My Landscape

Out from the craggy tarmac stands a uniform line of houses. Written above one window is "1902". Written not in pride, but as if to say "we've been here since 1902. Nothing grows, nothing is built, nothing changes - it all just rots". And in one of these houses is a bamboo sticker that has been plastered against the bottom of the window for privacy, I suppose. Never have I seen anyone leave or anyone go in one of these houses. John Lennon's face is the only face that I have ever seen peering out of a window. I've never understood that: why John Lennon and why is he always framed and looking out? I often wonder if he calls out into the street: "I can get to the door in 3 seconds, how fast can you?" and does it work? Like cardboard, lifesize policemen, is John Lennon a good deterrent? Photographs of dead Beatles and fake exotic plants call these houses home.
This is not about the houses; however, this is about the pub. It sits on the corner, connecting one row of Lennon's houses to another, jutting out in the fork in the road. Around thirty years ago someone decided to paint it a custard colour, and I bet it looked nice too. On hot summer's afternoons, people would head towards the pub to sit on benches outside and sip beer. The windows are no more. Wood, painted a Wedgewood blue, has replaced the glass. The pub's custard yellow skin peels gradually away from the brick and reveals some of that 1902 colour. "I've found a new way to rot", it says. I hate this pub, I hate how it stands there rotting for everyone to see. Plants have started to burst out of the hollow windows and coiling itself around the waterspout. But even the greenery is grey: dying buddleia. "This is your environment, your nature", it says. Some hooligan might set it alight, but the pub would just stay there - black instead of yellow and more dead.
"Why do you hate me so much? I'm just brick. I'm just paint. I'm just wood. I'm just metal. I'm just plant. Go into the fields, find a spot where you can't see the old-folk's home. Keep walking until you can't hear the cars. Go where there is nothing but trees, grass, and flowers. Claw into the earth, scoop up what you find into your hands and look: dirt; worms; plates; bricks; cans. Do you not see that I am what is growing in your environment - I am your nature? Why do you hate me so? I'm just a cobweb: organic, but empty".
I sit and think about those people sitting outside and sipping beers. Those people are gone now; those people saw the rise of the shopping centre and the fall of the pot bank. Those people have watched as the town centre withered away. Those people saw a massive chain rename "The Potteries" to "intu". Those people remain proud of their potbank or pits heritage, a heritage comprised of long hours, poor conditions, and early deaths. In fact, those people have seen some of their closest friends die of lung cancer, poisoning, or some other gradual death. These people have had children who can have long and happy lives. Those people have seen the likes of David Bowie and Jimi Hendrix in Hanley. Those people have seen Premier Inns being erected. Those people have seen local businesses fade. Those people have waited in the shop at 8:00am on Saturday mornings for fresh oatcakes to take home. Those people have seen companies and institutions do fantastic work for cancer charities. Those people voted for Brexit. Those people voted against Brexit. Those people have taken their dad to the football the same as he used to take them when they were little. Those people have seen the rise in homelessness and those high on illegal-legal-highs fall down dead. Those people are able to choose between Japanese, Indian, American, Thia, Italian, and Chinese cuisine. Those people move with the breaths of the city. Those people watch buildings rot. Those people take pride in where they live. Those people moan about the state of the city. Those people enjoy, opera, ballet, Shakespeare. Those people enjoy Tipping Point. Those people are just moving from cobweb to cobweb in a clusterfuck of rotting and new landscapes.