Local Talk for Local Folk
It's been a rather low key start to this most iconic of dates and symbol of epic modernity. Is this diary becoming somewhat tautological? Answers on a post card please; its just that every first line fills me with a sense of déjà vu. I don't know if its just me but there did seem to be something slightly complacent and jaded about the new year celebrations this time, maybe its just that people were still recovering from millennial over hype fatigue syndrome. However, this was my first New Year in the village. So, I decided to spend most of the night in the Admiral Rodney. This was certainly a considerably more sedate and predominantly middle aged occasion than anything I'm used to, but it seemed to be where all of the "real people" where including our tiny contingent of lefties (just me and three other guys). The village once had quite a sizeable liberal elite, but Guardian readers with letters before their names and public sector or creative occupations seem to be dwindling fast here. Its a shame really because they seemed to be instrumental in maintaining a proper quality of aesthetic virtuosity and coherence as well as a mood of perpetually youthful cosmopolitanism. I think it may have something to do with the legacy of 1980s inner city regeneration, and the consequent return to an emphasis on the fashionability of urban spaces almost as a reaction to the 70s fashion for country living. Not that Prestbury is particularly rural. But it is still the sort of place where "Cheshire Set" trendies could assimilate the Harper's country living look in the early 70s and pretend to be in a John Borman film.
Generally the place seems to have become considerably less social than it used to be and its traditional wining dining raison d'être now seems to be slightly miss placed and somewhat lack lustre. There are no longer enough weekend visitors to justify the shear number of restaurants and bars here. I wonder if it will ever revert back to the quiet slightly bohemian residential place that my parents had an eye for in the 60s. This was before the village really became associated with the vulgar index of wealth and before it acquired its quality of bland artificial good taste, there was no Bridge Green estate , or the absurdly incongruous Bollin Muse development. The village seemed to be more colourful in the mid 60s and in parts had an almost continental look. Especially Church House when it had cream walls and pastel green Italianate shutters. Sorry to go on in this rather pedestrian mode, but Macclesfield net have a front page picture link to my site this month! (thanks for that chaps!!) and so I thought it appropriate just to give a bit of an opinion on my local which may be of some interest to someone somewhere....Generally conservation issues both environmental and heritage are quite important to me. We appear to have an almost philistine attitude to these things in Britain and seem to be too willing to trash the heritage zone in pursuit of economic motives and miss-guided notions of "progress". Of course, the result is an unappealing and ugly soulless utilitarian environment. The problem with Prestbury is that it is too willing to give in to the car. Traffic threatens to undermine the quality and feel of the village. It has already undermined the sense of social cohesion and brought with it all of the attendant clutter of extra road signs and a roundabout where there used to be a 'T' junction. The resultant effect is that the place is starting to feel, sound, and smell, like an increasingly urban space. But even worse than this is the fact, that it is starting to feel like a "pass through" place instead of a destination, and New Road is metamorphosing into the unofficial Macclesfield bypass. Some people are beginning to wonder why the place has no streetlights or a pelican crossing. So (I must be really boring my international visitors now) what we need is an aversion strategy. Make the place difficult so that drivers will eventually take alternative and more appropriate routes to Bollington, Kerridge, and Poynton...20mph speed limit, brown road, and chicane parking in village centre, possibly even road humps. No more lighting!! Less is definitely more!! And all of those crappy high-pressure sodium lights around about the roundabout and on the front of the Rodney and other places should be converted to blue/white mercury halides in nice lanterns. The church floodlights should also be converted to mercury halide. A more thoughtful and coherent lighting scheme would make the village look much more elegant at night....you know it makes sense!!.....Wish I had gone to the Castlefield bash!!
Generally the place seems to have become considerably less social than it used to be and its traditional wining dining raison d'être now seems to be slightly miss placed and somewhat lack lustre. There are no longer enough weekend visitors to justify the shear number of restaurants and bars here. I wonder if it will ever revert back to the quiet slightly bohemian residential place that my parents had an eye for in the 60s. This was before the village really became associated with the vulgar index of wealth and before it acquired its quality of bland artificial good taste, there was no Bridge Green estate , or the absurdly incongruous Bollin Muse development. The village seemed to be more colourful in the mid 60s and in parts had an almost continental look. Especially Church House when it had cream walls and pastel green Italianate shutters. Sorry to go on in this rather pedestrian mode, but Macclesfield net have a front page picture link to my site this month! (thanks for that chaps!!) and so I thought it appropriate just to give a bit of an opinion on my local which may be of some interest to someone somewhere....Generally conservation issues both environmental and heritage are quite important to me. We appear to have an almost philistine attitude to these things in Britain and seem to be too willing to trash the heritage zone in pursuit of economic motives and miss-guided notions of "progress". Of course, the result is an unappealing and ugly soulless utilitarian environment. The problem with Prestbury is that it is too willing to give in to the car. Traffic threatens to undermine the quality and feel of the village. It has already undermined the sense of social cohesion and brought with it all of the attendant clutter of extra road signs and a roundabout where there used to be a 'T' junction. The resultant effect is that the place is starting to feel, sound, and smell, like an increasingly urban space. But even worse than this is the fact, that it is starting to feel like a "pass through" place instead of a destination, and New Road is metamorphosing into the unofficial Macclesfield bypass. Some people are beginning to wonder why the place has no streetlights or a pelican crossing. So (I must be really boring my international visitors now) what we need is an aversion strategy. Make the place difficult so that drivers will eventually take alternative and more appropriate routes to Bollington, Kerridge, and Poynton...20mph speed limit, brown road, and chicane parking in village centre, possibly even road humps. No more lighting!! Less is definitely more!! And all of those crappy high-pressure sodium lights around about the roundabout and on the front of the Rodney and other places should be converted to blue/white mercury halides in nice lanterns. The church floodlights should also be converted to mercury halide. A more thoughtful and coherent lighting scheme would make the village look much more elegant at night....you know it makes sense!!.....Wish I had gone to the Castlefield bash!!
I hope this year is going to be more rewarding and inspiring than 2000 because I need to broaden my range of activities quite dramatically. I mean, living in a small community is one thing. But if you find that petty morés are becoming your prime discursive subject matter. Then quite frankly you're lost. I am quite surprised that Kubrick's 2001 has not had at least one airing on TV this season, or even a return to the "big screen" but I suppose that in itself would constitute a cliché of such epic proportions that it would defy any attempts at fashionable irony.
