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Room and Gloom

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caldrail

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Swindon as a town always had ambition. Once the railworks closed in the eighties, the town brought in investment and new business and was always pushing to be raised to 'city' status. Back in 1994, I flew over Swindon in a Cessna and was stunned at how much dereliction the town still had, much of it ex-railway land. Since then these brownfield sites have been developed.

 

More developments had been planned. Artists impressions of Swindons Brave New World have been published locally and presented a rosey image of a thriving, clean, happy town, a place of endless shopping malls and strange curving footbridges. Sadly the sites earmarked for these developments remain derelict. The Tented Market still stands and might even reopen as is. The Granville Street site is still a car park. The Old Police Station site is still a fenced off dirt field. The Locarno still looks more like a burned out ruin than the intended italianate piazza. The Old College, where I once studied, is now being demolished on the cheap by the occaisional vandal.

 

Where has all the optimism gone? Alastair Darling, our beleaguered Chancellor (who may soon be replaced according to popular rumour), visited our borough yesterday to speak to Swindon business leaders. That was over quick. What did he say to them? Goodbye? Talking of goodbyes, I notice the artists impression of the renovated Old College site include a cute grove of trees where I currently live. Was that a hint?

 

Scotsman of the Week

There is a certain irony about Swindons reversals in fortune. A few years back, I was at a bar and requested a cider from the barmaid. "We ain't got none." She told me sweetly. What? No cider? How's a guy supposed to get drunk around here? All right then, I'll have some cider without the apples. So she poured me a Fosters lager. Having attracted some attention to myself with that display of mock indignation, the scotsman standing next to me proceeded to add me to his best mate list. Before I knew it, he was chatting to me like I'd known him for years. Anyone know who this bloke is?

 

I discovered he was a Scotsman because he told me he'd come from Scotland, despite whatever preconceptions his scottish accent had led me to. Scotland is a great place. Much better than the south. Scottish money buys you more. The scots are much more cosmopot... cosmic... sociable. Hic. No scotsman would ever be rude, never any trouble north of the border. He likes Scotland. Scotland is a great place.

 

Is it? Is it really? Did it improve a lot when you moved to Swindon? I walked away and avoided some trouble south of the border.

 

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Keep that up, and William Wallace's ghost (or Mel Gibson) will come after you and shine a full moon in your general direction.

 

He's too busy drinking heavily, cheating on his wife with hot young girls and blaming Jews for all of it.

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In fairness, he wasn't a nazi, just very annoying. And he did get a mite upset when I wouldn't listen to his eulogies anymore. I've only met two other scotsmen in Swindon. One spoke an incomprehensible language whose origin is lost in the mists of time, the other was an ex-soccer hooligan whose hobby was beating people up. None of them mooned at me. I think Mel Gibson was talking out of his rear.

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