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1 September is one of the many markers in my life; and as of tommorow that marker turns its leaf to Day 1, Year 3. It is also day 1 of my 22nd attempt at Ramadhan; ironically this year, it is taking place in the same locale as it did in 1986. I’m hoping I get to edge in a little bit more this year, InsyaAllah.
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Project Malaysia, by the way, has been launched. You may be able to catch a familiar face or three there.
I wanted to wait until I finished reading Policy Exchange’s report on Urban Regeneration – a 68 page report that basically argues Northerners should flee the sinking ship that is the North and it’s regenerating cities and come live in Oxford and Cambridge instead – but given the fact that I haven’t actually started reading it yet.. finishing it might take a while. So I thought I’d join the majority camp of those who have commented on the report: that’s right, the ones who haven’t read it yet.
Despite being Malaysian (and proudly, at that) I have had the honour of having been brought up, for four years, in the North (East) and in my 20′s, lived for a good 6 years in the North (West). As employment beckoned, I upped and left my cosy nook of Lancashire and moved down to Essex, crossing many boundaries and not the least of which, the Great North-South divide. It didn’t take long for me to start feeling the difference – my first few emails to people back North contained the line, “they speak funny down here”. Not to mention a spattering of blog entries that were never shy of admitting, albeit in somewhat anti-Northern fashion, that I miss being ‘up there’ instead of ‘down here’.
The list of things I miss about the North in general, and Lancaster in particular, would fill a notebook and a half. In sum I would say, though, that I miss the friendliness; the ease of which they let others in; the rain (yes I miss the rain!!); the relatively more efficient public transport (although this may really be more of a Colchester thing rather than the South in general); the cheap groceries; the lack of overly posh people; the cheap travel costs; the pies the pies; the cheap everything; the cool second-hand bookshops that are not aimed at antique collectors and are, therefore, reasonably priced; the hills.. I could go on. But I admit I am settling down nicely in the South. I have moved to new digs with permanence and living a life (as opposed to temporariness and just a place to crash) in mind. I have bought furniture (flat pack, of course). And the flatt(er) terrains are kinder to cycling calves. I’ve even considered that detachment from the North is good because it provides a sense of longing, and to long is to live.
But I think Lucy Mangan, in her diatribe (okay, it wasn’t really a diatribe, it was quite a fairly written piece, but diatribe sounds clever and oh-so-dramatic) against the Policy Exchange report last Saturday in the Guardian Weekend magazine summed up beautifully what the North is about:
…take Peter Kay’s line: “I went to my mum’s for Sunday lunch. I don’t go every week, but she had a big chicken.” Northerners fall off their chairs at this joke. Southerners look baffled. This is because it enshrines a version of familial love that only the former truly recognise: undemonstrative to the point of invisibility; a love that can only ever be obliquely manifested as an adjunct to something else. Thus, when your mum wants you round, she won’t say, as a southern mother might, “Darling, I haven’t seen you for so long, I miss you. Why don’t you come round and I’ll make us a meal?” No. She’ll say, “Come round for your tea. I’ve got too much in and it’ll not keep now that your dad’s dead.”
I miss the North. Even if I will never been enough of a Brit to allow it to even want me, let alone miss me. Unrequited love, people, is the way to go. It is the only love that lasts forever.
After being told off for wearing my ‘selipar jepun’ from the car park to the office when I was teaching in Malaysia (and another time for using a backpack instead of a proper, adult ‘beg kerja’), it seemed as if things came full circle today when I enjoyed 8 hours at work in a tatty t-shirt and track bottoms which I belatedly realised were ripped at the knees (as a result of excess pleasure at the futsal pitches, it seems). That’s got to be the number one perk of my job: no need to dress up if I choose not to. Of course there are moments when I feel like being presentable and on those days I even iron the shirt under my jumper, but I like it that it’s about choice.
Besides, I’ve been told that I clean up rather decently when I want to. It’s just that today I didn’t feel like changing after cycling in, and given that I hardly broke sweat today having taken the short route to work, I didn’t bother with a change of trousers. Today was one of those murky, dark days with a threat of rain heavy in the air, but at the same time it was not cold; very humid. I toyed with the idea of taking the long route in but the hot showers at work are still out of order. I should count myself extra lucky to have showers at work. It definitely reduces the dilemma of what one does after a particularly sweaty ride in.
Today the Guardian cites statistics from Trafficmaster and the RAC of how the credit crunch and increases in fuel prices have reduced traffic jams and speeding on key motorways in the country. This, coupled with a report Stateside that argues steeper fuel prices is saving lives as people are driving slower, or so argues the University of Michigan’s Transportation Research Institute. Both made me wonder how many others ditched their car totally and are now using alternative modes of transport instead. Because as much campaigning as is being done to get more people on bikes (it’s good for you! it’s healthy! it reduces risk of heart disease! it reduces obesity!), it is a major leap to shift modes of transportation. Think about it.. the extra change of clothes you need, the lack of a shower at work, the weather, the cold… ah, only those uber-keen, principled-green or poser-athletes would seriously switch car for bike. (I consider myself a poser-athlete, just so you know). If it’s just a hassle-free, efficient way to get from point A to point B, on your terms, at your own pace.. cars still rule. Period. Sure.. I’ve been cycling heaps the past month or so. Ask me again when it’s pissing icy rain buckets outside.
One thing I’ve gained, though, from changing modes of transport travelling to and from work, is perspective. From being a user of public transport, to the owner of a motorised vehicle, to pedal power proponent, I think I am now able to see issues of road use from all three angles. It helps moderate the more extreme views in each camp, which I think is something you’d want to see in most people, especially when it comes to things that matter more than just who hogs which lane of the road and when. For instance, I’ve always thought that for someone who is used to being the privileged majority at home, to feel the limitations of options available as a non-citizen resident of another country… there is some level of empathy that can be taken home. It therefore comes as a surprise to me when I hear bigotry and racist sentiments spewed from those I thought would know better. But then, as they say.. it’s not what you know. It’s what you do with it.
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And as a parting thought for tonight.. will Liverpool ever score against Standard Liege? Or will there be reason to rejoice tommorow?