When serious things come a bit too close

This evening I was returning from a design training in Bristol. We worked with several groups of young people, one of which was a group of 5 boys from a challenged school. They were pretty disruptive to each other and the rest of the groups, but their responsible adult kept stressing that they were very well-behaved for kids from their school. Apparently Bristol's a pretty harsh place in certain areas.

Settling into my seat on the train back to London my eye caught a headline about ..youths.. shooting.. London.. I thought to myself, oh, another one. Then I looked a bit closer and saw Stoke Newington in there. I flipped to page 11 and there was the name of my road in the text, a description of the boys that always hang out around my tower block, and a mention of the community centre that's nearly always closed and looks so sad with it's windows barred for protection.

3 young people have, while I was away, been shot just moments and meters away from my front door. My flatmate was home, and just like everyone else, he assumed the bangs were just the ubiquitous fireworks, and the group of kids just the kids that always hang out a the foot of our building. He didn't realise that 3 14-15 year old kids had been shot by a rival gang.

It's a bit scary, really. I've noticed lately that something's going on with the kids. There's been more of them, more often. And there has been more police presence on the estate, too, in the form of officers slowly patrolling the area, but certainly also in police vans chasing kids on scooters (only to get caught up by the lovely 60s urban design of the estate). This didn't happen when I first moved here a year and a half ago. I stopped a couple of officers on patrol just the other day to ask why there seemed to be more police, and they told me that they were just establishing a presence in the area in response to the young people here, nothing to worry about, ma'am.

Yeah, right.

What kind of places are we living in, where children have access to guns and shoot each other? And why the heck am I living in the middle of it all? And why is nothing being done to the physical, emotional, social and financial deprivation of my estate and of others around the country? Estates that encourage and enable behaviour that is not for the best of the community. Estates that do not inspire people to dream that their lives could be different of the lives of their parents, estates that are not legible, not accessible, not fit for purpose. Estates that have been built in one fell swoop, or estates that have developed piecemeal to a hodgepodge of disconnected spaces, linked by a series of non-places. No, I don't mean the Marc Augé ones; I'm on about the appallingly unpersonal and unwelcoming concrete leftover spaces that incompetent planners and designers failed to address in an appropriate manner. I'm talking about seedy concreted spaces that are fenced in and used for littering, broken curbs, a horrid back alley used for parking and dumping of all sorts of garbage and large household furnisings, narrow and poorly lit alleys and walkways, derelict green spaces, etc etc. Just outside my front door, and so many other people's.

As ever, my dear two readers, I hope you're doing well. Today I'll add in another hope - that you are and will remain far removed from gun-toting, balaclava-wearing kids on bikes.

From 0 to 100

I'm hoping that that tickling at the back of my throat isn't what it feels like.. I really don't have time to get sick these days. The next two weeks are action packed like none have been recently (and the last two have been mad enough).

Next week I'm going away for a network meeting all of Tuesday, to hear what they're on about, tell them about my charity, and hopefully to scope some professionals that we can rope in for our project support and training. Then Wednesday I'm off to Exeter for a project support scoping visit with a potential group, Thursday's a conference that I'm doing some workshops at, and Friday's another scoping visit, this time with a group that wants to do an off-grid learning centre out in nature somewhere in Dorset.

Then Saturday is the Nike+ Human Race (10K with Sara in Victoria Park), and Sunday I head up to Bristol for the young people's design training that is Monday through Tuesday. Thursday I go on holiday for a few days. Phew. The TOIL I'm accruing will be massive...

Someone, tell me that it's all going to go to plan. I've got SO much to do before then that it's unbelievable. I obviously need to prepare bits and bobs for each of these events. Shoot, I need to sleep too!

BUT. It's exciting, extremely relevant, and I want to do it all.

I need to get me some oranges, drink me some tea and keep wrapping up in wool.

London learning, over and out.

Ode to Saga

The seasons are changing. I keep repeating that to everyone, but foremost myself. It's clear; the air nips at my chin if I don't keep it tucked into my scarf, and full days of rain remind me that my outerwear is not water proof. Clear skies shift and are replaced with a lucid cover of greys. Soft and mellow anticipation of blustering winds comes and goes with the arrival of gust lifting surprisingly long strands of hair into the air, like antennae.

Shifting into a space that is open and inviting, however challenging, maybe inviting because it is challenging, challenging because it is open. Engaging seems just ahead.

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Sometimes you meet people and they make an impression. Sometimes you meet people and they hardly register as a blip on your radar. Sometimes the briefest of encounters stay with you forever, and occasionally a seemingly meaningless meeting turns into something of longevity.

Out of two potential relations, what then makes one relationship last, and another falter? How can maintaining a relationship with someone on the other side of the world come so much more naturally than staying in touch with someone just up the street?

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It's all about movement, now. And daring. Moving, and daring.