The Anglophile Bill Bryson, in his
book Mother Tongue, describes the origins, complexity and triumph of the
English language, along with some examples of the absurd, illogical quirks it
has acquired in the course of its development. The resulting language is “full
of booby traps for foreigners”, yet millions of them succeed in mastering it
nonetheless. This fact has strengthened my resolve to learn the rudiments of
Greek (despite being advised by an Athenian acquaintance not to bother because
“we all speak English”). Besides, according to Bill, Greek is augmented by no
fewer than seventy body gestures, some of which comprise whole sentences, that
I can employ when words fail me.
Elsewhere in his writings, Bryson
describes the Damascene moment of his conversion to “walking”, by which is
meant hiking among the hills and dales of the British countryside, a pursuit
that I, too, have enjoyed for many years. But, like Bill, I also see value in
urban walking: what it lacks in adventurousness, vis-à-vis the vagaries of
weather, the challenges of orienteering and one’s state of fitness, it makes up
for in points of interest – especially when in one’s own city, where change and
developments are of particular concern. And let’s not forget the eco-friendly
proposition of not having to drive to a start or end point. Leaving aside the
issue of polluted air (something that goes with the territory of city-dwelling
anyway), there are days when the brightness of the sky is irresistible and an
observant circuit around the city is as rewarding as any bracing stroll along
the shore or aerobic haul up a hillside. Straightforward walking is
acknowledged to be as much exercise as any body requires to maintain health and
wellbeing so, without the bother and distraction of kit, equipment and
logistics, a brisk, city-perambulation provides nourishment for both body and
mind.
A recent outing with an old friend
and neighbour proved to be just so: we took pleasure in comparing the
architectural styles, old and new; we expressed opinions on the viability of
new buildings; we discussed urban planning policies; we identified and compared
notes on pubs, restaurants and the establishments that identify as “bar &
kitchen”; we lingered over coffee at a roastery and devised dreadful
punishments for cyclists who ride on pavements. And we like knowing that, by
the time we go again, there will be changes to observe.
Not all change is progress, of
course, and what is sometimes called progress is really only greed: the
over-development of property for investors at the expense of local housing
being an example. It is one of the oddities of England that pubs can hold out
against developers longer than other buildings – something to do with the
income they generate, perhaps – and there are many small, ancient, pubs
crouching between cliffs of modern office blocks, where they thrive,
apparently. Elsewhere, others cling on, awaiting the custom that might ensue
from the encroaching tide of gentrification. One such is the Jolly Angler,
which is trapped in a neglected, run-down corner between canal and railway.
Its offering of beer and whisky is as basic as its facilities, but the regular
gathering there of Irish musicians brings it to life in a way that fancy
cocktails never could. Two minutes’ walk away, but out of sight, is
Cultureplex, a multi-million-pound warehouse conversion, which is packed with
bright young things consuming sophisticated food and drink to the accompaniment
of DJs and with an optional side-offering of discussions, talks and film in
adjoining rooms. I like to hope that there is room for both to thrive.
But, between all this walking and pubbing,
there is admin to be done – my online tax return, for example. I left it
incomplete, noting HMRC’s deadpan assurance that it is possible to “return to
your return” at any time. So, that’s a verb and a noun and respect to all those
who TEFL.
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