Daniel Thomas, a young local writer, chased up Broxtowe’s less likely candidates and found out why they are standing…and why they should be ready to fill the void of opposition that is likely to open up in a few hours…
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Broxtowe’s reputation as a “bellwether” constituency is well-earned. Over its 106 years on the electoral map, we’ve tended to be a reliable indicator of national trends. Come election time, this has attracted a flurry of attention from national politicians, from Boris Johnson and Jeremy Corbyn to David Cameron and Nick Clegg.
This year, however, things are different. With the Tories in political freefall and a titanic surge in the polls for the Opposition, a Labour victory in Broxtowe seems all but secured. The nation’s attention has slipped elsewhere, to the new marginal seats in the crumbling Southern “blue wall”.
And with less of a narrow focus on the contest between the two major parties, some space has opened up for the smaller-party candidates to make their case. Elections in Broxtowe have never simply been a two-horse race – 2019 saw the English Democrats and the Militant Elvis Anti-HS2 party put up candidates but with both candidates for Prime Minister historically unpopular, many voters are looking around and assessing the other options.
What drives someone to stand as a candidate, when their chance of winning is so slim? What do they hope to get out of this election – and how will this change the political landscape of Broxtowe? To find out, I spoke with some of the people running to be Broxtowe’s next M.P., without the backing of either of the largest parties.
He also argues that both he and his party are looking at this election with an eye to the future. The Lib Dems’ strategy is focused on building power and trust at the local level, in district and county councils – while Collis himself suggests his expertise might be put to good use in a reformed upper chamber of Parliament, in light of Labour’s promises on the Lords.
“Climate change is a race against time – and what they’re doing is tying our legs together and making us run in a sack”.
James Collis
A member of the Green Lib Dem network, Collis is passionate about environmental policy. He advocates a carbon tax and climate income to crack down on emissions – both as the most cost-effective solutions to the climate crisis, and in keeping with liberal philosophy. While these measures are not yet Liberal Democrat policy, Collis believes it’s only a matter of time before all parties have to start seriously contemplating them at the national level, as EU nations increasingly align on carbon taxes.
He’s a strong critic of the government’s e nvironmental policy, arguing that an attitude of “cut the green crap” has hurt consumers in Broxtowe and nationwide. Scrapping insulation programmes, for example, is projected to cost households something to the tune of £22 billion.
“Climate change”, he points out, “is a race against time – and what they’re doing is tying our legs together and making us run in a sack”.
Student Journalist Mykyta Veselov interviews Lib Dem candidate James Collis
Collis isn’t the only candidate putting climate change at the heart of his campaign. Teresa Needham, the Green candidate, is a laboratory manager at the University of Nottingham, and a town councillor in Stapleford. She cites both jobs as formative political experiences.
Working with climate scientists has drilled into her the “horrific” local & global consequences of the climate crisis. In her role as councillor, meanwhile she pushed Stapleford Town Council to declare a climate emergency (the first in Broxtowe to do so), and advised other parish councils on calculating their carbon footprints.
Needham suggests that Green climate policy is distinctive in that “we’re just prepared to go further, to be honest”, whether on taxes or on regulations, such as a proposed mandate for solar panels on all newly-built homes.
Beyond this, Needham is running for Parliament to, she hopes, stave off what she sees as “the shift to the right in politics”. She’s taken three unpaid weeks off work to do so, arguing that “if I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it properly”.
She cites the rise of Reform UK as something she finds particularly troubling. Their candidate in
Broxtowe, Joseph Oakley, has put out a leaflet proclaiming this contest “the immigration election”, promising to leave the “undemocratic” ECHR and freeze “non-essential immigration”. Needham describes the Greens as “the only party standing by our principles” on this issue, and recently signed an open letter pledging to avoid “inflammatory and hateful” rhetoric in the debate over asylum and immigration.
Foreign policy, too, is something Needham believes local voices can help to influence. She recently met with a Palestinian solidarity group in Nottingham on Monday, and described a ceasefire and increased humanitarian aid in Gaza as a “no-brainer”.
The Greens aren’t the only party in Broxtowe hitting Labour on this issue. Maqsood Syed, an IT engineer and “passionate motorcyclist”, is standing for the Workers Party of Britain. A left-conservative populist outfit led nationally by Dundee controversialist George Galloway, the WPB takes a strongly pro-Palestinian line, and Syed’s campaign materials call for a “Gaza ceasefire and peaceful coexistence”.
I unfortunately wasn’t able to arrange for an interview with Mr. Syed, but his leaflets assert his
commitment to “our schools and our values”, calling for “safe roads and safer neighbourhoods” and cheaper public transport. He lambasts “neglect by our local and central government”, and talks about the need to create local employment opportunities and guarantee self-sufficiency for vulnerable people.
The WPB may have made headlines for its provocative foreign policy positions. But its platform seeks to tap into a much broader disaffection with British politics and society as they currently stand – from local authorities’ financial woes in Broxtowe and beyond, to a lack of state investment at the local level and a sense of general social disintegration. Time will only tell how effective this is.
Most of them are also firmly localist, balancing their attention to national issues with an eye towards our particular concerns in Broxtowe. They claim to represent the constituency more effectively than a candidate beholden to the strict party discipline of Labour and the Tories
The breakdown of Tory dominance has thrown up plenty of odd symptoms across the country, and Broxtowe is no exception. Dr. John Doddy, a Stapleford GP and Conservative Party county councillor, has chosen to stand against Tory incumbent Darren Henry, and was expelled for his troubles. Doddy has clashed with the party apparatus before; in 2018, as the local Conservative chairman, he reportedly organised a controversial survey of party members on their satisfaction with Anna Soubry.
In a text conversation, Doddy didn’t give his motivation for standing as an independent, but talked enthusiastically about his experience on the campaign trail. He estimates that he was able to hit “in excess of 1,000 properties” this Sunday over the course of ten hours, and reports finding “people looking for somewhere to put their vote”.
Doddy asserts that he’s “a popular choice away from the main parties”. With his experience as a local GP, he may well be right. But independent candidates often struggle with low name recognition and a lack of resources, and his path to a respectable showing could be a steep one indeed.
Is there anything that unites all these candidates? Those towards the left side of politics – Collis and Needham – certainly share a strong commitment to climate action, even if they differ in the exact details of their solution.
More broadly, all of them, in their different ways, recognise and engage with the sense of malaise which, I’d argue, dominates the British public mood at the moment. They address the idea that the problems in British politics can’t be solved by a simple change of government, but will require tackling more deep-rooted problems.
Collis’ emphasis on the fallout of Brexit, Oakley’s support for a restrictionist immigration policy, Syed and the WPB’s call to “prioritise the needs of the working class” – all suggest that the issue is not just arrogance or incompetence in Number 10 and Westminster, but something more fundamental.
Most of them are also firmly localist, balancing their attention to national issues with an eye towards our particular concerns in Broxtowe. They claim to represent the constituency more effectively than a candidate beholden to the strict party discipline of Labour and the Tories; Collis’ campaign materials, for example, disparage the “parachuted party puppets of the big two”. Needham has cited last autumn’s devastating floods as a need to fight “the causes and effects of climate change”.
All politicians are imperfect. None of them, whatever their party, can be trusted on the entirety of their promises. And it would be a drastic oversimplification to lump all “small-party candidates” together as a single phenomenon, when their platforms and resources differ so wildly.
At the same time, there’s something to be said about what these candidates can tell us – about the mood of the nation, and the mood in the Broxtowe constituency, but also about who decides to run for Parliament, and why they do so.
Electoral Calculus places Juliet Campbell’s chances of winning this seat at 96%. But with discontent in the air, and so many challengers waiting in the wings, neither of the major parties should feel secure about their position here in Broxtowe.
It’s been a curious election, a feeling that there is a war elsewhere.
There are reasons for this: I have never been so busy in my day to day life than any other election, with Sunak selfishly calling it as just as I entered an incredibly busy period in my newish job leading a journalism course. As a sessional lecturer, I could just drop in weekly, chuck out some powerpoints then retreat to safety. Now I have to actually stay beyond the end of May and do stuff. No longer my Summer starting a month before the solstice. No longer the sneaking suspicion that a job in education finished when the students do: I have been disabused of that, along with the fancy that teacher training days were ‘teacher lie-in days’. Nope.
The disassociation also comes from no longer living in a marginal. I’ve not moved, but the polls have, and now this is as an easy win seat so no need to bus in the big guns. No Eddie Izzard and Tom Watson buying strawberries at Hallams. No Corbyn popping up in drafty halls to diminishing returns. The tanks have rolled on, to the lawns of Surrey and the true-blue south.
Yet in this final week I’m going to give updates when I can, via here, my Twitter feed and Central Bylines, where I recently posted a piece ostensibly about the Stapleford Hustings but actually about the shape of opposition after the election. This is where the true questions lie: if the election is a certainty, chatter about it is largely pointless and we should be looking more closely at the next step: what does a Labour victory mean for Beeston -and if we are some sort of microcosm – for England itself? To this end, I’m planning an article on how Juliet Campbell came to be our MP, and the significant challenges she now faces. Since putting a call-out for insight into this I’ve received record amounts of correspondence, both on and off record, that paints a much different story to the one I initially imagined I would write, and therefore is taking much longer to take to write than anticipated.
We have pieces on candidates coming through over the next three days, plus I’ll be running this blog throughout the counts and hoping my network of moles can get me the results earlier than elsewhere. Before then however, here’s the not-at-all-spurious reasons why post-election, Parliament Needs To Relocate to Nottingham.
We all know UK politics has got moribund, stuck in the overheated overpriced South East corner and needs a shake up. I have the solution. Relocate to Nottingham. Here’s why:
1. WE HAVE FORM
We held parliaments here several times in the early 14th century, and by all accounts they went very well, with contemporary sources recalling “Mush’ed pes weren served, and greteley enjoied”
2.WE STARTED A WAR TO SHOW PARLIAMENT WAS SUPREME
King Charles I (not the one we have now, or the spaniel one) came here to try and muster an army to fight his annoyed parliament. It didn’t go to plan, and when told by a local ‘It’s a bit black over Bill’s mothers’ didn’t heed the warning. Few supporters turned up, and the predicted storm swept him, with his standard snapping in the high wind, providing historians with a lazy metaphor for what happened next: it all kicked off into the English Civil War
3. WE ARE BOTH ROUNDHEAD AND CAVALIER, AND NEITHER
During the war, Nottingham was on parliament’s side, but never that devoted. When a bunch of roundheads from Leeds tried to garrison in the town, we booted them out because of their applying manners.
BUT WHY DOES THIS MATTER? Let’s have a bonus fact.
English politics and society is riven with historic divisions: Roundhead /Cavaliers; Norman/ Saxon, Catholic/ Protestant, scone/ scone.
roundhead /cavalier
English politics and society is riven with historic divisions: Roundhead /Cavaliers; Norman/ Saxon, Catholic/ Protestant, scone/ scone.
We alternate Prime Ministers on a Roundhead / Cavalier system.
Wilson: Cavalier.
Heath: Roundhead
Wilson: C
Callaghan: R
Thatcher: C
Major: R
Blair: C
Brown: R
Cameron: C
May: R
Johnson (very) C
Sunak: R
You will have noticed I skipped Truss. She didn’t serve long enough…
This is why there is discontent in this election with the leaders: two Roundheads are slugging it out.
You will have noticed I skipped Truss. She didn’t serve long enough…
This is why there is discontent in this election with the leaders: two Roundheads are slugging it out. Technically, Ed Davey should become Prime Minister and explains why Farage attracts support.
Now, Nottingham is a city that is impossible to define: I’ve written on this many,many times. We are not Roundhead or Cavalier. We are not Norman or Saxon, we are not eh up or ayup. Whatever you say we are, that’s not we are. We practically invented puritanism AND binge drinking
4. STRATEGIC EXCELLENCE
After the war, that massive ingrate Oliver Cromwell (whose son in law was from Beeston) thanked us for support by razing our castle: if we got mardy with him and kicked off, y’see, the Castle was just too strategically excellent
5. WE HAVE A PARLIAMENT STREET AS ONE OF MAJOR CITY CENTRE THOROUGHFARES
It was changed to that from it’s original name: Back Side.
Nice burn, satirical historic Nottsfolk.
6. RADICALISM WOULD KEEP DEMOCRACY THRIVING
When a democracy stops moving, it stagnates. That wouldn’t happen here, as we are a lively bunch: our writers: Byron, Lawrence and Sillitoe, all kicked against the status quo and easy answers. Byron’s maiden speech to the Lords was magnificent in how electrifying his words were: stating opposition to the draconian persecution of Luddites (who originally hailed from Nottingham) he caused a scandal by attacking the government. You can read it in full here.
Byron wasn’t always that refined in his words. While his pal Shelley wrote the epic, scathing satire ‘The Masque of Anarchy’ , much beloved of Corbyn and others, Byron’s take on the death of the evil Foreign Secretary Castlereagh was a tad more prosaic):
It’s not just radical men: plenty of women kicked against the pricks.
