SHERINGHAM DIARY 30 ~ Don't Mention The Actual War Commemorative Issue

We survived the straffing of Sheringham's 1940's weekend. My prejudices suitably adjusted in the light of experience. Lots of people coming together dressed in period clothes, swanning about whilst 1940's music played over the street megaphones, generates the approximation of a community gathering. Not entirely a local community, as folk come from all over the UK. Its an idealised version of community, culturally homogeneous, not remotely diverse , but resolutely white. The fact that their were Caribbean, Indian and Black American servicemen in the UK, is something that Sheringham's 1940's weekend is apparently not yet prepared to pretend happened.

Though this communal vibe was something of a surprise, it is sad if the only way we can connect with a unified collective sense of ourselves, is to pretend we live in an entirely different era. An era where we were fighting a war, ironically given Brexit, to save Europe and ourselves. An event sentimentalised, mythologised and attended by people, who for the most part, were born well after it happened. Leave supporters have used the war years as a template for the guiding spirit of our future relations with the world. Bound up in the desire to believe and behave 'as if.' this sanitised version of our history was not the result of wartime propaganda nor post-war mythologising, but entirely true.

The wartime spirit has become a lazy touchstone for all that the modern day UK has difficulty finding or summoning up. Having become as a society increasingly individualistic, selfish and socially cut off from one another. The blame by some is laid at the feet of immigration, everyone whose not white and British, the liberal minded, atheists and gay marriage or any other prejudice you might want to throw into the mix relating to the state of the nation.

The wartime style envelope appears similarly accommodating and elastic around the edges. Quite a few fifties Dior new look dresses creeped in,  the 'Pythonesque' sending up the war look itself, and one person bizarrely dressed up as a 1980's Dr Who. Any gathering of like minded people bringing their individual enthusiasm to a collective context has a similar feeling to it. Whether this is a pop concert, a football match, a religious gathering or climate change rally, its something we come together to align ourselves with and share.

The Courtyard Cafe & Wine Bar, is near by where our shop is located. They hold a street party with tables running down the middle of the courtyard for the entire weekend. This made casually browsing the shops either side of it, somewhat restricted. It was a health and safety nightmare with mobility scooters and zimmer frames with shopping trolleys attached, daring to venture in. All accompanied by the ubiquitous 1940's music played very loud. After an entire weekend of six hours a day being constantly forced to listen to 1940's music, I'd liken the experience to aural water boarding as a method of torture. The jiggly jaunty thum thum thum of the double bass that underpins a lot of the music, i found emotionally draining.

Not to mention the ration books. The town produces a ration book, in it are named participatory shops in Sheringham and you go round getting your card stamped by these retailers. On paper this sounds like a great way to encourage people to discover shops they might not normally encounter. The reality is that its mostly tiny tots and surly teenagers, and there's a constant stream of them dashing around. None of them spending money with us. On the Saturday I lost count, there were countless dozens of them. If I'd charged £2 per stamp I'd have easily doubled my days take. One Courtyard shopkeeper is considering not putting themselves in the ration book next year. It felt, to them, counter productive to be stamping a succession of ration books, whilst paying customers were being kept waiting. They have a point. it is more than a bit tiresome.

Though there was little purchasing going on on the Saturday due to the excessive congestion, our daily take was about average in the end, composed of a handful of decent purchases. But Sunday being less congested and frenetic in The Courtyard turned into our best Sunday's business since we opened. So there was one silver lining.

Dressing up events, mostly due to Sheringham's 1940's Weekend being such a success since it started in 2003, are tempting more North Norfolk towns to join in. Cromer has its 1960's Weekend, Wells-next-the Sea its Pirate Weekend, and North Walsham has recently announced that from next year it'll host a Medieval Weekend. These at least have the virtue that they are either still within living memory, or are so far beyond it no one can pretend its anything other than a theme park type event, that however rollicking, its all a cliche bedecked fantasy.

SHERINGHAM DIARY 29 - Wake Up & Smell The Slurry

The August heatwaves brought forward harvesting by a few weeks. Farmers were already out re-fertilising their fields spraying them with slurry. Slurry is derived from a late medieval English word for thin mud, these days its pure stinking liquid shit. Most slurry is diluted cow shit. You'll be driving along a lovely country road when Wham! your nasal cavities are assaulted by a penetrating noxious smell. But hey! let's not get into a negative gripe here, we live in the country, slurry stench comes with the territory

Walking around Cromer the other week, there was a strong high wind blowing from inland bringing with it this all pervasive gut churning stench. This didn't just get up your nose it was a full fronted attempt to seize hold of your breathing.  Imagine you are walking in the wake of a half decayed tramp's corpse wrapped in horse dung. The intense effect of the stink is hard to describe, but nauseous gag reflex is the closest I can get. On line the authorities declared it was a turkey shit based slurry. Not a word about whether its legal to spray it, or any environmental or public health concerns this might raise. A quick scan of gardening sites informs me turkey shit replaces nitrogen in depleted soils, and has benefits as an organic pesticide. You have to use it diluted because its so caustic it can literally burn and lay waste to your plants. I am not comforted.

