This blog isn’t
used much more, and soon it’ll be replaced by a new
website with some new projects on it. I really enjoyed blogging here,
and learned a lot about what did and didn’t interest people. But
it’s old and tired and the formatting was always annoying, and I’ve
changed a lot since I started it, so it’s time to put this old site
in mothballs and make a new one.
I’ve been thinking
a lot about regeneration recently, not just because it's spring but
for all sorts of reasons. I’ve had quite a bit of change over the
last year. In 2017 I was very stuck in a rut, doing work I disliked,
getting nowhere with my writing or anything else for that matter, fed
up with where I lived in Bristol, its general decay and
grottiness. I saved up and buggered off travelling for a month in the
hope that it would shake me out of where I was.
The very last place
I went, the day I got the train home, was Notre Dame
Cathedral in Paris. I’d been in lots of churches but even so Notre
Dame was a stunner, with it’s circular stained glass
windows, ancient doorways and huge Gothic frontage. There was
something reassuring about it, its solidity, ancientness, and sense
of itself.
I sat there for
quite a long time, but even in the section marked ‘prayer only –
no photography’ there were tourists preening, waving selfie sticks,
and yattering. Not just young ones either: as I sat there, a woman,
who must have been 50 at least, extensively fluffed and rearranged
her hair, shouting instructions at her grown-up son as to how she
wanted to be photographed. I pointed out the ‘no photography’
sign to another woman who was wandering around taking photos, and she
looked at me as if I was a moron. I decided it was a good job that I
was going home; after a month of ducking other people’s selfie
sticks I was itching to smash one over someone’s head.
Back home, I got a
new job. But it was only temporary, and it was obvious that things
couldn’t hold. The job was in the town centre, and to get to
the office I’d pass the homeless, out of their skulls on spice,
flat out on the dirty pavements. Pedalling uphill, back home, I felt
the weight of pollution furring my lungs, and when I got a cold I
coughed up dark grime that hadn’t been generated by my
body. The weather, lurching between freezing and sweltering, adorned
the sky with odd and unfamiliar patterns. My neighbour with whom I’d
been friends was in an old people’s home, dying, and her empty
house yawned at me, across the yard. The house was serially invaded
by mice. Builders turned up to take the render off the walls, and
after a hellish week of dust and banging, they left, and one thing
became apparent: the house I lived in was falling apart around me,
like an unreasonably literal metaphor for everything.
I decided to move
back to the town I grew up in, a decision which weirdly I’d somehow
taken halfway up a hill in Bavaria, a year previously.
As I packed my bags
and got rid of endless boxes of things, they were rioting in Paris. I
wasn’t even slightly surprised. I didn’t know or even care
exactly what they were angry or unhappy about, or what they wanted: I
was pleased that someone was registering a word, a footnote, a
comment, on the general wrongness of things.
I really was
surprised, just before Easter, to see Notre Dame in flames. It looked
horrific, and I was devastated. All that ancientness, that sense of
an old bole like the heart of a tree, all that history and devotion,
gone up in flames. I thought of those women and their selfies, and I
wondered if we deserved it, that we’d become so selfish and
complacent and self-centred that we didn’t deserve to live in world
where good things existed. But in the morning my moment of doom was
displaced: it had survived. And I hoped we might think a bit more,
after all, about what was worth saving. And I thought about the
necessity of reinventing and renewing things, and of making them
whole again.
That week I met up
with a friend who I hadn’t seen for a while. We were talking about
me moving out of town and other things going on in my life, and she
kept making suggestions to how my life could go back to how it used
to be, like she didn’t want the mental effort of rearranging how I
was, in her head. And I realised I had really changed all sorts of
things, over the course of a year or so, and she hadn’t, and didn’t
like it when I asked her if she might or should or could. And I
wanted to say to her, you do realise that we’re all in the shit,
don’t you, and we have to radically, really radically reimagine how
we do all sorts of things? Because we can’t go on like this, it’s
making us ill. And I’m no longer coughing up gunk from pollution
because I’m away from the motorway and the roads and can see birds
and sky instead. But that’s me. Not us. We all need to reinvent
ourselves, for something better and more generous. And I thought about Greta Thunberg saying that we need to make like the cathedral builders, and start the foundations before we even know how to make the roof. Because that's what they did with Notre Dame, and the end result turned out really surprisingly good.
Anyway, if you’ve
read this, thank you. If you’ve read anything else I wrote here,
and replied, commented or retweeted it, thank you. If you gave me a
review ticket for something I reviewed here, also thank you. This
site will stay up but there won’t be anything new added to it. A
new one will emerge in a few weeks/months time, or however long it
takes for me to get myself together on that particular task. But it
will emerge, in time. Just like the rest of it.
Best Wishes
Ursula
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