The son has got his hat on

Time once again for a cross-border adventure to see mum in West Sussex. It's a beautiful sunny day with a postcard-blue sky, so we head to a cafe on the seafront for lunch. I fancy a salad and a glass of water but I know this change from my usual routine would cause concern - apparently no man's wife can feed him as well as his mother - so I choose a toasted sandwich and a cappuccino. My usual fare. Well, I don't want her thinking the sun has gone to my head.

By the time our food arrives, the top of my scalp is beginning to feel as crispy as the bacon in the sandwich. The brie, which was supposed to remain with the bacon inside the bread, resembles volcanic lava on the plate. And my coffee is, as I feared, undrinkably hot.

I reach for my emergency hat, which is actually a paisley bandana. I imagine it makes me look rather like Johnny Depp. Mother’s expression suggests she agrees... but not in a good way. While we wait for our meals to become more temperate, we watch someone borrow one of the cafe's chairs from an adjacent table and move it next to a seafront bench. This is done with neither subterfuge nor speed, although it seems a bit like 'Taking Without Owner's Consent' to me. That's either a criminal record or bonus points depending on whether you're playing in real life or online.

Like a scene from a disaster movie, molten brie is now threatening the garnish at the edge of my plate. I wonder if Pierce Brosnan will arrive to divert the cheese before it reaches the slice of cucumber. Bubbles rise from the coffee.

After a few minutes a burly chef appears on the scene. Dressing in white wouldn't be my first choice if I wanted to look intimidating but this chap carries it off. Mind you, dressing in white wouldn't be my choice for working in a kitchen either. The person who originally thought that was a good idea clearly didn't do the washing. Anyway, chef glances around, spots his errant chair and strides across to its borrower - who much to my surprise hasn't also snaffled a couple of coffee cups and a handful of sugar cubes. There's much forced smiling. The word 'just' is used a lot. Chef returns triumphant with his chair, conjuring the spirit of Indiana Jones.

Meanwhile mum is bringing me up to speed with the major events in her life. Or, to be more accurate, the big events in her friends' lives. I nod knowingly and check my drink, wondering if the hot weather has got to everyone.

The cup is empty. My coffee has evaporated. Perhaps I need a glass of water to rehydrate it.

First published on vivalewes.com 25th July 2013: http://www.vivalewes.com/the-son-has-got-his-hat-on/

Accept your fête

The very first episode of Channel 4 television series 'Father Ted' contains one of the sitcom's most memorable scenes. Father Dougal insists on visiting 'Funland' on Craggy Island, where the world's least exciting funfair is taking place. One of the stalls is simply a cat rotating on the turntable of a record player. To avoid any doubt, a hand-painted sign says 'Spinning cat'.

That mechanised moggie is an image I often think of whenever village entertainment is mentioned – but local events shouldn’t all be written off as uninteresting. Our neighbouring village of Glynde recently hosted a couple of festivals that saw world-renowned musicians performing. There's the Ringmer Steam & Country Show in a few weeks and coming up even sooner is the Ringmer Shopkeepers' Fun Day.

This appears to have two straightforward aims. One is to raise funds for charity. The other is to encourage local people to visit the shopping precinct. Now, there's no denying our precinct is suffering from an economic downturn at the moment. I counted four empty shops this week, which is a sizeable percentage of the total. No trendy ‘pop up’ art galleries or discount luggage retailers have arrived to temporarily fill the spaces. Yet those remaining shops have managed to arrange live music, dancing, a dog agility display, a dog show, the attendance of East Sussex Fire & Rescue, special offers and free food. Pretty impressive, given the circumstances. Most intriguingly, there'll be free dog portraits as well.

For four hours on Saturday 13th July, we're promised fun for the entire family. It's easy to mock. It's easy to ask when the 'duck startling' begins and where the terrifying 'tunnel of goats' is. (Both are on fictional Craggy Island, since you ask). But I think there'll be charm and a real sense of community. You could almost say the Ringmer fun day will be more honest than larger events.

In fact, I'm already planning my visit. First, I need to disguise the cat by giving him a bone and walking him up to the precinct on a lead. Well, there’s a free portrait on offer. Unless… hmmm… I wonder if he’d sit on our old record player?

First published on vivalewes.com 11th July 2013: http://www.vivalewes.com/accept-your-fete/

Spies Like Us

According to the papers, it seems the American government - and possibly civil servants here in the UK - may have been reading my email and discovering which web sites I've visited. On one hand I'm not too bothered about the reality of this. My online activity is either work-related (boring, so our resident teenager tells me) or entertainment (slightly embarrassing, given my fondness for dystopian sci-fi and 1980s music). On the other hand, I'm less happy about the underlying assumption that I'm potentially guilty unless proven innocent. Anyway, if I wanted information about bomb-making I wouldn't search online; I'd borrow my wife's library ticket instead.

