Sustainable high streets

Residents can help shape a green and community-focused and future for their high street

One of my earliest impressions of London was of a place packed full of high streets. I formed this impression was while I was still at school, on the way to a party with five friends from Cheltenham, packed into a 2CV and making a proper meal of getting from the M40 to Wimbledon (yes I know we should have taken the M4).

I had been on school trips to the museums and the South Bank before, but those had left me completely unprepared for quite how big London is. What amused me most was that, as we wound our tortuous way south, we’d drive down street after street that was simply called ‘high street’. London wasn’t just one place, I realised, but a massive network of villages, each with their own town centre and their own unique high street.

As a Green now, I appreciate the importance of our high streets not as placemarkers on a student version of the Odyssey, but at the core of a vast range of diverse local communities. However, I was reminded about that trip this week, as I was shown around the streets, canals and islands behind Brentford High Street on a fascinating tour with local councillor Andrew Dakers.

Andrew is working hard to make sure Brentford town centre gets the maximum benefit from a major redevelopment of the area to the south of the local high street, and he was elected (as a LibDem) largely because of his leadership in pulling together local people to propose their own vision for the regeneration.

The historic waterside area below Brentford High Street, leading down to the Grand Union Canal (also the River Brent), is currently filled with boatyards, derelict industrial buildings in need of restoration, and mid-century workshops, offices and warehouses - most of which are empty as they have been gradually bought up by developers.

With the area neglected for many decades, and plans expected soon from the new owners of the land, the Brentford High Street Steering Group was set up to avoid the all-too-common situation where a community gets involved in a development only after plans are published and end up stopping an unsuitable scheme in its tracks rather than having a real impact on the details.

Almost eighteen months ago, the Steering Group embarked on a pioneering community planning process, working with local businesses, residents and community organisations to develop in advance their own vision for a sustainable, healthy local high street. After many workshops, walkabouts, surveys and meetings, and after drafting, consulting and then rewriting their proposals, ‘Brentford High Street – the Community Vision’ was published in November last year and it is, as intended, an inspiring document – something that every area in London should have.

The report has a wealth of local history and information about the area, and a total of 114 recommendations covering everything it needs from the regeneration project. These range from water management (essential for a waterside development) to the arts, environment, car parking, heritage preservation and ideas for marketing the high street, which they are already putting into practice with a very fancy Brentford High Street website. With help from the New Economics Foundation and local residents who are in the consultancy business, they have even produced economic models. These will be extremely helpful for scrutinising any plans produced by the developers that try to claim meeting the local area’s needs isn’t ‘cost-effective’.

Having been involved in the campaign for a green, community-focused development in Kings Cross, I know all too well that the process from now until the first new shops and homes are finished will be a long one for the people of Brentford. But, with a robust and detailed vision to work from, they are now extraordinarily well prepared to work constructively with the developers. I hope they will teach them a thing or two about building a sustainable development, and make sure their evidence is used to give them the high street they deserve.

And if it comes across my desk as Mayor, I will of course make sure they get it.

Sian Berry lives in Kentish Town and was previously a principal speaker and campaigns co-ordinator for the Green Party. She was also their London mayoral candidate in 2008. She works as a writer and is a founder of the Alliance Against Urban 4x4s
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I can’t follow Marie Kondo's advice – even an empty Wotsits packet “sparks joy” in me

I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

I have been brooding lately on the Japanese tidying freak Marie Kondo. (I forgot her name so I typed “Japanese tidying freak” into Google, and it was a great help.) The “Japanese” bit is excusable in this context, and explains a bit, as I gather Japan is more on the case with the whole “being tidy” thing than Britain, but still.

Apart from telling us that we need to take an enormous amount of care, to the point where we perform origami when we fold our underpants, which is pretty much where she lost me, she advises us to throw away anything that does not, when you hold it, “spark joy”. Perhaps I have too much joy in my life. I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

After a while I gave up on this because I was getting a bit too happy with all the memories, so then I thought to myself, about her: “This is someone who isn’t getting laid enough,” and then I decided that was a crude and ungallant thought, and besides, who am I to wag the finger? At least if she invites someone to her bedroom no one is going to run screaming from it, as they would if I invited anyone to my boudoir. (Etym: from the French “bouder”, to sulk. How very apt in my case.) Marie Kondo – should bizarre circumstance ever conspire to bring her to the threshold – would run screaming from the Hovel before she’d even alighted the stairs from the front door.

I contemplate my bedroom. As I write, the cleaning lady is in it. To say that I have to spend half an hour cleaning out empty Wotsits packets, and indeed wotnot, before I let her in there should give you some idea of how shameful it has got. And even then I have to pay her to do so.

A girlfriend who used to be referred to often in these pages, though I think the term should be a rather less flippant one than “girlfriend”, managed to get round my natural messiness problem by inventing a game called “keep or chuck”.

She even made up a theme song for it, to the tune from the old Spiderman TV show. She would show me some object, which was not really rubbish, but usually a book (it may not surprise you to learn that it is the piles of books that cause most of the clutter here), and say, “Keep or chuck?” in the manner of a high-speed game show host. At one point I vacillated and so she then pointed at herself and said, “Keep or chuck?” I got the message.

These days the chances of a woman getting into the bedroom are remote. For one thing, you can’t just walk down the street and whistle for one much as one would hail a cab, although my daughter is often baffled by my ability to attract females, and suspects I have some kind of “mind ray”. Well, if I ever did it’s on the blink now, and not only that – right now, I’m not even particularly bothered that it’s on the blink. Because, for another thing, I would frankly not care to inflict myself upon anyone else at the moment.

It was all a bit of a giggle eight years ago, when I was wheeled out of the family home and left to my own devices. Of course, when I say “a bit of a giggle”, I mean “terrifying and miserable”, but I had rather fewer miles on the clock than I do now, and a man can, I think, get away with a little bit more scampish behaviour, and entertain a few more illusions about the future and his own plausibility as a character, when he is squarely in his mid-forties than when he is approaching, at speed, his middle fifties.

Death has rather a lot to do with it, I suppose. I had not actually seen, or touched, a dead body until I saw, and touched, my own father’s a few weeks ago. That’s what turns an abstract into a concrete reality. You finally put that to one side and gird up your loins – and then bloody David Bowie snuffs it, and you find yourself watching the videos for “Blackstar” and “Lazarus” over and over again, and reach the inescapable conclusion that death is not only incredibly unpleasant, it is also remorseless and very much nearer than you think.

And would you, dear reader, want to be involved with anyone who kept thinking along those lines? I mean, even if he learned how to fold his undercrackers into an upright cylinder, like a napkin at a fancy restaurant, before putting them in his drawer? When he doesn’t even have a drawer?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war