Homecoming

I really don't like the way blogspot writes the number of posts I do each month/year next to this, because it constantly reminds me that I do bugger all writing. I'm trying to fix this now though, since I've moved back to Welwyn Garden City. After spending four years living in Cheltenham (3 years of university and 1 year to watch The Sopranos boxset) I've finally had to come home. University never felt like the real world - well it did at the start of course, I'm living on my own, doing my own shopping and drinking legally like what grown-ups do, but when the government are giving you money to go out and buy vodka it's hard to see that as the real world. So, in my third year, when I received an e-mail asking what my plans were for the following year ("er....they're....I'm going to be a world famous writer!...nevermind how! they'll read my blog and give me a novel deal....shut up!") and if I fancied staying in Cheltenham, I jumped at the chance. It was a way to continue getting drunk and I saw it as a "gap-year," albiet one where I didn't travel the world, see China or help build a school in Africa. The closest I got to travelling the globe and trying new experiences was accidentally walking into a gay bar in Gloucester.

But I could pretend to still be a student and spend as much time as possible drunk and that was a good enough excuse to avoid doing anything proper/scary career-wise and, more importantly, watch The Sopranos. I even went out for the first night of Fresher's. That was fucking weird. It makes you realise what a dick you were back then. It was most of these kid's first night's away from home and they went mental! I forgot there was a time when you were genuinely excited about a man throwing glow-sticks at the crowd. Most of these people had never been given a glow-stick by someone at this stage in their life. Their days had been made. It was quite moving to see.

To be perfectly honest, Welwyn Garden City is definitely far less of the real world than Cheltenham. If a major reality check is what you're avoiding (and let's be honest, it was) then a place that calls itself a city when it's barely even a town is the place to be. By the definition of the Oxford English Dictionary a city has to have a cathedral and by my personal definition, it's not a real town if it doesn't have, at least, a reasonably sized HMV. Two things worried me on the day I moved back home 1) Where was I going to put my DVD collection (approx. 500 DVDs... every time I've come to count them something has distracted me before I finished). 2) Where the hell was I going to buy my DVDs from now on? I'm used to having CEX and HMV a short walk away. If ever I was bored or needed a new DVD because I didn't fancy any of the 500 I own, or just needed to walk off a hangover, I could just nip out and buy one. Here I have to take the bloody day off if I want to waste my money. And if I want a good selection of DVDs I have to visit Stevenage *shudders*.

Welwyn Village is nowhere near reality. It's like living in an episode of Midsomer Murders but without the excitement of murders, or a strict adherence to a white-people-only casting policy, despite the wishes of some of the older people who live here. Sadly, I returned a little bit after Welwyn Festival Week, which is a wonderful display of bunting, street markets, history of Welwyn talks, open gardens (why not go and sit in someone else's garden for an afternoon? - there's usually cake), tombola's, a village fete and not-to-forget the headlining event: the 47th Annual Welwyn Duck Race. Oh, the Annual Welwyn Duck Race, it's no lie or sarcasm to say it really is the talk of the town. God himself tried to stop us one year when the river dried up in the midst of a drought, but we merely called in the fire brigade who used their hoses to force the ducks along the path where the river once ran. It is not known how many people died or treasured heirlooms were ravaged by fire during this time or how that squares with a national hosepipe ban, but Goddamnit, you don't mess with our duck race!

It's sweet that the Welwyn Festival is a chance for the whole community to come together and do something and get excited by rubber (oh yes, they're not even real!) ducks floating down the river that runs through the village. Maybe it's due to the lack of DVD shops, book shops, cinemas, any venue open later than 10pm (even the streetlights pack up for the night and turn themselves off at midnight), that there is a proper sense of community in Welwyn. It's the kind of place where everybody knows each other. I'm constantly bumping into people who I kind of know from ages ago, or whose face I kinda remember or whose son/daughter went to school with me. I'm constantly getting into conversations that begin:
THEM: "You don't remember me do you?" SUBTEXT: I'm saying this to put you at your ease so you don't feel awkward about admitting that.
ME: "Yeah. I do. 'Course I do" SUBTEXT: You're right, I don't remember you, but I'm worried that you'll be offended if I say that. And you massively overestimate how supremely awkward I am around strangers or people I barely know or my close personal friends.
THEM: "How are you?" SUBTEXT: I'm flaterred you remember me.
ME: "Oh, fine. Same old. Same old. You?" SUBTEXT: Please respond with something like "same old...still teaching year 6 at St. Marys Primary School where you went all those years ago."
There are a few elderly dog walkers on my street who I regularly keep up-to-date with my university shenanigans, because if I talk about myself for long enough the dogs will get restless before I have to ask about their lives. It's not rudeness it's just I'm pretty sure I don't actually know who these people are. One day, one of them stopped me and offered his sympathy following my dad's stroke and hoped I'd pass on his good-will...wait a minute...you don't know me either?! My dad hasn't had a stroke. I'd describe Welwyn as a place where everybody knows everybody else, but I think it's something infinitely more beautiful than that, it's a place where nobody knows anyone else, but everyone is to awkward to admit this. That's a wonderful society.

