Overlooking the slight kafuffle in the comments below regarding the “whites-only” [sic 'n *sigh* 'n complaint lodged to the Standards Committee] move to the ‘Hoe, but, yeah, the boxes are packed and all we need now is somewhere to park the removal van, come the grand day of the Great Escape.
Job’s a good ‘un - especially so if you are @lambeth_council (“we’re on your side…“) and can trouser almost £200 for allowing a resident to park a van directly outside the property in which they own.
Cripes.
Yep, I accept that we are moving out of what is a busy, built up urban environment, but blimey - just short of two hundred notes so that nice Mr Pickfords can pull up for a couple of hours one morning?
A look around the multi-layers of the @lambeth_council website, and I found that I needed to apply for the suspension of a parking bay. A visitor’s permit may be cheap at half the price at around a tenner a time, but the last thing I want on D-Day is for that nice Mr Pickfords to turn up and find that there is no space for him to park.
The deal then involves giving seven working days notice to the Parking department, a £60 admin charge (isn’t there always….) and £40 per parking bay suspension. Turns out we need three bays.
Like I said - job’s a good ‘un, but I still fail to see exactly how the Parking department at @lambeth_council is running at a loss in these days of austerity and cuts.
As for the return leg? A quick call to Colchester Borough Council (um, helloooo, btw…), and I gave an explanation of my where and how to park dilemma.
“I’m sorry?” came the reply from the wilds of deepest Essex. “You’re phoning to find out if you need permission to park a van outside a property that you own? Aww - no need for that, love.”
The price of general amenities around town, and the blatant belief that just because you are in central London, charging £2 plus for a cup of tea is somehow justifiable.
The restrictions of the river. The Thames IS London, and should be opened up for us all to enjoy and explore. Being unable to walk from East to West in your city, unrestricted, should be a right.
Self-styled creative types, with no evidence of creativity, but a passion for talking about themselves.
Falling asleep on the tube and waking up in the hellhole that is Morden.
The SW8 street drinkers, nutters and con artists.
The defining of the individual by their work status, and not by what skills they can add to the community.
The lack of integration of the transport network.
Fat, cockney plumbers.
The crap that builds up along London roads whenever it rains, ruining the inner workings of my bicycles.
People that SHOUT for no reason.
People that confuse car horns for front door bells.
Being stuck in traffic on a crowded bus, on a steamy hot afternoon.
The ugliness of the outer architecture.
The pockets of extreme poverty, with gated affluent dwellings within walking distance.
The realisation that politicians will never resolve the problem of the four towering chimney’s of Battersea.
Bike thief scum. Especially the little s**** that then sell on their loot around Brick Lane on a Sunday morning.
Trying to live the Love Me I’m a Liberal metropolitan lifestyle, but finding that my morals are being shifted further to the right by the behaviour of the very people around me I should be taking pity on.
The price of milk in my corner shop.
Local ice hockey and basketball being spoilt for me by petty, political in-fighting.
Junkyard neighbours.
Negativity from those around me.
The madness of SW8 meaning not being able to sleep with the windows open during the summer months.
The perpetual disgusting nature of the changing rooms at Brixton Rec.
The lottery of having to hire an electrician, plumber, or gas man, and not knowing about the quality of service when compared to the cost.
Climbing College Road on my way up towards Crystal Palace, or climbing Chalk Farm Road on my way up towards Hampstead Heath - a London bicyclist’s rites of passage.
The Secret Garden at Brockwell Park - *shhh*
Being able to find people, just like you, in such a large city.
Curry Club at the Crown & Sceptre, Streatham South Circular.
My man Goran, the SW8 handyman whose business card informs me that he has ‘a licence to drill.’ Better believe it.
Buying up half the hardware on sale along Tottenham Court Road.
The patient manner of Rabia, my lovely dentist for the past fifteen years: “I know you’re not a very good patient, and so I’m going to knock you out and put you right under for the rest of the afternoon.”