Susannah Wright was sent to prison for her beliefs in ridding governance of religion, and was attacked so frequently by reactionary tories at her Nottingham bookshop she took to keeping a pistol on her counter. Not something I’ve ever seen at Waterstones or Five Leaves (yet).
7. THE PEOPLE DON’T LET THE POWER GET AWAY WITH STUFF.
We do checks and balances directly here, with riots – about cheese, bread, theatres, stocking frames etc peppering our history. The UK’s first race riot was in St Ann’s in 1958.
Bonus fact: the head of Nottingham Police at the time had the first name of ‘Athelstan’. Of course he did: Nottingham just doesn’t do normal.
8.WE LOVE DEMOCRACY SO MUCH WE ARE WILLING TO TORCH OUR MOST FAMOUS LANDMARK TO PROTECT IT.
In 1831 the pompous/ geographically-challenged Duke of Newcastle, custodian of Nottingham Castle opposed the Reform Bill which to gave the vote to people beyond his mates. Not good, Duke, said Nottingham en masse, and despite pouring rain lit some torches, marched up the Castle Rock, summoned the spirit of Cromwell and … set his house on fire. He wasn’t in, but that mattered little. The Reform Bill passed and he spent his life bitter, estranged from his kids and hated in Nottingham
9. BIG BEN BONGS BESTED BY BIGGER BOLSHIER BELL
The Palace of Westminster is falling to pieces. It’s architect, Pugin, did a much better job with Nottingham Cathedral. The bell is weedy too: a thin chime compared to the country’s deepest bell, Little John, in Nottingham Council House.
10. SIMPLE GEOGRAPHY
London is in a congested overheated corner, which has been mutated by capital wealth to a point it isn’t representative of England (I use ‘England’ rather than ‘UK’ here despite being the UK parliament, the devolved nations have their own). This concentration of stuff has some benefits, but many problems: London’s overindulgence has given it political gout.
The East Midlands is the most overlooked region of the UK,and post-indutry, post retail, we need a rethink of what we use to define ourselves.
We have a HUGE vacant site, just beneath the Castle, looking for an idea to fill it. Well I have it. The solution is simple for Nottingham, for the country, for our proud ancient democracy.
MOVE PARLIAMENT TO THE BROADMARSH SITE.
Seriously. Then my teaching room window will overlook the hub of democracy, and it will make my life much easier at election times.
Mark Steel has become an unlikely national treasure through his appearances on BBC Radio 4, most notably via his tour of UK weird that is Mark Steel’s In Town. He recently decided to look around this part of the world, and asked me to take his hand and lead him around the streets of Nott’num. Here’s the story behind the show…
Mark Steel’s In Town: Nottingham is broadcast on Monday 22nd August, 6.30pm, on BBC Radio 4: you can find it here. There’s also a podcast, find it through BBC Sounds.
LEAVING THE GARDEN
Royal Tunbridge Wells, Kent, Autumn, 2001, and weirdly this is where I live. Or rather, where I have been living, for today I’m leaving, after three years. I arrived here as a barman and ended up at the BBC via many other roles, but now my time in this place is over. No more Pantiles, or spas. Bye Beau Nash, goodbye Georgian Finery and tarah, Toad Rock. This town, which serves as a punchline for many jokes, is no longer my home. With trepidation, I’m moving back to Nottingham.
The journey will be a long one, so before I post the key on my old house ( which the landlady would now like back since it has astronomically shot up in value) , I best get some reading material for the trip north. There’s a bookshop close by, and I buy Reasons To Be Cheerful, a memoir of sorts by a comedian I’ve seen at festivals and on the radio, who seems a good sort. His name is Mark Steel, and Sussex Stationers take my cash and hand it over.
Tunbridge Wells. Disgusting. (Actually a very nice, grossly misunderstood place)
I open it as we head from Kent through to London, and then around the M25 and the M1, the artery I know far too well. Near the top of it, Junction 25, and the place I grew up. I have little love for it. I left it for a purpose, and moved around: Newcastle, Amsterdam, Spain, Portugal. Anywhere but Nottingham. It’s now known, rather grimly, as Shottingham. When I’d recently told a friend’s dad I was heading back there, he’d looked concerned and said ‘Well, I here there’s trouble there. You be careful there now”. My friend’s dad had moved to Kent in the early nineties from Troubles-era Belfast. I consider the cost of Kevlar. I fidget. Eventually, I read the book.
It’s a fantastically funny, utterly heartfelt and pleasingly radical: Steel’s politics chime with my own. I’ve just witnessed a general election in Tunbridge Wells, and if you ever need a rebellious boot up the arse, it’s after what felt like the most inconsequential electoral contest ever. I’d been asked to ring around local politicians the morning of the result: none really cared, there were no surprises and no decent quotes, aside from a sleep-deprived Anne Widdecombe calling me a ‘rude young man’, which wasn’t deemed newsworthy enough. Things felt flat. The book’s joy in rebellion was a tonic. Steel avoids dogma and instead lets an active optimism serve as a weapon against despair. The road rumbles North.
WIND OF CHANGE
I intended to stay in Notts for a short period of time: grimly, however long it takes my gran to die. She was the most important person in my world, and last time I’d visited she’d been unwell; I was terrified she’d slip away before I could hold her papery but warm hands again. When I find I had to find a new place to live, and when i considered I’d had to work a nightclub job three nights a week, and several shifts at a local pub on to of my job at the BBC just to make the rent in the first place, the thought of having to sort a new place wasn’t alluring. It was time to go back, albeit briefly. Once my gran is gone, my connection there will be broken and I’ll head off again, wherever.
My gran hangs on until 2006. “It was a bit of wind” she explains to me when I arrive back and go and see her “They took me to a ward, stuck all these things on me, wires everywhere, then I farted – I mean, really farted- and I felt right as rain. Couldn’t tell them that though. Though I think they knew…..I mean, it lingered”. By the time she does die, well into her nineties, and funny to the end, I’m very much tied up in Notts.
SCREEN NOW GOES WOOZY AS WE GO FORWARD IN TIME
Spring 2022, and my Twitter notifications start going crazy. I momentarily panic: have I written something on there that’s suddenly blown up for, and I’ll become a pariah and a subject of a Jon Ronson article? I check. No, rather it’s a slew of tweets tagging me, recommending me to Mark Steel, after the comedian has asked
He should ask me, they say. I’ll be a good help to explore the place, others mention. It’s extremely flattering to read them: I do indeed write a fair bit about place. My first paid journalism was down in Kent, where I would research and write articles about local sports stuff: I’d soon became a bit of an expert on the local area, using the context of place to elevate a story about a golf course, or a rugby club. In 2009 I set up this blog after occasional articles here and there on the weirdness of the town. In 2011, a physical magazine was kicked into life to give a space for others to also talk about the town. Since 2014, I’ve been writing about Notts in terms of its writers, as part of Nottingham UNESCO City of Literature. Along the way, my butterfly mind has been thoroughly indulged, feeding on bizarre facts and unexpected links; strange events and anecdotes that shape over time in legendary stories. I still remember the buzz I got in the early noughties, reading a link a friend had sent where an upstart Nottingham website interviewed someone who I’d never have imagined being interviewed: Frank, the Xylophone Man from outside of C&A. Are we allowed this, allowed to celebrate our own city like this? It seemed thrilling. LeftLion, for it was they, also moved into print, and has just celebrated its 150th issue.
LeftLion: Reimagining Notts
Mark Steels In Town has a similar ethos, where the host travels around the UK (and further afield) and snuffles in the local leaf-litter for truffles of amusement. He’ll also look for common themes: what makes a place somewhere, and not just anywhere? It’s been wildly successful: now into its 12th series it’s become an anticipated treat (“People write in and say ‘can you come to my town and slag it right off’ Mark will later tell me “Though that’s not the point”). It’s popularity is rooted in many areas – Mark’s hilariously absurdist rants; the attention paid to the script; the sheer variety of the choices of places to focus on – but perhaps key is something much deeper in the British psyche.
PEAS PLEASE ME
We are bound in many ways to the land we live in, we are subject to the idiosyncrasies of place. I like mushy peas, and definitely think they’re best served molten hot, drenched in vinegar and mint sauce, and served in a polystyrene cup. Would I be so keen on this treat if I’d been born in, say, Tunbridge Wells? Similarly, would I balk at saying the word ‘rabbit’ if I lived in Portland; or take pride in having the longest street market in the world if I grew up in Walthamstow? Mark understands this, and holds up a mirror on a place. Never mockingly, never with a sense of superiority; but with a fascinated amusement. However global we feel , however divorced from geography in this digital age, however spoiled for choice we are with motorways and rail networks and cheap flights…we are always at least a little bit made of where we are from. This isn’t to be confused with the pernicious nationalism, exceptionalism and homogeneity that is peddled by Farage. Rees-Mogg and all their fellow right-wing (non) travellers.
Instead, it’s an innate understanding: what makes us great as a nation is a combination of that which connects us, what commonality holds; and the bafflingly wonderful diversity within. Mark effortlessly gets this, and spins these strands into golden radio content. Which he now wants my help with. Yep, there was gulping.
CLASS SWAT
Steel’s producer arranges us to meet in the city for a scout around the area. As I walk to our rendezvous by the entrances to the Caves I rehearse what to say. I’ve made a huge list of notes about the weirdness of Notts, but feel it only scratches the surface. Best to make sure he is first disabused of the misconceptions. Top of the list: Shottingham. What was a massively over-hyped, concentrated clash of gangs still unfairly overshadows much of the city. That must be a deal-breaker: we don’t tolerate guns (or Gunns) in this city. I’m about to cross the by the side of the Crown Court when two white vans screeched to a halt immediately in front of me, doors springing open and a bunch of helmeted, heavily armed police bundled out telling pedestrians to get back, which we duly did. I’m aware – which is latterly confirmed -that this is probably seen by my guests. Thanks, random chance.
I don’t recognise Mark at first: he’s one of those strange people who look taller than on the radio. He’s also wearing a purple hat over his boyish mop-top. I introduce myself, and we head off to find coffee, and for me to begin my ‘look, those armed police, right?” speech. Carl, the Manucian producer, is here, alongside writer Pete Sinclair, who has been involved in so much comedy I guarantee he’s previously made you laugh before. I run through facts, anecdotes and oddness and they take notes and ask questions. A little voice keeps nagging at me ‘You’ve just made a bunch of professional funny people laugh and it didn’t look like merely out of politeness” but I somehow keep it suppressed and resist falling to the floor and We Are Not Worthy-ing the table.
Thus begins a tour of Nottingham, through the Caves (my first visit, and impressive); Five Leaves, The Council House / Left Lion and many other places. It goes by in a whirl, and we’re in the Trip to Jerusalem, below the Haunted Galleon, that I notice the time: real life kicks in, hands are shook, hugs dispensed, and I’m back on a bus to Beeston and reality.
REDS MIST
Time passes. Forest are promoted in a thrilling end of season dash culminating in a Wembley final. Nottingham is back in the Big League. Summer warms up, and that weird day in Nottingham slips back into fond memory. I’m dimly aware they’ll be recording the show soon, but Summer has a habit of breezily accelerating like how Winter seems to stick in thick frozen mud. I get a phone call from a number I don’t recognise. ‘It’s Mark Steel” he says, as if that very familiar voice needed introduction “I’ll be up in Nottingham before we record. Are you around?”
I meet him off the train on a warm day, and we head to a cool pub to chat and practice the accent. The ever excellent Dr Natalie Braber joins us. She’s perhaps the world’s foremost academic on How Ter Speak Notts. She gives Mark a crash-course in the hybrid linguistic oddity of the accent, which is fascinating to watch: an East Midlands Pygmalian. Soon he’s AyupMiDucking like a native.
We watch cricket together on the big screen, supping lemonade. It’s happening live just down the road at Trent Bridge, but its also sold out so this will have to do. We talk cricket, and again, a little voice rises within “You’re talking cricket with one of the nation’s most famous cricket fans!’ but I swallow it back.
ACCENT MAN
The following day, and it’s showtime. Another hot day, and I meet Mark and Carl for a pre-show coffee and a run over details. Mark doesn’t just visit places for the show, picking out the odd bit of odd here and there, but genuinely tries to absorb the sense of the place. We are on Friar Lane, and as people pass, chatting away I notice him watching them, listening to the rhythms of their accent, the gait; some deeply complex essence of Nottingham.
They head off to prep for the show, I drop back home and shower. Mark’s mentioned he will be calling on me to speak during the show, and I swing my keys around my fingers restlessly on the bus in, jangling them in tune to my nerves. Metronome, the venue for the recording, is already heaving, but I’m ushered in swiftly, where I chance upon my friend Rish and his wife. Rish was my first assistant editor on The Beestonian, and still runs the best Forest podcast out there, 1865. My plus-one is the mysterious legend that is Ron Manager Remembers Nottingham, possibly the best celebration-of-Nottingham-via-erstwhile-Fast-Show-Character that Twitter has ever seen. The true identity of the person behind the account is a closely-guarded secret, so I will say little else on their true identity on pain of death / decent sized bribe.
