Hobbling

Bizarrely, after yesterday’s blog entry, I am thrilled/horrified to announce that the heel of my shoe fell off last night. I think the rain was just too much for it, and somewhere between York and Manchester, it dropped off. I hobbled back to the hotel from the train station as one of the nails from within the broken shoe pushed its way up into the sole of my foot. In the absence of any time to replace the shoes, I’m forced to wear my hideous trainers today, which is the only other footwear I have up here.

I was in York last night for all of two hours; another meeting about the Ebor Vox project; the choral work I’ve been commissioned to write to celebrate the 800^th anniversary of York City being granted its charter. I am rather blithely saying yes to everything at the moment, very much aware of what happened when I said no to things last year. I’m going to need to be astonishingly organised if everything comes off, however. I’m also going to have to think about having weekly massages or something, simply to keep myself relaxed; walking around Hattersley in the driving wind and rain whilst carrying computers, keyboards and cameras is slightly more than my shoulders can cope with at the moment.

I received a text message from Alison yesterday, telling me she was on her way to Manchester. Not only this, it transpired we were staying in the same hotel. I had thought I’d go and find them, but when she told me where they were, it seemed an awfully long way to hobble with a nail sticking into my foot. At about midnight, however, she texted again to say she was on the way back to the hotel, so I went down to the bar in my pyjamas and we chatted for an hour over a glass of whiskey. Alison produced A Symphony for Yorkshire, and we’ve shared much over the last couple of years; soaring highs and crashing lows. It’s always a treat, therefore, to see her. Her relentless “can-do” optimism took a bit of a bashing from BBC politics and lack of funds over the summer, but she seems buoyant again – and making plans. It must be very disheartening, however, as the BBC Regional network is being starved of funding and, as a result, turning much more into a newsgathering organisation, which could well mean there will be no more projects like Hattersley. Surely, as society struggles its way through recession, news is the one thing we don’t need in abundance. I often find myself turning the news off because it’s depressing, and I’m powerless to do anything about what Cameron does in Europe, or the weather, or the state of the economy. Sometimes, I just want a bit of escapism, or a few ideas as to how I can make an actual and direct difference in my own community.

On that note, I found myself incredibly moved yesterday to learn about a little table in the community centre at Hattersley. The table has existed for years. It’s very much in the “bring and buy” tradition; those on the estate with things that they no longer need bring stuff to the table; books, clothes, toys etc. The people at the community centre price them up, and they are all sold on to other members of the community – for silly low prices. A little doll’s house might sell for £3, or a soft toy for 45p. They’ll simply give something to someone they know is in trouble. Some books do continual rounds; they get sold to a person who reads it and then brings it back for someone else to buy for 15p... At the end of the year, whatever the table has made is used to fund the Christmas celebrations within the community centre. They made £800 last year, so every penny counts. Maybe I was hormonal yesterday, but I found the whole thing incredibly moving. Because it’s Christmas, the table is filled with toys at the moment – and children were rushing in all the time to see what they might be able to buy. What a fabulous resource for someone in a financial crisis. It could well make the difference between a child getting a present and not this year. It’s this sort of example of a community supporting itself which makes me feel very proud to be British.

Today’s trip to Hattersley was incredibly fruitful – bitterly cold – but fruitful. Throughout the day, the sky must have changed colour 100 times, from cornflower blue to brown to yellow to pink to black. It snowed, it hailed, it rained, the sun shone... but at all times, it was bitterly cold.

We met even more wonderful people and now have enough stories to fill our five slots; a wonderful position to be in with 2 days to go. I think Paul and I are very excited. Tonight is all about R and R in my hotel room.

350 years ago, Pepys went to The Wardrobe, and found Lady Wright, a bit of a snob, bemoaning the fact that the age of gallantry was over, and that most English men were not fit to be courtiers “but such as have been abroad and know fashions.” The woman was obsessed by fashion. A couple of weeks earlier, she’d launched a diatribe at Pepys over a very similar issue.

Pepys sat up until midnight writing letters to Lord Sandwich and many of his other comrades at sea. His friend, Monsieur d’Esquier was off to join the fleet, so Pepys wanted to use the opportunity to make sure various important letters were delivered by hand.