I'm also troubled by the apparent incongruity in the decision to charge 'whistleblower' Edward Snowden with espionage after he revealed the US security service was spying on just about everyone. If there was an Interpol of Irony, they'd currently be making arrests at the highest levels of government.

But all this has got me thinking about the many benefits of living here in Ringmer. There's been a lot of talk recently about people living 'off grid' to avoid being tracked by surveillance... and I reckon this village is a good place to choose. To start with, it's easier to get here than flying to Moscow. The 28 bus from Lewes runs every half hour and is happy to accept cash payments, so there's no worry about being tracked through your credit card receipts.

Being monitored via mobile phone calls can be a concern in some cases. Less so in Ringmer, where we're blessed with many mobile black spots depending on your chosen network. I reckon you could avoid receiving incriminating text messages for weeks just by hanging around at the back of the chip shop. And if you want to be completely self-sufficient, you can rent an allotment next to the electricity sub-station.

Yes, Ringmer is a perfect safe haven. If you’d like to become totally anonymous, it's the place to be. What could this mean to the free world? I need some time to think about my plan to promote Ringmer as the new Ecuador, so I head to the pub. As I arrive at the bar, I'm greeted with "Your usual, Mark?"

Oh dear. Perhaps it's not as anonymous around here as I thought.

First published on vivalewes.com 27th May 2013: http://www.vivalewes.com/spies-like-us/

Too good for words

Last week I went on holiday, complete with wife and family, to the fishing town of Padstow in Cornwall. As I sat by the edge of the harbour with a Cornish pasty, a logo on the paper bag reminded me that my lunch was actually a product with Protected Geographical Indication status across Europe.

That meant, amongst other things, it had to be made in Cornwall otherwise it couldn't legally be called a Cornish pasty. It needed to be D-shaped and crimped along one side, not with the crimping on the top like a stegosaurus or a Klingon warrior. Inside I could expect to find beef, potato, swede, onion but no other vegetables – begone, carrot! – nor any artificial additives. And indeed I didn’t.

Clotted cream and sardines also have similar protection in Cornwall. This got me thinking about some East Sussex delicacies. Our local bakery in Ringmer produces the Jack & Jill bun, which doesn't just contain fruit but is topped with icing and jam as well. Down in Lewes there are the fritters in Laporte's, a Bill's breakfast, the salads at the Buttercup Cafe, lemon drizzle cake at The Needlemakers, products at the Farmers' market... all these deserve wider recognition, I reckon.

For a while I thought about starting a campaign to turn Ringmer and Lewes into one of those protected areas for agriculture and food. Soon the whole world would know about the high quality of our local delicacies.

However, there's a catch. You see, although true Cornish pasties need to be made in Cornwall, they don't need to be baked there. They can be assembled within the county and then cooked somewhere else.

And that's why I think we should keep quiet about the benefits of Lewes and its surrounding villages. If we don't, there'll be Jack & Jill buns for sale around the globe. Our special treats won't be special any more. So the next time you buy particularly good local food, make sure you leave the shop cursing loudly. It'll drive the foodies away... and it'll be our own secret sign of appreciation.

First published on vivalewes.com 13th May 2013: http://www.vivalewes.com/too-good-for-words/

At home with a gnome

I cross the border into West Sussex to see my mother. When I arrive she calls me into her bird hide - sorry, conservatory - to show me something. "Look over there, by the pond."

The pond, by the way, is the result of me and my brother visiting a fair when we were youngsters. Both of us won goldfish in plastic bags, which led to dad constructing a pond. I can only assume there was a glut of goldfish that year because I've subsequently never demonstrated the same level of success at any fairground stall. Anyway, around 20 relatives of those fish now live in the garden with their own fountain and the occasional frog. Well, not so much 'relatives' as 'replacements'. The original prize fish didn't last long. Perhaps they missed the travelling life.

But today it's neither aquatic nor avian visitors I'm looking at. It's a small concrete creature with pointed ears and a mischievous grin. This new arrival is wearing some kind of smock and appears to have no trousers. Perhaps those wrinkles on its legs are supposed to be tights. I don't want to look too closely. Mother has bought a gnome.

"It's my garden pixie", says mum. No, it's not. It's a gnome. My heart sinks. You hear about this kind of thing happening to other people but you never think it'll strike your own family. I suppose I should have seen the signs. Once, mum just went to garden centres to buy plants. But that wasn't enough. Soon it was lawn food, fish food, bird food... and lunch. Before long she was taking a shortcut straight to the café. It was only a matter of time before the gnomes got her.

