Last week, on a well-earned break from the coalface, I was in my local, reading the local paper, which, as legend has it, is known as the Squeaker in deference to its subservient position to the Thunderer.
The splash devoted itself to the subject of making this delightful market town more pedestrian friendly. The town society was quoted thus, and I don’t apologise for quoting from it liberally: “We want to hear from as many views as possible, so we can feed them back into the Shared Space process. The workshop is to share thoughts on how best the shared space can be designed to provide access for everyone…This includes shop and business owners, pedestrians, wheelchair users, mums with buggies, pushchairs and trollies, cyclists, public transport and delivery vehicles. The event will also look at street furniture, noticeboards, town centre trees and other planting. Conclusions from the meeting will, in some form, be included in any possible development brief.”
For heaven’s sake, where to start? “Shared space process”? “Workshop”? “Town centre trees”? “Event”? Why on earth must people who seek to represent the views of small towns try to emulate, in their orotund phrases, the very worst of corporate speak?
This is a market town, not the old quarter of Chicago. If you’re going to seek the counsel of wheelchair users and mums with buggies, why not also heed the advice of candlestick makers, lion tamers and flower arrangers to achieve a shared space process?
On the subject of locals, I deprecate the manner of some who come into the pub and, when asked what they would like to drink, say: “I think I’ll do a pint of Guinness.” “Do”? May I have” has served perfectly well for some years now.
