Christmas 2008

41 Albion St
Stratton
Cirencester
Gloucs.
GL7 2HT

December 2008

Baa! Baa!

Baa baa beaa baa baa beeh baaa … (“no dear, it’s for human beings, try again….”)

Hello non-woolly friends,

Another 12 months has passed and ‘tis time to wheel out the Chirtsma lttre mchaeni….. and give the Christmas letter machine its annual service so that it can fulfill its elor (“just tweek that knob, will you”) role in puzzling and, with a bit of luck, amusing all you luvverly people. (ain’t you lucky!)

We’ve done quite a few miles this year visiting friendly (but slightly nervous) communities around Britain to watch them graze, and met some nice people too.

At Trelay Farm, somewhere in the vicinity of Bude, not far from the sea, we were promised a bee, but found, as well as woolly and nude communities, feathered egg-laying communities (perhaps better known as sheep, pigs, chickens and ducks) – slightly disconcerting for woolly veggies (cough! ….. fluff in the throat ….).

Probably we’d better explain….. Having lived in our little house with its tiny slab-encrusted garden for more years than we care to remember and having spent two summers cultivating (?) an allotment, we feel more and more that co-operation is the best way to live, more especially now that peak oil has arrived, and that communities of all sorts need to be rather more self-sufficient and resilient, and rather more in control of their own destinies …… “decentralization rules! ….. reverse the legacy of Thatcherism!” (“Calm down, dear, you’re not on the Climate Change march now”. “Baaaa! Baaaa!”….. “What do we want?” ….. “More grass!” …. “When do we want it?” …. “Now!”).

Trelay is peopled (sheeped?) by a bunch of hard-working ‘greens’, who have achieved much in only about two years since buying the farm. The major driving force is a woman who seems to have a background in engineering and business, is very no-nonsense, and is very well versed in the legal side of things – Trelay’s constitution is very well-thought-through. They need more people, as they have a large mortgage on the farm, and many out-buildings, all with year-round planning permission, not just for holiday cottages - luckily, the planning people made a mistake. Trelay reaps the benefits, though, as it’s now feasible for a community to live and work there. Planning red tape is the usual reason why there aren’t more communities about. It does mean that you could convert a barn into a really well-insulated eco-home, which uses very little energy, with the ultimate holy grail of being off-grid eventually. They nearly all eat together, though there are one or two rebels, and a school bell summoning you for meals …. dong!... dong! (….the bells! .. the bells!). The one thing that set them apart from other communities that we’ve visited, was the acceptance that old folk are part of the community, and are not to be shunted off either to live in an old folks’ home, or destined to live a lonely existence somewhere, but are part of the ‘family’- certainly, Jackie’s aunt lived there, and she was never lonely! The only down-side was the farm’s isolation – North Devon / Cornwall does not have much public transport – though car sharing would be the obvious solution. It’s a small world – it seems that some of the folks living there, including Jackie, alias ‘the headmistress’, are well-known to people in Green Party South West (of which more later), whose circles we also infest!

Dol-llys is a very pretty early nineteenth century house, with about 14 acres of land, some of which is woodland (yes, they still remember Tamsin …. “now there’s a girl who knew how to wield an axe!” …. passed into legend after only two years …). The up-side of living there is its proximity to Llanidloes, being only one mile away and thus easily walkable. Llanidloes itself is a town seething with ‘green’ ideas (close enough to Machynlleth for the CAT influence …. meeow!), but too poor to have attracted developers, with the consequence that its centre has a very nineteenth century appearance. Dol-llys people manage their woodland very sustainably (in fact, there’s an adjacent Community woodland ….. definitely no shortage of kindling, then!), which means that woodburners are the heating of choice, for which they are self-sufficient. They managed to get a Community grant for a large wood-chip boiler for central heating, and have the connections for solar hot water in the roof (for summer use), but getting this past the planners …… (sigh). Sometimes one feels that planners live in their own little universe, not heeding what messages emanate from government concerning the greater use of renewables, seemingly unaware of the role that they could play in helping to prevent imminent runaway climate change by allowing us to reduce our carbon footprints. (“Boo! …. gerrof your soap-box, woman….!”). Dol-llys folk only eat together about two or three times a month when they work together on house maintenance, the woodland, or the gardens, or when social occasions have been organized together. They certainly don’t live in each other’s pockets at the moment, but one does wonder how they would respond to suggestions concerning a little more communal living ……… Definitely worth exploring further.