Talking of pervasive stinks. well, the Sheringham Sinkhole has finally been resolved and filled in. They even held a party on the 1st of September to celebrate. Accompanied by painfully loud music broadcast along the entire centre of town. It was a ghastly following of air pollution with its aural equivalent. The sinkhole had quickly established itself as the distinctive feature of our old fashioned and slightly shabby town. The fetid pong of stagnant sewer water on the lower High Street ended up lingering for the entire Summer season. Lots of loss adjusting claims have been going in, as businesses count up what the real cost to them has been. Anglian Water is still not accepting liability so the money shops will receive will not reflect the true financial cost to them. So there seems little to be celebrated really. Most have survived it -so far.  But we have the looming Rubicon of Brexit to cross and all the unknown unknowns that contains. Democratically it already stinks to high heaven, but the astringent economic slurry will be getting up everyone's noses soon. Oh Shit!

Its over a year since my resignation from Triratna. I'm still alive and content with having left. Twenty six years of involvement can't really be left behind. You can remove a person from a context but you can't remove what was learnt in that context from the person. The re-imagined comforting familiarity of Sangha friends does occasionally pop up. Simultaneously I've had to acknowledge that early on I chose to put on one side that I was not emotionally bought into some of Triratna's practices. It was only as the list grew longer and more fundamental that I began seeking a way out.

Dogen

I've been going to the Zen Priory in Norwich since January. Initially just once a month, but recently I've begun attending a weekly beginners night on Tuesdays. I'm seeing this as a deeper exploration of Dogen as the originator of this Soto Zen perspective. My initial impressions are favourable. I've started listening to a recorded series of talks that Rev Leoma gave at the Priory on the Genjo Koan, which are proving to be an exciting opening out of my understanding of this pivotal Dogen text. Its a very long time since I felt so re-energised by a Dharma talk.

What I'm appreciating is the strength, consistency and coherence of Soto Zen practices, where everything relates from and back to Zazen. Triratna's pick and mix from various Buddhist traditions can, by comparison, seem like cross dressing from a vintage jumble sale. The centrality of 'going for refuge' being the glue attempting to hold this disparate source material together. The focus on Zazen, on Dogen's teachings and the disavowal of anything leading to a goal orientated mindset, are in themselves radical reductions of Buddhist source materials.. Yet this pared back simplicity feels intuitively right, avoiding getting caught up in centuries of over intellectualisation, erudition and theory. This appeals to my current spiritual zeitgeist, like breathing in the smell of a fresh perfume.

Trying to hold Sangharakshita's and Dogen's teachings simultaneously was discomforting. Sangharakshita was inherently critical of Zen, this led to a wary and distrustful atmosphere towards Zen throughout his movement. Few Order members know anything in any detail about Dogen, and I strongly suspect Sangharakshita didn't either judging by a few things he said. However, I was brought up within Triratna's approach so I check things out, ask questions and analyse. There are areas where I suspect basic bits of Buddhism have been pruned, rephrased or ignored in order to support Dogen's particular reinterpretation and reductive focus. The question for me now is, if this still feels right, does that really matter? Yet at the same time I don't want to ignore things I'm not convinced by - again.  Its an interesting thread I'm following. So I'm being very Soto Zen about it and trying to curtail imagining I'm heading anywhere with it.

August was a good month for trade in Cottonwood Home. Despite the two heatwaves, when custom took a dramatic nosedive. I've been observing peoples behaviour in our Courtyard during a heatwave, folk hardly engage with any shop, they just look and wander around in a blithely disinterested way, picking things up half heartedly. These are your archetypal Soap and Sandcastle days, when every body is heading for the beach and all they're willing to buy from you is soap.

Its easier to spot who our potential customers are, they lean heavily towards the middle class and the well dressed. If they have a beer belly, or seriously overweight, wear a T shirt with some sort of skulls or gothic lettering on, or are pushing a buggy with several bags, dogs and children hanging off it, they'll most likely be for the hippy shop opposite or the off license next door. This is part of an ongoing study of the day to day workings of Prattitya Samudpada, what particular set of people and conditions produce a good, bad or an indifferent days takings. Lets not go into the 'going beyond' labelling them, that's a higher teaching.  But some days you've absolutely no idea at all whats going on. Then you have to surrender yourself to the presenting moment and whatever is happening there. Hold to your confidence, but travel without fixed expectations.

This year, as new Sheringham shopkeepers, we will have to show willing and partake in the 1940's Weekend. Normally we've chosen to evacuate the area, and either bunker down at home or take a holiday and be as far away as possible. We don't imagine trade will be good in the fevered nostalgia filled atmosphere. There is some sort of street party planned for The Courtyard, so it will be inescapable, with all sorts of fake alcohol fuelled jollity going on. You'll probably hear all about it here, I wont be able to help myself. Wake up and smell the sentimental myth, whilst in reality the UK's democracy is being sacrificially burned.