I am not alone in this. Neither am I original in the intent, nor the timing. Everyone’s at it. As the belt straining of Christmas passes into a new round of the Gregorian, so many of us are swept by the guilt of consumption and the wipe clean of New Year’s Day. We remember the exhortations of those whose virtue suddenly seems so much attractive through the fug of a hangover, and we resolve with a near religious fervour.

So, like I say, I’m not alone. As we ticked through the disappointment of that midnight, my plans were set in motion. It’s not exactly up there with the military 6 Ps (perfect planning prevents piss poor performance) but it will do. 

I’ve never knowingly been at a zero stateof fitness and weight before. Even some time out from playing hockey in my early 20s didn’t leave me in such a parlous state. But after the, frankly, shittest year ever on the health front for me and Mrs North, something has to change.

There are two objectives: get thin, get fit. 

For many determinedly and uncertain resolutioneers, these two are related causally. To an extent they are. But they’re also not. Eat well to get thin, train smart and hard to get fit. Oh, and fit this in round family life and a demanding job. That’s the toughest ask of all.

My ambitions are nothing radical, but they are tangible. Hard work is all that will take me there. Well that and a little bit of love for the outcomes. It will be tough and won’t come easy. But, unlike all the other previous “resolutions”, I am resolved in mind amd heart to make this happen.

I’ll see you when there’s less of me to go round. 

I possess a paucity of time. It is a function of the life I have chosen and place around me that for everything I do or want to do, there seems to be less time available to achieve anything. It is a function of me: I am at once interested, but not bothered; curious, but too lazy to enquire. My grandfather described himself as a sipper and taster of life. I am the same. Or Toad of the eponymous hall. Pulling down as the proverbial millstone, are all the things that interest me, that get me going, that make me who I am and who I seem to want to be. and yet I devote almost no meaningful time to any of them. I merely lick the veneer of anything, without ever knowing the taste of that underlying wood. In many ways, it’s the simple reality of a time in my life: new parent, professional career, locations of home and work and the gap in between them, the things I want to do.

But, there’s something else. At primary school, my teachers would say that I needed a bomb behind me to get me going. Once I understood something, the ennui set in, and I no longer had any desire to repeat for the sake of it. which is fine when all one has to do is pass exams. They’re all easy enough, requiring (as I found) the minimum of effort, and often less than that. But what do I know? Too little, it seems. I skate over things, preferring the easy option over the deeper, trying alternative. I find no pleasure in hard work, and often not even in the end result. Instead, my happiness seems to come from within and without: my imagination and the green grass over there, through the window.

It is evident that, in having created a life of specifically restricted time, more has to be done with less. For too long, work dominated my life, long days sapping my vigour for real effort. Now, the balance has shifted, but I find myself no less time crunched. One of my inherent fears is not having done enough with the time available. I share this with my late grandfather as I try this, touch on that and succeed at neither. Of course, I know that my expectations are too high and are not matched with the workrate I am prepared to provide in their pursuit. But this does not dampen a need to do things, to do them well.

I crave simplicity, and in so searching feel as if it’s got a whole lot more complicated.

It’s 26 years since the Broadwater Farm riots. These took place in Tottenham. The Metropolitan Police shot dead Mark Duggan on 6 August 2011. In Tottenham. And since then, there have been riots in various parts of London, and the usual responses in Bristol, Birmingham and Liverpool. 

It would seem that little has really changed since the publication of the Gifford Report and, sadly, life has been lost again. But this time, there’s been a fight-back, a counter riot. Via the work of Dan Thompson, there’s already a revolution of tidying up – the Riot Cleanup; it’s participants are Riot Wombles. 

I suspect that the Tory PR machine cannot believe its luck: in one fell swoop it gets to be all tough on crime (instantly appealing to its vicariously violent Daily Mail fan-base) and also claim credit for the invocation of the Big Society in an easy-to-identify media friendly way. And, you know what, great. There are people out there who are showing that they give a shit. They do care about the world in which we live.

