Hate Mail to Lancaster

I was going to title this entry as  'Love Letter to Lancaster', but there wouldn't have been too much affection evident, and this split certainly isn't amicable.

I made Lancaster my home for the best part of the last 3 years, and to offer some light to this outpouring of frustration about to unfold, it served me well for a time; approximately 18 months. Then came the turning point when I realised I wasn't just bored, I was numb.

For those unfamiliar with the red rose capital, it's an affluent market city of sorts - perched perfectly between the kitsch coast of it's rough arse cousin 'Morecambe' and it's spectacular views out across the bay (well, you don't look at the mantle-piece whilst you're poking the fire), and acts as a 'Gateway to the Lakes', which though sounds desirable could also be interpreted as 'Doormat to Infinitely Better Stuff '.

I sense the legendary traffic flow of this City-Village lends itself to an Island mentality within it's folk; the City Centre being circled by a one-way system that comes to a standstill if someone drops a crisp packet in the road. You are guaranteed to be caught up in such gridlocked frustrations on numerous occasions. On an annual basis you will piss yourself in your vehicle, thrice. If you'd like to read just how bad the traffic is for this City of 137,385 people, then in a recent poll Lancaster came 2nd only to Westminster (!!!) as a 'nightmare' rush-hour hell-hole. And I didn't even make that up.

This Island mentality is evident in the tittle-tattle of the locals. In a very short space of time, it was apparent that though I might be an ardent London hater, sometimes the sense of anonymity in its stinky, disinterested ginnel's proves advantageous when you just wanted to be left the fuck alone. In Lancaster, I would not be surprised if in the homogeneous boozers of yore, fishwives of all genders are discussing your Experian Credit Report. Everyone knows your business; it's so claustrophobic and intrusive on this Island of Vanilla.

But surely there's entertainment? A chance to mingle with new faces, and expand horizons? If you're looking for something to do of an evening, and childless, why not consider alcoholism? Because there's nothing happening except endless folk music piping from pubs where you'll see the same faces, but on rotation, accompanied by a different flavour of Seabrook crisps.

In a bid to add a bit of texture to this apathetically Liberal area, I aired my frustrations at there being no viable place to go and dance for those that don't want to get their junk out for a free shot as David Guetta's formulaic climaxes scream at a palpitating BPM, so I donned my action trousers, and set about trying to establish a night at a venue.

After casing several joints, it turns out the best options were owned by the same person who revelled in stocking over-priced wank beers infused with caribou glands, and liquors exported from exotic locales as Chernobyl and the Moon. Though he showed repeated interest to establish a 'meet', communicating with this narrow-sighted-status-hungry-pretentious-lizard was painful. There's only so many times you can promise to meet with someone to discuss their ideas before realising you're being brushed off as they're completely full of shit and have no interest in making something special that would benefit THEIR market. I can only assume his lack of integrity is necessary to encourage his inevitable business failings.

Good luck to him and his contribution to the community. YES I AM FUCKING BITTER!

Enjoying such cities as Liverpool, Glasgow, and Sheffield - with their secure pride and regular roster of binding spectacles that attract many outsiders - just leaves Lancaster eyeing up which shade of magnolia it should get to keep itself looking pretty. Its Governors should be embarrassed at not even trying to create a sense of identity that encourages ambition, growth, and - ultimately - financial gains through providing something different to the onlookers to attract them and their pretty purses.

Lancaster doesn't just need an aesthetic revolution, its kinsmen need a mindset shift that involves progress; acknowledging the present and the future instead of treading water. But its council are simply not interested in creating an innovative series of happenings to aid its 'safe' status as a tax cow. 'Suits' inevitably make creative decisions based on the most basic of plebeian requirements that were seen as spectacles in the 1950's. I imagine there isn't a single creative working at the Town Hall, and if there were, they, their blue hair and elaborate wooden jewellery would be frogmarched to the nearest ducking stool, as is the true Lancaster tradition.

Let's add some token balance because Lancaster does have a few high points: Williamson Park is a glorious ramble, pinnacled by the Ashton Memorial which is one of my favourite buildings in the country; there's a Top Ten University that provides a healthy influx of maverick haircuts and awkward intelligence founded on no-street-skills-whatsoever; and a River called 'The Lune' - that's quite funny, I 'spose.

Any enthusiasm I had for contributing to a 'scene' - attempting to offer a slither of diversity - amongst this sea of biege, has been punched out of me as I continue to observe the lacklustre choices and the narrow mindedness displayed by most of its inhabitants who appear to lack the foresight necessary for sociological and cultural advancement. An ineffectual council set the bar for an unambitious people. The suits should get off their calculators and start contributing in more ways than balancing books and keeping things steady - add to the pot, instead of just giving it a stir, you shits!

My enthusiasm for Lancaster and its huge potential has simply gone with the wind. As I move to Sheffield with its pride, its happenings and its involved community, frankly my Lancaster, I don't give a shit. And likely it is this very sentiment of established apathy that means Lancaster will always just be a boring City with huge potential that nobody will mine because they simply can't be arsed.

Apologies to my Lancaster based friends. This post says nothing about how bloody great you all are, and I look forward to popping over to say 'how are we?'. Dead arms are permitted should I get a case of the negs whilst visiting.