I get a call off Carl – can I come backstage immediately? I make my way there, to find a pre-show Mark clutching the script intently. “Can’t nail the accent” he explains, so we spend a surreal few minutes before showtime with me coaching his accent down from Leeds, via Sheffield, past Chesterfield and into a NG postcode. To learn Nottingham one must first forget Yorkshire. He practices, it slips back into place, and the auditorium fills. I take my seat, alongside Robin Hood, the Mayor and Sheriff of Nottingham and we’re off.
LEFT TO RIGHT: me, Lord Mayor, Ghost of Maid Marion, Sheriff of Nottingham
I won’t put any spoilers here, though having had a preview of the edit I can tell you it is utterly hilarious, with Mark exposing the ridiculousness of our city in ways only an outsider can: an eye for detail of our strangeness and individuality. It’s delightful to hear well-worn anecdotes I’ve told for years down the pub get the Mark Steel treatment, and turned into something sharper and many times funnier than your own telling: Pimp My Ride for wannabe raconteurs. I’m thrown to several times to tell a story, or to add context. I have the whole audience behind me as I do, sparing me trying to read their faces as a stand-up must do, and the tiny fraction of a second before a joke hits and the laugh begins is absolute proof of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity.
It’s over with a flourish, and the audience flow out delighted, and possibly prouder of their city than ever before. We are a humble bunch in Nottingham, and often don’t have a strongly defined sense of who we are , what we are. We’ve just had an expert explain it to us, and we are made up.
DHOSA MEDICINE
I head for dinner in Kayal with the production team, a fine end to what has been an incredible experience. Having interviewed many famous people over the years, I’ve never truly brought into that thing about never meeting your heroes. Still, there is always the fear that someone you’ve admired for a while being in a bad mood when you meet them, or just being an outright arse cheek. It’s sometimes strange to meet someone who clearly has a public persona that they can switch on and off.
Wonderfully, Mark is as funny, as kind, as curious and as outright wonderfully human as I imagined, and then some. He genuinely loves his work, and thus does it with panache.
Before I leave, I pull a book from my bag. It’s a bit battered, dogeared, spine crinkled and the price sticker peeling off. “Could you sign this for me please?” I ask, and as he does, I think back to the trepidation I felt leaving the South East to return here. “Would I find home?” I’d asked myself then. 21 years on, and as the ink dries, I’m prouder than ever to say I have.
Mark Steel’s In Town: Nottingham is broadcast on Monday 22nd August, 6.30pm, on BBC Radio 4: you can find it here. There’s also a podcast, find it through BBC Sounds.
First, a small request: I’m running this site during the election off my own back, and looking to be able to pay the expenses – and perhaps give a small fee – for those who contribute to the ongoing blog. While I’ll pay for it myself for now, and contributions towards keeping me and others in coffee is gratefully received: you can drop us a few precious pounds here if you like what you get here.
Two weeks in and things certainly haven’t been boring. Rather than narrowing, the polls seem to be widening, Ed Davey appears to be auditioning for a Last of the Summer Wine reboot and Farage, never-knowingly happy to be sidelined, has joined in. Meanwhile I’ve been busy on Canva showing why I got a G at GCSE Art.
— Go to Bluesky, this place is shit (@Beeestonia) June 8, 2024
But let’s make like Rishi and head back home.
At 4pm on Friday, inconveniently at the exact time I had to collect my son from school -for not the first time during this campaign, I come to suspect Sunak has structured the whole thing to/ inconvenience me – the ability to stand for election in Broxtowe closed. Each candidate gathered ten signatures of locals, paid a possibly unreturnable £500 and got themselves into the race.
My job now is to have a look at them all, and try and make as much sense of it as I can so you can vote in an informed manner. This is with the coda that if you are purely using me to base your vote on, I’m flattered while convinced you probably should have the vote withdrawn from you.
I’ll put the self-deprecatory tone aside -I’m crap at it anyway, and cut to the chase.
Here are your candidates.
JULIET CAMPBELL, LABOUR:
If she doesn’t win, the concept of numbers has to be revised and anyone suspected of psephology will be treated as those dabbling in homoeopathy. Yet an internecine war within local Labour rages about her selection, and after casting out for thoughts on this I have been inundated with info and opinions: once I’ve found a coherent and engaging narrative in them, I will try and present a coherent and engaging narrative to you. But as a general rule of thumb writing about Labour – a party driven by huge scaffolds of intellectual ideology, opposed to writing about the Tories -a party driven by huge reactivity and instinctive ideology, I often feel a little depressed. The Left are the political equivalent of Zeno’s Paradox while the Right are lizard brain, unbound by anything other than a desire for power…with a smattering of ideology, for taste.
DARREN HENRY, CONSERVATIVE
The incumbent, and a guy who has left an impression on Broxtowe so light sniffer-dogs would struggle to ever register his presence (they’d have better luck in Wiltshire). Henry has been a trailblazer: he is the first black MP in Broxtowe, and it is almost guaranteed that the next MP will be also black. He is a parent to two children with complex needs, and I admire how he has had to balance that while holding one of the 650 most political jobs in the UK. I also think he has done a sturdy job in pushing through unfashionable legislation (he has been excellent on compassionate leave) and, despite his support for Truss hasn’t used Broxtowe as a stepladder to bang out career-advancing rhetoric.
Has he been an effective local MP? I come with evident and admitted biases, but can’t help thinking he has been lacking,. Pushing back into history here, Soubry (Conservative, TIG) was effective as long as you could catch her eye; (Labour) Nick Palmer was so locally inclined he is a rare example of an MP castigated for being too neglectful nationally. His predecessor, Conservative Jim Lester, was much the same, an MP who could easily be mistaken as a Parish Councillor rather than a ideologically driven and/ or careerist.
His wife, the speedy Caroline, has had more of an impact on local politics than he has and is standing for the Tories in the new Nottm North & Kimberley constituency. Yet it feels off to use her as a stick to beat Darren with, despite their ambitions being so intertwined when I met them both before the 2019 I came away with the impression that Caroline was the candidate and Darren was a Dennis Thatcher-esque character, happy to sit quietly in the corner and let her get on with stuff.
Overall, he has been an abject failure, entirely out of his depth and unable to connect with Broxtowe whatsoever. The chances of him retaining his seat are next to nothing: while polls at a local level often have to focus on the incumbency factor, with Darren there is little or none at all. After his eye-watering expense claim – the county’s highest at the time – his timidity has hardly been matched with parsimony. https://www.darrenhenry.org.uk/
JAMES COLLIS, LIB DEM
While the Lib Dems do reasonably well at Council level here, they are often squeezed out at the General, to such a point last election they didn’t stand a candidate to ensure the pro-EU centralism of the doomed Independent Group / Change UK stood a chance (spoiler: didn’t).
Meeting their candidate should have been a formality with little worth, but when I did get the chance to have a coffee with Collis I was surprisingly impressed. He’s a man who wears his ideology lightly, but has some seriously good ideas about electoral reform, local representation and so on that that might make him an interesting part of the local conversation once the dust settles on the election. As a new politics takes hold under a Labour government, a greater sense of how we can reform a clearly knackered system will become clear. This will require grassroot, local input, and Collis might be a name that transcends his (statistically doomed) candidacy. https://www.broxtowelibdems.org.uk/parliamentary-candidate
TERESA NEEDHAM, GREEN
As I’ve mentioned before, I have known Teresa since our teens when we both worked at Stapleford Co-op. That store is long gone, and Teresa’s journey to politics was not something I would have expected even a decade ago. But in a place where Richard Macrae – who lived a few doors down when I was growing up, and was a hip-hop obsessed tearaway – becomes a beloved local figure fighting for Stapleford with more energy than a busy week at Ratcliffe on Soar, anything can happen.
Well, not anything. She can’t win, but with the fight less a marginal scrap than a coronation she might grab a decent whack of disaffected progressive votes, and put down a marker for the Greens to start making local headway. This would be no bad thing: Teresa, like Macrae, are the type of people we need more of in politics. https://www.facebook.com/BroxtoweGreens
JOSEPH OAKLEY, REFORM
A substitute for the previously selected Andrew Medley (who I have no info on why he was deselected, if anyone has the story -email me!) Joseph Oakley is an unknown to me, and looking into who he is brought up either a much-accredited pharmacist, a Britain’s Got Talent contestant or a convicted domestic abuser. I’m sure he’s none of these (his address is given as a hall on the University of Nottingham campus) so if you’re out there Joseph, I’d be keen to hear more about you, and will update this page when I have more. https://www.reformparty.uk/broxtowe-constituency
MAQSOOD SYED: WORKERS PARTY OF BRITAIN.
While George Galloway pulled of a victory in the Rochdale by-election, it’s doubtful that will repeated across the country, and definitely not in Broxtowe. People do have understandable concerns about Gaza, but coalescing behind Galloway, a nasty bigot in a hat, is perhaps the worst way to effect change. I’m sure Syed will pick up some votes, and perhaps Labour need their conscience pricking on this issue, but if Syed retains his deposit I’ll be surprised. https://workerspartybritain.org/general-election-2024/
DR JOHN DODDY, INDEPENDENT
Just when it was starting to look like a quite dull race, a surprise. Conservative – or rather, former conservative, as he surely will be thrown out now – County Councillor and Stapleford GP Dr John Doddy has chucked his hat into the ring.
Doddy has been a controversial figure in the local Tories for years, with accusations about how he runs his GP practice / used staff to distribute leaflets for him have been documented here – though to date no police action has been taken into the matters described.
He also went to war with Darren Henry’s predecessor, Anna Soubry, in 2018 by launching a questionnaire to all fellow Conservative members simply asking ‘ Are you happy with your MP? / Are you not happy with your MP?”. This might have been OK if he was just a local activist canvassing for opinion, but not so much when you consider that he was Chair of Broxtowe Conservatives at the time.
He was subsequently forced to resign after a no confidence vote of 6-0 went against him, but when Soubry flounced off to form her own party the following year, and Darren Henry subsequently won the election, the assumption was he’d be readmitted into the fold and perhaps seen as having had some valuable foresight.
Alas, it seems something elsehas happened: I’m reliably told it surprised his own party and local activists – even the aforementioned Richard Macrae, who has his ear so close to the ground in Stabbo he can hear a pothole form from 600 yards couldn’t offer any light on the matter. If anyone can, then please get in touch.
However, another theory has come to light, and I think it’s not too rabbit-hole bat-shit to share.
On Friday, Rishi Sunak was out campaigning and was haragued by a frustrated former GP. When an off-camera heckler shouts “”most GPs spend more time on holiday than in the surgery, love”, Sunak laughs, displaying the political nous that has served him so well this campaign:
Could it be that watching that live on telly, Doddy grabbed a £500 deposit and a bunch of signatures and had himself added to the ballot? If anyone knows, let me know please, at [email protected].
***I’ll be covering Broxtowe (and potentially Ashfield, god help me) for hyperlocal indie outfit Central Bylines over the campaign, and my first election piece, an explainer on our constituency, is now available here: https://centralbylines.co.uk/politics/broxtowe-the-constituency-you-never-knew-you-needed-to-know/ . More Beeston focused will be here, and more reactive commentary over on my Twitter – yes, Twitter, don’t get me calling it that adolescent name -feed, @beeestonia***
We are a dozen days into the campaign and my hopes of a quiet, uneventful start have been scuppered by it being the weirdest week in local politics in a long time. As I’ve had to look after two young children throughout this period, while working on the final weeks of my student’s final major projects…well, thanks Rishi Sunak for your immaculate timing. When you find yourself going down a slide at soft-play while checking Electoral Calculus predictions for anonymous sleepy constituencies in rural Hertfordshire, you know you may have a problem.
It’s a well-known fact (I’ve just made up) that middle-aged men seek orderly solace from chaos through lists. How we love the soothing rundown of best Beatles songs, or the top ten Steven Seagal takedowns. Music and fim magazines have laid waste to vast forests to make the paper so their insistence that Octopuses Garden is above Maxwell’s Silver Hammer is read by, and infuriates, as many (mainly) portly middle aged men as possible. Perhaps it’s rooted in the Sunday afternoons we’d tape the charts off the radio. Perhaps it’s league tables. Perhaps it’s not just men, but research I did into this finds the following
LIST OF GENDERS MOST LIKELY TO ENJOY LIST IN DESCENDING ORDER
2. Women
Men
Source: The Beestonia household, June 3rd 2024.
