March 2015 – The Nick Owen Banging On Channel

The Bog Standard Advisor: The Town Hall, Barrow in Furness

It’s said that Barrow Upon Furness is built the wrong way round; the front of things are at the back and the back of things are on the front. This is as true of Barrow Town Hall as it of much of its wider urban landscape: so a visitor who has been caught short and is looking for some quick relief will have a problem if they think they are going to find the toilets quickly through the front door. Because the front door – the one through which would naturally walk – is actually the back door, and what you want to be doing if you’re really desperate, is use the back passage.

Barrow in Furness is also disparaged for being on the end of the railway line; at the outer edge of English civilisation and having the highest concentration of neurotics in the whole of the UK. Whilst all of this is unfair and none of it true, what is true is that the toilets in Barrow Town Hall are hard to find: but once you’ve found them, they are quite a delightful experience.

The first thing the rushed visitor finds when coming in the back passage is a PRIVATE sign: which hardly encourages you to go any further. But the hardy, desperate visitor ignores these signs and heads up the stairs and eventually sees the signs they are wanting to see and heads off in that direction with one sole intent in mind.

Once in the cloakroom (and the good burgers of Barrow have called it a cloakroom as opposed to resorting to a cruder nomenclature), the visitor can be delighted by the architecture and the efficiency of the water systems.

Relief is quick and efficient and on the way out, one gains a bit more understanding about Britain’s industrial past at the same time by being able to study and marvel at the history of UK submarine construction for which the town is rightly famous.

The Bog Standard Advisor: St George’s Hall, Liverpool.

An OfSTED inspector once confided in me: if you really want to know a school, go and visit its toilets. And she was not wrong: for all the froth and razzmatazz that a school could muster when government inspectors came to visit,there would be many times they would forget to look after the basics of their children’s needs. Teaching and learning strategies? Tick. Attendance records? Tick tick. Behaviour modification programmes? Oh yes, tick tick tick tick tick. But the school toilets?

In many a shiny school I visited, the toilets were still left in a disgraceful state. Cubicle doors kicked in, toilet paper hanging off the light bulbs and the stench of urine never far away and always beckoning you to look for the next urination hot spot.

Things were made worse by some bizarre school policies which instructed children not to go to the toilet at all between the hours of 9.30 and 10.17 precisely: or only on a Tuesday: or only if accompanied by a gazelle. No wonder the poor dear’s little bladders went into convulsion the moment they joined big school.

So since then I have been alert to the promise of shiny schools and the reality of their crap houses. And the same thing applies to many civic monuments up and down the country and around the globe: the magnificence of the Taj Mahal, the promise of liberation at The Statue of Liberty or the spiritual communing at The Vatican promise so much but deliver so little in the way of public amenities. It’s like they all want to celebrate the nobility of human endeavour without acknowledging that every King, President or Pope also needs a crap once in a while.

Happily, this is not the case with St George’s Hall in Liverpool. That it is a major public monument of historical significance is indisputable; that it offers a thousand and one ways for the occasional visitor to engage with the City’s past is without question: but the real icing on the cake are the gents toilets which are modestly upholstered and a welcoming relief to the bombast in the Big Hall along the corridor.

Decorated with some fetching light blue, grey and cream coloured tiles which make the urinals feel like a glorified beach hut as opposed to the nearest pharmacist’s clinic, the space enables you to go about your business with a spring in your step and song in your heart.

Liverpool may well have won the European City of Culture Award in 2008 and spent millions upon millions of pounds upon its local artists such as Royal De Luxe and their splendid puppets, but what will linger longer in the memory at a fraction of the price are the toilet facilities of St George’s Hall, for those of you who have got caught short at Lime Street Station and can’t pay? won’t pay! the 30p the station will charge you.

The Bog Standard Advisor: Nottingham Town Hall.

Nottingham Town Hall is a highly salubrious venue when it comes to visiting the city’s glorious past and the many artefacts that reflect its long industrial history. It sits in the pride of place of Market Square and naturally attracts a lot of street vendors, mobile tea and coffee units and neighbouring restaurants.

