SPEAKERS’ CORNER
IT’S HARD BEING A SINGLE BLOKE IN THE COUNTRY. ADRIAN MOURBY PUTS THE WIND UP THE LOCALS, TO EVERYONE’S HORROR INCLUDING HIS OWN ONCE UPON A TIME it was a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be moving to the country in search of a wife. In [...]
IT’S HARD BEING A SINGLE BLOKE IN THE COUNTRY. ADRIAN MOURBY PUTS THE WIND UP THE LOCALS, TO EVERYONE’S HORROR INCLUDING HIS OWN
ONCE UPON A TIME it was a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be moving to the country in search of a wife.
In Jane Austen’s novels the appearance of an unattached male in small English communities sends everyone into a tizzy of expectation. Invitations pour through letterboxes, and husbands are despatched to invite the young man in question to take snuff or get plastered on Napoleonic sherry.
But my, how things have changed 200 years later. When I moved out of the city and into an English country village, I soon found that far from being regarded as the new Mr Darcy on the block, I was looked upon as closer to Bela Lugosi’s Dracula.
The sad fact is that these days people don’t trust single men anymore. If Mr Darcy or Mr Bingley had reined in their horses to tip their hats to a mother and her rosy-cheeked children, everyone would have been delighted. Try engaging a mother and child in conversation today and she’ll lock her windows.
As for the Mrs Bennets of this world, they have no interest in inviting strangers round to size up their daughters of marriageable age. In fact, they’re too busy trying to look of marriageable age themselves. The pairing off of daughters is no longer the prime concern of mothers. University is the great matchmaker now. When the Lizzie Bennets of 2007 come home, it’s usually with a scruffy-looking boyfriend in tow. They’re looking to stock up on free food while they’re home, not suitors.
As for the Mr Bennets of our modern countryside, they aren’t too enamoured of a single man either. If he’s straight they worry he’s after their wives and if he’s gay they’re worried about something else entirely.
No wonder my letterbox wasn’t exactly stuffed with calling cards.
The three big unspoken questions that everyone asks about a single man in the countryside are: 1. Why is he single? 2. What is wrong with him? 3. What is he doing here? And the likelihood is that you won’t get to answer any of those questions because where do you meet the locals? The lord of the manor no longer organises balls he’s in Spain living off his investments, having sold the manor to a Japanese golf syndicate.
In my first year of country life, the only people who invited me to dinner were an old friend and his wife who had also moved out from the city. They fitted in. They worked locally and took their children to school, the boy scouts and the canoe club. That night at dinner there were six of us: two couples and a recently divorced woman who made jewellery and was most annoyed at being set up like this. When I reciprocated a month later, it was an odd event. The two couples talked amongst themselves while I nipped in and out of the kitchen like a waiter.
My acquaintances didn’t invite me back until a year later when I was walking up the high street in the company of a girlfriend and bumped into them. Immediately I could tell they felt much more at ease with me. As did the whole village. While I had a female companion in tow they felt I was safe to chat to in shops even be invited to play squash, the ultimate proof that men no longer suspect you of trying to run off with their wives. Suddenly I was no longer a round peg in a square hole. I was just as square as the rest of them.
But when my girlfriend returned to the Mediterranean, I was dropped from the social radar again. The truth of the matter is that the good people of this rural community just didn’t know what to do with this wifeless, childless man amongst them. I shouldn’t have pitched up there in the first place. I should have done what all single people do nowadays, which is gravitate towards London or any other big city. That’s where the 21st-century Lizzie Bennets are to be found. Nowadays it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a place in town.
FLYING THE FLAG
ANYONE GOT A PIECE OF STRING? ASKS BILL KNOTT
How is it that something seemingly indispensable can disappear from our lives, its function superseded and its departure unremarked?
About 30 years ago, no home would be complete without a ball of string. My grandfather, for instance, was a string fanatic. For him, a Christmas present was all very well, but he derived considerably more pleasure from saving the string with which it was wrapped than from the present itself. Each length would be neatly coiled, tied and reverentially laid in the top drawer of the sideboard, ready to be pressed into service. A gift wrapped in Sellotape would provoke a slow, sad shake of the head. After all, you can’t hoard Sellotape.
String used to hold our lives together. It would hang out the washing, fix a wobbly handle on a spade, keep bulging suitcases from bursting open; it could even connect two old baked bean cans together to make a primitive intercom. Today, the average 10-year-old has a mobile phone instead.
The best thing to do with string, of course, is to tie knots in it. As you might imagine, the subject of knots is close to my heart: I even joined the Scouts simply to learn about them, and it was easily the most enjoyable aspect of my brief paramilitary dalliance with the disciples of Baden-Powell. Reef knots, sheepshanks, triple bowlines, not forgetting the sublime round turn and two half-hitches… all had their peculiar uses, and all were things of beauty. The greatest joy was to be found in constructing an elaborate slip knot which, with a gentle tug, would magically disappear, to the amazement of your friends. I doubt many children today have even seen a ball of string, let alone tied knots in it; they’re too busy playing their Nintendos to explore the intricacies of a Rosendahl bend or a monkey’s fist.
I suppose, now that the make-doand-mend culture has given way to the let’s-buy-a-new-one school of thought, that string is in terminal decline, but, in memory of my grandfather, I shall still collect it and practise my sheepshanks. Life with no strings attached? Knot if I can help it.
CULTURE VULTURE
SCOTTISH ART IS HOT SAYS PHILIP LONG, CURATOR OF SCOTLAND AND VENICE 2007
For a country which is relatively small in size, Scotland’s creative output is pretty massive. From the visual arts to fashion, music to design, literature to stage and screen performances, the face of modern Scotland reflects a wealth of inspirational talent.
This year, the visual arts take an even more exciting turn. For the third time the country is presenting a showcase at the world’s most prestigious art fair, the Venice Biennale. Scotland and Venice 2007 features drawing, sculpture, painting and film from six exciting young artists.
In addition to the Biennale show, numerous exhibitions and festivals are taking place in Scotland throughout the year. Jardins Publics at the Edinburgh International Festival this month and the Edinburgh Art Festival, also in August, are just two of the treats in store.
Fine artists in Scotland seem to be going from strength to strength. Edinburghbased Nathan Coley has just been nominated for the prestigious (and infamous) Turner Prize which was won by Glasgow-based artist Simon Starling in 2005; and Lucy Skaer (who also lives in Glasgow) has been offered major solo shows in 2008 at Edinburgh’s Fruitmarket Gallery and London’s Chisenhale.
So why is art from Scotland suddenly enjoying such success at home and abroad? There are three main reasons for this: Scotland’s internationally recognised art schools, a supportive network of fellow artists, and a range of galleries and funding opportunities all provide the infrastructure that enables talent to flourish. Scotland is a base for artists at all stages in their career, working in many different ways. Whether you’re an artist, collector, curator or someone just wanting to look at the extraordinary, you’ll find it here.
Scotland and Venice 2007 Palazzo Zenobio, until 7 November (www.scotlandandvenicebiennale.com); Edinburgh Art Festival, until 2 September (www.edinburghartfestival.com); Jardins Publics: 10 August-2 September (www.eif.co.uk)
Photography: Peter Sandground
Photography: Rex Features, Kobal Collection
