Borderlands

What does a county mean to its residents? Here in Frome we are virtually on the border between Somerset and Wiltshire. Not far to the south west is Dorset, a few minutes north the less-than-poetic acronym that is BANES (Bath and North East Somerset). Although we are in Somerset, our DAB radio thinks BBC Wiltshire is our local station. To listen to BBC Somerset we have to go analogue. And we tuned into the Beeb’s local offering this morning -  an outside broadcast from Watchet; a coastal town at the far end of the county from here that has little in common with Frome except the last line of its postal address. It set me thinking about county identity – is there such a thing for most of us? (We’ll leave Yorkshire out of the equation).

Reflections on identity? Nunney Castle (which is in Somerset)

Our immediate neighbours here at Weekender Towers work in BANES, Wiltshire and Somerset. Frome people don’t think twice about shopping in or using the better train service from Warminster and are highly exercised about the recent controversial changes to access at the Longleat Estate (both in Wiltshire).

I was born in Essex and identify more with the town of my birth than the land of TOWIE. Cricket fans may feel attached to their county teams and we all have a financial stake in the administrative body via our council taxes. Maybe if you live in the geographical heart of a county, working and playing within its boundaries, it means much more. Parents with children will think carefully about which local authority runs which schools and that may well colour attitudes to the lines on the map. But generally speaking, if you’re in border country, does it really make any difference to day-to-day living and state of mind? Does anyone on this side of the divide say, “I’m not going to the new Waitrose in Warminster because it’s in Wiltshire”? I doubt it very much.

The Mystery of the Stones

Every time we drive to and from our adopted home, we pass Stonehenge.  Whatever the time of day, week or year, there is a constant stream of pilgrims circling the stones, paying homage. For us it has a particular, if somewhat trivial, meaning - it signifies that we are well over half-way to Frome, and the change in landscape as we climb up from Amesbury lifts the soul. But why do people travel from all over the country (and all over the world) to see a a collection of rocks in a Wiltshire field? Is it simply their age - the fact that they are still here at all? Is it the myths and legends that are attached to the place? Or is it because it's a World Heritage Site and must simply be ticked off from the list of X Hundred Things To Do Before You Die?

A heap of stones in Wiltshire

In the 1990s, you might recall there was a quite a craze for "spiritual" music - Gorecki, Tavener et al. Aided and abetted by some canny marketing, people who wouldn't usually touch contemporary classical music with their neighbour's bargepoles, snapped up works like 'The Symphony of Sorrowful Songs' and 'The Protecting Veil'. The feeling was that traditional religion was not fulfilling the need we have for something beyond this temporal being, and that this music filled the vacuum.

I wonder if a visit to Stonehenge likewise - knowingly or unknowingly - somehow connects people to an other-worldly past, plugging a gap in our predominantly secular 21st Century lives. The same coach parties might go on to Salisbury Cathedral or Bath Abbey. Are they all connected?

http://www.english-heritage.org.uk/daysout/properties/stonehenge

PS. Am going to try and get to this - spiritual void or no spiritual void:  http://www.salisburyfestival.co.uk/cms/site/news/the-festival-presents-fire-garden-at-stonehenge-for-the-london-2012-festival.aspx

Happiness is...

First, the bad news. Foods of the World is the latest victim of Frome Empty Shop Syndrome. Following hard on the heels (or maybe that should be some other part of the anatomy) of the recently departed Opal Lingerie, FOTW’s offering of herbs, spices and North African pottery has also failed to stay afloat. As the Saxonvale debate rumbles on, the death of another independent retailer will only add fuel to the anti-big town centre supermarket feeling that is abroad amongst certain sections of the community.

The good news is that those people who still have jobs in retail seem to be quite happy with their lot. Shop workers here – in both the independents and the chains – are a darn sight more friendly than they are in London or Surrey. Why? The work is more or less the same wherever you are: customers come in, buy things (usually), pay (usually) and leave, deliveries are taken, shelves are stocked etc etc. It can only be something to do with the general ambience of this town. Measuring happiness is all the rage these days - my survey is entirely unscientific, but I would say that on the basis of a Friday afternoon shop, the quotient is pretty high around here. Another noticeable difference about the residents of Frome compared to Londoners is that they do not walk the streets with their eyes glued to their smart phones, texting and tweeting their lives away. Frome is far from a technology-free zone - The Garden Café and La Strada, for example, offer wi-fi and you will see customers in there sipping their lattes and using their laptops. But it’s as if tweetmania has passed it by. Is it possible that not being in thrall to your mobile also makes you a happier, more sociable human being?

http://gardencafefrome.co.uk

http://www.cafelastrada.co.uk

The Meaning of Blog?

A colleague and reader of this blog (a blogger, herself: http://findyourdreamjob.wordpress.com) had a pop at me this week about my Bath Literature Festival post (below). It was, she said, too critical, too much of a whinge. Well, she may have had a point (though I will steadfastly continue to report the negative side of things, if negatives there be). But the conversation did make me think about the point of blogs.