That said, we do need to sort something out right now, people of Welwyn. Smiling. It's the kind of place where people smile politely when they pass and while I can see that this is a terribly civilised way to go about, we need to develop a system of signalling - a smile that means "hey! I'm just smiling," a smile that means "I'm smiling because I know you and we should chat," and a smile that means "I'm mental." - because I'm tired of pulling my earphones out and looking like a moron, or leaving them in and saying "hi" with no idea how loud it was.

I'm not sure how comfortable I am living in a friendly place. It's the kind of place where David Cameron's Big Society could genuinely work. Lot's of middle class people all volunteering and being communal. It's lovely. But lets consider this: do we want to let David Cameron's Big Society work? Surely any time David Cameron wins is regrettable. And everyone helping organise the duck race should never lead to "meh...get people to run their own schools, save us some money" thinking in the government.

In Welwyn's defence: That's the view from the shopping centre.

The local newspaper is shared with the next town along Hatfield. The Welwyn Hatfield Times concisely sums up the differences between these two towns. A game I like to play (because I'm sad and bored) is "Hatfield or Welwyn?" Two example headlines might be HORRIFIC MURDER! and FLOWER SHOW A SUCCESS. (If you said 1. Hatfield. 2. Welwyn, give yourself 2 points. Well played). In my first week back they printed the gripping story "BUSINESS AS USUAL AT WATER FIRM" and on the letters page it's all kicking off about the parking situation on Knightsfield let me tell you! There was a story about the Bowls team being on fire, but that turned out to be more metaphorical and less amusing than I first thought. It's a quality local paper - one that's even printed my picture a few times - it does good work and good reporting for the community but it's not always the most exciting place to be doing it. And it'll never beat the Gloucestershire Echo's single greatest headline of all time

And here is my picture from the Welwyn Hatfield Times getting my A-Level results...

unfortunately for Welwyn capturing the joy of the moment I discovered I would be leaving.

Welwyn and Cheltenham are similar in some ways. They're both quite posh. Every comedian who I saw in Cheltenham went on and on about how posh it was. I lived in St. Paul's, I had no idea what they were on about. Whenever anyone visits Cheltenham they would kick our bit of the town under a giant sofa in Pittville Park and distract the visitors with cake and fine cutlery. Both places are literally full of big, nice, expensive houses that I will eventually buy once I've become a successful writer (when is that happening by the way?). Which I guess means, now that I'm home with nothing to do except write and walk around looking at nice houses I should own, I guess I should probably do some writing. It's free from distractions. It takes 20 minutes to walk to my nearest friend's house instead of...well living in my nearest friend's house. So I moved back in, unpacked my DVDs and books, and immediately set about writing, ok I watched all 3 series of Community in 4 days. (WATCH IT! It's amazing. You have to watch it online or it's on the Sony channel (?) on Sky). But then I set about writing. Well, I opened Word - Look it's not my fault the youtube machine and the important-future-career-ensuring machine are the same thing. But, over the last week, I've been trying to dedicate a bit of time every single day to writing (it's a 5/7 success. I couldn't be bothered on Tuesday. Tuesdays are boring.) and that's not including this. This is just mucking about and a bit of practice for the old fingers. So I'm definitely not going to try and keep this blog up and regular (every time I say that I will, I write three more then piss off for six months). 

Now, I just need stuff to write about. Sport probably. I've probably got to mention the Olympics, I believe it's the law that everyone has to mention it in everything they write at the moment. I did try and get into sport a bit over the summer, I saw some of the Euros (They're not as bad as everything I'd read about them beforehand. I thought Spain and Italy were meant to be fucked...maybe I got confused) and I watched British Scottish hopeful Andy Murray in his Tennis final. Wimbledon is about Pimms, Strawberrys and Maria Sharapova's legs, in theory I should love it. But...I think the rain ruined it a bit. It took far too long to put the roof on, for those who don't know the sport, that's because they have to lower the umpire's chair first or his head gets stuck in it. If the players just wore a colour that didn't go see through when wet, there'd be no need for any of that song-and-dance. I don't really understand the scores either. There were three numbers at the top: I assume one is the number of points they've got, one is the number of sets they've won and the third is the number of celebrities they've spotted in the crowd. That seemed to be the most important bit judging by the BBC coverage.

Anyway, I'm off to write or look at youtube now. One last note about Welwyn's community spirit. Here is a photo taken at the Welwyn Festival (I think) in 2000 to celebrate the millenium. Loads of people turned up and I'm right near the front. It's the only copy I could find online so it's not particularly clear, but I am the one wearing a cap (? I know!) and - no word of a lie - picking my nose in this delightful record of Welwyn's history.

(By the way: The cap says "Been There. Done That." That's how I'm commemorated in a piece of my village's history)