The price of apathy towards public affairs is to be ruled by evil men.”
Plato
So Hull's wretched application to become the UK City of culture withered and died on it's arse because the powers that be in the council decided to employ somebody who has never lived in Hull to write the bid.
At first I thought that was a stupid idea conjured up by a bunch of overpaid sweaty middle managers in the Guildhall dungeons but after considering their reasoning more carefully. I've decided that they are in fact a bunch of evil geniuses who should all be given a pat on the back and a big fat juicy bonus.
In fact I'm so inspired by these pillars of the community that I've decided to write a bid explaining why Wigan should be the city of culture. Now I've never been to Wigan and I know nothing about the place, other than the fact they have a football and rugby team, but I reckon if catch a train there, walk around for a couple of hours and speak to some of the residents I'll have sufficient information to write a convincing multi-million pound bid. Hell I don't need even need to go to Wigan. I can just google the place and read what cultural delights it has to offer. Turns out it doesn't have any, but after a cursory flick through some websites, I've decided that if we secure the funding then what this place needs is a stripey metal pole outside of the dole office. A famous Wiganers theme-park featuring a George Formby rollercoaster and the Ian Mckellen Waltzers. We'll fund some local artists to make the worlds biggest paper aeroplane out of county court judgements, hire Leona Lewis to play the JJB stadium, backed by the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra and, if there is any cash to spare, we'll grab John Godber to direct a musical production of Schindlers list at the Wigan little theatre. Sounds easy doesn’t it?
Anyway enough of all that. It's never a surprise that the council fuck up royally when it comes to promoting our little North Eastern provincial City, because there is very little to promote and to be fair, we have far more pressing issues to consider than fire-breathing stilt-walkers and Sausage roll festivals.
I took a bus through East Hull yesterday, (something I rarely do anymore because there is no reason to travel that side of the river unless you're visiting your grandma or desperate for some crack) and the journey was quite an experience. Behind me sat an attractive girl and her acne-riddled track-suited boyfriend who in the space of 20 minutes ate three packets of crisps and loudly and proudly boasted within earshot of 15 pensioners exactly what he was going to do to this girl when he got her home. Now I'm a liberal kind of guy and I'm all for youthful experimentation, but when a man with a mouthful of monster munch proclaims his intention to " shag you in your smelly pussy" it did cause me to wince a little and I swear the old Gal sat across from me threw up a bit of sick in her hankerchief, but it could easily have been a murray mint.
A few stops down Holderness road a woman got on who looked like she'd been grafting since sunrise and had the weight of the world on her shoulders. She looked rough, bad skin and greasy hair and if I had to place her age, I'd have said mid-forties or so. She sat down across from me ,then after a few minute she tapped me on the shoulder. " Is your name Lee Cassanell?". " Yeah" I said, and it took me a few moments but I realised that the girl had been in my class in primary school and was the same age as me, thirty and a bit. Anyway I asked her how she was and she told me how she was living on Preston Road with five kids who had three different fathers, either in Prison or parts unknown. She worked shifts in a factory and did the best she could providing for them but it was difficult, and tiring and she never got time for herself. I sat and listened and said goodbye as I got off at my stop and, as I was walking towards my destination thinking about the past, I remembered that she was always the top of the class in school. Always the first with her hand up and always the one with the right answer and I wondered how such a bright girl had ended up in such a shitty situation.
I don't mean that in a patronising way. Any single woman who works her tail off providing for her children is worthy of superhero status as far as I'm concerned, but at one time she had the potential to be so such more and somehow or other it all slipped away.
Would a talking statue of William Wilberforce, have inspired her to greater things?
Would a David Hockney exhibition, a freeform jazz concert or a Philip Larkin “poetry café” broaden her cultural horizons and change her life for the better?
Maybe. Then again maybe if Hull had won the UK city of Culture funding the cream of the cash would have been spent on those middle-class wet dreams enjoyed by a minority and most of the city’s residents would have shrugged their shoulders and gone about the business of just trying to survive for another week or so.
Until the city council is scourged of do-gooding liberals and lazy-arsed heads of service, I think I'm just going to slip into a shell suit, stick on some happy hardcore and find a nice quiet corner to sniff some lighter fluid in.
Adios.
(2010)
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