Postlip Hall, just outside Cheltenham, is a Jacobean mansion with a Grade I listed barn. The up-side of this barn is that the community hold the CAMRA Beer Fest in it every year! This raises funds for the upkeep of the barn, which of course is …. the down-side. The cost of the upkeep of various buildings and roads means that Postlip folk are always having to run events and thinking of ways to raise money. On the positive side, the social events are on your doorstep …. staggering home was never so easy …. and you get to learn new skills …… lime plastering, carpentry, being Treasurer …. aaaarrrrggghhh!!!! …….. see below for explanation of crazed outburst … Postlip does have its own bore-hole, however, which means that there aren’t any water rates to pay – hurrah! As far as we can tell, Postlip appears to be populated almost entirely by doctors, ex organizers of the Cheltenham literary festival, and current organizers of the Cheltenham folk festival ……. gosh! I’m feeling knackered already …. zzzz …… We did feel a certain affinity with the folkies, but the doctors …. hmmm … think Green Wing …. One interesting fact that we learned whilst doing an apple-scooping-up-from-the-stream-and-orchard-floor day, was that one can’t just leave fallen apples if there are sheep in your orchard … they explode, apparently (the sheep that is … not the apples!!). The moral of the story? Avoid eating fermenting fruit if you’re a herbivore . …… I have the strangest feeling that my liver might object to living at Postlip ….…. “and what about us sheep?” …. baaaa! (hic!) … baaa! (hic!) ….. “Holy exploding sheep, batman!” …(cackle!) …. “stop giggling” … (cackle!) ….…. “I thought I told you to keep the sheep out of the barn whilst CAMRA were here!”.

Yes, for those of you not in the know, there are communities out there peopled by quite ordinary folk (baaa! … oops, sorry … and sheep…. and other non-woolly things), the length and breadth of the country, who are doing things for themselves, working towards becoming self-sufficient in energy and water, as well as food.

As you may know, Tamsin has been living on a smallholding in Holland, whilst doing a Sonology (the science of sound) course at the Royal Conservatoire in Den Haag. In reality, the smallholding is a legal squat (now .. the words ‘legal’ and ‘squat’ don’t often crop up together …. but … this is Holland we’re talking about). Tamsin has developed practical skills-a-plenty, since first she started living in a van whilst a student at Dartington. In addition to her log-splitting skills, she has now become adept at murdering the odd cockerel by hand, goat-milking (haven’t noticed any disappeared ‘dreads’) and has done her fair share of veg growing and fence-mending, and can cook amazingly well using any ingredients that come to hand on the smallholding (poverty … the mother of invention!). Because everyone eats together (there’s only one kitchen), Tamsin is not at all fazed by having to cook regularly for large groups of people – in fact, she should seriously think about becoming a chef at a wholefood restaurant. This would certainly help overcome the odd cash flow problem. I’m so pleased that both Rupert and Tamsin have taken on board the necessity of always trying to live by a set of ‘green’ principles, namely the rejection of cheap ‘stuff’, trying to always source local, or fair trade and organic, and being aware of your carbon footprint in everything that you do, even if it costs you more and can sometimes inconvenience you - in fact, mending and making do. Yeah, we’re all just a load of skinflints really! (“Ebeneezer! ……I’m the ghost of Christmas past” ……etc.).

As for moi, I decided to put myself forward for Treasurer of Green Party South West in January this year. It’s always difficult to recruit people for unglamorous jobs such as Treasurer, as people hate the idea of having to be accurate, legally responsible, and unpaid!! (Crazy or passionate? – such a thin line). The situation is even worse for a large region, as opposed to just the local party, where everyone knows each other. Being an obsessive, though, ‘tis just up my street! I’ve certainly learned a lot about banks, how insecure they are (“Gold! Gold! Gold!” …. (cackle! cackle!) …. “Are you sure she’s the right person for the job? ….”), and how vigilant one has to be to stop them emptying your accounts even faster than you can spend it! … (sigh) …… (“Global capitalism” ….. “Don’t talk to me about global capitalism” …… “Nobody listens to me” ….. “Brain the size of a planet” ………. “and me with this pain in my diodes all down my left side …..” …… “Yeah, yeah …. thank you Marvin”).

Rupert is still living with us – however, on the positive side, he does now have two jobs, both within walking distance of home – yeah, some people have all the luck! Apart from his 20 hours per week job as Sound Technician at Cirencester College, he is now a carer for a local lad, Tom Tooley, who had an op for a brain tumour which left him a little brain damaged and needing 24-hour care. Rupert often does 12-hour night shifts, which is not as onerous as it sounds – after all, what other job pays you to go ‘clubbing’? Sometimes this involves going to London, where the carers have as good a time as Tom, the bouncers let them in ahead of the queue, they always get taken to the best spot in the place, and carers get in for free! At other times, it’s just making sure that Tom’s oxygen levels don’t get too low as he sleeps. Tom can do a lot for himself, and even goes to Bath Spa University. Rupe’s involvement with Tom goes back a long way. He’d been teaching Tom music studio techniques and they’d been writing dance music together, long before the job of carer came up. Rupe was offered the job just as his cash flow situation was becoming really dire – serendipitous, or what? And why was Rupert’s cash flow a problem? Well, apart from there not being enough of it, there is Lizzie, not to mention various bands to service ……. (sigh). Lizzie is actually very good at organizing Rupert’s money for him, but now she’s at University ……. money just flows through Rupert’s fingers like water ….. Isn’t love wonderful? Rupert and Lizzie must have seen each other almost every weekend this term ….. good for cementing their relationship, and keeping National Express profits up …. bad for Rupe’s bank balance! We do keep threatening to make him pay for his share of the Council Tax ….

