Reclaim the Streets

In my university days, this "Take Back the Streets" was a battle cry for the Women's movement. Today, according to the a BBC report a recent Ipsos MORI survey and BBC report, it's the battle cry of the police.

While it is unsurprising to note that the Tories in Britain's government are demanding that more police should be on the streets and blaming the previous government (despite historic highs in police numbers, and unprecedented police presence on the streets and the new governments cutback to police and local funding) for the breakdown of street safety and the rise of anti-social behaviour. It is also unsurprising to find the police using a survey that points to increase public concern about anti-social behaviour (not, it should be pointed out, actual increases)and public belief of who should be responsible for sorting it out, to suggest their funding shouldn't be cut. It is surprising, when the watchwords of the current government is the 'big society' that the iron fist of the (state) police should be called in to sort out what is essentially a series of local problems.

So what does this have to do with this blog? Everything. Today the battle cry to Reclaim the Streets should be on all our lips. This is one of the essential points of this blog. We reclaim the streets by being on the streets. Young people have always been on the streets. I was on the streets in the late 70s and through the 80s. A few years ago I was involved in a reminiscence project in Lancashire and was regaled by stories of older people about their teenage years on the streets, harassing cops and misbehaving.

What is the difference? The difference is that now young people are the only people on the streets. When I was young, I was constantly bumping into adults, parents of my friends, friends of my parents. In some cases when I was roaming around a little drunk with my friends, these adult warned us where the police were so we wouldn't get in trouble. In other cases, they just said hello. What they told me was I was safe, they were looking out for me, but they were aware that I was out, that I was off the straight and narrow and that I should be careful. The affect was to reign in my actions, give me boundaries.

But where are we now. By "we" I mean us adults. Today I walked through a park at 6.30pm. I was the only adult in that park. My peers are behind the wheel of their cars, sitting in their front rooms watching big screen televisions and getting drunk. I walk through a small courtyard near where I live on a regular basis. It is a hangout for local young people (and receives regular visits from the police). As I walk through, the kids grow a little quieter, some say hello and some apologise if they get in my way or swear a little loudly (disturbingly, some call me sir). If more people were on the street, those kids would be reminded of those boundaries they are learning to struggle against, learning how and where they can be stretched and how and where they can't. Without us, there are no boundaries to push against, all shackles are off. There is no end to experiments in power and excess. That's what I learned as a teenager on the street. I learned my boundaries. I learned what I would and wouldn't accept. And I learned that, despite my anger at society and systems and my politics, that the most important single thing is respect for the individuals in my community. All of them, well, most.

In particular I thank Terry McCann for this. For smiling and chatting with me as I smuggled cider out of my parents home. He said I respect you, but I'm keeping an eye on you.

Over the coming blog entries, I will return to this. The stats are interesting when you look at them in another way. So are the experiences. And so is history. More to come.

Three feet High and Rising

Gormley gets bollocks wet.



Recent rains have seen the Water of Leith rising two wet a couple Gormley testes near Powder Hall.

Pleasure Cut

While a driver will take a short cut – or rat run – in order to save a minute or two, a pedestrian will find an alternate route which takes the walker through a spot of beauty or quiet, a generally more pleasant place to walk – a Pleasure Cut.

View from a Pleasure Cut taken to and from work on dry days.

Why we live in Edinburgh 1

Walking through Inverleith

Pope's security helicopter lands for refuelling. Given it is grom Strathclyde Police, one guesses it will follow Just out of picture are two of the dog team having a relaxing post shift dump.

All this security for one old man. A guy could get paranoid. You'd think people didn't like him.

The Product of an Aimless walk

Went of a short walk yesterday, ostensibly to see if the two Threshers near me have reopened as off licenses (nope). In the course of the hour or so walk I took in two Gormley statues in the Water of Leith. I also got caught in two short, but very sharp, showers. During the second, I sheltered under a road bridge over the Golden Acre path with two of the most beautiful dogs I’ve seen, a husky and a small, sandy-gold thing with a curled up tale which suggests an Arctic dog.

During the first, which caught me while I was trying to take a photo of Gormley no. 2 at Powder Hall, I sheltered under a less than useful tree watching a grey heron fishing, with the Gormley still in sight and cars thundering past up Warriston Road. Shame they missed the elegance of the heron, the light over the water and the faint rainbow which travelled on the edge of the shower.

Despite the ferocity of the showers, I dried off quite quickly and continued on my way. Just wish I had my cat’s intelligence for finding the right tree to shelter under.

First Steps

As friends and colleagues will no doubt attest, I've talked long and boringly about cycling. I do love cycling, but there are times when I feel a fraud when talking about it. Why? Because to me cycling is recreation, walking is a lifestyle choice.

I live within three miles of work. With a few exceptions, most obviously the period we lived in Cumbria, 20 miles and a large fell away from my work, I have always tried to be in walking distance of work (five miles). It suits me.

Being a pedestrian makes me feel like part of my community. I'm not one for getting to know the neighbours, but when you walk you are forced to shop locally, to use the services in your area, to bump into those you live near, to interact with young and old. Indeed, I strongly believe that if more of us walked, we'd have far less fear of what is outside. Why? Because we'd all be outside more, more of us to help each other, more of us to ensure things stay under control, more of us to own our own communities again.

And then there are the other benefits. If it takes me 35 minutes to walk to work (over two hills) then my heart rate is up for a good hour a day. That's more than the minimum time the government advises to exercise each week. And that is just to an from work, add shopping trips, cinema outings etc...

I'm also intrigued by the fact that 'pedestrian' can also mean written in prose. But more of that later.

So that is what all this will be about. Photos, stories, experiences while walking the streets of Edinburgh and beyond, as well as a bit about prose here and there.