The veggie buffet currie at Chapel Street Market, Islington, and confusing Eat As Much As You Like with Eat As Much As You Can.
Humming Waterloo Sunset in my head, each time I cycle between the Imax and Aldwych.
The view from the top tier of the member’s Pavilion at The Oval. The panoramic of the city stretches from Battersea across to St Paul’s.
The bonkers bicycling jumble sales held at Herne Hill Velodrome.
The Greenwich foor tunnel.
The view of the four towering chimney’s of Battersea.
The run of charity shops in Clap’ham from KFC down to Blockbusters.
Living in Little Porto, and partying with the crazy locals every two years when their team does rather well at a major football competition.
South London sun tans.
Sitting at the front and driving the DLR.
Living within walking distance of Brixton Academy, and feeling smug at having out-touted a tout, buying up a ticket for a fiver once the band are on stage.
Early Sunday morning and @BrockwellLido was bloody closed - again. After the run of five closures during the balmy days of June, I thought Fusion had finally understood how to manage an outdoor swimming pool.
Only yesterday and I was commenting to the lovely Lido Peter how the clear, blue waters of Lake Brockwell have returned, just in time for the season close at the end of September. Sunday morning however had the familiar “chemical imbalance” given as the reason for the lack of aquatic action.
Bugger.
To be fair to Fusion, all members have been offered a 10% discount on the joining fee for the 2011 season. Cynics might say that this serves only as an incentive to sign up yet again. What’s the point if you’re buggering off @BrockwellLido continues to suffer the same fate next summer?
Having dragged my backside down to Brockwell Park early on Sunday morning, the inconvenience for me was more of a personal and emotional disappointment.
Ah yes - about that pre-election promise of “free swimming for every resident…”
In the absence of any @BrockwellLido action, I returned down Railton Road and found myself staring into the abyss of Brixton Rec.
Blimey.
The queue at reception finally cleared after five minutes - this was 9am on a Sunday morning, after all. Ahead of me to be served was a young mother with three small kids. She asked for an adult swimming ticket, and three passes for the free swimming for her children.
“Sorry,” said the GLL receptionist. “Free swimming is no longer available.” A price was quoted, which didn’t leave much change out of a £20 note. Not surprisingly the young mother had to explain to her three small kids that swimming wasn’t going to happen today.
I paid my £3.50, and then walked past the petition on the wall set up by the Brixton Rec Users Group. It calls for @LambethLabour to reconsider its decision to slash free swimming for under 16′s and over 60′s. The election pledge of “free swimming for every resident” has long since been sacrificed.
I’m told that just over 2,000 signatures have so far been collected by local leisure users - quite an achievement. One thousand more are still required for the Rec Users Group to force the next Full Council meeting to actually take the petition seriously and debate the matter.
That Lambeth LifePower to the People twaddle of a headline is looking more false as the @LambethLabour cuts start to kick in.
With the disappointment of Brockwell behind me, and now ready to experience the delights of Brixton Rec on a Sunday morning, I showered and slipped into the pool. Five minutes later and I was finished.
It was simply impossible to undertake any form of exercise in a public pool that is rammed bumper to bumper with swimmers early on a Sunday morning. That’s what happens when the “success story” of leisure in Lambeth leads to only one pool that is actually open in the entire borough.
I’ll be back at the waters of Lake Brockwell come Monday morning. If the “chemical imbalance” is still lingering, I’ll have to admit defeat and accept that the buggers have won.
The visit of Pope Benedict XVI to St Peter’s Residence along Meadow Road wasn’t meant to make the headlines. This was an afternoon tea event, tucked away in an otherwise anonymous corner of South London, and hidden away in the official State visit schedule ahead of the Hyde Park hoo ha later in the evening.
The playing down of Mr Pope in my #hyperlocal patch suggested something of a space filler. With a more high profile visit to Wimbledon earlier in the afternoon, and then the huge Hyde Park ticketed event in the evening, cynics (um, the good @SE11_lurker) was spot on in stating that we were hosting a time killing event.
