What do Middleport, St. Radigans and probably Kemsley have in common?

1) They all got old range rovers resting on piles of bricks, fridges or broken plastic goal posts in the front gardens.

2) I am working or going to be working there.

3) They are going to form some kind of core to this blog.


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One year on.

I was in Dover today so I went to have a look at this garden we made over a year ago now.

I have been in a good mood all evening because how wrong was the maintenance man on this estate?

Quote: ‘after six months it will scraped up by a JCB as it will be dangerous because of vandleism’.

It has not been damaged in any way. None of the wood had been burnt and everything is intact. No graffiti and the plants are established.

So bollocks Mr Maintenance man, you knobhead, and all the miserable negative bastards like you.

I will admit that this was a very demanding project, but a feckin result innit. And a great advocation for community projects. I hope local authorities will continue to see the benefits of this kind of work. I know they have no resources now, but think longer term.

Wise medicine men with shamanisic powers, is that the role of artists in our society?


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The best bits!

On Saturday there was a celebratory opening of the garden with food and drinks and circus entertainment all laid on by the commissioner.

To end this section of the blog I am going to do a big brother type 'here's your best bits'.

1) The sheme was finished off with a community planting session.

2) There are plans to begin a garden club.

3) A residents association forming was talked about.

4) The kids on the estate have guarded the garden from outsiders spoiling it.

5) I have seen groups of neighbours talking over garden fences and on the street.

6)The commissioner told me (Southern Housing Association) that the 'Them and us' attitude which had prevailed, had relaxed and tennants thought the housing association was now listening to them and reacting to requirements and generally more approchable.

7) Children run up and hug me in the street, they want their photo taken with me and they chase my car waving goodby. I felt like a celeb for the whole day.

8) The commissioner said it had exceeded expectations.

So well done The Anne Peaker Centre, Karin and then Liz Knowles who made it happen.

Three cheers for:

Andy Evans, Siobhaun Timothey, Kate Richardson, Martin Brockman and part time volunteer Dan who were my collegues in Nam. All of them artists from various disciplines with either shamanistic powers or the wisdom of medicine men.


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This probably wont be my last day as it rained very hard. What I made turned into a paddling pool under a bench! unable to finish.

As for the wise men I mentioned earlier, I am now a little closer to being one. I dont think its about art particularly, but it is about change. My grandmother was a victorian and I dimly remember her. The values and codes of behaviour in her time were much more austere than today. Things change and I could start sounding like my dad ' if only the kids today blah had blah more blahdy blah'. But my world is different from his and my son's different from mine. How stale would a monopoly of victorian values in todays world be?

Perhaps the outsiders need to shake the core alittle as it will go stale. Teddy boys (before my time) are probably pretty mellow now and say 'if only the kids today blahdy blah.

Society is a pretty organic thing and will shift around and art/culture is a major part of that. I am not sure that art is allways the root cause of the shifts but I am sure it highlights and reinforces them so that new rules become the stable core.

So if St. Radigans is a measure of the the future then!……its pretty free-form. And the purchase order for Middleport arrived today so as one job draws to a close another begins. As my old mum used to say 'out with the old and in with the new'!


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This is probabably the penultimate post on this project, one last story from the last day on the path before turfing the whole area.

We are starting to pack away the days eqipment at the end of a full on day,

'Come the F*****G HELL round here now and just have a look at this mess'. SEE what the ******* kids have done this ******88& little ****3£ & **$!&*********// mess!

This is the woman who lives adjacent to the site we are working on addressing me very loudly and trying to get my attention.

'Oh er will I need a brush or a bucket of water or something like that'? I replied.

'Bring what the **^%"""1$ you like, but I have had enough of this and I am NOT putting up with it any MORE. See what has happened now'.

The front of this womans house looks like the Bosnian Serbs dug in on the ridge yonder have shelled the front of her house. Only they used cement instead of shells. It is peppered in blobs. Front door, brickwork, the UPVC windows the front path, the plastic white gas meter box at the front and the garden fence.

'I have been pushing for this project, raising money, attending meetings for 2 and a half years to make this happen. AND this is the thanks I get. No respect from these kids they are wild'!

There a silent pause …..'I think this woman has a point' I said to the 15 kids standing in the road watching this drama 'and you should appologise and clear this up. Can we have a bucket of hot water please'.

The response is a barrage of verbal abuse, the main point being, it was not us and how dare she swear at us like that. Two children help us clear this mess up. The rest pace and swagger protesting innocence watching us use hot water, brooms, brushes, J cloths etc.

I am begining to feel like a Nam Veterain, 'Would you go back to Nam?' I will be there on Friday to finish.


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Well today was a total blast: morale had been lowish but the paymasters (Anne Peaker Centre) played everyone in the team today including their arts development officer. It was truly a great day.

7 bodies in the team.

The effect was to relieve or dilute the relentless and exhausting 'enabling' of others (the children) so they can work. We have spent so much time getting stuff so they can work. Preparing things for them, finding a place where they can work, explaining what needs to be done and how. Then, when they can not do it, it is our fault for not enabling them enough.

The task of mixing cement is a major drama and goes like this:

'3:1 with water in first' I say all chirpy …….'I'll just a get smaller trowl for my friend over here, put a watering can full in and I'll be with you in a minute'.

'Rob, it has run out of petrol'

No we filled it last night remember. So…Stand behind it, and pull the cord in a straight line. Not out to the side cos the cord rubs on the edge and your hard pulling is wasted. There.. its easy if you pull in a straight line. I'm just going to get some pebbles for your sister.

'Rob I can't open this bag of cement'

'have you got a trowel to poke in the side'

'er no'

'You get a trowel off Katie, Im just going to cut a block for Nicole'.

'Did you get a trowel?

'no she wouldn't let me borrow it'

'Ok then I'll just tear it open' (which is a little like trying to rip the yellow pages in half, but possible) Is there any more water than this? I ask.

'No Sophie knocked the container over'

'Does anyone you know have an outside tap'?

'No we asked yesterday and the houses are terraced and they dont want us walking through on the carpets'.

So I have to drive the containers to a tap in a sink in the near by maintenance office.

Someone says…'Rob is this cement the right height to push the pebbles in?

'Lets have a look …no much too low you need twice as much as that'

'Rob is there any more cement'?

'yeh soon…we're working on it' I say.

and so it goes on. What we get ranges from sand that won't come out the mixer to a slurry that hits the wheel barrow and bounces out splashing anyone by the barrow. One extra watery load knocks the barrow over as it enters – because said barrow is not on a level floor.

'Rob can you help me'

But today we all worked, all helped, and had a laugh, with ice creams for everyone involved at the end of the day.

Kids as well.

17 bodies in the team by the end of the day.


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