There was something on the news the other day which suggested that London was now the 16th most expensive place to live in the world; a fall of many places as last year it was 3rd. I wonder why there was such a change from the previous year. Obviously something to do with the economy but there has been global recessions so I am not quite sure why London has changed so significantly.
Japan took the top two places with Tokyo and Osaka, toppling Moscow from its premier position.
Now I know that one of the main factors in the cost of living is about housing. The prices, despite the recession, seem to increase perpetually in certain parts of our city and as the place continues to grow, areas that were once seen as the most deprived and treacherous parts of the conurbation have now been upgraded to the place where everyone wants to live. Take Dalston, for instance, in Hackney. Now that it has the ever increasingly used over ground rail connection from north to south as well as east to west, it is a seemingly useful place to base yourself. This coupled with the fact that there is a vibrant sense of multiculturalism as well as a growing Arts scene, and you can see why people are beginning to be prepared to pay astronomical prices for property; both modern, swanky apartments and the enormous converted Victorian houses, or the whole of a Victorian terrace if you have a cool £6 – 800,000 lying around.
But cost of ‘living’ is also down to other things, such as transport costs, food costs, the price of going out for an evening, etcetera.
The other day, for instance, there was a concert at the Hackney Empire; the very brilliant Hugh Masekela. My friend decided to attend this concert with his partner. The tickets, to see one of South Africa’s most brilliant of musicians, cost £15. The maximum cost for this event was apparently £25. Before the concert, they went for a meal in a small Chinese restaurant opposite the Empire. Three meat dishes, some special fried rice and two lots of Chinese tea came to an astounding £15. A further fiver for drinks in the theatre and the whole evening cost the pair of them £25 each.
As for the concert itself, it seems to have been a wonderful spectacle with Hugh Masekela managing to gather together some of his countries very best singers and musicians to accompany him in a tribute to his former wife Miriam Makeba; Mama Afrika.
Here are a couple of links that review the evenings.
http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/music/review-23968800-hugh-masekela-hackney-empire---review.do
http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2011/jul/12/hugh-masekela-mama-afrika-review?INTCMP=SRCH
I wish I had managed to get tickets myself. However, it did make me think when I was listening to my friend talking about it just how much the world had changed in the last twenty years. I remember being on the marches for freedom and the celebratory hopefulness of Artists Against Apartheid, coordinated by the very brilliant Jerry Dammers. Mandela was not free but as students of the time, the boycotts of Barclays and Rowntree were having an effect as well as a more wide-ranging refusal to buy South African products. If Thatcher had bothered to have an ounce of empathy in her body, alongside her counterparts in the USA and affluent Europe, the various boycotts could have brought down this tyrannical system long before 1989, but no, capitalism at all costs.
Of course, the government of South Africa had a role to play, and F.W de Klerk’s role in the demise of Apartheid was significant. But it is so easy to reminisce and look at this time with rose tinted glasses. There was such elation when Mandela raised his fist to the world in February 1990 as he took his first steps of a new long walk to freedom. I can remember the moment vividly. In some ways it felt like a personal victory and vindication but it had nothing to do with me really. I was a mere spectator.
And after the rush of adrenalin, I for one took stock and remembered the horrific scenes of decades of violence in Soweto and the other townships of torment across the nation. I can remember time after time after time watching the television and weeping at the violence and injustice but once more, I was a mere spectator.
And those people on the stage in Hackney some twenty years later had been an integral part in the whole proceedings; suffering for their skin, living in appalling conditions, being treated like animals by the ruling classes. I can hardly bare to think about their suffering. Yet they stoically stuck to their principles knowing that it could culminate in a death sentence, and they sang their protest songs, and the danced in the streets in defiance, and they let the true voice of South Africa be heard across the nations of the world, even if bitches like Thatcher would not open their minds.
Respect to those who did this for their country, themselves and to ensure that the cultural brilliance was not only maintained but driven into the souls of others who were ready to embrace them.
I, on the other hand, was in a different type of city yesterday; one so diverse from London that it is hard to imagine they are in the same country. Well, effectively they are not because the city I was in was in the principality of Wales. St. David’s boasts of being the smallest city in the UK. It gains its status from having a large cathedral crouched into the rock western side of the place. It is a stunning place and well worth a visit if ever anyone is in this part of the country but returning to the cost of living, it is not a cheap place to be.
