Showing posts with label whimsy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label whimsy. Show all posts

Monday, 14 July 2014

Hating the untidiness of whimsy - the curse of local councils

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Control, direct, order, limit, ban, manage, prevent, dictate, regulate, licence, stop.

Sadly these are the words that best define much of local government - and us local councillors. This is what we do - we stand in the way of community, cooperation, choice, innovation and initiative. And we revel in it.

In a statement the city of Leawood issued to TODAY, an official said that a property maintenance code enforcement officer had noticed the bookshelf but "thought it was placed in the yard for pick up." Several days later, the officer received complaints about it and notified the family the structure violated a city ordinance that states “no detached structure, including garages, barns, sheds, greenhouses, above ground pools, or outbuildings, shall be permitted."

And what was it that so offended the officials of this Kansas town? It was one of these:

In its most basic form, a Little Free Library is a box full of books where anyone may stop by and pick up a book (or two) and bring back another book to share.

A nine-year-old child had set one up in his yard. A little private initiative - done with hope and a smile - to build a local community. Stamped out by the council because some busybody 'complained' and some jobsworth decided the little box of books in the garden was an illegal structure.

Don't try to tell me that your council is immune from this obsession with tidiness and the tin-pottery of control. Here in Bradford you need a licence to have a village gala. Not for safety reasons but because the Council wants to 'exercise its market charter rights'. And your council will be the same - a little ban here, a stern letter there. Whether it's the spirited citizen who's told to stop mowing the verge outside his house or the children who are stopped from their little bit of guerrilla gardening, your local officials will react to any community initiative by either wanting to stop it happening or else to bring it within their control and regulatory orbit.

But, and this is important, those intrusive officials are only doing what they know people want. Every day they encounter people who would stop someone drinking quietly on a bench, prevent a second takeaway opening on the high street and ban any number of odd but essentially harmless activities. As Scott Doyon, in writing about the Little Boy with the Little Free Library observes, we really have a problem with whimsy - and certainly independently initiated whimsy in someone's garden:

The second error is that you add value to whimsy by making it more uniform and predictable when that’s actually the exact opposite of what happens. A Little Free Library, or any other inspired creative expression, is like a flower growing through a crack in the sidewalk. You don’t make it more palatable by camouflaging it as concrete.

If we want interesting places filled with interesting people doing interesting things then we have to stop doing what people who want boring places filled with boring people doing boring things want us to do. We - and that means political and community leadership - need to stop thinking that the role of the local parish, town, village or district council is to look sternly at whether someone should be allowed a house extension, to run a fair, to open a cafe or, madly, to want a shark on the roof.

Councils are filled with people who see the busy-ness of local community as a problem, who tut and frown at folk outside a pub drinking and laughing and who think only regulations, controls, bans and licences stand between civilisation and anarchy. And who hate the untidiness of whimsy.

This, more than anything else, is the curse of local government. We are wielders of the permit and the permission not huggers of the whimsical and weird. Perhaps we could change it round! The world would be more fun I think!

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Friday, 19 July 2013

Whimsical quote of the day...

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Love this from David Hadley:

Of course, one of the great problems with Stonehenge, as it was initially envisaged, was that – at that point in history – the out of town shopping centre was somewhat ahead of its time.

And why not!

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Wednesday, 6 October 2010

Wednesday Whimsy: The place where Gods are made.

There is a place, I know it for sure, where the Gods are made. And it is a special place. Not calm, not beautiful, not a land flowing with milk and honey. But special nonetheless. Because we need Gods.

Oh, I know my skeptical, atheistical friends that you don't believe. I've read all the long, dull, uninspiring explanations of why there can't possibly be a God - let alone Gods. But you don't understand - we NEED Gods.

"When a tree comes to be viewed no longer as the body of the tree-spirit but simply as its abode which it can quit at pleasure, an important advance has been made in religious thought. Animism is passing into polytheism."


The Gods are the spirits of civilisation, simple ways to explain and understand our progress from nomadic life to stability and to the city that defines us today. It does not matter really whether the Gods care. If there is love there. If we are offered salvation through those Gods. What matters is what those Gods represent - how they define the metaphysical world in the way the elements and the laws of Newton help define the physical world.

