Monday, May 31, 2004
Making the best of a bad job
Ok, it looks like I'm staying put for the foreseeable future. The costs of moving, both financial and in terms of emotional and psychological aggro, are greater than the costs of staying. Interest rates have gone up twice in recent months and all the pundits are agreed that there'll be more, with rates perhaps rising to 6% or more (currently Bank of England base rate is 4.25%) in order to cure "overheating" in the "housing market". Moving now to a more costly house would risk losing a good few grand, and at worst end up in the dreaded "negative equity". (Lovely Yuppy phrase that, meaning that your assets don't cover your debts.) Either way, moving to a better place in Nottingham would make it more difficult, and at worst impossible, to move out of this sodding city to somewhere civilised.
So, although Bilborough's a grotty Darren-ridden graffiti-d and vandalised dump, it makes more sense to stay in the house and batten down the hatches so as to be able to move to civilisation when/if the opportunity arises, than to move to a more expensive house (thus taking on more mortgage debt) and effectively committing myself to Nottingham for years. This illustrates two of the major disadvantages of being a 'home owner':
Were I still renting and had ended up in Grotsville, I could just decide to rent somewhere else and move at the end of my rent contract (usually 6-12 months these days). No agents, no briefs, no house tours, no offers, no retracted offers - just wash 'n' go. It irritates me that, as a 'house owner' (rather, debtor to a building society), your decision as to where to live is dictated almost solely by economics. Of course, the disadvantages of renting are legion, not least having to kowtow to a petty-bourgeois penny-penching narrow-minded Daily-Mail-reading landlord/lady, but the freedom to bugger off whenever you want is pretty appealing.
The choice is simple, then: stay in Grotsville, Notts, hoping for a better job opportunity to arise elsewhere (preferably a long way North of Nottingham), or commit to Nottingham for years to come. No choice, really. As cities go, Nottingham is relatively civilised, at least compared to London or Manchester or Leeds, even to Hull. But that's not saying much. Cities are noisy, overcrowded, violent, stressful, and destructive of human solidarity, and Nottingham's no exception. It's greener than some, with some good parks, but it's hideously overcrowded, choked with traffic, and crime-ridden (not surprising given the vast wealth disparities living cheek by jowl in the city). People aren't as unfriendly and aggressive as in London, but that's a bit like saying that Michael "Drac" Howard isn't as right-wing as Nick "I'm no Nazi, honest guv" Griffin, or that solitary confinement isn't as bad as being dropped into a scorpion pit, or that Nicholas Parsons is preferable to Bernard Manning: forced into a choice you'd have to choose the least bad, but given a free choice you'd not choose either.
Aggression, stress, and chronic low-level nervousness are constants in a city. You can never fully relax, and petty aggro can strike unpredictably at any time. Two recent incidents:
1. When cycling in Shipley Country Park a carfull of Darrens drove past in the opposite direction and the driver lobbed something at me, probably a can, hitting me on the leg. I turned around and chased after them (foolishly - what would I have done if I'd caught up, given that I've not had a fight for over 25 years?), but they drove off with some slack-jawed grinning knuckledragger looking a fair bit like the banjoist in Deliverance giving me repeated V-signs through the back window. Provocation on my part? Nil. Zero. Nada. Niente. Zip. Bubkes.
2. Again on my bike, turning into the Wheelhouse pub on Russell Drive at around 8pm, going past a parked car with 3 black lads, one of whom leans out of the window and shouts incomprehensible insults (including "bitch" - since when has that been an insult to throw at males?) and makes menacing gestures. I just rode on past, shaken and annoyed. Again, provocation zero. Perhaps the guy thought he had to 'big it up' to his mates and make like some mean muthafucka in a rap video? Who knows.
There have been a few others, but it's not worth listing all the petty random aggressions that get thrown at you in this city. The point is that conflict can happen at any time in any place in the city, even if you adopt a low profile, are unprovocative, avoid eye contact with lads and hard men, don't dress in any subcultural uniform, and generally try to make yourself as anonymous and unnoticed as possible. It's just a fact of life in a city, where humans are turned inhuman and conflict, not solidarity and empathy, mediates human relations.
I'm more acutely aware of this at the moment because I've just come back from 2 very happy weeks in the Scottish Highlands, where sheep outnumber humans by orders of magnitude, and people are people and interact as humans, not regarding each other suspiciously as potential threats. It hurt badly, really badly, to come South of the Border, and worse when I got back to the Midlands, where open country is as rare as clean air. Going from how people should naturally live, in face-to-face communities, to how people are forced to live, as mutually antagonistic anonymous economic entities, is a shock to the system which takes some time to recover from.