It was almost as if the Vatican had pulled up Google maps, typed in SW19 and W1, and then pinned the Papal tail on my little #hyperlocal patch to pass the time. The location of St Peter’s, SW8 made perfect geographic sense, albeit with some ideological reservations.
Google maps may be great for physical geography, but not so cool on cultural exploration. A short walk down the Harleyford Road, and Mr Pope would have found himself at Vauxhall Cross, the self-centred Gaybourhood of South London.
Whoops.
I personally was rather passive in the whole Papal affair. I’m agnostic but active locally. To stay at home and hoover whilst one of the world’s most influential leaders was passing through my neighbourhood, would have been a waste of an afternoon.
I wandered down Trigon Road shortly before 5pm, quite unsure of what to expect. The road closure signs had been in place all week, but interest in Benny’s afternoon tea break seemed to be limited.
I passed young mother’s carrying shopping bags, kids playing on scooters and even an estate agent trying to temp some tenants into a shoehorn of a flat.
“What’s the neighbourhood like?”
“Oh, you know - apart from Papal visits, nothing special.”
It wasn’t until I reached the Meadow Road junction that I first saw the crowds. Nothing major, but then this was a hyped down #hyperlocal appearance. A rough head count suggested 1,000 max, with a lively crowd of twenty or so protestors, representing the Gaybourhood.
It is rather apt that this hush hush #hyperlocal visit should take place at St Peter’s. Little is known about the Nursing home locally. My only contact with St Peter’s is to pass it on the way to the cricket. The good Sisters within aren’t exactly resting on Test match days, trousering twenty notes a time in pimping out the Good Lord’s car park.
Cripes.
I took up a place in the throng of the two deep crowd, directly opposite the gates to St Peter’s. This was clearly an entry point that I wouldn’t pass the test for. The #hyperlocal online and blogging community was out in force.It seems that I wasn’t alone in putting that Saturday afternoon hoovering on hold.
A sudden rush, and the police convoy speeded past, followed by some very un-Pope-mobile style transport. It was as though Mr Pope was being transported around South London in the back of a rather large hire car.
And that, I thought, was probably that. A quick scroll through my twitter feed, and the good @kennington reported that Kate Hoey was within the sacred walls, being received by the Pope. Keeping in line with the song, the response from Mr Pope of course had to be:
“Who the f***ing hell is Kate Hoey…”
It must have been a laugh-along-a-minute during the short meeting. We were led to believe that Benny was giving a sidesplitting speech to the Sisters all about… death. It’s the way he tells ‘em.
I did consider buggering off back to base and resuming my own private worship of housework. But I stuck it out, and was rewarded with what was a truly unique, magical and simply jaw dropping moment, right on my #hyperlocal doorstep.
A robed up dude emerged from the gates at St Peter’s to deliver a cheeky thumbs up to the crowd. I passed this off as perhaps a sign of the party atmosphere within. Perhaps the water had been turned to wine, and wall-to-wall vomiting had broken out.
But nope - Mr Thumbs Aloft was indicating that one of the most powerful and influential men in the world wanted to have a walkabout, right on my bloody doorstep.
Blimey.
The crowd went crazy, both God Fearers and the guys ‘n girls from the Gaybourhood alike. I was sitting on the fence, quite literally, and simply wanted to take it all in.
Even for an agnostic, it was simply magical. There was a huge surge of emotion in witnessing the power of an old man to inspire my local community. As far as schedule time killers go, this had to be the most remarkable way of filling in a spare half hour in the South London afternoon.
I tried to make sense of this short burst of spirituality, but where to look? Mr Pope’s shoes caught my eye. I may not believe in his right wing nonsense of a message, but he is certainly a snappy dresser.
Sticking with the shoe theme, and it seemed that an Iraqi style shoe throwing protest was about to break out. A singular shoe dropped right in front of me. Turns out it belonged to a poor kid who was simply caught up in all the excitement and emotion.