Our need for Gods remains undiminished. For sure we don't actually call them "Gods" any more but we still weave myths around people, events and symbols - myths that make the Gods. And the place where Gods are made is in our collective - our sharing of life together on the planet. It is a contested place - the Gods scrap for dominance in that place. And it is untidy, cluttered and dusty. On the floor lie broken Gods - discarded and unwanted. And at the back are the new gods - Gods in shiny plastic, glass and metal. The Gods of technology, of communications and of the shopping mall. The spirits of our secular age.

So visit the place the Gods are made. Understand that we need Gods to know the magic of modern life as those in ages past knew the magic of their time.

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Wednesday, 4 August 2010

A little more on Whimsy....

I am – as my more avid and assiduous readers will know – something of a fan of whimsy. If we’re allowed to use such a base word as ‘fan’ to describe the fine work of great writers? I’m never quire sure where to find the finest whimsy – the Americans have always had a knack for it. From way back writers like Mark Twain, Washington Irving and Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote whimsically – capturing that slightly laid back, wide-open-space feeling of Middle America. And this thread runs right through American writing and film – Stephen King’s short stories, Capra’s films and even more recently delights such as “Big Fish” all capture that spirit of wonder.

But it’s not just the Yanks – the “Little World of Don Camillo is a wonder of whimsy created by an Italian, Giovanni Guareschi and there is little to top the joyous whimsy of Idries Shah’s delightful Sufi tales. Nor should we discount the English writers of whimsy – Paul Jennings with “Resistentialism” and "Ub" or Peter Simple’s collection of characters, some satirical, some just providing a great, happy smile. It is all magical, delightful – you can’t read Neil Gaiman’s “Stardust” or “American Gods” without the sorcery of whimsy sparkling through you.

For me it all started with Thurber. With the man who described his writing like this:

“The writing is, I think, different. In his prose pieces he appears always to have started from the beginning and to have reached the end by way of the middle. It is impossible to read any of the stories from the last line to the first without experiencing a definite sensation of going backwards. This seems to prove that the stories were written and did not, like the drawings, just suddenly materialize.”

Thurber wrote biography (or at least what he claimed was biography), stories – you’ll know one or two of them such as “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” more likely from film versions – and an array of short pieces such as the wonderful ‘Fables for Our Time”. There are occasional moments of laugh out loud but mostly the stories relax you, make you want to sit back, take a sip of whisky, a drag of good cigar and just smile that big smile.

And Thurber – like so many of these writers – was modest about his talents seeming ever grateful that the world hadn’t yet rumbled him. I suspect there might be an element of self-description in the ‘moral’ to “The Owl who was God”:

“You can fool too many of the people too much of the time”

Wednesday, 24 March 2010

Wednesday Whimsy: Jackdaws and Red Wine

I tried to take some pictures of jackdaws playing round the towers in Volterra. I say play because - despite the anthropomorphism - I can think of no better word. Swooping, diving and soaring - chasing eachother, making patterns and showing off. Sadly my little camera wasn't up to the job so you get this slightly wonky picture of red wine in a glass!

Sometimes I wish I could slow down a little - stop trying to trim five minutes off the journey home, worry less about cramming in a couple more meetings into a day and just relax. But it ain't like that - life is crazy. We run ourselves ragged with squeezing the last ounce of sweat from the day. Why do we chase around rather than watch the jackdaws playing, sit back in our chair and drink red wine (and, if you wish, smoke a fine cigar or a comforting pipe)?

Perhaps I can see the darkness at the end of our tunnel of light? Maybe changing the world palls a little with realising that it's none of my business? Whatever's going on we do need - sometimes - to step outside, see the sun, the rain and the magic of nature's glory. We need to lift our eyes from grey tarmac, shiny shopfront and showy celebrity. To look on the world and say - this is a fine place, a wonder of beauty, magnificence and splendour. The snowy mountain, the green meadow, the blue lake, the yellow corn, the red flash of a bird or butterfly.

...and watch the jackdaws. They understand the world!

Thursday, 28 January 2010

Apple iPad - carved from the living earth and powered by pixies



Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.
Arthur C. Clarke, "Profiles of The Future", 1961 (Clarke's third law)


It seems that Steve Jobs has either taken the sage words of Arthur C Clarke to heart or else his Californian researchers really have discovered the practical application of sorcery. The iPad is says the advert:

“…a magical and revolutionary device.”

