Southampton

Gosh, what a busy day! I am presently in a train which is steaming its way through Hampshire. There’s the mother of all rows happening between the train guard and two passengers whose young person’s railcard is so worn down that they’re being charged a full-price ticket because the tickets they bought with the card are not considered valid. The argument seems to be whether the faded writing says January or not. The guard stood her ground and has won. The passengers are incredulous. And sad. I actually believe them because they’re still looking sad and anxious despite the guard being long since gone.

I’ve been in Southampton all day, chatting to people in a very splendid theatre down there, which I hope to have a chance to work in at some point. It was a lovely day: cold, but relentlessly sunny.

It was my first visit to the city. I’m not sure why I’ve never been there before. It might be something to do with being from Northampton and getting very bored of people asking me whether Northampton is “anywhere near Southampton?” Yawn.

I wasn’t there for long enough to get a sense of the place. I ended up in a ghastly shopping centre, with terrible floor tiles, looking for somewhere to have a healthy lunch. I failed, and ended up in a chippie, which plainly viewed itself as a cut above the rest, because it had a board on the wall which told customers where the potatoes and fish had been sourced. The fish came from the Faroe Islands, which struck me as a little tragic for a chippie in a sea port. Surely fish should be fresh and locally sourced?

I enjoyed listening to conversations in the shop. The local greeting seems to be “how are you doing, alright?” To which the appropriate response is “how are you doing, alright?!” I was desperately hoping the phrase was going to turn into some sort of crazy endless loop, but it seems once both people have asked the question, nothing more needs to be said!

I was immensely cheered up by the sound of a carrillon coming from a tall council building, which I assumed was some sort of town hall. I recognised the melody the bells were playing, but couldn’t for the life of me bring the tune’s name to mind.

The rest of the day has been spent doing radio and TV interviews. Some have been about Nene. They made a film about my walk along the river and the performance of the composition at the Albert Hall, which was aired in the Eastern Counties last night, so there’s a lot of interest all of a sudden. I’ve also been asked to talk about cuts in arts-related subjects at secondary state school level, which is happening with frightening regulatory these days. It makes me want to weep. Art mustn’t become the terrain of the posh and the wealthy. So much is being written about lack of opportunity for women and BAME people at the moment, but let me tell you, the massive injustices in this world come from where you’re born and the level of wealth you’re born into. Regardless of colour or gender. By and large, city people have far more access to arts initiatives because the major cultural institutions are based in urban centres and have public funding which is (rightly) reliant on their doing outreach work in the local community. The answer to our woes certainly isn’t solved by lazily handing out opportunities to women and BAME people from privileged backgrounds. In my view this simply exacerbates the problem and creates an ever-widening chasm between those who have and those who have not. Until someone has the guts to tackle this problem head-on, I think we’re going to continue to rush about in circles getting absolutely nowhere.

I’m meeting up with Fiona later on, which I’m very much looking forward to. I’m hoping for one of our epic walks across Central London.