What is less known about Nottingham Town Hall is that it is home to some very comfortable gentlemen’s toilets.

You can sit down in comfort, wash your hands at ease knowing full well that there is clean hand towel nearby and there are even baby changing facilities in the same room as the urinals.

Some might baulk at the idea of this kind of adjacency but there’s no getting away from it: if you’re half inclined to be taken short whilst you’re in the middle of Market Square in Nottingham, heading over to the Town Hall will provide you with quick, reliable and comfortable relief in a way that the local McDonalds Fast Food outlet will never be able to.

The Bog Standard Advisor: what’s it all about?

There are endless restaurant reviews across the world, reviewing every edible thing from eggs to echidna and back again. One thing they all have in common is that they review and comment on the facilities which involve putting food and drink of various quantities and qualities into the human being.

What they frequently omit to mention are the facilities which involve disposing of the waste products that emerge once those food and drinkstuffs have been processed by aforesaid human being: namely, the toilet. Or WC. Or Crapper. Or John. Or Bog. Or whatever you want to call it in your home town or metropolitan lair.

This bog-blog is going to address those deficiencies by irregularly reviewing toilets (WCs, crappers, johns etc.) that one has had the pleasure or displeasure to visit. It will, without fear or favour, name the guilty and praise the innocents when it comes to advising the world’s public about which toilets (WCs, crappers, johns etc.) to use and which to avoid like the plague, just in case you stand a chance of catching nasty from the water system.

Watch this space… but don’t stand too close, just in case.

I am Peter? And I am? your workshop leader? For today?

Ok Peter, I get the message quickly that you are about to run this session today but what really perplexes me is your constant inability to talk in a straight line. You’ve developed that really annoying tendency Peter which turns a statement into a question by placing an upward intonation at the end of every sentence.

And worse still Peter, that high rising terminal is creeping into every part of your syntax so that after just a few minutes of your session, I’m left wondering whether you think I’ve never heard the name Peter before, whether you actually exist, whether you think I’ve ever heard of such a thing as a workshop leader and whether you’re suggesting you’re going to inflict your rising questions on me not just for today but possibly for tomorrow as well and heaven forbid for the foreseeable future.

It doesn’t instil confidence in me Peter that you know what you are doing and it doesn’t predispose me to liking you or engaging with the content you’re trying to impart. In fact Peter it makes me want to leave the room and go find someone else who knows his or her own name, knows what they’re doing and knows today’s date.

Just imagine Peter if you met a surgeon who introduced themselves like this: “I’m Doctor Smith? And I’m going to remove your appendix? later today?” What would you rate your chances Peter of getting on and off the operating table in the right number of pieces?

Or you’re on a plane about to take off and the pilot says, ‘Good morning ladies and gentlemen? We’re about to take off?” He may as well add, “if that’s all right by you?”.

See Peter, it just doesn’t instil confidence Peter in you as a human being or as a workshop leader. So please Peter, just cut out the questions and start speaking in straight lines again.

Guest Blog for Creative Nottingham: Urban magic on your doorstep.

It’s a Friday lunchtime in the office and the weekend beckons, despite the temperatures not shifting much beyond minus 73 degrees C. An email pings through the letter box and your first impulse is to press the delete button as fast as you can to prevent you from being drawn into another circular route of endless hyperlinks, cross references and doubling back on yourself.

But this time you don’t delete it but read it. Why? I don’t know but that may not be the right question right now. It’s about a venture called Street Wisdom who describe themselves as a “new, non-profit venture that offers an enjoyable, powerful and free way of using the streets to learn something new. “ That sounds intriguing.

“There is no charge” the email continues. Even better methinks.

“At Street Wisdom you don’t pay fees, you pay attention.” OK. I think I can just about manage that on a Friday afternoon.

“All you need is to turn up with a question you’d like some fresh answers to. It could be a business-related question, a personal one. Or both.” OK… now hang on, there are enough questions racing around my head at the moment to fill a race track, I wouldn’t know which one to back to getting the fastest answer.