This is about as rock ‘n roll as my little #hyperlocal patch of South London gets. The appearance of an iconic figure in the late evening SW8 sunshine was inspiring, if not in a religious capacity, then certainly spiritualy.
I have seen the light, I have seen Mr Pope, and yes - I have seen a community celebrating a unique event. The Gaybourhood guys ‘n girls rightly had their grievances, but I simply couldn’t ignore the power that this man has. What a waste for it be channelled into the nonsense of organised religion.
So yeah - for one afternoon only, my #hyperlocal patch of South London became the centre of the universe. I may not believe in creationism, but I am now a confirmed supporter of community cohesion.
I’m starting to sound like Margaret Thatcher after being turfed out of No. 10, but yep - we’re leaving the place we have called home for the past fifteen years, probably for the final time.
I arrived in Brixton back in the summer of 1995, full of hope, high on optimism and with a huge appetite for ambition. None of these have been played out to their full potential, but I feel that I am leaving London as an all round better person.
I’ve been enlightened, enriched and inspired by London. But it comes at a high price, both financially and physically. London demands everything of you. There’s no hiding away if you want to experience the benefits that this city has to offer - you’re either in or you’re out.
I want out.
After fifteen years of running around town, it’s time to come up for some air. We both need a break, and one that allows us to put our feet up, laze around in the garden with a bottle of bolly and just generally live a slower pace of life.
Plus if truth be told, the tipping point came last summer when South London Yoof decided to camp out on my newly varnished front garden fence. It wasn’t particularly anti-social behaviour, but then neither was my response of blasting out some Billy Bragg from my front bedroom to shift South London Yoof along.
I just want a bit of peace, space and respect, bruv. I can’t find that in Sunny Stockwell any more. I live in fear of becoming what I despise - a right wing bigot, albeit with some sense of justification, given the actions of those around me in my current surroundings.
We have lived in the city for fifteen years because we wanted to. We wanted the convenience of being close to the cultural capital of the world; we wanted the opportunities that living in such a densely populated environment presented, and most of all, we wanted to be part of something that was much greater than we as individuals could ever be. London allowed us to live this lifestyle.
But that period in our lives is now in the past. We’re both ready for the next phase, searching for more solitude and a less frantic lifestyle - and yeah, one which probably involves keeping a well stocked wine cellar and not feeling guilty about procrastinating and enjoying life for itself, rather than with a specific reason to achieve or obtain career fulfillment.
I’m failing to find the love that I once had for this great city. Weekends of hunting down specific events or meetings are long gone. The enthusiasm for anything outside of my micro #hyperlocal patch of South London is non-existent. I’m even struggling to see anything of interest for me around here locally. A man who is bored of London is bored of life. I need to therefore try and find a new life out in the wilds.
I feel that I’ve run my course with each activity. With no physical or geographical work restrictions keeping me in place, it’s time to move on. I am a nomad of technology: have broadband (just) will travel.
And so where to next? Well, we’re going back to the future to find a familiar lifestyle of old. Almost twenty years ago to the day, @AnnaJCowen and I first met as undergraduates at the University of Essex in Colchester. We’re now heading back to North Essex / Suffolk border, just up the road from the campus to the quayside town of Wivenhoe.
When we lived in North Essex, we couldn’t wait to leave for London. Weekends were spent going back and forth to Liverpool Street. It now seems that we have come full circle, and we can’t get wait to get back to the Wivenhoe rural way of life.
The city has served me well, but I can no longer keep up. I need an environment that hopefully will begin a new period of discovery. Yep - I’m becoming a hippy.
There’s a cycling club, estuary swimming, county cricket in nearby Castle Park, a sailing club and a jazz club. I think I’ll be busy, in a more laid back, middle-aged sort of way. Plus Wivenhoe is Constable country. I don’t think I’m going to take up landscape painting, but think of all those wonderful wildlife photographic opportunities.
