Wednesday, 13 February 2013

Little tiny fridge

I don’t know when Sheffield City Council stopped being known as ‘the corporation’ but if you have any idea, you may be able to date this story about neighbours. I’ve no doubt it dates from those well-known halcyon days when men were real men, fridges were real fridges, and close-knit northern communities were real close-knit northern communities.

BBC Radio Sheffield covered the topic of neighbourliness this morning (thanks for the heads-up Martin) and a lady called Frieda called in (for the next few days you can catch her remarks here at about 2:20.40). At the mention of ‘neighbours from hell,’ Frieda said in a matter of fact way, ‘I’ve ‘ad ‘em luv’ –

‘When I first came in ‘ere. They tried to make my life hell but I stuck ‘em out and they’re dead now… Anonymous letters, threatening me, threatening me children…’

Why was that then?

‘We’d just moved into our house… and we bought a little fridge it were, one of them that you used to buy for a pound off the corporation, we’d just moved in, bought this little fridge, and all hell were let loose. I don’t know why, but when t’police came, they said it were jealousy... Little tiny fridge. But I stuck ‘em out… for about four year, if not more.’

 

13 Feb 2013 20:40:49 | Neighbourhood relations, Vignettes

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From Muck Flick to Bad Sir Brian Botany: an ironical salute to posh neighbour disputes In today’s Observer, Catherine Bennett picks up on a piece in the Telegraph about a planning dispute between super-rich neighbours in west London. The story is almost worthy of a Carry On movie, the villain being Jonny Foreigner (with a distasteful lineage) Gert-Rudolph "Muck" Flick. Herr Flick and his partner have a desperate need for extra space – swimming pool, gym, cinema, that sort of thing – requiring some disruptive excavations which the council has approved: ‘Kensington & Chelsea has ruled that the digging out of their planned, two-storey basement, forecast to cause two years of disruption in the Onslow Square area, along with the pointless destruction of the house's 1884 Red Room gallery, should have its blessing, since it would only end in "visually discreet additions" to his existing £30m house.’ Julian Lloyd Webber, president of the Onslow Neighbourhood Association, has said previously that ‘If we can’t preserve this area, nothing is safe’ - and for all I know he could be right. Nothing may now be safe, there’s a thought. Bennett’s article reviews other posh people’s tiffs and suggests that culturally we expect neighbourhood disputes to be ‘almost exclusively the province of the disadvantaged, strongly linked to poverty and poor education, limited social skills and a propensity to spit.’ It’s reasonable to suppose that people who live in dense proximity, who have fewer opportunities either to escape or to protect their own territory, would be more likely to experience tension in relationships with neighbours. But where there’s a chance for the muscles of power and egotism to be rippled, the wealthy often like to express themselves to excess. The pointless epic tangle between Boythorn and Dedlock over rights of way to a trivial stretch of land in Bleak House comes to mind. My favourite example is probably still the reported problem faced by King Abdullah of Jordan a few years ago (Smell thy neighbour). But while it makes good entertainment when the Haves are subject to disruption in their protected enclaves, I wonder how far it really is from historic examples of dynastic rulers, religious zealots, and megalomaniac industrialists, who can turn disputes with the neighbourhood equivalent of national, ethnic or faith groups into devastating wars if they don’t happen to get on very well, or if their egos need something. Disputes between the powerful and the oppressed, manifested at neighbourhood level, are different, and rather more common than publicised spats among the Haves. Sometimes these get mediated by a little neighbourhood vigilantism. So let’s take the chance to celebrate the poetic come-uppance of Bad Sir Brian Botany: Sir Brian had a pair of boots with great big spurs on, A fighting pair of which he was particularly fond. On Tuesday and Friday, just to make the street look tidy, He’d collect the passing villagers and kick them in the pond. “I am Sir Brian!” (sper-lash!) “I am Sir Brian!” (sper-losh!) “I am Sir Brian, as bold as a lion - Is anyone else for a wash?” Sir...
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Kids these days: juxtaprose 8 ‘They have no fear of their teachers, they get into fights in their presence and talk back to them in the most offensive manner. They wear their rapiers not only on the street, but also in the school. They play ball during the church services and instruction periods, and even run wild in unseemly places.’ (Arnstadt City Council, 1706, quoted in). (Previously juxtaprosed) 'An inspector said a 'core' of pupils had no boundaries, with some being ‘rude, aggressive and threatening violence’. One pupil was seen to tell the headteacher to ‘f’ off while others would just wander around the classroom. Parents complain about kids smoking on school property, bullying, fighting and rudeness to teachers.' (Daily Mail, 2012).

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