“Come by yourself, tell your friends to sign up or even enrol your whole team – this is a great way for business colleagues to hit the refresh button.” Well, being one who always like to hit the refresh button (most frequently in the Cross Keys in the Lace Market, it has to be said) I decide to take the plunge and join the venture and their promise of Street Wisdom on the steps at the front of Nottingham’s town hall in the Old Market Square.

Pretty soon afterwards, we’ve met one of their Street Leaders who registers me up for the process and we join a group of four other intrepid searchers for the street wisdom.

They’re as good as their word: all you need to bring with you is a question that you’d like some fresh answers to. You can keep it secret if you want, but it’s good to have something in mind. Nothing as big as ‘when am I going to win the Lottery?’ or as small as ‘left or right lion?’ – but something that matters to you, right here, right now.

So what happens next? That’s not a bad question. Our Street Leaders got us started by helping us ‘tune into’ the street over four shorts walks: each walk we could make alone or with friends, and each walk had an instruction to guide you:

“Look for what you’re drawn to”
“Slow right down.”
“Notice the patterns.”
“See the beauty in everything.”

Now, in the cold light of day after the venture, this might seem a particularly uninspiring set of tasks to undertake: but in the increasingly warm light of the Nottingham afternoon, the walks and the focus given by the instructions generated for all of us on the walks a quite astounding set of responses.

I found myself being drawn to the fountains on the other side of the square, feeling quite wistful about the lack of water features in the city and the distance we were from the coastline.

The instruction to Slow Right Down had me stopped dead still in my tracks for over fifteen minutes which enabled me to see how fast everyone rushes around the city: always with intent and a job to do or a place to go or a person to visit. Staying much longer under this instruction would have seen me draining away through the concrete, I was relaxing that rapidly.

It was on the third walk – Notice the Patterns – that I really started to feel the effects of the process. Normally I brush off patterns or pay no attention to them at all: but given 10 minutes just to look at them made me hugely aware of just how patterned and ordered our city scape is: it was intoxicating to see patterns in every nook and cranny and in every small piece of iron railing, shop window and bus stop. Had this been after a Friday evening at the Cross Keys, one might have explained this with 15 pints of IPA: but no, this was Friday lunchtime and I was still technically at work.

The fourth walk – See the Beauty in everything – was the peak of the afternoon. It meant that it was impossible to go anywhere with stopping to marvel at everything. I found myself marvelling at all of modern technology when I overheard a couple of tourists extol loudly the wonder that was Skype, which had allowed them to talk to a long lost aunt in Australia that very morning.

After the four short walks, you’re encouraged to go off on a journey by yourself: your own street quest. You do this with your own question at the back of your mind and later on meet up with the rest of the group to share your experiences and improved wisdom. I can’t tell you whether the question I had posed was answered other than to say that your first question may not be the right question; but I can tell you that all six of us were swept away by the experience and promised to go divining for more Nottingham in the weeks to come.

“It’s urban magic on your doorstep” says the email and for once in your life, the reality lives up to the promise.

Give Us This Day: a Toast to Earnse Bay, Barrow in Furness.

Heaven on Earth? Not quite but not far off.

It’s a well kept secret in Barrow in Furness that Earnse Bay is not much short of heaven on earth. True, there are no angelic choirs, divine instructions from on high or bars which are open 24/7, but what it lacks for heavenly stereotypes it makes up for with sea, sky, coastline and windfarms. And the brooding Cumbrian mountains in the not so far off distance.

If you want tropical bathing: forget it. If you want warm, crystalline seas with more life under the surface than above it: forget it. If you want snorkelling, surfing and all the usual seaside paraphernalia of bingo halls, cheap nasty diners and violent games machines; don’t even bother.

But if you want the priceless liberation of wind on surf and stone, stars in the endless firmament and a brief moment of immortality then Earnse Bay might just be your destination of choice. Just don’t tell anyone else. No-one wants this heaven to become someone else’s hell just yet.

My Lords, Ladies, Gentlemen and Members of the Jury, please raise a toast to Earnse Bay.

Give Us This Day Our Daily Toast: read all about toasting here.

