Mass Observation - One Day Diary - Tuesday 12th May 2015

I wrote this account because I was taking part in mass observation where large numbers of people write about their day.

I live in Uckfield, Sussex with my Mother. I am 52 years old. I am single. I work as a training consultant.  This wasn't a typical day because I am having a few days off. Usually I work in Birmingham or at home.

I happened to have a day off on 12th May.

5:30am	Woke up. Checked phone for updates. Drew curtains to gentle sunshine, cooing of pigeons.
5:45 am	Switched on WiFi. Fired up laptop. Checked Twitter, Facebook and email.
6:07 am	Updating my todo list, held in a spreadsheet.
6:25am	Sorting my photos from yesterday's visit to Boothland Wood, Uckfield.
6:35am	Mother's emerged. Retreating to bed with cup of tea, biscuits, Sussex Express and laptop.
7:00am	Radio news (BBC 4). EU regs on conservation being "reviewed"; more people my age having strokes :-/
7:05am	Check items @UckfieldNews to find out what is happening locally. Includes change to train times; scarecrow competition. Uckfield News is an ultra local news service with website, Facebook and Twitter.  This sort of news is becoming very important. The people running the service often send personal messages with useful items.
7:15am	Checked weather on met office web site. Says it will be a bit dull this morning, sunnier this afternoon.
7:25am	Recorded nature sightings from Boothland Wood visit on iRecord.
7:50am	Recorded wildlife observations from Bushnell Trail camera in spreadsheet.
8:42am	Went to get paper from Tesco Express. No Guardians. Met town councillor who was busy untangling notice board
8:44am	Diverted to town and got Guardian and Radio Times from independent newsagent at top of town.  Heard the screams of swifts.
9:05am	Have flicked through paper. Incensed at the vitriol towards fallen leaders. David Milliband/David Steel, the worst offenders. Giggled at the return of John Major style pants (on David Cameron) in Steve Bell. Reminded that satire comes from punching upwards. Nice article on the success on English Sparkling wines are doing well. We quite often have Surry/Sussex/Kent wine.
9:29am	Flicked through Radio Times. Like the look of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. Enjoyed phrase "welter of weirdness"
9:40am	Got ready to go out. Packed everything in camera bag, cleaned teeth and put laptop away.
10am	Mother and I got into my 11-year old Volkswagen Polo and went to Ashdown forest, about 20 minutes drive from home.
10:20am	Stopped at Millbank car park, joining one other car and 2 HGVs nearby. We went to the wood immediately next to the car park to see the bluebells. We also saw unfurling ferns, bright green beech leaves, crab apple trees a (probable) badger set and much more. We met a woman riding a horse, accompanied by a black retriever. She asked if we were taking pictures of the birds and I said I was taking pictures of the bluebells.
11am	We drove up to the Ashdown Llama Park. We bought 2 tickets for approx. £11 and spent an enjoyable hour and a half looking at the animals in the park: llamas, alpacas, horses, chickens, pigs and sheep. There were also wild birds such as pied wagtail and swallows.
12:45pm	We went to the restaurant for lunch. Mum had carrot and coriander soup. I had sausage, egg and chips with an apple juice. Total cost was £11.75.  About a dozen people came in while we were waiting. Mostly older, but one youngish couple. Mum, as always, tidied the table before leaving and the woman sitting at the next table commented. They went on to talk about the weather.
1:30pm	Mum bought some cards and fudge from the shop. When we were leaving, I almost fell over a pair of mating peacocks. There were 2 males and 3 females. The male, who had been mating, displayed his tail for long enough for me to get a photo.
1:40pm	Drove back through the forest. Two deer crossed the road in front of the car. I slowed but didn’t have to brake hard. There are many accidents caused by deer in our area.
2:00pm	Got home, put car back in the garage, put kettle on for tea, checked Twitter, Facebook and email.
3:05pm	Sorted photos from the day’s outing and chose some to put on Facebook and Twitter.
4:54pm	Received email with agenda and other documents for Neighbourhood Plan meeting.  The idea of the Neighbourhood Plan is to give local people a chance to decide where development should be in the town, what should be preserved and what should be changed.  Printed and browsed through documents.
6:25pm	Had tea comprising beef bourguignon (from chilled packet) and some Denbies sparkling wine.
8pm	Cleared up some Neighbourhood Plan items – sending emails etc.
9:30pm	Had hot chocolate drink and started typing up these notes.
11pm	Bed.

I found this very interesting to do and the experience was enlivened by some great people, who live tweeted their mass observation using #12May15. It was humbling to get insight into other lives.

Broadchurch 2 - Reflections [SPOILERS]

Before I start, a massive tip of the hat to 24 Frames of Dreaming who has been writing detailed posts on Broadchurch. We've chatted online and her ideas and mine have bounced off each other in all sorts of interesting ways.