I just can't hack city life, and I know that shedloads of other people in cities feel the same. Sure, some folk actively like cities, but I reckon they're in a minority. To me, living in a city is bad for your physical and psychological health, strips you of your natural empathy and solidarity with other humans, and reduces your life span. I'm sure that if I could live in the Highlands I'd live years longer than I will down here. Best keep on buying those lottery tickets I suppose....
So, although Bilborough's a grotty Darren-ridden graffiti-d and vandalised dump, it makes more sense to stay in the house and batten down the hatches so as to be able to move to civilisation when/if the opportunity arises, than to move to a more expensive house (thus taking on more mortgage debt) and effectively committing myself to Nottingham for years. This illustrates two of the major disadvantages of being a 'home owner':
- Inflexibility. Once you've bought a house it's difficult and time-consuming to move again.
- Soothsaying. You have to become an amateur economic pundit in order to decide whether to move or not
Were I still renting and had ended up in Grotsville, I could just decide to rent somewhere else and move at the end of my rent contract (usually 6-12 months these days). No agents, no briefs, no house tours, no offers, no retracted offers - just wash 'n' go. It irritates me that, as a 'house owner' (rather, debtor to a building society), your decision as to where to live is dictated almost solely by economics. Of course, the disadvantages of renting are legion, not least having to kowtow to a petty-bourgeois penny-penching narrow-minded Daily-Mail-reading landlord/lady, but the freedom to bugger off whenever you want is pretty appealing.
The choice is simple, then: stay in Grotsville, Notts, hoping for a better job opportunity to arise elsewhere (preferably a long way North of Nottingham), or commit to Nottingham for years to come. No choice, really. As cities go, Nottingham is relatively civilised, at least compared to London or Manchester or Leeds, even to Hull. But that's not saying much. Cities are noisy, overcrowded, violent, stressful, and destructive of human solidarity, and Nottingham's no exception. It's greener than some, with some good parks, but it's hideously overcrowded, choked with traffic, and crime-ridden (not surprising given the vast wealth disparities living cheek by jowl in the city). People aren't as unfriendly and aggressive as in London, but that's a bit like saying that Michael "Drac" Howard isn't as right-wing as Nick "I'm no Nazi, honest guv" Griffin, or that solitary confinement isn't as bad as being dropped into a scorpion pit, or that Nicholas Parsons is preferable to Bernard Manning: forced into a choice you'd have to choose the least bad, but given a free choice you'd not choose either.
Aggression, stress, and chronic low-level nervousness are constants in a city. You can never fully relax, and petty aggro can strike unpredictably at any time. Two recent incidents:
1. When cycling in Shipley Country Park a carfull of Darrens drove past in the opposite direction and the driver lobbed something at me, probably a can, hitting me on the leg. I turned around and chased after them (foolishly - what would I have done if I'd caught up, given that I've not had a fight for over 25 years?), but they drove off with some slack-jawed grinning knuckledragger looking a fair bit like the banjoist in Deliverance giving me repeated V-signs through the back window. Provocation on my part? Nil. Zero. Nada. Niente. Zip. Bubkes.
2. Again on my bike, turning into the Wheelhouse pub on Russell Drive at around 8pm, going past a parked car with 3 black lads, one of whom leans out of the window and shouts incomprehensible insults (including "bitch" - since when has that been an insult to throw at males?) and makes menacing gestures. I just rode on past, shaken and annoyed. Again, provocation zero. Perhaps the guy thought he had to 'big it up' to his mates and make like some mean muthafucka in a rap video? Who knows.
There have been a few others, but it's not worth listing all the petty random aggressions that get thrown at you in this city. The point is that conflict can happen at any time in any place in the city, even if you adopt a low profile, are unprovocative, avoid eye contact with lads and hard men, don't dress in any subcultural uniform, and generally try to make yourself as anonymous and unnoticed as possible. It's just a fact of life in a city, where humans are turned inhuman and conflict, not solidarity and empathy, mediates human relations.
I'm more acutely aware of this at the moment because I've just come back from 2 very happy weeks in the Scottish Highlands, where sheep outnumber humans by orders of magnitude, and people are people and interact as humans, not regarding each other suspiciously as potential threats. It hurt badly, really badly, to come South of the Border, and worse when I got back to the Midlands, where open country is as rare as clean air. Going from how people should naturally live, in face-to-face communities, to how people are forced to live, as mutually antagonistic anonymous economic entities, is a shock to the system which takes some time to recover from.
I just can't hack city life, and I know that shedloads of other people in cities feel the same. Sure, some folk actively like cities, but I reckon they're in a minority. To me, living in a city is bad for your physical and psychological health, strips you of your natural empathy and solidarity with other humans, and reduces your life span. I'm sure that if I could live in the Highlands I'd live years longer than I will down here. Best keep on buying those lottery tickets I suppose....