So forgive me if my mind glimpses a picture of cloaked and hooded men (and probably women too in this modern age of magical equality) gathered in secret cabal. Here, deep in some mystical crystal cave the spells are cast that create – from the living earth – this artifact of great power.

And elsewhere, in some sylvan glen a ritual takes place. Slender maidens and beautiful youths dance and sing. Noble gifts of food, drink and video games are laid on the soft, mossy forest floor. The little folk, the pixies, are contacted. And with these gifts the deal is struck. Oberon agrees to the project. The light from the will ‘o the wisp, the speed of the fairy herald, the strength of the gnome and the cheek of the brownie will be marshalled.

The iPad – that magical device – will live!!

Carved from the living Earth and powered by pixies!


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Wednesday, 23 December 2009

Wednesday Whimsy: Remembering a White Christmas


I was nine when I experienced my first white Christmas. My memory may be a little rose-tinted but we’d set off to walk to midnight mass at Our Lady of the Annunciation in Addiscombe – probably a mile or so. It was cold but not snowing and about 9.30 in the evening as we were serving so had to get everything ready for what would be the full on smells and bells service.

During mass – almost perfectly – it snowed and when we set out home the roads were covered with a pristine layer of snow. We walked the old organist home (he was over eighty and a little wobbly) and set out home. And it started to snow again. Perfect.

Today our relationship with snow seems angry – we don’t seem to take in its beauty. To look in awe at the way in which it covers blemished places making them fine and grand again. We run headlines saying: “Fury of the travellers grounded by snow storms” or “Transport chaos: blizzards bring Britain to standstill as more snow on way” and “Snow-hit Britain: another day of chaos as roads and airports are closed”. Snow is an obstacle to our lives, it interrupts our frantic scuttling about doing important things…we care more about whether the bookies will pay out on a white Christmas than we do about seeing a stunning white blanket out the window on the morning of 25th December.

I like snow and worry that our anger with the inconvenience of the white stuff takes away from the magic it brings. The pleasure of the “snow day”, the excitement of sledging, giggling while we throw snowballs or building the biggest snowman in the village. Pleasures that shouldn’t go away just because we’ve grown up a bit. And to those pleasures us old folk can add a glass of mulled cider or Christmas ale, a log fire and “White Christmas” on the telly. What could be better?
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Wednesday, 9 December 2009

Wednesday whimsy: On words and wishes.

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The curtains are drawn, the lights dimmed, the birthday cake arrives bedecked with candles, the child’s face sparkles with joy and excitement. Time to blow out the candles…

“…wait,” someone cries, “you have to make a wish.”

The child pauses, catches breath, eyes are shut…

“Don’t tell us your wish,” another voice whispers, “or it won’t happen.”

The candles are blown out in one breath and the wish floats away with the last wisps of candlesmoke.

Lovely….but we worry. There is still something a little dirty about a wish, a little risky and dangerous. Wishes are tricky – not to be entered into lightly.

Stepping back from the moment of childish innocence above, we can see the risks – the way in which the selfishness of wishes may cause damage. “I want to be rich” – but at whose expense? “Make me more beautiful” – through some picture in the attic? “Make John love me” – and destroy some unwished for true love?

Wishes are important in fairy lore – often offered in reward for some service and quickly forgotten or regretted by the elf such wishes are the trickiest of all. The problems come from:

Haste: in the old tale of the Three Wishes the Goodman gets a sausage for a nose and wastes his wishes by thoughtless haste.

Payment: taking boons for payment from fairies is very risky as the princess found in Rumplestiltskin – the use of riddles, catch questions and deceit is a classic trick to avoid granting the wish

Pedantic interpretation: the wish granter interprets the wording very precisely – as Tom Holt’s hero in “Expecting Someone Taller” found. Asking to be the most handsome man simply made him Siegfried. Maybe wishing to be the richest would simply leave you owning Chelsea?

Wishes disrupt the normal world – which is why fairies promise them so readily yet deliver so reluctantly. For us to be a granted a wish near always means some change – and not always change we might desire.

As they say…beware of what you wish for, it might just come true.

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Sunday, 6 December 2009

A moment of whimsical generosity

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Kathryn & I went to see Nativity - very sweet, uplifting and...well, whimsical. Queueing up to contribute my small amount to NCP's coffers I realise I'm short of change...

"Kathryn" I yell, "I don't have enough money!"