Therefore in order to give you a picture of the first ten days of the local campaign fire up Yellow Pearl, adopt a mid-Atlantic excitable tone and start with
10. REFORM DISAPPEAR!
Farage’s ego-bus pulls into town and…well, nothing. Paul Medley was announced as their candidate, but looking at their central website he appears to have been deselected. This may be, of course, merely an admin glitch, but as Reform are well ahead in having to ditch candidates for unsavory views, has something been uncovered that has led to Paul being booted? Apparently Gedling’s candidate is also missing from their site after a previous listing. We will find out next week, when the full candidate process closes.
9. COSMIC GREEN
Turns out the selected candidate is Theresa Needham, from Stapleford, who I first met 30+ years ago when she was working on the deli counter at Stabbo Co-Op and I was chief shelf-stacker on pet foods and litter. Consequently, we’ve known each other for years and therefore I declare a conflict of interest in covering her campaign. If any other candidates want to level the playing field by going back to 1992 and getting a job on the twilight stock replenishment team (£3.10 / ph; first dibs on damaged stock) then please do.
I also take delight in being able to say ‘Teresa, Green’ and laugh at my ingenious wordplay*
8. WHAT’S BREWING FOR LABOUR?
Tea, most likely.
I’ve met loads of MPs in supermarkets, weirdly, with highlights including Margaret Beckett in Derby (trolly, cheese aisle) Nick Palmer in Beeston Sainsbury’s ( basket,whoops aisle) and Ed Miliband in a Central London Tesco (hands only, booze). If Teresa (above) defies the odds and wins, then I can count her (deli counter. Which makes her surname quite wonderfully apt) so it was perhaps no surprise to see Labour’s Juliet Campbell, out most likely new MP, in Beeston Tesco. She was buying a kettle. Amazingly, after 15 years of writing this blog I can still get groundbreaking scoops like this.
7. TOTON: THE UNLIKELY BATTLEGROUND
I spent a lot of my growing up in Toton – my gran lived there- and it really should be a quiet village hemmed in by the A52, The River Erewash and Toton Sidings. A place that is little more than somewhere you see signs to between Beeston and Long Eaton, or Nottingham and Derby; but never give much thought to. I remember it as having a decent chippy and a surplus of topiary.
It was half term last week, and it rained, so soft play became a thing.
Above the shrieks, the screams and the bawling (that’s just the parents) there was music over a PA, and in a relative lull I realised it was playingThings Can Only Get Better,the 1997 election anthem that soundtracked the landslide of that year, recently used to accompany Rishi Sunak’s damp General Election announcement. Was this a covert leftist plot to get kids voting red? Is Starmer’s aspiration to lower the voting age not stopping at 16 years, but 16 months? And why is the play area named after my house? Answers via Masonic Handshake to the usual address.
5. FRESH SLATES
When Darren Henry arrived here in 2019 it was a surprise to many: the expected Tory candidate was Cllr. Richard Jackson and there were some quite angry scenes when he was told to make way for serial-candidate Henry.
It was perhaps unwise to expect things to stay the same, and Greg Marshall being ousted as a candidate by Labour was the first sign new brooms were busy. As mentioned above, Theresa Needham is taking over from Kat Boettge for the Greens, and Tim Hallam, who stood in 2017 for the Lib Dems (there was no candidate in 2019) was the expected candidate, especially after popular local Lib Dem councillor Steve Carr decided to make like Ashfield and become an independent. But no, the candidate is actually a pleasant, thoughtful chap called James Collis. Tim Hallam must be FURIOUS I assumed, so when I met James for a chat in Beeston I was surprised to see Tim there. No bad blood apparently, Tim is more keen in focusing locally rather than nationally
As for Reform….well, who knows?
4. WE ARE NO LONGER A SWING SEAT TO FIGHT FOR
Usually Broxtowe is a battleground: as a bellwether seat winning it wins the country: we haven’t deviated since the seat’s creation in 1983.
This means resources are thrown here with abandon, which means a local hack like myself gets to meet politicians more famous in Westminster than down The Crown.
Alas, with the Electoral Calculus projection giving Broxtowe a staggering 97% chance of turning red, Labour can afford to ignore sending any big hitters, and the Tories can write it off. Even Darren Henry seems to have given up…
3. HUMBUG WITH HENRY
When I’ve heard mention of our (former) MP, the response is usually about him turning up for photos and then disappearing again. He does love a selfie, does our Darren, but this doesn’t translate to any cut-through on the socials: his tweets, FB and Insta posts have few responses; his YouTube channel is hardly influencer level. Yet when it comes to weird, downright awkward videos, this one is hard to beat.
What…what is it all about? Am I not smart enough to see a brilliant metaphor, an arch satire, a devious sublimity? I’m totally baffled. My wife comes up with a possible answer. Engagement. It’s to get seen, to get people talking. Imagine, a thousand responses below the original Tweet, all discussing favourite sweets. How ace will that be, wedding Darren to something we all feelgood about: the innocent excitement of the sweetshop. That must be it
— Darren Henry #ServingBroxtowe (@DarrenG_Henry) June 1, 2024
2. DARREN HENRY TURNS OFF REPLIES ON THE WEIRD SWEETSHOP VIDEO
Ah, maybe not
1. SHE’S BACK!
Ok: this isn’t strictly Broxtowe but part of it used to be, and the overlap is tremendous. It was announced on Saturday that Caroline Henry is to stand in Kimberley and North Nottingham. No, this isn’t a joke. It takes some chutzpah to shamelessly cling onto your job after even GRANT SHAPPS thought you should resign, then after being roundly rejected by the electorate in May think they might have forgiven you by July. It also means Caroline Henry is perhaps the only PPC whose spouse tried to stop the existence of the constituency she is standing in.
It does raise some interesting questions: Who will be at whose count? How scraped is the Tory barrel? Has her Labour opponent, Alex Norris, realised he is such a shoo-in he’s gone on holiday with Steve Baker?
You’ll find out first on Beestonia.
Finally, a street sign in Beeston has gone viral after being featured on a popular Twitter account…
A blog? A BLOG? That’s not on Patreon or Substack? What is this, 2010?
Well yes, it feels a bit like that. 2010 was the first election I covered on this blog, and subsequently became better known for writing snark about local politics than the intended purpose of here: celebrating the deep weirdness of this outwardly ordinary town.
I liked that this blog has gently retired in its senior years (the average lifespan of such a site is tiny:99% of blogs get no further than a single post, so this place is like one of those Greenland sharks that are often spotted, still swimming through freezing waters after being hatched around the time Roundheads and Cavaliers were scrapping): I’m not as involved as I was in local stuff, having passed on the editorship and management of The Beestonian magazine over to the wonderful Debra Urbacz, and taking a job lecturing in journalism. The few times I do kick something out usually goes to Central Bylines or other such places: I’m much more likely to be making a deck of slides demonstrating the Barbra Streisand Effect or getting a bunch of teenagers to write stupid headlines.
I’m a recovering localpoliticsaholic. I thought I’d never go back.
Yet…well, I cannot resist a General Election. To me it is Eurovision, The World Cup and a display of the Aurora Borealis rolled into one. I cannot fight my innate nerdiness to all thing Broxtowe and ballot box.
Yet while in 2010, I saw myself as a dashing young gunslinger riding the new-wave of social media to bring hyperlocalism to the world (or at least those with an NG9 postcode). Now I’m a worryingly portly, mortgaged -up, grey haired husband and father. Your white, middle aged man with an opinion, and a platform. An utter cliche of a human.
So for the 2024 General Election, I am de-centering myself and opening this place up, as I sort of did in 2019. I want other people to help me cover the campaigns in Broxtowe, in whatever way you fancy. The more diverse voices, the better. This won’t be a dull left-wing echo chamber: I’d love as many viewpoints as I can accommodate. Of course, there will be a degree of editorialising, but more for quality control than polemical reasons.
Writers, photographers, meme makers….here is where we can get your stuff out.
If you’d just like to read this, that’s fine, I’m not paywalling this site. But I would like to be able to cover correspondent’s expense, and even perhaps pay a modest fee. As such I’ll be setting up a crowd funder for donations: these will be kept absolutely transparent and I will never take a fee until every other person who gets involved with the project gets one.
That will be tomorrow, but feel free to Paypal [email protected] if you really must throw funds my way. Otherwise, you can follow this site and get regular emails, ot follow me over on Twitter (yes, still Twitter. I refuse to call it anything) @Beeestonia (note the spelling).
I now need to get in the gym and match fit. Follow this blog, send me ideas for stories / gossip / insight/ amusing gifs of local politicians looking daft.
AND yeah, thanks Rishi. I was looking for a bit of a break after a year teaching bit no, you just didn’t consider my feelings, did you?
It’s been a loooong time since I last popped up on here, but I felt a weird burst of nostalgia for the local elections. This blog first became widely read when I decided to look at the local scene, and for the next ten or so years I went on a roller-coaster of hustings, MPs, Eddie Izzard, legal threats, polling stations and an overfamiliarity with the uncomfortable seating and sweltering heating system of the Town Hall public gallery. Times move on, and while I still maintain an interest….kids, work and the fact I have to finish writing a book means it’s not dead set in my focus.
Yet these elections, the last set before the General, are of interest. 2011 was my first attempt at covering them, where I cycled to every ward on the day for a live mobile blog, then to the following day’s count for more of the same. These elections felt similar, and, glory hunter that I am, have a feel of the triumphant about them. I was kindly given access to the last bit of the count by a local candidate, and here’s some resultant thoughts I’m lazily bundle up in list form and grandly pronounce as TEN THINGS ABOUT THE BROXTOWE LOCAL ELECTIONS YOU REALLY MUST KNOW.
BLUE WIPEOUT: they had a SHOCKER. I’ll pick apart individual stories and seats later, but the headline figure is that after losing a majority in 2019, but still being the largest party, they’re now have just 10 councillors to Labour’s 26. This is the first time since 2003 that they haven’t been the largest party. Not just with a thin margin you’d expect in a swing seat. but a thumping amount.
2. JACKO OFF
Tory Richard Jackson was the Council Leader from 2015 onwards, instantly endearing himself to workers at the council by telling them he wanted to abolish the council and their jobs. His reign was sheer chaos, as Thomas Roberts and I extensively researched and reported in a few years back. His policy was to asset strip, and fast: he sold off Eastwood’s DH Lawrence Museum, just as Nottingham became a UNESCO City of Literature and interest in the grumpy novelist exploded; then sold -at an apparent loss –Beeston’s Town Hall. Bizarrely, in election material posted out to voters before these elections, he decided to unilaterally announce he was actually the MP. Was this some sort of Freudian slip? After all, he was the anointed favourite to be put up as the PPC for 2019, before CCHQ parachuted in Darren Henry to take and win the seat.
3. …AND IN A WEIRD WAY
There are a few weird things about elections, one being how a dead heat is decided by drawing lots. Of course, this is incredibly rare, but it happened in Toton and Chilwell Meadows The Tories were hoping to hold all three seats in a relatively safe area, but when Labour’s Teresa Cullen (formally a popular councillor in the Rylands) managed to come out top, there was only room for two Conservatives.
And lo, fate dealt the final blow to Richard Jackson’s political career. An ignominious end.
But hold on! He’s still a councillor on Nottinghamshire County Council, no? Well but he was ran close last time around. Who was the Labour candidate who would almost certainly win next time around? One Teresa Cullen….
4. ATTENBOROUGH FELL!
Was it changing demographics, the ‘Blue Wall’ effect or simply living near a load of water means you’re not fond of those who vote to keep pumping sewage into it?
Whatever, it still feels significant that the Tories lost all three seats here, ousting long term councillor Eric ‘muscle-car’ Kerry and his pals. The swing to Labour is also telling….
5. BROXTOWE IS WEIRDLY BINARY
Nationally, the Lib Dems had a good night, picking up 12 new councils and 405 councillors. The narrative therefore has been that voters, still not sold on Starmer and his thin charisma, are using the Lib Dems as the lifeboat from the sinking ship of the Conservative Party. Yet where switches did happen in Broxtowe, they were generally straight blue to red exchanges-see Attenborough above. In fact, they actually LOST two seats.
It is far too small a sample to extrapolate much from, but it still surprises how they struggle to get a toe-hold as the swing lurches left to right, and vice versa.
6…..EXCEPT IN BEESTON NORTH
They might as well rename this ward Carr Country, as the limpet like Steve and Barbara continue to dominate. Incumbency works well for them, but what separates them from the longstanding Tories who lost their local seats is there visible community work: they are seen to do stuff, and when someone helps you directly you’re less likely to judge by rosette colour.
Possibly a lesson to all councillors: do stuff actively, don’t just show up and toe the party line. See also Shaun Dannheimer iLabour) in Rylands, the aforementioned Teresa Cullen and all those who actually put a shift in, in what can be a pretty thankless role. Which brings me neatly along to…
7. MACRAE’S DOUBLE UP
The astonishing story of Richard Macrae added another chapter this election, as his wife Donna also became a councillor, alongside Richard in Stapleford North. Nice work, Donna.