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Hi, I've enjoyed reading your tale. One thing occurs to me from your latest entry - assuming you have some spare equity at the moment (and who doesn't given price rises?) why don't you sell, pocket the cash and start renting?
I live in Nottingham and I've never had any problems with being confronted by Darrens, apart from when I used to be a student. But then locals are perfectly justified in resenting students, it seems to me, and now as a local I resent them as much as anyone. I wouldn't live in Broxtowe/Bilborough for love nor money, though. Driving through on a sunday morning around every street corner there are young men walking around holding cans of special brew. At least St. Anns and the Meadows are near the city centre, but Broxtowe is near nowhere and has no facilities. I'm sorry to say it, and you know it already, but you really should have asked some people with local knowledge before you moved!
I live in Nottingham and I've never had any problems with being confronted by Darrens, apart from when I used to be a student. But then locals are perfectly justified in resenting students, it seems to me, and now as a local I resent them as much as anyone. I wouldn't live in Broxtowe/Bilborough for love nor money, though. Driving through on a sunday morning around every street corner there are young men walking around holding cans of special brew. At least St. Anns and the Meadows are near the city centre, but Broxtowe is near nowhere and has no facilities. I'm sorry to say it, and you know it already, but you really should have asked some people with local knowledge before you moved!
In reply to anon (and much surprised that anyone reads this crud I write):
1. If I sell up now, pocket the dosh, and start renting again, I'll:
a) never own a home again (I'm now 46)
b) have to deal with landlords/ladies
c) have to live with the insecurity of fixed-term contracts
Been there, seen it, done it, bought the t-shirt. Rented until age 42, lived in 20+ homes, 95% of landlords are scumbags. Now if you don't own a home you're screwed come retirement time as there'll be no State pension worth mentioning in 20 years time.
2. I did ask people with local knowledge, but I was in a hell of a hurry. Read the archives and you'll see that I still spent 3 months in B&Bs; after starting the job despite being in a hurry. For instance, my GF's sister's partner was brought up in Bilborough and told me it was ok. And it is, compared to St Anns, Broxtowe, Meadows.... And as the agents say, Bilborough is very popular and houses there go like shit off a shovel.
That's the trouble with moving somewhere new - you just have to learn the hard way. I could have rented first then bought, but that had its own problems (see archive posts, if you've the patience).
1. If I sell up now, pocket the dosh, and start renting again, I'll:
a) never own a home again (I'm now 46)
b) have to deal with landlords/ladies
c) have to live with the insecurity of fixed-term contracts
Been there, seen it, done it, bought the t-shirt. Rented until age 42, lived in 20+ homes, 95% of landlords are scumbags. Now if you don't own a home you're screwed come retirement time as there'll be no State pension worth mentioning in 20 years time.
2. I did ask people with local knowledge, but I was in a hell of a hurry. Read the archives and you'll see that I still spent 3 months in B&Bs; after starting the job despite being in a hurry. For instance, my GF's sister's partner was brought up in Bilborough and told me it was ok. And it is, compared to St Anns, Broxtowe, Meadows.... And as the agents say, Bilborough is very popular and houses there go like shit off a shovel.
That's the trouble with moving somewhere new - you just have to learn the hard way. I could have rented first then bought, but that had its own problems (see archive posts, if you've the patience).
A well-written, descriptive observation and slice o' life that paints with words. Well done. And, for what little it's worth, I empathize. Were you to change place-names and idiomatic expressions (and mention something about handguns), "The House Mover's Tale" would aptly describe urban life in the southern United States.
I'd visited Britannia in the early '70s, spending many weeks mostly in Bristol and Warwick, and wandering about the northeast. I recall sincerely friendly folk and aspects of civilization sorely missing here. Since then, and especially given our astronomical unemployment, and the cultural/economic wars heightened by religious-conservative despotism, I've often fantasized about fleeing this land and pleading for asylum as a political refugee.
Your tale gives me pause, and reminds me of what should be universally known: There is no utopia. Nonetheless, the search continues.
Many thanks,
G. Lemynge
Nashville, Tenn., Corporate States of America
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I'd visited Britannia in the early '70s, spending many weeks mostly in Bristol and Warwick, and wandering about the northeast. I recall sincerely friendly folk and aspects of civilization sorely missing here. Since then, and especially given our astronomical unemployment, and the cultural/economic wars heightened by religious-conservative despotism, I've often fantasized about fleeing this land and pleading for asylum as a political refugee.
Your tale gives me pause, and reminds me of what should be universally known: There is no utopia. Nonetheless, the search continues.
Many thanks,
G. Lemynge
Nashville, Tenn., Corporate States of America
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