It is curious how one can feel an immediate connection with a particular piece of land. I have already developed more affection for this new allotment than I ever did for the previous one, which I have now relinquished to someone else. Perhaps it is something to do with the atmosphere of the place, the quality of the soil, or simply the feeling of making a fresh start.
Whatever the reason, I feel much more at home here. There is something deeply satisfying about taking a neglected patch of ground and gradually imposing a little order upon it, although nature, as every gardener knows, has a habit of reminding us who is really in charge.
Tomorrow I intend to have a bonfire, for no better reason than that I like bonfires. I enjoy the smoke, the crackling wood, the changing colours of the flames and, above all, the almost hypnotic pleasure of staring into the glowing embers. There is something wonderfully primitive about it.
Taking a collection of rotten branches to the recycling centre may be environmentally and administratively respectable, but it cannot possibly compete with the experience of watching them turn into ash before one’s eyes. There is a time for efficiency and a time for simply enjoying the elements. Naturally, I shall have to observe the usual precautions and consider the neighbours, but I hope there will still be room in our increasingly regulated world for the occasional modest bonfire.
My thoughts have also turned to the considerable amount of gardening expertise that exists among the allotment holders. I recently suggested that some of the more experienced members might be willing to share their knowledge through informal interviews, which I could then turn into an article. I spoke to one or two people today, but the response was rather muted. Perhaps the suggestion was so unexpected that they did not quite know what to make of it.
This brings me to one of my recurring observations about the British character. We are not, generally speaking, a nation of spontaneous communicators. There is often an invisible barrier between people, a kind of social membrane through which one must gently but firmly push before a proper conversation can begin. We hesitate to approach strangers because we assume they may not be interested, while they hesitate to respond because they are uncertain what is expected of them. The result is that a great deal of potentially valuable human contact never takes place.
It has taken me years to learn to push through this membrane instinctively. I have discovered that one often has to make the first move, risk a slightly puzzled expression, and explain what one has in mind without being too concerned about the initial reaction. Most people have interesting experiences and useful knowledge, but they seldom volunteer them without encouragement. In my view, the art of community building consists partly of giving people permission to share what they already possess.
Another development today concerned my writing and publicity activities. I have produced two leaflets, copies of which accompany this diary entry. The first is intended to formalise my practice of recording public talks and lectures and turning them into readable written accounts on my website.
The idea is simple enough. People attend a talk, enjoy it, and then promptly forget much of what was said. By making a written account available afterwards, I can give the occasion a second life and allow people to revisit the ideas whenever they wish.
The second leaflet is concerned with publicising my website and the developing Somer Valley events diary. This is a project about which I am becoming increasingly enthusiastic. My ambition is to create a central point where residents can discover the organisations, clubs, meetings and activities taking place in their own neighbourhood.
It seems such an obvious need that I sometimes wonder why it has not already been comprehensively addressed. I cannot claim to have surveyed every town in Britain, but I would certainly like Midsomer Norton to become an example of how a community can make its activities more visible and accessible.
The challenge is not simply technological. It is cultural. We have become accustomed to information being scattered across Facebook pages, church noticeboards, individual websites, newsletters and posters in shop windows. Each organisation tends to operate within its own little world. Bringing these fragments together into a single, accessible resource could make a genuine difference, particularly to newcomers, people living alone and those who have lost touch with the social networks they once enjoyed.
I have also decided to reduce the size of my forthcoming welcome community guidebook from six by nine inches to A5. The difference may not sound dramatic, but A5 is a more manageable format, easier to slip into a handbag or carry around. A directory is meant to be used, not merely admired on a bookshelf. The publicity leaflets will be A6, which should make them convenient to distribute and inexpensive to reproduce.
One of the most remarkable experiences of the day was provided by Solopress, the printing company. I submitted my order at approximately 10.30 in the morning. At precisely 4.39 in the afternoon, I received a message telling me that the packages were already on their way for delivery. Astonishing! In an age when one is frequently invited to wait several working days for something that ought to take a few minutes, such efficiency is a delight. I have consistently received excellent service from this company, and I am always pleased to acknowledge competence when I encounter it. Good service deserves recognition just as much as bad service deserves criticism.
I could not resist sending Laura a thank you
The morning had begun with a minor disappointment at Wetherspoon’s. I had intended to enjoy my customary coffee and breakfast, only to discover that two new coffee machines were being installed and the usual service was temporarily unavailable. Never mind. I returned later in the day to inspect the new arrangements and sample the coffee. The machines were considerably more sophisticated than their predecessors, and I thought the coffee itself was noticeably better. Progress does occasionally live up to its promises.
On a less cheerful note, I have been following the developments concerning Russell Brand and the serious criminal allegations against him. There is speculation about the possibility of a lengthy prison sentence if he is convicted. I find his public conversion to Christianity particularly interesting. I am prepared to accept that his religious experience may have been entirely genuine and freely chosen. At the same time, I cannot entirely dismiss the possibility that his change of public identity may also have offered him a more favourable image at a time when he was aware that his past conduct was coming under scrutiny. The two possibilities are not necessarily mutually exclusive. Human motives are rarely pure or simple. Nevertheless, allegations are not convictions, and it is for the courts rather than commentators to determine guilt.
My own website, briansnellgrove.net, was subjected to a minor invasion today, not by human beings but by bots. Approximately fifty highly suspicious subscribers appeared, many promoting improbable financial opportunities or offering the chance to earn a thousand dollars through some mysterious international arrangement. Their names were frequently bizarre combinations of letters, numbers and other characters, hardly the sort of identities one associates with thoughtful readers of a Somerset diary.
I spent some time going through the subscriber list and removing the obvious impostors. It was more irritating than alarming, although it reminded me that running a public website inevitably attracts a certain amount of unwanted attention. In the physical world, one might have to remove weeds from the garden. In the digital world, one removes bots from the mailing list. Both activities are necessary, neither is particularly rewarding, and both seem destined to recur.
There was, however, some genuinely encouraging personal news. My son telephoned from where he is currently staying in the United Kingdom. He tells me that his cancer symptoms continue to appear to be in remission, which is a considerable relief. Naturally, one cannot take anything for granted, but a sustained period of stability would be enormously helpful as he attempts to rebuild his working life.
His immediate challenge is to find suitable employment that will enable him to bring his wife over from India. Having spent so many years teaching English abroad, he has a great deal of experience to offer, but the employment market is not always kind to people attempting to re-establish themselves in a different country, particularly in middle age. I hope that his health will remain stable and that an employer will recognise the value of his experience rather than concentrate too narrowly on conventional career patterns. I expect to see him this time next week, which will be something to look forward to.
Looking back, it has been a remarkably full day, combining physical labour, publishing decisions, community conversations, technological irritations, political and moral reflections, and welcome family news. Yet I find myself surprisingly untired. Perhaps this is because the activities have been varied and largely self-directed. There is a considerable difference between being exhausted by obligations and being pleasantly occupied with things one has chosen to do.
I am increasingly attracted to the idea of organising my week around four days of purposeful activity, Monday to Thursday, followed by a long weekend in which I can relax, reflect, wander about and allow new ideas to emerge without feeling obliged to act upon them immediately.
At my stage of life, the object is surely not to do as much as possible, but to find a rhythm in which activity and contemplation support one another. There is no particular virtue in being busy for its own sake. Equally, I have no desire to sit around waiting for something interesting to happen.
Better, perhaps, to cultivate one’s allotment, cultivate one’s contacts, cultivate one’s ideas and, every now and again, sit quietly beside a bonfire watching the flames do their work.
After all, not everything worthwhile needs to be measured in productivity.