It may not have the pleasures of reasonable and good quality Chinese restaurants on tap, or a theatre rich in diversity as seen in Hackney. It may not have national musicians coming to its city to perform to an awaiting multicultural audience, or maybe it does.
And this is why. Just a few miles outside St. David’s is a small estuarial village called Solva. It is a beautiful place, one of my favourites in Pembrokeshire. It has a linear street full of art shops and galleries, a pub at the top of the small estuary and a collection of walks either along the river or up the cliff top to an almost unvisited beach. It really is a haven, and I am somewhat selfishly troubled by the fact that there seems to be more and more people visiting the place. Thirty years ago, it was mine. Now other people have realised that the place has soul.
One of the people who has embraced the delights of Solva is an artist by the name of Raul Speek; a Cuban artist and musician who has decided to settle in this most western parts of Britain.
He is one talented bloke. Not only has he produced some sensational pieces of art, he also plays a range of musical instruments and as I walked into his studio yesterday, he was standing in the middle of his studio, playing what I can only describe as Cuban influenced Blues with such expertise, I was quite taken by the entire atmosphere; that and the mass of photos and paintings of Che. How wonderful to walk into a converted chapel to find this revolutionary shining down at you amongst the other vibrant paintings that certainly seem to capture the essence of what Cuba is all about.
There were two particular paintings that I was really interested in buying. One was a linear piece, about a foot long with a thick, swirling black paint on a white background, carving out a stormy night scene. On top of this steamy view was the most intricate and clever cascades of gold paint, raised in its depth to create a moon or sun and its reflection. It was beautiful.
Once Raul had finished his jamming, I approached him and asked if I could take a couple of photos, as per the sign outside the gallery asking you to request permission. He stared at me for a while, looked around at his painting, returned his gaze to me and after far too long gave me an emphatic “no”. Why bother putting the sign outside which said, “No photography without permission. Please ask inside”?
On returning to Tenby and looking on the internet, I found a Tripadvisor review of the gallery. Although there were only two reviews there, they were extremely complimentary and it appears that I must have caught the man on a bad day.
Whilst we were looking around, his co-worker approached him and reprimanded him for speaking aggressively to one of his cafe assistances. He was dismissive, refused to apologise to the girl who was apparently in tears due to his abruptness and he simply wandered off into his studio and started spreading some more golden touches onto a canvas of black. I wasn’t impressed and it did actually deter me from buying a piece of his work that I would happily have taken home with me.
Quite a contrast to what my friend had said about the warmth of Masekela and his joy at accepting the appreciation of his contented audience in Hackney a week ago.
However, I like to think that I am not too judgmental about people the first time I meet them and you cannot take away from the talent of this man. Not only can he paint but he is also an accomplished musician and at the end of August he is performing at St. David’s Cathedral. Maybe it is worth giving him a second chance. I wish him well in spreading happiness and culture to this mono-racial part of the country.
Solva is not a cheap place. The Old Pharmacy, the best restaurant in this seaside town, is as expensive if not more than many a West End eatery. The photographs and drawings on display in the three places that we visited were, quite frankly, astronomical. A quick search on Google tells me that a four bedroom without a sea view would put me back about £450,000. The nearest supermarket is a good twenty minutes drive away and a car would be a necessity should you choose to live here. So I wonder how the cost of living in a place like Solva compares to living in the newly refurbished Dalston. And once the property prices have been paid for, what value for money and value for life would the two places offer?
I love Solva for various reasons. I am growing to love Dalston for others. One is a sleepy nothingness, the other full of all the evils and the delights of a city living to the full. I’m not sure which I would choose if I was imperatively asked to do so.
Maybe, I would like to do a half and half if I had a choice in the matter as there are pros and cons of both places.
But one of the things that I would have to do is get Mr. Speek to meet Mr. Masekela and learn a little about empathy, modesty and warmth and an appreciation for the people who are willing and able to open their minds and souls to the wonderment of others’ creations.
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