As an independent, it’s a tough job campaigning, as I found out when I first saw him pounding the streets a decade ago. His work in Stabbo has been excellent, and free of the ideology that can drag other parties down. His rise from bouncer to beloved councillor should be made into a biopic, and if any film studios want to pay me a hefty advance to write the screenplay -heck, i did the research: I lived on the same street when we were kids -then I’m all ears.
8. TEEN TAKES KIMBERLEY
There’s always a smattering of younger candidates in the locals, yet usually they’re up as paper candidates to get some experience: I’ve covered a few. Very rarely, they do what Will Mee (no relation to the encyclopaedic Arthur- I checked) did: go into a polling booth for the first time, and effectively elect himself. So well done, Will, who took a seat in Kimberley and told me his aspirations – getting the tram line up there (a strong possibility now Labour have control, and will most likely have a city MP next GE) and getting better turn-outs at local elections (oh Will! Oh, the optimism of youth!).
Also in Kimberley, a welcome return to Andy Cooper, also part of the three seat clean sweep. A good, kind man and talented writer who has had to endure many decades supporting Sheffield Wednesday and still remains optimistic towards the world.
9. BEESTON REMAINS A TORY FREE ZONE
With the Carrs in the North, Greg Marshall in the West and Shaun Dannheiner in Rylands, it seemed unlikely that the Tories thought they stood any chance breaking through onto a well-known incumbent’s patch: newcomer Sarah Webb in Ryland also had much local recognition. Yet with the Lally’s stepping down in Beeston Central, there might have been a slither of hope.
Alas for them, the fresh Labour candidates Vanessa Smith and Gabrielle Bunn both took over three times as many votes as the Tories. Perhaps threatening to carve up the town centre and stick half in Nottingham City wasn’t the genius plan the Tories thought it was.
10. DARREN HENRY WILL MOST LIKELY BE BROXTOWE’S FIRST EVER ONE-TERM MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT
With the usual disclaimers that locals and general elections are much different in many ways (the Tories effectively didn’t bother allocating any resources here, they will, heavily, in the GE) it still looks bleak for Darren Henry come 2024.
He can;’t have won many friends here with his fervent endorsement of LIz Truss, which resulted in making us all poorer. He’s been virtually invisible the past 4 years, but did show up at the count looking pretty downcast.
Of course, much rests on the new Labour PPC, Juliet Campbell, who has kept a low profile of late and will desperately need to get her face out there in the next few months and we can finally see the back of Darren Henry. In the meantime, here’s Darren’s back.
That’ll be it from me for a while; back to the other stuff I do these days (cracking my head open, raising two kids, writing a book, lecturing, getting people into reading and writing, staring blankly at Twitter for hours on end. If you’d like me to cover the 2024 General Election, let me know: I’m considering it if I can ensure my expenses are funded and my editor doesn’t start sending me threats over the lack of manuscript on their desk.
Today I appeared before the Boundary Commission’s public hearing into changes to the constituency of Broxtowe. The proposal that the Commission have put forward has focussed on the north of the constituency, a trim here and a trim there to bring it to a more equitable size.
However, our MP has seen an opportunity to try and shore up his prospects for reelection by instead putting forward a proposal that cleaves off three-quarters of Beeston into a city constituency, preserving the North. Why? Well, it might help to look at how the two area votes: the areas to be moved in the north are Tory-leaning, while Beeston is consistently anti-Tory. I have written about this for Central Bylines, here.
PLEASE HAVE YOUR SAY ON THE PROPOSALS. SIMPLY CLICK HERE, hover over Broxtowe and add a comment.
Here’s what I told the hearing:
Hello, my name is Matt Turpin. I’m a longstanding resident of Broxtowe, having spent my childhood in Stapleford and much of my adulthood in Beeston .
As well as a resident, I’m here as someone who has made the Beeston area the subject of much of my work over the last decade, having set up a local community magazine, The Beestonian, in 2011 which still thrives to this day.
I am also part of the volunteer team that oversee the local community Facebook group Beeston Updated, which 28,000 Beestonians are members of. With the usual disclaimers about social media and representation, I do think it is at the very least strongly indicative of how Beeston feels.
I want to express my support for the proposals put forward, while also cautioning against other representations that I believe to have not been made in good faith.
A strongly backed proposal – from our own MP, no less – is to answer the question of fair constituency distribution by not focussing on the north of the constituency (which is the current default proposal), but to instead cleave the town of Beeston in two, pushing one half into a Nottingham constituency while retaining the other half – actually more like a quarter – in Broxtowe.
This is, to anyone with the merest grasp of local geography, absurd, arbitrary and confusing. The reasoning behind this suggestion is specious at best, arguing along the lines that part of Beeston is already in Nottingham, namely areas east of Woodside Road.
A look at a map shows this is not a sizeable chunk of Beeston, rather a few residential streets that abut the University campus, separated from the rest of Beeston by Woodside Road. The proposal put forward by the MP would instead drag that line into the middle of Beeston, with next-door neighbours having different MPs across a wide swathe of Beeston.
While aware that there has to be a dividing line somewhere, this is not the place.
The proposal also states that this idea has previously attracted popular local support. In the years I’ve been involved in the community of Beeston, i’ve never heard anyone suggest this as anything but an awful idea. This is reflected in a poll we conducted on the aforementioned Beeston Updated site, where the members were asked about the proposal and asked to vote if they were for or against. Well over 98% were opposed. Many commented that they were highly confused with this proposal, and were worried about the potential confusion. This would be damaging to local democracy.
Again, I offer the usual caveats that come with polling on social media, but again think this is at least indicative. I am willing to make the details of the poll – its wording as well as its findings – available as evidence should they prove to be helpful.
Other reasons given, such as existing transport links with the city, are baffling considering the reach of City transport provision outside the given borders of the city itself. As transport is largely a devolved issue anyhow, it seems of little relevance.
While the prospect of the WHOLE of Beeston one day becoming part of a different constituency is not entirely rejected: I do see many positives from such an arrangement in the future, on both a constituency and local authority basis – this isn’t that whatsoever, and instead something that will effectively drop an arbitrary line down the middle of a strong community.
So why is this ridiculous proposal being offered to the committee?
The Boundary Commission is an independent organisation that must oppose political interference and ensure decisions are made for the greater good of the democratic health of this country, and each and every constituency that it oversees.
Therefore I do hope they draw the same conclusions that I, and many others, draw in that the proposal put forward by the Member of Parliament for Broxtowe is not just unworkable, bad for existing communities, and arbitrary. but merely a cynical attempt to divide a town for political gain.
The area he has suggested is calved off consistently votes against the political party he represents – , and as such this seems a rather cynical party political attempt at maintaining power, and therefore has no merit for further consideration.
Thank you.
PLEASE HAVE YOUR SAY ON THE PROPOSALS. SIMPLY CLICK HERE, hover over Broxtowe and add a comment.
I don’t think this needs much in the way of introduction. I rarely find the time these days to write on here, or indeed write to our vertebrae-lacking MP. But I can’t not, considering the awfulness that has unfolded. Please do similar: the easiest way is via this site. Please be polite: don’t sink to the squalid standards of our Prime Minister and his outriders.
Dear Darren
I’ve been reluctant to write to you for some time, due to the utter lack of deviation you offer from the Whip’s office line. A similar sentiment has been expressed to me by many other constituents, who find it rather insulting to ask a serious question of great importance and receive back an anodyne response that looks cut+pasted from some Conservative CQ template. Remember your defense of Dominic Cummings road trip to Cumbria? I do, and many others do, and we won’t be forgetting your response.
However, I am moved to write as I feel your failure to offer a public response to the Boris Johnson / Downing Street parties is untenable. This, in turn, renders your position untenable. A representative who not only fails to represent his constituents, but can’t even do the honorable thing and explain why, is defrauding those who pay his wages.
I am therefore putting down a series of simple yes or no answers for you to answer
In light of the interim Sue Gray findings, which state clearly that the parties at Downing Street were ‘serious failures of leadership and judgment’, and the confirmation of repeated parties so far, will you now be sending in a letter of no confidence in the Prime Minister to the 1922 Committee? Please note, I am basing this question on the clear, unequivocal findings of this interim report, so there is no requirement for awaiting the finding of the ongoing police investigation to respond.
Throughout the pandemic, through my work as a community journalist, I interviewed many people who had made significantsacrifices and endured unimaginable loss due to the restrictions in place during the pandemic. Nurses who risked their lives in little or no PPE to help others, then couldn’t approach their family when returning home. The freshly qualified care home worker, who spent her first ever shift holding up an iPad to a dying resident so her family, barred from seeing her in person, said goodbye for the final time via Zoom. These people are heroes, and have been insulted by this flagrant rule-breaking by the leader of your party. Will you apologise to them?
Earlier this week, the Prime Minister used paedophilia as a shield for his own shortcomings, when in a shockingly ill-judged and utterly dishonest response he claimed the Leader of the Opposition was responsible for the failure to prosecute the rapist Jimmy Savile. This has been condemned by the victims of Savile, and many in your own party. This is Trumpian levels of fake news, and part of the continued erosion of basic tenets of trust, truth and decency. Do you stand by the Prime Minister’s comments, as so many of your colleagues do, believing that weaponsing rape victims is all part of ‘the cut and thrust of parliament’ as your colleague Dominc Raab claimed?
In the two years of being the MP for Broxtowe, are you proud of your track record? What will you pledge to do differently in the next two years?
Will you pledge that going forward as our MP, you will represent your constituents and not tacitly endorse lies, mistruths and other forms of disassembling that seems rife on the front benches right now? If not, can you look anyone in the eye and admit you were an accessory, albeit a tiny, irrelevant footnote, to this degradation of standards?
I would normally end such a letter with no expectation of a speedy reply, but since it was recently revealed that you are the UK’s most expensive MP, claiming a staggering £280,000 on top of your salary (hey, it’s always good to see Broxtowe top the charts!), and your excuse was the necessity of dealing with correspondence, I should probably expect a response written on vellum, tied with Nottingham lace, and hand-delivered by a smart-suited pageboy. Receiving personal visits to my home, from your staff, is something you’re evidently practiced at. Save us all a few bob, duck, and just stick it in an email.
We live in a fraught era, where truth has been demoted as something essential. This is across all of society – look at the way Covid myths have slipped effortlessly into mainstream discourse – but nowhere does it have greater prominence than politics. Why politicians have always been prone to lies – oh how we chortled at Alan Clarke MP admitting to be ‘Economical with the actualité – we have never lived in an age where lying isn’t merely used as an occasional tool, but as a core tenet of power. Boris Johnson, sacked multiple times for lying, now engages in fibbing, as Truman described Nixon – ‘just to keep his hand in’. Psychologists will probably be able to identify something here, some disorder that gives the liar a thrill to lie so blatantly, possibly related to the shoplifter who could easily afford what they steal.
As it is with fish, the rot starts from the head down. The lack of consequence has emboldened Conservative politicians at all levels of government to lie. Orwell said that in a time of lies, to tell the truth is a revolutionary act. Our MP, Darren Henry, is clearly no revolutionary. I’m still waiting for the finding of his promised ‘investigation’ into Carl Husted. Lying is corrosive to a society, and once a populace colludes in untruth that society is broken. Tomorrow, vote against the liars. Vote for those who want to use power for the greater good, not for power itself.
One such aspiring politician to be wary of it the County Council candidate for Stapleford & Broxtowe Central. She’s told a rather huge lie, and one that, as Paul Swift explains here, might actually have legal consequences where she’ll need to find a (real) solicitor…
With the honesty and integrity of national politicians currently being an area of some scrutiny and interest, it was disappointing to discover that a local candidate standing for election to Nottinghamshire County Council on 6 May was being accused of having made false or misleading claims.
A news release issued by Nottinghamshire Liberal Democrats makes serious allegations that a Conservative candidate for Stapleford & Broxtowe Central is to be interviewed by the Fraud Squad after claiming to be a Solicitor. Kashmir Purewal, who is standing alongside existing Conservative County Councillor John Doddy, was described as being a qualified Solicitor on an election leaflet (pictured).
The claim is also repeated on the website of a local school where she is a governor and was also until recently on the Broxtowe Conservatives website. However, when concerns about these claims were looked into this uncovered a possible offence of falsely claiming to be a Solicitor and the matter was referred to the police. This is a matter of public interest for local electors as it is both a potentially serious offence to falsely claim to be a qualified Solicitor and in this instance could also be a possible breach of the Representation of the People Act. A spokesperson for the Liberal Democrats said: “When we became aware of concerns over Kashmir Purewal’s claims we passed the matter to Broxtowe Councillor David Watts, who is a Solicitor. His checks revealed that this was a false claim and as a result we notified the Conservatives some weeks ago, well before the nominations for elections closed.
