortable footwear, I had decided to try on some trainers. So, boldly going where I had not been before – J.D. Sports – I went in search of my ideal: non-branded, non-garish, non-overtly-trainer trainers. I was not hopeful, but I got lucky: there, in the discounted section, I spied what I was looking for – and what everybody else wasn’t, apparently. I wore them from the shop, light of step and pleased as Punch.
          I would have appreciated those shoes earlier in the week, when friends and I did an urban ramble. We explored inner-city canal basins which have been claimed for domestic dwellings and are now populated by youngsters in branded footwear who embrace a 21st century, urban style of living – frequenting the wi-fi enabled coffee shops, sourdough bakeries and craft ale bars that have sprung into being. Following the canal northwards and away from the centre, however, it was not too long before we encountered a different style of living, more reminiscent of 20th century industrial decay and the consequent unemployment and alienation of the population. The tow-path was strewn with empty cider cans, aimless-looking men hung around with fierce-looking dogs and cyclists wearing hoodies rather than helmets trundled past, ominously. It was like time travel – not of the Superhero, but of the Clockwork Orange variety.
          The back-to-the-future theme is especially poignant in this, the week of Leonardo da Vinci’s 500th birthday. Some of his drawings are displayed temporarily at Manchester Art gallery and it was there that I attended a talk by an expert curator. He elaborated on Leonardo’s life in relation to his works and, though focused on the drawings, he included the notebooks on science, anatomy and mechanical invention. Leonardo had something in common with the creators of Avengers: Endgame – a propensity for designing machines for which the technology does not exist. Unfortunately for Leonardo, however, there was no profit to be gained from his inventions, as the fantasy film business was not even nascent at that time. Leonardo, prolific though he was, might have achieved even more but for the necessity, as he lamented, of having to take up paid employment. Nevertheless, he spent his time productively, noting that, “As well-spent day brings happy sleep, so life well-used brings happy death.”
          As a busy man, he might have concurred with Jerome K. Jerome’s view of idling. I’m pretty sure, however, that he would have disapproved of Annie Dillard’s advice to, “Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you.”