Chasing Amy-Lou

Last weekend I decided to take a whistle-stop tour through four counties in good old England-shire; Great Britain: my home; my country; the place I grew up. The reason? Well, seeing as the ‘big plan’ to return to Australia won’t be happening until next year I felt it only right to try and keep the travel dream alive somehow, and if that meant jumping on the ‘staycation’ bandwagon, exploring home soil and unfamiliar territory right on my doorstep, then why the hell not?

I am at liberty to say though that this wasn’t the sole reason I decided to take to the road and drive for a silly amount of miles in a southerly direction. I had in fact managed to bag myself a much coveted ticket to Banksy’s new exhibition in Weston-Super-Mare: the dystopian bemusement park that he so aptly named, Dismaland. It seemed only natural then to break-up the drive to North Somerset with a couple of stop-overs and a few daytrippin’ adventures; and so off I went.

Now, you might be wondering what Banksy’s Dismaland has to do with the title and premise of this piece? I’ll tell you: Banksy is a graffiti artist, and a famous one at that. His art is so projective of a seemingly ‘broken Britain’; a controversial pop at the politics and politicians that govern this country; and a blatant message to the general public (those that actually take notice of his work), one that screams: “Wake The Fuck Up”. His work is brilliant. He depicts and conveys what many people already think and he’s not afraid to challenge authority for the sake of a tiny piece of spray-painted wall. He doesn’t just offer a distorted and alternative reality to what’s happening in Britain, but one that reflects what’s happening all over the world – the covert messages; the impact of reality TV, the dark side of superficiality and celebrity, of CCTV, of the media, the government, of wars and famine.

And that’s what I was going to see. I was looking forward to spending a morning revelling in the disappointingly dismal world he and his fellow artists have created. I was excited about cementing my distained and tainted views and opinions of the country I call home; of the depressingly dark and sad reality that Britain has destroyed itself through political infighting; supporting war; developing a world full of CCTV cameras and security threats, and ultimately creating an Orwellian dystopia for its citizens; the fact that we are all fucked, fucked by the system and no-one does anything about it aside from whinge.

However, as I made my way down the country, swapping motorways for A-Roads, coasting through country towns I never knew existed; sitting in traffic behind tractors and admiring the landscapes, I came to the conclusion that even though this country has a lot of flaws; even though Banksy’s interpretation of the zeitgeist and his output of messages are perfectly reasonable and understandable (and I support a lot of them); this county also has a hell of a lot to offer. It is beautiful; stunning even, and my three-day trip left me regretting the fact I’d neglected to love my country as much as I should. I had forgotten just what makes Britain Great. So here is a list of seven things I think we should bear in mind and remember the next time we decide to piss and moan about the state of UK affairs:

• Britain is GREEN. Like, proper green. I’m aware that we Brits adoringly refer to our country as ‘The Land of Green and Plenty’, but seriously, I didn’t fully realise the truth in that statement until now. Take yourself away from the overcrowding of inner-city life; from the rat-race of the morning commute; from the concrete jungles and high rise flats and what you get is a luscious landscape that stretches for miles and miles and miles. The British countryside is magnificent: picture-perfect opportunities greet you on each and every bend and turn along the bumpy country roads; farms and meadows stretch on as far as the eye can see; and nature thrives.

• England is hilly. Shit, there are a lot of hills. Now, I’m aware that we have the Pennines, I’m familiar with the Lake District and I’m informed of the fact we can boast Mount Snowden and Ben Nevis amongst our list of massive things to climb, and I’m also aware that rock formations and land masses have created, over the years, a terrain that can rival many other European countries, but try driving up and down these hills for over 200 hundred miles, wondering which way the road is going to bend and having to change gear every five-ten seconds and you’ll know what I mean. Ramblers and cyclists, I whole heartedly admire your energy. I was out of puff just anticipating whether or not I’d be faced with a herd of cows at the bottom of a hill, let alone wondering if I had enough steam to get me to the top of the hill in the first place. These hills, these dips and drops, the valleys, the downs, the rivers, the farmlands, the reservoirs, they’re all part of what make this country so intriguing. From the flats of urban living to the rolling dales of a rural lifestyle, this country is magnificent in structure. If I thought the roads of Wiltshire, Warwickshire, Somerset and Gloucestershire were anything to go by then I can’t wait to properly explore the Scottish Highlands, The Lake District, The Peak District and the North Yorkshire Moors (writes on ever-growing list of places to visit).