However, they not only failed to retract the false claims, they also nominated her for both the borough and county council seats. We did also try to contact Ms Purewal over her claims but she ignored our messages. When approached regarding the issue a spokesperson for Broxtowe Labour Party said that: “We have seen her claims about being a qualified solicitor yet this is seemingly untrue. It is clearly a shameful attempt to dupe the residents of Stapleford and Broxtowe Central. Honesty should always be the top priority for someone standing for elected office.”
Councillor Tim Hallam, who is standing with Hannah Land in what looks likely to be a keenly contested election for Stapleford and Broxtowe Central, said: “Honesty and trustworthiness are vital components in being a councillor, so it shows a huge amount of contempt that a candidate would repeatedly lie to voters. I think it demonstrates that some people consider power to be more important than integrity.”
Details of all candidates standing in the elections on Thursday 6 May can be found on the Broxtowe Borough Council website at https://www.broxtowe.gov.uk/for-you/elections-voting/upcoming-elections/ Both Kashmir Purewal and Broxtowe Conservatives Association were approached for comment but have not yet not replied. The Broxtowe Conservatives webpage was recently updated and now states that: “Kashmir is a Qualified Lawyer and was the owner of Sunnyside Post Office/One Stop Franchise in Chilwell for 24 years. Have a wide range of business experience and issues most important in the community.”
With campaigns such as “Take Note Then Vote” being promoted locally by news platform NG9 News it will be interesting to see what note electors make of these allegations and whether this impacts on votes cast for both the individual in question and the party that nominated her. PAUL SWIFT. ADDITIONAL REPORTING BY JAY MARTIN / MATT TURPIN.
Purewal is still claiming to be a solicitor on the website of the the school she is a governor at.
No punishment for the man who turned up at my doorstep and demanded I don’t talk about him and his less than savory past.
Nothing, but a legal letter. And not just one, but two. Why two? Well, that’s where the story gets even weirder, so stick with this because when it comes to haplessness, it seems Carl has chosen a solicitor’s firm on par with himself.
The first letter arrives on a Saturday. A cursory read reveals it is not exactly thought through.
Let’s have a taste of the oddness.
Husted seems to be under the impression I am a Twitter account called ‘Open_Nottingham’, that tweets about local politics. While I do follow them, and they follow me, we are demonstrably not the same person. Poirot he is not.
Husted, in statements given to the media (most notably the BBC), claims that the police ‘were satisfied with the reasons he visited me’, which he also brings up in the legal letter. I duly asked Beeston police for confirmation of what happened with Husted, and they responded with” I can confirm that the incident was discussed with Mr Husted and he was advised that he should not attend your home address again. He was advised that if the visits continued and were reported to Police then there was a possibility that offences under the Harassment Act may be considered”. Carl Husted was less than truthful in his statement to the BBC.
“You allege that our client kept sending messages despite being explicitly told not to” Err, he did just that. I kept the screenshots, which were shared with the police as potential evidence. Bizarrely, the legal letter sent to me included screenshots of these very messages: a new level of gaslighting.
You allege that our client sent a “….slew of threats on Facebook Messenger.” Again I kept the receipts:
“You suggest that our client has committed a GDPR breach in attaining your address”: yep, I did make that suggestion as Husted refused to tell me how he knew. While he may have been able to find my address via the fact I’m a company director, the given name is different from the one that exists on the electoral record -evidenced when I received my poll card. This name which is not, to the best of my knowledge, in the public domain, looks very much like it was cribbed from the electoral register. I am still waiting for clarification on how my address was attained so quickly.
“Our client is described as “….a bigot, a bully, a liar”. Let’s break that up.
Bigot: judge for yourself.
(there’s more, including calling the very people he represented as a councillor ‘scum’)
Bully: well, come on….
Liar: Yes he is. Here’s an example. In messages to me, he insisted that he didn’t work for Darren Henry:
It goes on, allegations that are either utterly fallacious, attributed to the wrong person and so on.
So if the list of stuff is built on foundations of dust, why did he send them?
Husted has made many controversial statements over social media over the years. He is claiming I threaten his career as I have shone a light on them. Doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid: Husted only has himself to blame. Trying to rewrite history and refusing to accept responsibility for your actions are things Conservatives claim to be vehemently against.
Also, because Carl Husted is a bully, he’s paid the solicitors to type it up and post it out regardless. As he can’t physically come near me or my house, this is his way to try and intimidate me. I abhor bullies, so that won’t work. It is, however, causing much stress. My wife, who should be enjoying the last weeks of pregnancy relaxing and helping put the new nursery together, has been hit hard with the thought of Husted turning up at the door again.
If he is capable of that, what next? When you are advised by the police to keep all doors locked, never open the front door without checking and perhaps investing in CCTV then that’s hardly conducive to a healthy and happy life with a baby on the way. Husted is in a place of great power: all constituency matters pass through him, he has great sway with many. He knows what he is doing (in his initial messages to me he referenced the name of my infant son, my wife and the fact that she is pregnant with the Godfather-esque ‘stay safe’). These things are classic bully tactics.
Carl Husted remains in the paid employment of Darren Henry, MP.
_____
Yet things get even weirder. Grab a drink. You will need it.
On Tuesday, a second letter arrives from Husted’s chosen firm. It’s absolutely identical to the first, with the same date, same reference code, but attached to the back is a bank statement.
Is there a secret message in here somewhere?
Well, if there is I have no idea what it is. Somehow, in a possible flagrant breach of GDPR, another person (a client?) has had their bank statements erroneously attached and sent out to me. I can see a whole wealth of identifying details. As a third party, and a journalist, I’m not a good person to send this to.
However, I am law-abiding and duly contact the ICO to find out next steps. They take down the details, and advise me to contact the solicitors to find out what they want doing with the information. I also file a report with them detailing the situation.
I follow this up with a complaint to the Solicitors Regulatory Association as it is a clear concern to their clients how their personal documents are handled.
It also strikes me that sending not one, but TWO letters is not exactly a sensitive thing to do when I am accusing their client of harassment. I have duly passed on a log of these incidents to the police as further evidence.
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As you may have seen via social media, I recently had Darren Henry’s Constituency Manager and friend Carl Husted turn up at my door angry that I’d posted about him in previous blogs, and his less than salubrious past. It caused a stir, a visit from the police and BBC coverage. It happened at an incredibly busy time for me: I have a lot on work-wise, and at home we’re scrabbling to get the decorating done so our new baby, due in May, has a nursery to sleep in. Thus, when I was asked by a journalist friend if they could pick the story up and look into it a bit deeper, I said yes. They went about it in a slow and professional matter, while I daubed paint onto walls. Here is the piece, and it contains much in the way of unanswered questions put to our elected representative. Before I go: huge thanks for the vast amount of support, goodwill and advice given to me over what was a very stressful time.Matt Turpin, aka Lord Beestonia
Darren Henry assumed the role of MP for Broxtowe in 2019, and it can be assumed he took on Carl Husted as his Constituency Manager some time shortly after. Husted was part of Henry’s campaign team, on what Mr Henry describes as a voluntary basis. The Constituency Manager role, however, is very much a paid position, with taxpayers providing Mr Husted with a role. In that role Mr Husted is expected to represent both the MP and the constituency, and provide support to all who approach him on a case by case basis without bias. It is why such a role being fulfilled by a political party member, or affiliate of a political party is frowned on, yet it is a very common practice: many MP’s bring the circle even closer, employing family members in this and other office roles.
On Wednesday 17th March, Husted drove to the property of the proprietor of this blog, Matt Turpin, after sending Facebook messages to Mr Turpin. As Mr Turpin isn’t ‘friends’ with Mr Husted on the site, Mr Turpin didn’t see these messages until after the event. But in these messages, Mr Husted knows a surprising amount of info about the household composition, detailing the name of his wife, the name of his infant son, and the fact that Turpin’s wife is heavily pregnant. This was accompanied by the ambiguous (warning?) ‘stay safe’. Husted had clearly done his research.
As Turpin didn’t see the message, Husted appearance on his doorstep was a surprise. Husted, unmasked and having gone against Covid regulations by making an unnecessary journey (unless, of course, he was at that point there on an official basis, which opens a fresh can of worms) began a conversation by refusing to say who he was and aggressively gesturing to Turpin. Eventually, the caller identified himself as Husted, at which point Turpin took up his phone and, for his safety, began to record.
“His shoulders dropped, his arms went to his side, his voice lowered and he backed away’ Turpin tells me. The subsequent video went viral, and needs little explanation.
Husted would not leave when requested, and a little later began further messaging Turpin via Facebook, despite Turpin clearly telling him to stop. At this point, on advice from ‘more legally-minded friends’ Turpin rang the police.
A constable duly arrived, and after talking to Turpin and his (very frightened) wife, promised to warn Husted this was harassment and not to visit again; to do so would justify arrest. Turpin was warned to be vigilant, check before answering the door and keep all windows and doors locked.
As the story broke across local and social media, Darren Henry MP tweeted the following:
He also offered to talk to Turpin and offered contact details. Turpin turned down this offer: when you’re feeling threatened by someone’s Constituency Manager and had to call the police, you’re hardly going to want to be talking to the man you may suspect played a part in the incident. On seeing this, I reached out to Turpin and offered my help in pursuing the story, knowing he was too shaken to do so objectively.
Let us take a look at the statement Henry posted. First, did Henry know about Husted’s actions before they were committed? Although he says ‘He was unaware of the exchange’ this doesn’t fully explain if Henry was aware of the visit, or condoned it. I put this to Henry in an email to his office, but he did not pass comment.
Henry claims that he will investigate the circumstances of why it happened, yet questions I asked to Henry regarding what form these investigations will take remain unanswered, leading one to assume that Husted remains in the pay of the MP’s office without sanction. If so, Henry tacitly condones Husted’s actions.
Henry states, correctly, that Husted is ‘a member of my staff’. Yet Husted told Turpin in the slew of Facebook messages that
Why the coyness? Why the lying? I asked Henry about this incongruity, yet again Henry did not give comment.
It is perhaps worth mentioning that Husted also seemed to make physical threats to Turpin, at one point in the course of messaging
Does Henry condone or condemn this threat ? Is he for journalists being threatened with violence, or against? He did not answer when this question was put to him, an unusual response for a politician wishing to portray himself as a law-and-order family man. Consorting – indeed, employing – those who make such thuggish remarks.
Was Henry complicit, or even sanctioned Husted’s actions? He refuses to say. Will Husted and Henry apologise directly to Turpin, and more particularly to his pregnant wife, who was in the house at the time and was, and remains, highly anxious and stressed regarding the incident? Again, I asked Mr Henry, again, he issued no response.
I suspect Husted’s intentions were to intimidate Mr Turpin in removing all mention of his name and his rather lurid past. Mr Husted clearly has political aspirations of his own, standing for Nottingham City Council’s Wollaton West ward. Despite being suspended by his own party at the time for comparing ‘Remain voters’ to ‘nazis’, he continued to stand. He was soundly thrashed, and Wollaton was spared. Is he eyeing up a seat elsewhere, and wishing to vanquish the internet of anything that might threaten that? For a party that proudly stands for self-responsibility, this seems odd.
The possibility of Husted also assisting in the campaign of Dareen Henry’s wife, Caroline Henry is also a potential motive. C. Henry is standing to be – and you are permitted a chuckle here – Police and Crime Commissioner for Nottinghamshire, on a divisive culture-warrior ticket. While it is antediluvian to not assume C. Henry is an independent woman with an independent career – these are in no doubt, I am sure – it is entirely correct to assume that she is friends with Husted, and appeared with him at political events. Is he working on her campaign? She refuses to answer.
Journalism, as I well know ona personal and professional level, is under attack in the UK. We seem to have a government that is too thin-skinned to take criticism, and too incompetent and corrupt to avoid it. It is important that journalism continues to speak truth to power, free of thuggish intimidation.
I was drawn to this case after seeing it unfold on Twitter as I believe it to be a microcosm of the current malign political situation, where critical media is attacked via individual journalists , while a revolving door of obliging right-wing media and government operates. As a former journalist himself, the current Prime Minister is well aware of the nodes of power within the media landscape, and how to manipulate them effectively. Husted and Henry seem more hapless on this, yet it is worrying. It is crucial to support good journalism, and let it operate without fear or favour: to do otherwise risks tyranny.
This story will probably run to more chapters, and I have offered Turpin my services on an ongoing, should my own workload permit. Due diligence means that I have copied of all correspondence made in constructing this article, including the thread of messages that were sent by Husted: as these reveal identifying information on Turpin I have agreed to contact him before further reproduction in other publications.
S.H.
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It’s probably no secret that I set up and run The Beestonian magazine: the lack of originality in the naming is a give-away. It sprang from this blog, after all: it became clear there was an audience for local independent journalism, both in the consuming of and the production of, so it seemed a natural next step when a friend offered me a few quid to set it up.
The subsequent ten years are worthy of a blog post in its own right, and I am sure that will be done in Autumn 2021, when we celebrate a decade of publishing. I’m proud of what we’ve been able to do, and proud to have such an excellent bunch of writers, illustrators and webby tech people join in the fun along the way. I’m very proud we’ve also managed to retain absolute independence throughout.