Before Kathryn can respond a young woman holds out her hand in which was a couple of quid in change...

"Take this," says the young woman.

Quite made my day especially after a good cry at a soppy film! Proves again that the world is mostly full of decent, generous folk. Just like whimsy tells us!

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Wednesday, 18 November 2009

(More) Wednesday Whimsy: serendipity

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  • Blogged about ghosts and fairies this morning and found myself talking about ghosts & fairies in a session on culture and place-making
  • Left this session and ran into one of the guys behind bringing the Bollywood Awards to Yorkshire - he wanted to talk about culture & regeneration
  • Called in at a small hotel where I'd left my scarf on Friday night - seated there were some folk I know. And they wanted to talk about some Afro-Caribbean culture stuff and about Zimbabwe, asylum and the Home Office - linking right into the day job along with Kurds and Somalis
  • Opening my e-mails once home to see one from another friend (and Conservative PPC) who owns the building that houses the Kurdish Mosque, restaurant and community centre in Leeds - right alongside the new Zim centre.

Chance encounters. Serendipity.

Tuesday, 3 November 2009

On whimsy....



Whimsy:
1. An odd or fanciful idea; a whim.
2. A quaint or fanciful quality


This piece started with me exploring the meaning of whimsy and how it might be important. It has become something of a statement of policy for The View from Cullingworth. So let’s get that out of the way before we discuss whimsy…

I can’t categorise all the blogs there are or ever will be but looking at what I’ve blogged on The View from Cullingworth it seems to me that:

The world doesn’t need another shouty political blog – for those who share much of my crossness there are blogs that do the anger so much better than me like Constantly Furious, there are blogs so much ruder than I would ever dare such as dear old Obnoxio, and there are cynical & worldly-wise blogs so much better written than I can manage such as Al Jahom’s Final Word.


There’s plenty of good, solid commentary out there – my ramblings add very little to the contributions from Iain Dale, Charlotte Gore and Hopi Sen. Or for that matter from hundreds of other interesting bloggers with “something to say”


And I don’t do gossip – much though I love to read the political gossip mongers; Tory Bear, Parlez_me_nTory and the daddy of them all Guido Fawkes, I lack the necessary chutzpah to do such tale-telling

This leaves very little space for a political blogger so I have decided to focus on whimsy – those odd, fanciful ideas that never get mentioned because…well, because they’re just too strange! I’ve written in praise of idiots, have questioned the rule of experts and would like to discuss sortition, citizen juries and models for participatory democracy. I love the idea of the little man kicking against the system and succeeding against all the odds.

The conceit we see in my favourite film, "It’s a Wonderful Life", where the achievements of one man in one place ripple – like something from chaos theory – through the world and touch many more than that man thinks. That is whimsy – glorious whimsy. And staying with films, the idea in "Field of Dreams" that we should 'build it and they will come' – the triumph of the better mousetrap and a hymn to passion. That is whimsy – personal, private and dreamlike

Don’t we all love too the sweet other worlds of literature – whether Shakespeare’s “Midsummer’s Night Dream”, Neil Gaiman’s “Stardust” or John Crowley’s incomparable “Little Big”. These are not mere dreams – lifeless inconsequential things – but places of meaning where the stories tell of private victory and loss, of how our personal mores affect the entire world not just those we can see and above all that good will win over evil in the end - but not necessarily in the way we think. That is whimsy – dreamlike, almost insubstantial yet full of meaning.

I shall borrow the words of the greatest writer of political whimsy, Giovanni Guareschi – creator of Don Camillo:

“…I want you to understand that, in the Little World between the river and the mountains, many things can happen that cannot happen anywhere else. Here, the deep, eternal breathing of the river freshens the air, for both the living and the dead, and even the dogs have souls. If you keep this in mind, you will easily come to know the village priest, Don Camillo, and his adversary, Peppone, the Communist Mayor. You will no be surprised that Christ watches the goings-on from a big cross in the village church and not infrequently talks, and that one man beats the other over the head, but fairly – that is, without hatred – and that in the end the two enemies agree about essentials.”

I will never reach GG’s genius but if a whimsical approach can bring a smile and maybe cast a little light on our puffed up, pigeon-like political debate that would be good. And if I fail in that mission it will have been done without recourse to malice, spite or the projection of aggressive anger.