That same afternoon she switches on the television to catch up with news from Chelsea Flower Show. There, amongst the medal-winning gardens, are hand-decorated gnomes. Shocking, I know. It's unexpected because the Royal Horticultural Society had previously banned gnomes from its displays. Apparently they've been allowed in for the 100th anniversary of the event and are being auctioned for charity. Naturally, the RHS doesn't use a specific word like 'gnome'. The garden ornaments they prohibit are described officially as "brightly coloured mythical creatures". Hang on. That means mum's stone-coloured chap really isn't a gnome after all. Perhaps there's still hope for her. Unless she decides to paint his legs, of course.

First published on vivalewes.com 30th May 2013: http://www.vivalewes.com/

On the internet, no-one knows you’re a village

There's a well-known cartoon from New Yorker magazine. A dog is sitting on a chair using a computer, whilst another dog sits nearby. "On the Internet, nobody knows you're a dog", explains the canine on the chair.

Two things strike me here. The first - and this is particularly shocking - is that the cartoon is around twenty years old, which is prehistoric as far as the world wide web is concerned. Come to think of it, when was the last time anyone actually said ‘world wide web’?   However, I'm also struck by how the internet has changed in those two decades. What was once almost anonymous has become very personal. Today millions of us are tweeting using our real names, telling Facebook everything we do and uploading photographs of every meal we eat.

Curious about what was happening locally, I turned to Twitter. (In the unlikely event you're not familiar with this, it's a web service that lets you send short messages. These can be sent directly to friends or can be posted online for everyone to see). Searching for "Ringmer" revealed a few unforeseen trends. Firstly, we're a surprisingly cat-friendly village. Not only do we have a cat-sitter, we're also worried about missing cats. No mention of dogs, though.

I can tell you that local residents are giving away a couple of tatty suitcases, a china pot holder, some bean bag filling (isn't that simply 'beans'?), a breadmaker and rubble. Before you laugh, let me emphasise the phrase “giving away”.

We're all pretty fit… and not just because we're out looking for cats. It seems Ringmer is keen on football, cricket, motorcross and zumba. One other leisure interest that's on offer locally - so Twitter tells me - is pole fitness. Despite the previous association with burlesque dancing, it's gone mainstream in more recent years. You could even have seen it demonstrated during a 'pamper evening' at the primary school last week. I definitely wasn't expecting that.

Yet all this activity doesn't capture the true spirit or the relatively small size of Ringmer. It’s easy to get carried away when you’re tweeting, as several high-profile people have discovered to their cost. Unlike the cartoon creatures, we shouldn't pretend to be something we're not. In fact, that’s at the heart of my favourite recent Ringmer tweet. "You act like your a gangsta but you live in ringmer". I might have that turned into a t-shirt.

First published on vivalewes.com 16th May 2013: http://www.vivalewes.com/on-the-internet-no-one-knows-youre-a-village/

Words don’t come easy

For the past few weeks I've seen a road sign as I entered Lewes along the Phoenix Causeway. "Speed restriction work", it warned. "Delays for two weeks". It was referring to the new 20mph speed limit that's designed to reduce accidents and injuries in the town centre. My complaint isn't about the new lower limit - I'm sure most right-minded people would encourage drivers to collide with pedestrians at slower speeds - but about the wording of the sign. Any delays caused by the painting of new road markings have now been replaced by a permanently reduced limit. I shouted at the sign every time I went past. "It's not just for a fortnight. It's forever. Delays forever".

Language changes all the time, I know. That's perfectly natural. This isn't about split infinitives and greengrocers' apostrophes or about the difference between less and fewer. I only get seriously annoyed when things are unclear, misleading or plain stupid. For example, shopping at Waitrose presents a new etymological challenge. After loading my groceries into my fashionably reusable shopping bag I pay by credit card. When I've finished, the delightful young cashier ruins the experience by saying "If you could remove your card from the machine". That's a conditional sentence without any consequence. In my head I'm screaming "If... then. If... then. Then what?"

But an illogical frustration that tops both of these annoyances is much closer to home. In fact, it's outside the convenience shop here in Ringmer. We have a cash machine that vends £5 notes. This is a smart idea but unfortunately the machine isn't smart in any other sense. I insert my card and enter my PIN code. I'm offered a choice between "Withdraw cash and check balance" or "Cash only". Just cash, I decide. "Do you want to check your balance?" asks the machine. I curse silently as I press the "No" key. No, if I'd wanted to check my balance I would have chosen that option. "Would you like a receipt?" asks the machine. I would. "Sorry", says the machine, "Receipts are not available". I’ve stopped thinking of it as a cash machine. It’s more like a mechanical village idiot.

First published on vivalewes.com 3rd May 2013: http://www.vivalewes.com/words-dont-come-easy/