It is, of course, against the grain. Journalism, especially local journalism, has been facing huge challenges over the years, as physical sales dry up and consumers become used to consuming for free. There are many models to challenge this – I personally subscribe physically and /or digitally to around a dozen publications – but its never easy. We previously used advertising to fund the Beestonian: a model that shows its flaws when a crisis such as lockdown hits. No ads > no money to pay printing > no mag. We still put out a digital version, but it wasn’t the same.
When we were eventually able to take in ads again, it was clear we had to diversify to survive. Our distribution model also seemed flawed: people who wanted the magazine simply couldn’t find a copy, and unless you regularly visited a pub or cafe it could be hard to track down a copy, despite our 30+ distributors.
We have long pledged to keep it free, so couldn’t use a scatter-gun approach of delivering to everyone in Beeston: the costs would be exorbitant and only met by plastering ads on every surface, leaving little space for content, which was the point of the whole magazine. There are mags like these you’ll find regularly pushed through your letterbox, and good luck to them, but they’re not what we want to be doing.
We instead looked at a donation system, where for a nominal donation you received a copy of the mag: a simple system easily facilitated online. I’d tried this for this site in the past, when we’ve had massive stories to work on and asked for a little help in funding the hours we spent on it: the money we received helped immensely, mainly to fund our staggering coffee bills!
With The Beestonian it worked well, and we received a decent amount of money allowing me to give all of our writers a cash bonus after running up a surplus (I pledged sometime ago I would only get paid from the mag once everyone working on it has been paid: I still hold by this).
There was a problem though: we only received about 70p of every pound received, and the faff of having to set up a new donation each issue was one people don’t like having to do. So instead, we have set up a subscription system where a one-off payment of £15 readers with NG9 addresses can receive the mag directly, hand-delivered by our cherubic-cheeked paper-lad. Areas outside NG9 we will post to, albeit for a slightly increased cost. We also can throw in the imminent Christmas Issue, and a free badge to say thank you.
Of course, the mag is free to pick up where we do distribute, so if you can find it, please do. But for those who can’t, or would prefer some convenience, please do set up a subscription: you can do so here: https://ko-fi.com/s/63eebc89e2.
If you’d like to simply help local journalism, then you can make a simple one off donation instead, or buy something from our shop: https://ko-fi.com/thebeestonian . In these days where it seems Westminster and the national media is increasingly disinterested in what cracks-off in the parts of the country that don’t have a London postcode, we need a media fit to face the challenges. I hope we can be a part of that, and with your help, we can.
Well hello, whoever you are. I can’t say you’re expected, but I suppose you were not unexpected, either. Nonetheless, apologies the weird face and uncharacteristic silence from me when I heard about you. I was just in shock. The good kind.
I already had one thing to stick in the diary as The Thing That Happened Today. Your mum – that warm, cosy thing you’ll be swimming around in for the next few months – had an audition for Pointless. We don’t often work together, we definitely don’t work in the same room together, so being close to her for ages was a good experience. We were a unit, a couple. I then went downstairs to make a cup of tea – you’ll be tasting a lot of that soon, albeit via your mum- and she told me about you. My world met yours, and a new orbit began.
That was a few hours ago and I’ve since had it settle into my mind and since I’m at a laptop, writing up some interviews about Covid – you don’t need to worry about this yet- I thought I’d write a little hello. I did the same for your older brother – he’s great, and I can’t wait until you meet him- when I heard he was on the way, so it’s only right you have the same. When Leif – that’s your brother, by the way – was your age I remember thinking he was the size of a poppy seed, and subsequently found a poppy seed to look at. I stared at it and couldn’t understand that something so small could hold so much change, so much potential.
Four years on, and that poppy seed is a funny, kind, silly and thoroughly adorable little boy. While something so small is so seemingly inconsequential, the nurturing, the love we add to it will bring something wonderful. That’ll be you, and from now on every day you’ll be on a journey, growing exponentially, until we can take a photo of you and tell others.
Then you’ll be out in the world, and meeting me and Leif. We’ll try to smile, and I’ll try not to swear when I first set eyes on you. I swore when I saw Leif, you see, and while it was not out of any negative reaction, rather the shock of his existence being tangible rather than abstractly viewed through a bulge, or via various scanners, I still think I could have made more effort to ensure that the first words he heard was something like ‘Oh, my beautiful son!’, and not ‘Oh effing hell it’s a baby”. I promise to try harder when you emerge, ok? I know poets. I’ll get them to draft something suitable.
You’ll be like me, a second child, yet never secondary in any way. Your mum and me will love you completely: that’s hardwired into us anyhow but Leif won’t have such a biological emotional imperative. I don’t think that will be a problem though. Today on the way to nursery, I saw my friend Christian and his little baby boy, John. Leif was smitten, fascinated by this tiny pink pudgy creature. He’ll love you, I guarantee.
That will make our family then: two adults, two children, two cats, two fire-bellied toads (I’ll explain this later). We bought ourselves a nice new house recently and I think you’ll like it: Leif has already done some important groundwork in turning it into a two-storey playroom. The cats will be terrified of you at first, but give them time, and do your best not to tug their tails. Soon enough they’ll presenting their coats for stroking, their ears for scritching. Willow – a little grey one -loved to sleep on the bump when your mum last had a baby within; perhaps for the warmth, perhaps for the companionship.
It’s Autumn right now, and while we’re being treated to a fine September, with some warm sunny weather, the pinch of Winter is already in the air: dawn and dusk will close in tighter together, squeezing the day into a pale smudge of light, and the trees are slowly giving up their crowns, the air crisping. It feels time to tuck-in, draw-down, retreat within. Nest.
When you emerge, it will be late Spring, with life in glorious colour, and so much promise and potential. Budding, sprouting, shouting out to the sun and the wide open sky
I don’t know what more to say, which is quite an impediment for a writer (your mum has the proper job in the house) so I’ll wrap up now, and let you know that from this moment on I love you entirely and completely, and simply cannot wait to meet you in person. We’re already having lots of fun. You’ll fit right in. Catch you in a few months, k? Sleep tight ’til then.
I spent a decade writing about local politics, and like to think I came away with some insights. While there were politicians who were there to climb a rung on a ladder or to further their own career in some way, most took the plunge into politics as they believed they could contribute. Seeing such characters was a huge relief: while they were there, politics could work for the greater good.
Those who did fit this category – and it was not exclusive to a single party – would often become disillusioned at the processes and aggression of the chamber. Many good people would not make it through a term, or simply not stand once another election rolled around.
Yet one councillor managed to stay the course for near on a decade without compromising his values, and always being a kind polite man, regardless of who he was talking to. So it is with a very heavy heart to announce that Cllr Ray Darby, Stapleford councillor on, has died.
I confess an extended interest: I’d known Ray a long time before he got into politics. His children, Richard and Caroline, are old friends of mine: I’ve been on holiday with both, separately, and Caroline was the Best Man at my wedding (I also attended her hen-do: an evening of fun in Cardiff, dressed in the uniform of the other attendees involving a tu-tu, tights and pink boa. I was on the wagon at the time and if you ever want a tougher test of avoiding booze, you won’t find one). They are both extraordinary people who I’m proud to have as pals.
The family are extremely close to each other, so I cannot imagine the loss of this devoted father and grandfather. He was the type of friend’s dad who had every right not to like the snotty teenage oik his daughter hung around with, but did, and was instead always friendly and tolerant of our excesses. He could be deeply, wryly funny with a fine line in dad jokes. He had that boyish curiosity that lends a youthfulness to the ageing, a spark in his eye.
He loved, and he was loved.
I remember well his face at Caroline’s wedding, 12 or so years ago. The pride, the sheer pride, as his eyes jewelled with tears as he walked her up the aisle. The delight he took in other’s happiness: when I’d see him in later life I’d tell him about things in my life, and he’d be delighted that I hadn’t screwed things up when all the evidence of the early years of knowing him suggested that was inevitable.
He was first deputy Mayor, then Mayor of Stapleford, which gave him great pride. It is rare in politics, where partisanship is baked into the deal, to never hear a bad word about a councillor. But Ray was liked across the board, his quiet dignity and duty winning friends of all political stripes. He served his community with the simple belief that if you love your town, your duty was to serve it as well as you possibly could. That simple ideology remained untarnished during his tenure, and was an example to all.
He died last week after contracting Covid and rapidly becoming very ill. Whisked to hospital in Derby, he initially rallied but then succumbed. He never quite reached his ambition: to serve as Mayor: we are all the poorer for that.
If you live on through the work you did while alive, Ray has two strong cases for some terrestrial afterlife. First, his decency as a councillor will, I hope, motivate others to look upon others with kinder eyes, and put service to their area above tribalism.. And secondly, he will live on through his children, and his grandchildren, who have his smile, his kindness, his caring nature. A modest, quiet man, he didn’t want to change the world. Yet he shone brightly on all he met, and that, to me, is a much finer legacy.
There is much talk on how using local knowledge, rather than centralised, broad-brush, top-down guesswork would be a better way to run the Tier system of alerts.
Here in Broxtowe, which went into Tier 3 at a minute past midnight today, that is evident more than ever. I checked the official Covid app this morning, expecting it to read ‘COVID alert level: very high’. After all, I live right on the edge of what was the most infected area of the UK recently, with cases still very high.
But what’s this? Shurely sum mistake?
NG9 is completely in Broxtowe, which is very much in Nottinghamshire, so what’s going on? Surely presenting clear, unambiguous information is the whole point of the Tier system?
I was wrong. Some of NG9 is actually in the Erewash area of Derbyshire Thanks to the skills of @owenboswarva, it turns out a tiny bit of postcode sits the wrong side of the Erewash canal.
I’m a former postman, I know there are anomalies -Long Eaton having a NG10 postcode etc, but I was unaware of this weirdness. Here it is: red dot in the top left: NG9 3NU.
It’s actually an obsolete postcode these days, due to it being the arse end of a scrapyard. If you’ve ever cycled the Nutbrook trail, you’ll be familiar with the yards that line it. This is one of them. The actual scrapyard office uses a Derbyshire postcode. No one lives there. No post ever gets delivered there. It’s a vestigial postcode, a useless bit of Broxtowe sitting the wrong side of the river.
And for that, the tens of thousands of people living in Broxtowe are today being told conflicting information about alert levels; we’ve been teetering on the edge for weeks. Because this weird nub of NG9 sits in Derbyshire, it skews the data for tens of thousands of people. Of course, most people here will know we’re in V. High alert – it’s still bizarre this can happen. Perhaps a little local input could have cleared up some anomalies.
The latest issue of The Beestonian is out now: our first print issue sinceLockdown (soon to be known as Lockdown#1), If you’d like a copy delivered donate a quid (if NG9: scrapyards not applicable) and drop us your address via email; £2 in any other UK postcodes, £5 anywhere in the world): https://ko-fi.com/thebeestonian .
I was unable to fulfil my promise to write an article of exactly 500 words on every day I’m in isolation: two days were missed as I returned to my job and realised I had to get my head around remembering what I do for a living after months of furlough. That, and the fact isolation is really biting now: I’m a creature of the outdoors and while I love my garden, it’s not quite the same. I feel a clammy claustrophobia. One more full day left.
Having some unexpected time on my hands, I took the decision to write 500 words today, and cast out the request to send me topics. There were several replies stating ‘writer’s block’ which was probably a hope rather than a topic. I received several DM’s, including from one of my writing heroes who I’d previously never had any contact with, but the one that spurred me to my keyboard was from a local MP, who asked me the mildly gnomic question “What’s the North, what’s the Midlands and what’s Nottingham?’.
Here’s my response. It’s divided into three pieces, each exactly 500 words.
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I ask this question in all seriousness as I suspect that you, like me, have something of an identity crisis, which on the surface looks cosmetic but has quite far-reaching implications.
I used to work in a pub in Tonbridge, Kent, a town on the banks on the Medway that serves as the rough older brother to its dandified near-neighbour / near-namesake Tunbridge Wells. There, the regulars knew me as ‘Northern Matt’. I would point out that in fact, I was a Midlander, to which they’d shrug and tell me ‘It’s all North after the Watford Gap innit?”
Similarly, I lived for a while in Newcastle Upon Tyne. My Geordie friends made much of my southernness equating it with the cliches we give to such folk: crap beer, an effete nature, and a habit of voting Tory. Similar protestations to the veracity of this would lead to shrugs and “It’s all South after Washington Services”.
Jokers to the North of us, fools to the South, here we are, stuck in the middle.
I once heard a story that I assumed to be apocryphal, of how newspaper/ magazine critics would shun Nottingham as they only received overnight expense payments if they were, as the crow flies, 120 miles or more from London. Nottingham is 109 miles from London: therefore no Travelodge for journos. If only Nottingham relocated to Mansfield (122 miles) then our excellent cultural industries would have had more exposure in those pre-digital days. Many years after dismissing this as chippy excuse-making, a London journo friend, and member of the Critic’s Circle, confessed it had some truth to it “Why go see a band at Rock City and have to rush for the last train back to London, when you could see the same band at the (Sheffield) Leadmill and a bed for the night?”