BEWARE SPOILERS!

Written after the 6th episode of the second series. If you haven't viewed this far yet, STOP READING NOW.

Looking back, I loved the first series of Broadchurch because of its sense of place. The series examined the relationships and secrets in a small town through the lens of the investigation into the killing of young Danny Latimer. The lead detective, DI Alec Hardy, was sitting on a big secret of his own, the circumstances around the loss of vital evidence in his disastrous "Sandbrook" case. Eventually Broadchurch's killer confessed and that was that.  Chris Chibnall, the author, had created a town with characters that were interesting enough to keep me asking questions long after the show ended. Would relationships heal and survive? Would Sandbrook ever be solved? Would the killer's legal team try to reduce the verdict to manslaughter?

At the start of series 2 Hardy looks at the rubble from a cliff fall and says "Everything falls apart".  And everything does. Doubt is cast on the confession of Danny's killer and the Sandbrook suspect, Ashworth, is back in town.  This time I was fascinated by recurrent themes and what they foreshadow or how they're misleading me.

Water

In the first series, Hardy's dreams were full of ominous seas. In this one, he is surrounded by the stuff, sometimes dreaming that he is drowning in a river. About half way through series 2, he dreams for the first time about emerging from the water. This is immediately followed by a understated little scene, where he says that he is putting things right. In a subsequent dream, the water starts flowing away from him. Maybe the 'tide' has turned.

Reflections

 

In this series reflections are everywhere. I started really noticing this just over half way through. Is this telling us that the two main cases reflect each other? That subplots concerning other offenders tell us something about where those cases are going? Or is it just misleading eye-candy?

Isolated, staring men

Unkind comment has been made about the number of times you see men, particularly Hardy and Ashworth, alone and staring into the distance. The Broadchurch accused stares across the courtroom from his lonely place in the dock.  I think I can see a common thread about them being controlled and isolated from others by the women in their lives:

• The Broadchurch accused - For obvious and entirely understandable reasons
• Ashworth - His wife, Claire, bears witness against him and demands protection
• Hardy - Ejected from the family home in the fallout from Sandbrook. Also, from the start of series one, isolated within the local police by his city ways and the way in which his popular police partner, Ellie, makes it clear that he "stole her job" and endlessly puts him "right" about who he should suspect and how he should behave in the investigation.

Women controlling men

All of those women seem to be more than capable of playing damsel in distress to get something they want. Clare only needs to look at a man with big scared eyes for him to jump to attention. Her violence when she doesn't get her own way is dramatic. A snivelling Ellie demanded that Hardy give her access to someone she shouldn't have been near. She tells Claire to have some self control but her own uncontrolled anger has had catastrophic effects. Hardy's ex-wife is more subtle but she has certainly been prepared to let him twist in the wind rather than admit that she might have done something wrong. 

I feel that where the first story was about the male suspects, this one is about controlling women.  I don't think it is any coincidence that the court proceedings are controlled by three strong female characters.

That orange jacket

There's a lot of orange in both series, orange cliffs, ginger tints in Hardy's hair, children's windmills and Ellie's orange coat. She seems to wear it everywhere, even in the heat of the summer. I can't help recalling that, in the first series, a witness saw the murdered boy arguing with the 'postman'.  As I walk around my own small town, I notice that postmen wear orange high viz jackets, the same colour as Ellie's.  Could the witness have made a mistake? Did she argue with Danny?

Cate's books

The camera zooms into a photo of a murdered child on a bookshelf. Being a bookworm, my attention is taken by the books including:

• some Lindsey Davis murder mysteries
• Nicolas Dickner's "Nikolski", about 3 young people with a shared family tree, who independently end up in the same city
• Armistead Maupin's "Sure of you", which deals with abandonment and the need to be sure of our loved ones.

The most interesting is "Sorry" by Zoran Drvenkar.  The narration shifts between different people, one of whom is "You". Yes, You, the reader and You are complicit in the crimes. According to The New Yorker review.

"As the novel progresses, we learn that you possess a fully fleshed history and reasons for your actions that, even if they provide some justification, grow more hazy and ambiguous as the narrative flies along. What I mean to say is, while you have your reasons, you’re not let off the hook. Which is as it should be, for at the core of “Sorry” is the question of guilt and absolution."

Maybe You will find yourself buying into some awful sequence of events because You sympathise with how the guilty party got there.

Or maybe they are just books.

Words echoing and repeating

In the first series, Ellie's words "How could you not know" bit back. I wonder if Hardy's "Don't Trust" will do the same. He trusts very few people - maybe one of those few will have done something dreadful.

Whatever the answers are, I am fascinated by Broadchurch because the author has left so many little clues and trails that I know that he is playing games with me. I want to beat him by figuring out the mystery before he tells me the answer, but I suspect I won't.

