Early morning dog walk for voting. So early that I had to wait for the coffee shop to open.
I rewarded myself with the laminations of a croissant.
I have a habit of voting early, having missed the vote once when I lived in Lambeth. I had left for work before the Polling Stations had opened and due to the unpredictability of working in Cardiac Cath labs arrived at the Polling Station with only a half an hour to go. Almost the minute I got off my train there was a strange vibration in the air. The Polling station was less than five minutes from the train station. There were outside broadcast camera operators and journalists and an enormous queue. Some sort of drama had occured and there were record numbers of voters. There was no way that everyone in the queue would get to vote and no chance that anyone joining the queue, like me, would get the chance. To queue, to make a point or not to queue. Either way I was denied my constitutional right.
The Lamentations of a choice, no croissants involved. The cafes were all closed.
I like to find the edges of my city. In my case I am fortunate the edges are well marked. To the south is the sea, to the west the river Tamar and to the north Dartmoor. Only the eastern edge has the slightly blurry edges of urban sprawl but that is contained by Dartmoor running to the north and the sea to the south. So there is a fat ribbon of development to the east until that stops and agricultural land re-establishes itself.
I also love the centre of the city where I can find independent shops, a market and a museum and art gallery.
My least favourite part of my city are the burbs. Vast stretches of anonymous housing developments. I blame an obscure folk song from my childhood.
Little Boxes
Song by Malvina Reynolds
Little boxes on the hillside Little boxes made of ticky-tacky Little boxes on the hillside Little boxes all the same There’s a green one and a pink one And a blue one and a yellow one And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky And they all look just the same
And the people in the houses All went to the university Where they were put in boxes And they came out all the same And there’s doctors and lawyers And business executives And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky And they all look just the same
And they all play on the golf course And drink their martinis dry And they all have pretty children And the children go to school And the children go to summer camp And then to the university Where they are put in boxes And they come out all the same
And the boys go into business And marry and raise a family In boxes made of ticky-tacky And they all look just the same There’s a pink one and a green one And a blue one and a yellow one And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky And they all look just the same
I was only young when I heard these lyrics and I would not have known the word dystopian but I absolutely knew that this was not a future I fancied in any shape or form.
On the whole I have avoided anonymous suburbia. I know that it is hugely comforting and homely to millions of people. Funny really that my view of my city or indeed any city was shaped by a folk song.
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