Bob is still hard at it, nose to the computery grind-stone – beat! beat! lash! …. “c’mon you lazy good-for-nothing!” … “research!” …. “collect data!” …. “write papers!” …. “six papers by Christmas … on the dot!” ……or …… (huh! huh! hurrh!) ….. “You sold your soul for £13 grand per year” …. “Now you’ll sufferrrr…!”..(cackle!) …… (and other such evil intonations). “Yes, the PhD is going fine, thank you for asking”. Where he fits in time to be Friends of the Earth Co-ordinator for Cirencester, and be a candidate for the Green Party in the District Council elections next year is beyond me. We’re told that this is just a paper candidature, in that one doesn’t actively campaign, but just to run a flag up the pole and see who salutes – to see what support the Green party has in the Cotswolds …. ha! ….two? ….three? ….. not forgetting Prince Charles .. unfortunately he can’t vote ……Oh! for the seething foment which is Stroud – the fastest growing Green support in the West (no, not Ernie ….. and .. wasn’t he a milkman?) …

Guess what? I won a prize draw! I never win prize draws – amazing! At the beginning of the year, I was sent a newsletter from Spiezia Organics, exhorting me to spend obscene amounts of money on the latest moisturizer. Just as I was about to recycle it, my eye was caught (ow!) by the mention of my name, in conjunction with ‘winning’ and ‘4-star hotel’. Having established that we could stay in this hotel for two nights, bed & breakfast and one evening meal for free, at any time of the week or year … we promptly forgot all about it for months! We then resurrected the info from the pile of teetering paper that engulfs our kitchen table for most of the year, and decided that we might as well celebrate our 29th (yes, we liked that … so random) wedding anniversary by staying at this country house hotel – Budock Vean - in Cornwall. The weather was perfect for early November, lots of warm sunshine, very little wind, good coastal paths ….. whoosh! …. leaving the protection of the Helford River inlet, perhaps was a mistake …. The sun began to sink below the horizon … the clacking of chattering teeth increased … we turned inland … ready to face the ordeal of yet another meal. We would do our best.

But previously on this channel …. We arrived …… “it was a dark and stormy night ….” (well …dark anyway) … we checked in …. the smiley receptionist summoned the porter from wherever porters live (a coffin in the basement?) …. “No, no, it’s OK, we don’t need any help” ….. as we lugged our assorted bits and pieces up the stairs. “It was a dark and stormy night ….” … suddenly, just as my trembling fingers were poised two inches from the key-hole, clanking key in sweaty fingers, there came the sound of heavy footfalls on overly-soft-pile carpet, accompanied by the rasping, strangulated cry of the out-of-breath …. “Is everything all right … sir? madam?” … I grinned …. “Absolutely fine, thank you!” He looked somewhat crestfallen … (“bugger! no tip!”), before slinking back, rather more slowly and softly, down the stairs. Strange how there seems to be a muscle-wasting disease that overcomes anyone who stays in posh hotels, or maybe the force of gravity on their luggage increases - posh hotels being part of another universe. Our ‘superior’ room was … well … superior … mirrors everywhere. …. now, where’s the smoke? … wow! … designed to flatter, eh! …. my bum looks good in this … ah .. illusions …. Goldilocks approached the bed. Why wasn’t there a middle-sized bed, or a bed that was just right. She would have to sleep in the enormous bed …. though .. if she ate the big bowl of porridge, it might just become the right size …. And sure enough …. the enormous meals transformed her into an obese little girl - in only a few days. The moral of this story? Posh hotels can be bad for your health – government health warning. Was there a husband? This is difficult to determine – for she never discovered where ‘the other side of the bed’ was … except in her dreams ………

Well, dear reader, Svengali-like, we managed to exert our evil charms upon the hotel computer system, for it overlooked the enormously expensive extra evening meal, and we got away with a bill of …… just £10-40!

Latest news flash ….. Tamsin has bought another van …aaarrrggghhh!!! no! The good news ….. the junk from the previous van, which has been sitting on our ex front garden for months, is accompanying her into oblivion … sorry, I meant Holland …. as will a good deal of what is in her bedroom … yes!! What colour did you say the carpet was? …… not dust-coloured? Interestingly, we have uncovered some chocolate from almost two years ago …… but you probably didn’t need to know that …

A year ago, when Tamsin last appeared upon these shores, she crashed her newly-converted bus …. after all that work the previous summer by her and Bob. She was tired … it was 3 o’clock in the morning …. and she had just fought her way out of the maze of roads around the M25, when her flask of tea rolled under her feet and prevented her from braking as she was exiting from a roundabout. She could have missed it … but, no …. she hit a lamp-post … even though there was grass all around. She was so unlucky. Unfortunately, the bus was an uncommon make, and after months of wrangling with the insurance company, and trying to locate the correct bits for repair …. even trying to get someone to make said ‘bit’ …. the poor old bus had to be written off. It was an emotional time for Tamsin and Bob, as they’d put so much effort into the conversion.

And now, gentle reader, ‘tis time to wish you all the traditional Merry (!) Christmas and Happy New Year, from all of us –

Joy, Bob, Rupert, Tamsin …. “Oy!”.. “What about us viruses?” ….. (cough! splutter! wheeze!)

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