 

The London Bridge Experience

I avoided travelling while London Bridge was closed. It had been grim enough before with constant cancellations and delays. On the 5th of January, I went back to work and hoped for the best.

Monday the 5th

The morning run was OK. At London Bridge, my usual route through to the tube - through a tunnel lined with little shops, was closed off. This wasn't a real problem but I was surprised that I couldn't see signage telling me where to go. I just followed the crowd and hoped they were heading for the tube rather than the nearest coffee shop. A station employee seemed to be flapping their hands in the general direction of motion, so off I went. Down some stairs into the tube and into work.

The evening was a very different story. I came out of the tube with about 20 minutes to spare. Even in crowded conditions this is usually plenty of time to look at the shops and get my train. I was able to get to the main line station using my normal route, through the tunnel. I bought some posh chocolates and headed up into the station. This is where it all went wrong. Instead of being able to move freely into the concourse to see the platform announcements, I found myself in a rather genteel 'kettle'. Although, everyone was being patient, I could immediately sense how edgy everyone was. I soon realised why. Of approximately a dozen ticket gates, only 3 were set up in the right direction for the evening flow of commuters. The rush hour crowds were piling up behind me.

I started weaving my way through to the corner with the magic green crosses. An authoritative voice rang out asking that people make way for the guide dog. Everyone stepped aside and let the dog and its blind handler through. A few minutes later, I slipped my ticket into the slot and almost skipped through the barrier. 8 minutes to go. To my horror I found myself on the train side of the barriers away from the all-important platform information. I found myself next to one of the few station staff and asked him where I might find the Uckfield train. He had no more idea than me and apologetically waved at the individual boards by the buffers. All I could do was join the heaving throng struggling up and down looking for their train. I saw an East Grinstead train and immediately gave up on Uckfield. I just managed to squeeze in. I could still just hear announcements and strained my ears listening and waited. It sat in the platform for an age. Endless bloody meaningless apologies. I began to get twitchy, maybe I should have waited for the Uckfield train. Then I heard "Uckfield train cancelled".

Finally the scarily full train mooched out of the platform. It stopped and started a few times. I didn't even look out of the window at East Croydon. I'm told the platforms were overflowing. Then on through the suburbs to Oxted. Would the shuttle be running? A glance at the board says yes, which is fortunate because the platform is full with people who should have been on my train as well as the shuttle's regulars. Never has that shuttle been so welcomed or so full.

Tuesday the 6th

Things would surely be better on the second day back. Going in was slightly better. My usual route through the tunnel had been restored.  During the afternoon I kept my eye on Twitter because forewarned is forearmed. My heart sank as sea of green Southern avatars announced hundreds of delays and cancellations @SonOfShaleman tweeted that the 18:08 train was likely to be only four carriages. Noooo!

Coming home was actually worse this time. This time an iron shutter fronted by a couple of staff barred the way into the tunnel. "This way?" I asked, pointing towards the Shard. They nodded. I followed the throng onto a narrow escalator and chatted to a lady as we went up. She said that she was seeing bits of the London Bridge area that she had never seen before. With a laugh "It's nice of them to give us free tours of the London Bridge experience." I grinned back, then followed the crowd.

This time it was worse because I came in right at the back of the station and found myself looking at thousands of heads. People trying to get to their platforms were impeded by those frantically scanning the boards. Would I be able to get through in time? Maybe the East Grinstead train would be the better option again. I inched my way through the crowds. It was getting close to the grinny's departure.

Through the barrier, more-or-less in the right place. I find the train just in time - but - I pass every door. Each carriage is full to the brim. Many of the people would be getting out at East Croydon to get the train they really want. I'm half way up when I hear the sound I have been dreading. The whistle blows and the doors close. Dozens, maybe over a hundred, are left bewildered on the platform. What now? There is a mass movement to the other side where the Bognor train is coming in. I join the bunches by doors. Might just as well get in and get out of this seething mass. I'm on. I strain to hear announcements. Another massive wait. Maybe the Uckfield train will turn up.

A Brighton train pulls up opposite. I eye it while half listening to the announcements on my train. "Non stop to .........." I'm outta here. I apologise dozens of times as I weave and shuffle to get out of the carriage. A quick trot across the platform and I slip into the comfortable seat of the Gatwick Express. Again, we are waiting, waiting. The woman sitting next to me checks the expected departure time on her phone. None is given. Will it be cancelled? I really don't want to get back into that boiling mass. She looks glumly into her phone and says 'It's not looking good." I'm not convinced the information means anything. Everything is so chaotic. Then the magic sound of a whistle and doors clunking shut. We are off. I am heading to Haywards Heath with the wrong ticket and the prospect of a big taxi fare and I don't care. I'm going home.