Monday 23 August 2010

Regeneration's What You Need

A few weekends ago, Mrs Ox and myself decided to take a trip to Stratford, East London to see the progress on the redevelopment around the Olympic site. It was of keen interest to us in fact, as we have started to think of buying a property in a few years' time, and it would appear that Stratford is pretty much the only London location we'll be able to afford whilst keeping our commutes reasonable.

At the moment, other than a promising-looking building site, it's still a bit skanky, if I'm honest. Certainly though there are worse places to live in London. Yet Stratford is a bit more run-down that what I'm used to, and I did feel slightly on edge at times, to the amused delight of MrsOx.
Stratford station Regenerated:
Still as much chance of a stabbing.
Photo by Clive Power (It says I had to tell you that).

"You've never really lived anywhere poor, have you?" she commented when we were on the bus home surrounded by vagrants and mouthy drunks.

I wanted to correct her and assert my working-class roots - My Dad left school at 15 to work down the mines, ffs! But the fact was, she was right. My Dad's upbringing was not my own thanks mainly to his own work ethic & industry (thankfully not down the mines for very long). I in fact grew up a Landlord's son mostly in quaint coaching inns in well-kept villages and well-to-do market towns.

I did live in a rough dive-pub in Southampton between the ages of 3 and 6, but other than that, I've led a pretty charmed life of locations. My formative years were spent either in the not-very-ghetto'd Cotswolds, within the midst of straw-boaters upon the regatta-loving Thames or in the shadow of royal polo tournaments in Sussex.

At one point, I could even boast Led Zeppelin's Jimmy Page & spoon-bender Uri Geller as next-door neighbours (Well, I could boast about Jimmy Page at least).
Stratford: Easy to get out of, at least.

Either way though, Mrs Ox was right, I've never lived anywhere 'edgy', 'up-and-coming' or 'vibrant' as the estate agents refer to Stratford* in their window adverts. Perhaps I have lived a rather sheltered life in that respect.

This is the odd thing about these areas of London though - you could live on a very nice middle-class street but there could be a problem estate at the end of the road. You can have run-down social housing blocks down one side of a road, and on the opposite side some new-build yuppie flats exchanging hands for silly money.

Everything is on top of everything else and areas once thought too dodgy to venture into at night are now becoming gentrified. One problem of that of course is that the poor are often not taken along with the regeneration but actually forced out by rising property prices.

East London Regeneration: The Luftwaffe started things off.

Hopefully, Stratford (which isn't really that bad, obviously) will indeed benefit from the Olympic regeneration and become one of those areas where people want to move to without driving out the less well-off, so that they too can benefit from it. Maybe I will benefit from it too, one day.

Although I'm not saying it wasn't nice growing up where i did, I feel truly grateful to be a resident of London - there is a lot to be said about how enriching it is to live amongst a melting pot of people from such diverse backgrounds and culture all mingling together.

Still less likely to get mugged and stabbed in Moreton-in-Marsh though.


*For 'edgy' read 'dangerous'.
 For 'up-and-coming' read 'still pretty run-down, but they are building some stuff.'
  For 'vibrant' read 'large ethnic minority population living below the poverty line'.

Wednesday 11 August 2010

Rabbit Loving-Woman

I just read this ridiculous story about the below woman, Annette Edwards.

Edwards: cartoon rabbit-fucker wannabe.

She has spent an incredible £10,000 on plastic surgery to look like the famous cartoon zoophile Jessica Rabbit. Why she has attempted this I am not quite sure - presumably in an attempt to try and lure away husband Roger for a night of lapine lust. 

Jessica herself appears below for comparison.


The real Mrs Rabbit: Large cartoon breasts.




















Mrs Edwards has clearly failed in her attempts.

I have little else to say on this matter.

Tuesday 10 August 2010

Nós Somos Família...

Went to a family wedding this weekend just gone. In Coventry.

Well, just outside Coventry in fact. However, an argument with Mrs Ox in the car on the way up and the silence we gave each other for part of the journey certainly brought the phrase "Being sent to Coventry" to life in a quite literal as well as the traditionally more figurative manner.

Coventry: Best enjoyed in silence.
It was a fantastic event, the wedding. For the most part because I got to catch up with my extended family for the first time in ruddy years.

Getting to know Mrs Ox's family and how close they are to each other, has only highlighted for me how little effort I've put in over the past decade in keeping in touch with mine.

Aunties & Uncles I hadn't seen in years, Cousins I hadn't even considered were now adults (a bit of a silly thing not to consider, considering they are around the same age as me) and indeed, in some cases with their own children. Fully grown, adult children, that is.

And by the term 'Adult Children' I don't mean some scary genetic disaster of a giant-like, inflated child with  elephantiasis, I mean it's my cousin's children, but they are now practically adults. Obviously.

I also found out via one of my Uncle's research that there is some Portuguese blood in my ancestry. This may explain my short-fused temperament and love of port, but I can't therefore understand why the very thought of Salted Cod has me retching air. Other than it tastes shit, of course.

Salted Cod: Retch-Inducing.
Nonetheless, I'm rather excited at my new-found exotic roots, and the next time I see Ronaldo playing I won't instantly dismiss him as a greasy-haired diving fairy, but a fellow countryman. Albeit a fairy-like greasy-haired diving one.

The flag of my Fathers' Mothers' Fathers' Fathers' Father. Maybe.
I also quite like the funny little ç & õ characters that they pepper about so ubiquitously in Portuguese. I might start calling myself Senhor Fantastiço Õx or something. If that works. It probably doesn't.
Nice thunderstix, Mum.

My main point today though, kids, is that family is important.

Which is why I am determined to try and organise a Family Ox get-together at least once every year to catch up and maybe even celebrate our general Portuguesishness.

Salt-Cod all round. Bleeuurgh.