Why do they exist?
Vanity publishing? Therapy? A chance to make the personal public? To offer new perspectives? To entertain, to inform? To irritate?

Probably all or a selection of the above in most cases. Certainly the blog-as-complaint can make for tiresome reading, though in my defence I was very upbeat about 'Jilted'! As a one-time reviewer of theatre/film/visual arts, I believe in the positive power of criticism. There's enough back-slapping and "darling, you were marvellous" going on in the arts, without me adding to it here.  No-one's work will ever improve without some constructive comment - positive and negative.

On a more general note, I believe the best blog writing takes the micro and makes it macro - espousing a personal view that has the power to resonate with those of us beyond the writer's immediate world. I also think that the outsider's opinion can be of interest. Not being immersed 100% in Frome life, I hope to provide a fresh view of the town, its people and (especially) its cultural offering. It's easy to take somewhere for granted when you live in it 24/7. And while I'm not arrogant enough to suggest that life-long Fromians should take any notice of the ramblings of an upstart weekender, I do at least hope that a different take on the place might be diverting, if nothing more.

PS This morning I received a part refund for the Nick Coleman ticket - thank you, Bath Festivals!

The Cars That Ate Bath

How marvellous, we thought, when we bought Weekender Towers. Frome is only 13 miles from Bath - in addition to the obvious charms of our adopted town, we could also avail ourselves of the cultural delights of the Georgian City. Some hope. We booked tickets for two events at this weekend's Literature Festival - but only managed to get to one of them.

I am all in favour of keeping historic town centres free from being clogged up by the privately-owned internal combustion engine: Park & Ride is a terrific idea. But not a lot of use when the last bus is at 8.30 - and this in a city that prides itself on its cultural offering (ie. things that tend to happen in the evenings). So, as much as we did not want to add to Bath's pollution and congestion, we had to drive in on Saturday afternoon (last train to Frome wasn't an option either, before you ask...) An hour and a quarter later, after a tour of the city's streets and its car parks, we gave up looking for a space and escaped to Limpley Stoke. From where we rang the Box Office: "Hello, we have tickets for two shows today and can't find anywhere to park. Would you like to offer them as returns?" "Certainly - just bring them into the Box Office, here in the City Centre..."

So we abandoned Nick Coleman's talk (sorry) and strolled along the Kennet & Avon instead. We drove back into town just after 5pm by when, inevitably, there were loads of on-street spaces. A couple of glasses of vino italiano and the conversation of the delightful staff of 'Sotto, Sotto' on North Parade eased the frayed nerves. And then we sallied forth (past Sally Lunn's) to the one event we had managed to salvage. And, fortunately, "Jilted" was terrific - a multi-composer, mini-chamber opera for two unaccompanied singers that mused on what would have happened if Mrs Dickens had met Miss Havisham. It took place in the frankly downright ugly chapel of the Mineral Hospital (bad restoration after the WW2 bombing, maybe?), but fortunately the composition and performances easily upstaged the location. The composers included Jocelyn 'Blow The Wind' Pook, the music was contemporary, challenging, but melodic and the two performers - Melanie Pappenheim and Rebecca Askew - were superb, blending humour and pathos with a big dollop of charm. It's a work in progress and well worth keeping an eye out for.

Shakespeare Unplugged? Unnecessary, more like...

Which is more than could be said for Friday night's offering - a free performance of Ben Crystal's stage adaptation of Shakespeare's narrative poem "Venus and Adonis" by Roughhouse Theatre (at least we didn't have to book...)  It took place in the basement of a pub/restaurant (Gascoyne Place), and while Shakespeare might have recognised the ambience (actors' voices struggling against the racket from Friday night drinkers upstairs  - all very Elizabethan), I doubt he would have been very impressed by the interpretation. While "The Rape of Lucrece" has been successfully adapted for performance, 'Venus' is different kettle of iambic pentameter. So little actually happens - Venus (gorgeous, a goddess) gets the hots for Adonis (gorgeous, a mortal). He is more interested in hunting than in her and  - despite eventually succumbing to Venus' wooing  - ends up being gored to death by a boar (serves him right). For Venus this is the end of the world, existence, the universe, Life, being etc etc. Get over it, girl, it was just a one-night stand. And, anyway, goddesses should be above such things. The jokey first half (was the director sending the whole thing up  - or did he just think it needed an injection of humour?) meant that when the tragedy finally came to pass, nobody really gave a damn. Even a faintly embarrassing sex scene failed to inject much interest - I kept thinking how much longer that creaking chair could stand the strain of the writhing couple. The chorus wasn't bad - at least their verse speaking was up to scratch. But the actress playing Venus merely looked the part and I felt quite sorry for Adonis who spent much of the action looking awkward, while trying to avoid being seduced. Just round the corner from the pub is a branch of Superdrug  - and there was more chemistry in there than between our two lovers. Ben Crystal is an admirable advocate for accessibility to the Bard, but I'm not sure this sort of thing does much to help his cause.

Here's a pic of the Palladian Bridge in Prior Park.
It's got nothing to do with the Festival, but it's beautiful, and it's in Bath...

http://www.bathlitfest.org.uk