• It’s extremely difficult to experience road-rage when you’re driving along A and B roads. Ok, let me elaborate on this slightly: unless you’re in some kind of mega rush (and it’s hard to be in a rush when you’re miles away from anything and are in the middle of the country; you just can’t help but take a laid back attitude), and are absolutely hating country life, then getting road rage on a narrow road is nigh on impossible. Unlike with motorway and inner-city driving, you don’t come across many inept, cretinous drivers. You don’t get the middle lane hoggers (unless you’re a tractor) and the boy-racer, idiot 100 mph-ers. Fair enough, there’ll always be times when you’ll get stuck behind a slow-moving lorry or a herd of sheep, but come on, you’re in the countryside – wind down the windows, inhale the fresh (manure smelling) air, and bask in the glory of the great British countryside.

• Southerners (for arguments sake let’s say anyone who lives south of Birmingham) are, contrary to popular belief, actually alright. Every one of the southern-folk I spoke to on my mini-tour were pleasant, chatty and were genuinely interested in what I was doing in their neck of the woods. For example, I pulled over on the side of a road close to a little village called Blagdon, in-between Bath and Weston-Super-Mare, not far from Cheddar Gorge, in order to take some photographs of the magnificent scenery. I ended up having a little chat with a lady whose garden stretched for miles and eventually joined up to acres and acres of fields in beautiful North Somerset. I asked if she minded that I was taking pictures and she willingly obliged to let me snap away before our conversation led to how long she’d lived there, why her and her husband were downgrading and moving onto a canal boat for a few years and about how lucky she was to have such beauty on her doorstep. So, the moral of the story – I shouldn’t be too hasty when slagging off my southern rivals…ahem…I mean neighbours – Britain has some wonderfully accommodating humans.

• Most British seaside resorts are the same (and if they’re not then they’re very, very similar) – Blackpool, Weston-Super-Mare, Brighton, Skeggy…they can all proudly advertise the fact they have a pier, a big wheel, a fun-fair, a beach (or in Blackpool’s case, a questionable looking patch of sand), dodgy fish and chip shops and shite looking souvenir stalls; and some of them still have the traditional donkey rides available for the hordes of stag and hen parties that flock to the coasts…sorry, I mean children. The donkey rides are definitely only for children (don’t want the RSPCA on my back). No matter which side of the country you go to, you’d be a fool not to stop or at least visit one of Britain’s iconic seaside resorts. They might be tacky, and we might consider them the eye-sore of the British landscape but I’d be lying if I said they didn’t evoke a kind of sentimental nostalgia. They’re where childhood memories were made and they’ll forever be part of what makes this country so endearing.

• Coventry, despite being horrifically bombed during the second world war resulting in most of the city having to be rebuilt; and despite having a reputation for being the place we refer to when we want to ostracise someone from our immediate social circle, taken from the idiom ‘Sent to Coventry’, is actually quite the little cultural hotspot. From the tiny little two-tone village which tells the story of the rise of Ska music, plays host to live bands and has a cute little music museum; to the urban, creative village of Fargo which boats its own brewery, coffee shop and independent vintage clothes and craft shops; to the spectacular architecture in and around the city centre which, when juxtaposed with the regenerated buildings erected throughout the 70s creates a contrasting skyline that’s different to a lot of places I’ve visited, it’s hard not to warm to the place. Coventry is often written off as a tourist destination, overlooked in favour of neighbouring Birmingham but if you take the time and effort and give it a chance, you’ll find it’s definitely worth the trip. Who knew, ey?

• My final point focuses on something that I, and probably many of us tend to take for granted each and every day (well, us northerners do anyway as we can rarely see the bloody sun due to the permanent rain clouds that obscure the view): The Sunset. We often slag this wonderful country off for its diverse, temperamental, unpredictable and more often than not, depressingly grim weather, but catch the sun setting over the rolling green hills on a clear, dry, late summers day; marvel at the spectacular rainbow coloured sky as the sun dips just below the horizon; bask in the last of its warm rays and feel the twilight heat on your face, and I can guarantee, in that moment, you’ll struggle to find anything wrong with this country; this nation, this: Great Britain.