That purveyor of objectivity and truth, um, the urban dictionary, rather helpfully adds:
“[Wivenhoe ] Small town in North East Essex. The town is home to an abnormally high percentage of musicians, artists, actors, and assorted TV and media people. The University of Essex at the top of the town is famous as a Communist stronghold in the 1960′s - the town also was home to The Angry Brigade at that time.
The Wivenhoe Folk Club is recognised as one of the best in the country, and regularly attracts big name acts. Other Essex villages consider Wivenhoe to be full of drunks, layabouts, hippies, arty-farty types, Pot-Heads, gays, and prozac-dependants. Small wonder then, that it was recently rated as the second most popular place to live in the whole of the UK.”
Blimey.
We’ve bought an old Victorian cottage with views out across the North Essex estuary. We’re keeping our properties down here in South London, still doing the landlord and tenant nonsense. Needs must. Plus you never know when you might miss the mean streets of Sunny Stockwell and long for a return.
Or maybe not.
As for m’blog? Well, it never really was about South London per se - more about my life in South London. The Wivenhoe lifestyle will undoubtedly present many new opportunities, and I’ll probably end up blogging all about these.
The countdown to the North Essex coastal adventure started in earnest some eighteen months ago when the plan was first hatched. We’re now approaching the Sunny Stockwell end game, with all the final arrangements being put in place.
Many, many thanks to everyone who has helped to make our London life so special. The memories will remain (um, online…) as we reach out to create new ones.
This is all rather encouraging news - LabourIndependent LabourCouncillor Abrams of Vassall ward is set to rejoin@LambethLabour, having served out his four month suspension on the Lambeth naughty step.
You may remember how the highly popular local figure was the victim of a botched email sting by a high-ranking officer within the local party. Having failed to take the bait, Councillor Abrams was given a four-month suspension from @LambethLabour.
No evidence has yet to surface to justify this suspension. The only act that the Vassall representative appears to be guilty is to forward the sting email to Kate Hoey, the MP for Vauxhall.
This information is out in the public domain after a high ranking @LambethLabour party member ordered an apolitical council employee to hack into Councillor Abrams’ email account, to try and see if the sting had succeeded.
But now it would seem that with the four-month suspension for a non-existent offence having been served, Councillor Abrams has decided to take on the right wing @LambethLabour administration from within.
Councillor Abrams is a Labour man through and through. His speech at the most recent Full Council meeting could have been used as an opportunity to shame the Nu Labour sheep who followed the orders from above to boot him out.
Instead he launched a savage attack on @LambethLibDems, and in particular, his fellow Vassall ward representative, Councillor Bradley.
There is quite simply nowhere else for Councillor Abrams to align himself, other than the Labour party. He believes in fighting the ConDem cuts, rather than rolling out public sector redundancies, as proposed by the Nu Labour twonks within his local party.
Councillor Abrams is pledging to campaign for all housing maintenance in the borough to be brought back in house. With the collapse of Connaught leaving Lambeth Livinglooking even sillier, Councillor Abrams has been telling his ward constituents that further privatisation is not the answer to Lambeth’s shameful public housing state of affairs.
As for the ConDem and @LambethLabour savage cuts, Councillor Abrams has stated:
“Lambeth Council is set to make £85m cuts over the next four years. Free swimming has already gone. Nearly 700 jobs will be lost in Lambeth. I am working with the local unions, churches and community groups to protect front line services in Lambeth.”
Other areas that Councillor Abrams is keen to take on as the conscience of @LambethLabour include the re-opening of Brixton Road Youth Club (closed since the summer) and fighting the council selling off of the Calais Gate Estate.
Now is the perfect time for Councillor Abrams to take on the right wing of his party from within. He is not alone amongst @LambethLabour councillors in feeling anger and betrayal in the manner that his own party (a LABOUR party!) has been proposing a right wing agenda of savage attacks on the public sector.
By speaking up from within the @LambethLabour benches, he is likely to make more friends than enemies as the fight for the true heart of @LambethLabour is now ripe for attack.