Tips for Travellers: the Royal Hotel, Purfleet, Essex.

The Surprise of London Views without London Prices.

I’m visiting a conference in Essex where the organisers have, in referring delegates to the local corporate hotels, omitted to mention the Royal Hotel in Purfleet which presents itself as a delightful surprise in this part of urban Essex, some 25 minutes by train from the City of London.

It’s a surprise which is generated by its hard working and friendly staff who make you feel welcome the moment you step through the front door: they book you in quickly, organise a taxi for the next morning rapidly and serve a late night meal cheerfully without the usual sense of jobsworth that you often find in the corporates. The surprise is topped off with a glorious view of the River Thames and the City. These are indeed London views but without exorbitant London prices.

However, surprises always come with side effects. In the cold light of the morning, the Royal’s side effects took some of the shine off the night before. The decorative finish of the rooms leaves a lot to be desired in as much my room was decoratively completely unfinished; and a lack of wifi, overlong bedroom curtains, a mattress which feels like it had been liberated from a nearby skip and sticky, unwashed dining tables all gave an impression of a hotel that’s been thrown together at the cheapest possible price.

Whilst the staff continue to be cheerfully and authentically polite and friendly, you get the impression of them struggling against some long term under-investment on the premises. The Royal may well have non-London prices, but at the moment it also suffers from non-London based quality issues.

With a bit more tender loving care, the Royal could live up to its name and surprise everyone, including forgetful conference organisers.

Guest Blog for Creative Nottingham: Left Lion, Right Lion. Confused? That’s the point.

It’s a simple enough mistake to make in Nottingham. You say to a mate with the faux confidence of someone who hasn’t got a clue what they’re talking about, ‘Meet you at the Left Lion’. Something that people have done for generations it seems.

So you turn up at what you think is the Left Lion only to find your mate is conspicuous by his absence. You tap your feet, prowl moodily around the stoic beast for what seems like ages and foam indignantly at the mouth as you create scenarios of being dumped at the last minute for a better offer. You give your Left Lion a kick on the plinth for good measure and head over to Hockley. Very soon – within seconds – you bump into mate who has been prowling around his Left Lion and has also left his indignation on his Left Lion’s plinth. You soon realise that left is a relative concept in Nottingham and what’s your left is his right and vica versa.

You wouldn’t be alone in that regard either. There are generations of mates missed, dates foiled and fates sealed by the misinterpretation of what’s left and what’s right down at Market Square. It all depends on what you’re facing and what’s behind you.

If you’re in the know, you’ll know that the two lions are named after the two Greek brothers Menelaus and Agamemnon who were big roundabout the times of the Trojan War. That neither lion has its name tattooed on its forehead doesn’t help the visitor’s sense of orientation but you’re reminded – via Greek tragedy this time – that if my Menelaus Is your Agamemnon then we’re heading for a big time fall out.

The same is happening across the country right now too: peoples certainties of what’s left and right are being confused by their choice of standpoint. Some strange allegiances are being forged in smoke filled bunkers which are offering all sorts of promises on the future of arts funding after the next election. Brothers are standing alongside or in opposition to each other and the challenge for us is to know which way we’re facing and who’s behind us.

In the weeks to come the arts community is going to be asked to vote for a candidate of their choice who may go out of their way to persuade us of their artistic credentials and assure us that they’re looking in the same direction as us, have the same moral leaning as us and are as vociferously supportive of the arts agenda as the next poet down the street.

There’ll be a lot of time and energy spent in persuading us that their left is our left, that their right is our children’s right to a creative education and that all would be fine in the glory of the garden that is the arts funding system in the country if only we didn’t get so stressed out about what we were looking at and what was behind us as when were looking at it.

So in these times of political rhetoric, just remember Menelaus and Agamemnon and double check that your Left Lion is their Left Lion too. Otherwise we will be facing another era of arts funding savagery when we were promised an era of milk, honey and lions laying down with lambs. There’s only one outcome when a lion lays down with a lamb. One replete smiling lion alongside a bloody mess of bones and lamb kebabed.

More on the Creative Nottingham website here.

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