Asking people who aren’t from the East Midlands where Nottingham is on a map usually elicits wildly inaccurate stabs at patches of land from the Scottish Borders to the Norfolk Broads. Without a coastline, or any estuarine proximity; sans anything but a flat bit of green to locate it on your average atlas (more generous ones may show a ridge of brown for the Pennines; we’re just to the right of it). We are indistinct, floating in the imaginations of most other British people somewhere around Birmingham, perhaps near Leeds. As someone who regularly has to redirect press releases telling me of great events happening in Beeston, Leeds, the latter particularly rankles.
To many, this might seem trivial, and people’s lack of geography is forgivable. After all, I’d struggle to locate the small cities of a country like, say, Spain ( I once flew to the wrong airport there, after not realising there might be more than one San Pablo). If it was just that, then fine. But it is about more than that, and this lack of geographic clarity can have profound effects on how we are treated by an increasingly centralised, heavily London based Government.
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What is ‘the North’? Stuart Maconie, in his travelogue-cum-boreal meditation Pies and Prejudice, gives precision in his interpretation: accents harden and flat-caps doffed at all points above Crewe Station. Jeremy Paxman, in The English, imagined a line drawn along the Severn and then the Trent (sorry Clifton, but you’ll have to hand your whippets in). The Government, via the Office for National Statistics, defines it as all counties inclusive of and above Merseyside, South Yorkshire and Cheshire. This invisible dividing line that cleaves the country translates into spending when the Government loosens its purse strings.
This past week, Nottingham has hit the headlines for all the wrong reasons. The sheer incompetence of failing to swiftly track and trace thousands of many positive Covid cases mean that Nottingham’s middling case rate soared five-fold to 668.1 /100,000, the highest in the UK. As a news junkie, it’s rather strange seeing and hearing people I’m familiar with on the local scene: Notts City Council David Mellen, local journos such as Kit Sandeman and Hugh Casswell on the national stage. The Today programme on Radio 4 broadcast a vox pop from Derby Road. Channel 4 News is seen prowling Lenton Abbey. The spotlight is on us.
Yet all seem to struggle with exactly where we are. I’ve heard the phrase ‘Midland city’, ‘Northern city’ and ‘Northern Cities – and Nottingham..’. We’re an awkward outlier to the idea that the surge in Covid is a Northern phenomenon. Manchester, Liverpool, Newcastle: all easy to define. Nottingham? Well, it’s near Birmingham, isn’t it?
A very Beeston-centric aside. When Dick Clement and Ian Le Frenais conceived the sit-com Porridge, they wanted Slade Prison to feel like a limbo of no fixed identity. It was in the North East, but was inhabited by Scots (Mr Mackay) Northerners (Mr Barrowclough) and Southerners, with Ronnie Barker starring as the confident, bright and likable cockney Norman Stanley Fletcher. To get the balance right, a Midlander was sought, and Beestonian Richard Beckinsale was the obvious choice: his acting career was booming, he had vast appeal to younger viewers with a luxuriant thatch of brown hair and puppy-dog handsome face, well known to all Beestonians as it looks out from Bird’s wall. He was signed up, expanding the prison-slang work- in- progress name of ‘LAG’ into Lenny Arthur Godber.
The chemistry between Barker and Beckinsale was instantaneous and obvious: they’d later become great friends, and Barker was devastated by his pal’s early demise. Yet there was an issue. To the producers, his Notts accent was too northern, and threatened to upset the show’s balance. To counter this, Beckinsale played the part with a defined Brummie accent. If ‘70s sitcoms are a measure of England’s hemispheric divide, we very much sit in the North.
Will we be ‘levelled up’ (although right now it seems closer to William I’s harrying than levelling?). When the government speak of investing in the North, do they mean us? Are we even noticed, outside of despatches from a crisis?
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The Notts of old is long gone. The lace factories are bouji flats; the bike factory long razed and replaced with halls of residence. Sherwood Forest is more an arboreal archipelago than a contiguous continent of trees. The collieries closed, and with it the air is cleaner, Wollaton Hall returning to its original beautiful Ancaster stone, no longer cloaked in the sooty dirt, a by-product of the same wealth that created it.
As heavy industry shuts, others open. The two universities have expanded across the city and into nearby suburbs over the past couple of decades: and with it, wealth. It is assumed that the benefits of the presence of these institutions comes chiefly from throwing seventy thousand plus young people into an area, where they’ll be obliged to spend, but the true economic boost comes from the bits of the University undergraduates obscure: the vast amounts of support staff and academics that keep the place running, and the often ground-breaking research that goes on within and without the campus: ibuprofen and MRI machines both were dreamt up and made reality in Nottingham through this.
This also provides fertile ground for creativity in the arts to develop: not just through the available academic courses but also by having a vast amount of young people wanting entertainment, wanting culture. This creates a sustainable eco-system for the arts to thrive, and I’m lucky enough to have had a front row seat of what feels like an exponential rise in Good Stuff Happening for the last couple of decades. Even London occasionally pricks its ears up and ventures up to check the rumours are true (before scurrying back to St Pancras before midnight, of course).
Covid 19 threatens both of these elements oif Notts. Our Universities may be in a pretty good state, but the uncertainty of lockdown and the nightmare many students – particularly freshers – have had over the past few months is a threat. With much of the venue-based entertainment network very likely to be closed down, with little in the way of government support, in the next couple of days, that vibrant scene looks in a perilous position.
We need to do what we can to support them both. It is becoming clear that they are our future, just as lace and coal, bikes and ciggies, were our past. Through this crisis, perhaps this will become more apparent, and begin to solidify not just in local, but national imaginations. This broth of creative talent, bubbling along in the middle of England, no mere ill-defined hinterland, but a place with a unique, enviable and fiery, intelligent temperament.
A place that is knowable by its very unknowability: a city that writhes from definition, a place that is in constant flux, as rushing forward as the Trent in spate.
If this seems paradoxical, then good. Our slogan should be paraphrased from the words Alan Sillitoe used to breathe life into Arthur Seaton: Whatever You Think We Are, That’s What We’re Not. Welcome to Notts.
While I sit out a two week period of Track and Trace enforced lockdown, I’ve set myself a challenge to write a daily article of exactly 500 words in less than an hour about a different subject each day. Today I look at the prospect of abandoning our Borough chums and becoming city-slickers….
Back in my childhood, two important conventions were drilled into me when giving my address. The first has a whiff of ‘70s new-build aspirant working-class snobbery about it: I was told to always put that we lived in New Stapleford, to differentiate ourselves from our more ancient neighbour the other end of Hickings Lane.
The second was small, but crucial. We didn’t write (‘New) Stapleford, Nottingham’ but ‘(New) Stapleford, Notts. I’m sure those lucky enough to grow up in Beeston felt the same.We were of the County. Not part of the city and all its industrial incontinence (these were the days Raleigh made stuff to get people fit, while the next door ciggie factory got them the opposite). It felt significant: while our region doesn’t have the long-held conventions of what divides a Brummie from a Yam-Yam; a Man of Kent rather than a Kentish Man; or the actual acoustic reach of the Cockney-creating Bow Bells, the division between city and county is noticeable -just watch the rection on the face a fan of the Tricky Trees when you utter the dread words ‘Notts Forest’.
As I grew older, and moved to Beeston, this pride started to appear a little arbitrary, not lease when I became a postal worker at Royal Mail: Long Eaton, which sits the other side of the Erewash, has a Notts postcode while many Notts villages have Doncaster and Sheffield postcodes. Living in Beeston at a time when the University campus has expanded and sent tendrils out into the town; and where the city-centred Robin Hood transport network takes in the whole of Beeston, and the tram ties us even closer to the city. Many of us work there. In Beeston, we face east.
In the very early days of this blog I decided to cycled to all the Broxtowe wards during a local elections. It took all day (with many stops to do some journalism, of course) and what was striking was how long and narrow the area is. Most conurbations succumbed to the gravity of a city, with places such as Kimberley and Eastwood feeling more like outposts rather than possessing any sense of contiguity. It set me thinking “Should we be absorbed into the city?”.
I didn’t, to be honest, give it a great deal of thought since that day, but similar to other things the Covid Crisis has flung it to the forefront. Much is being made in the media as I write this about Nottingham – as a city – locking down due to a surge in cases. But of their immediate neighbours? It’s unclear. Broxtowe as a whole has marginally less case ratios than the national average, but here in Beeston it’s much higher. Application of a lockdown might prove tricky, not least for Broxtowe Borough Council. Here’s a useful thread from the BBC’s Hugh Casswell:
Now, as per this tweet from earlier this evening, rates in the areas mentioned above are high (indeed they're similar to Leicester when it went into "local lockdown"), but nothing like as high as in Nottingham City at present…
While I sit out a two week period of Track and Trace enforced lockdown, I’ve set myself a challenge to write a daily article of exactly 500 words in less than an hour about a different subject each day. Today, I’m looking at the way students are scapegoated, with an actual real-life student (albeit in FE, not HE) with her perspective on how our students (and young people in general) are being treated shoddily right now.
While reading Peter Ackroyd’s epic and revelatory History of England, which charts the idea of our country from the first visiting hominids through to the rise of the Tudors, we visit Oxford in 1354, where the University was thriving. Students, refreshed from a trip to the pub turned violent leading to a pitched battle between locals and the undergrads; University hierarchy pitched in with weapons. Violence ensued for days, with many deaths: eventually the superior numbers of townsfolk overwhelmed the scholars and staff; for a few years the University lay empty. The concept of Town And Gown bloodily began.
It’s much less violent these days, yet tensions do arise. The transitory nature of undergrads means shared houses are often left unkempt, and the nocturnal habits of those studying can keep awake those who prefer an early night. Beeston, and it’s proximity to the University doesn’t escape such friction, yet it’s generally regarded as a small price compared to the vast benefits that having a campus for a neighbour bestows.
The annual influx of thousands of young people into the area has benefits. Beeston floats on money students / staff bring, keeping our High Street healthier than it should be (I grew up in Stapleford, which doesn’t bask in proximity: the town has suffered greatly over the years). It provides work, filling the the gap left by the shut-down of local heavy industry It brings relationships: the town is kept diverse and vibrant with new people setting up home here. It also brings love, to which i can personally attest: my wife ventured here to do a PhD and settled. It’s a morphing, fascinating situation.
It seems almost inevitable that Nottingham will go into enhanced lockdown in days. Beeston’s contiguity to Nottingham via the campus means it’s likely we will be included. Some people haven’t taken this well, and on social media some commentators are accusing students of being a collective Typhoid Mary. They bought the disease from elsewhere, goes the argument, spreading it to our innocent locals with abandon.
It’s a shitty way of looking at the situation, but people need to blame and scapegoat. Students, who are often described as a homogeneous mass rather than a huge swathe of society, are painted as outsiders, aliens to repel.
The reality is this years cohort of students have been incredibly poorly treated. They were messed around through their A-Levels through the sheer incompetence of Gavin Williamson. They then faced huge uncertainty about being able to study at all, if it would be online or in person, if they could have anything approaching a social life once at Uni. I’ve asked – with permission – to use a post put on a college chat from a local student I taught last year, which sums up the frustration felt by many young people.
We are fast changing into a knowledge economy, and Beeston is in an ideal place to thrive as that happens. Let’s stop blaming, start welcoming and celebrate our cerebral neighbours. It’s a no-brainer.
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A college student’s view:
I think we’re at a time where we will be able to vote in a few years if not already, the country have done us so dirty. I know for me personally I won’t forget how this government have treated young people, we were forgotten, blamed, downgraded (A- level and GCSE results leading in protests) and so much more. We were the ones who helped and became key workers to keep the country moving and we were then robbed of so much. University grads never got a proper celebration. Students were encouraged to go to university and not just stay at home, they were promised that university would not be just online.
They did this to force students into student accommodation so that they could line their pockets and forced young people into debt. Now we are seeing students quarantined in tiny apartments all by themselves, with the bare minimum, and paying ridiculous fees for unacceptable lessons/video chats and accommodation. The arts have sacrificed so much, and now Rushi Sunak “suggests” musicians and creatives should “find new jobs”.
No. I’m sorry. I won’t be forgetting. I definitely don’t think we are to blame, not one bit, as long as you followed Government guidelines none of us are to blame! We should be pointing the finger and holding the government accountable for their poor decision-making (too little too late!) Ever since Cummings went to test his eyesight all the way to Durham I agree everyone took that as a green light to not take lockdown seriously, and why should they? It has always been one rule for them( the elitists and wealthy/powerful) and another for us!
(there’s more, including calling the very people he represented as a councillor ‘
Beestonia 