Trouble is, what the Tory spin machine won’t recognize is that these people would have done this anyway – people who care will always want to help. Of course, increasingly Twitter makes it easier for organisers and leaders to help us help ourselves.

So, once all the broken buildings, homes and livelihoods are off the news, and all the shattered glass has been swept away, what will change? I suspect that the brutally hard work of the likes of Camila Batmanghelidjh will continue unfunded and swept under the carpet. Leaving aside the bandwagon agitation of the likes of The Third Estate, these are the people who are at the height of these riots: the young, disaffected and disengaged. They are outside the regular social order, they are what Blair called the Underclass and what the Victorians called the Poor. They are the people we are frightened of and who we don’t understand.

Riot Wombles won’t make the slightest difference to them – I do wonder if freshly cleaned streets may just become a canvas for another smear of destruction. And here’s the problem with the Big Society: it’s got nothing to do with government, it’s already there and it’s already helping itself. But, for those who fall outside the normal social order there aren’t enough Wombles to sweep that problem away.

Billy Bragg has written many great songs, all delivered in his distinct clarion style. Many continue to be as relevant as ever, with one of the songs early from his career currently ringing loud in our ears: It Says Here.

Sure, it speaks of a time when the “Tory press” was an identifiable movement, a blocker to the left’s attempts to advance. And, sure, the Tory press was really the Murdoch press, the News International machine that has come to dominate British media far beyond the old days of newspaper magnates. But it still has significance (even if that has gone beyond the Left/Right divide – see Tom Baldwin’s memo to the opposition front bench: http://order-order.com/2011/07/06/what-happened-to-baldwins-memo). And Bragg’s polemic seems so very appropriate, even nearly 30 years on.

As the News of the World has been forced into a kamikaze tailspin, we have seen a sudden politicisation of celebrity views. It’s funny, isn’t it: people whose professional lives necessarily rely on the exploitation of the wider populace have become vocal opponents that very exploitation that has actually been part of their careers. 

This isn’t an excuse of the ethics – or lack of – of the red top press in its insatiable need to sell more and more stories of celeb tittle-tattle, but the fact that, as outraged as Hugh Grant may have become on Question Time

or Steve Coogan getting all righteous at Paul McMullen on Newsnight

may be, the creation of the celebrity as we know it today, and with it the influence, money and lifestyle of that culture, has grown handsomely with the filth and fury of the tabloid press. 

But, rather than getting so conveniently indignant at the News of the Screws, ought we to examine both the willingness of celebrities to milk their public for all they’re worth and the rapid and rabid consumption by the people of so much of these celeb’s output. Celebrity Dancing on Ice, anyone?

And, of course, celebrity indignation and sanctimony seems only to have become conspicuous following the revelation that News Corp’s finest had stooped to feeding voraciously off the distressed voicemails left for an innocent.

So, should we align ourselves with Grant and Coogan to condemn the viciousness of the gutter press, or ought we to remember that they too are part of that cynical “money and numbers” game?

Yesterday morning the spring sunshine seemed somehow watered down, as if the pale northern light of winter had crept in. My mood wasn’t great, and a cover of Chasing Cars on the radio gripped me by the throat – suddenly I was back to a difficult time in my life a few years ago.

But there was some comfort in knowing that, in spite of the hardships of then, or the lingering feeling of emptiness I currently carry with me, leaden in the carpetbag of my thoughts, things then had worked out and perhaps the current difficulties would again. 

Then, later that afternoon, I read online about the terrible news of a heavy crash in the Giro. And, thoughtlessly, I googled video news and found footage of a rider, lying on the ground broken having what was left of his helmet scissored off. He was in a bad way. The editor cut back to a hovering helicopter which captured medics heaving on the chest of the stricken man. At that moment, the beauty and purity of the Giro seeped away. 

Those who know, they know just how hard riding a bike fast is. They know the addiction, the hurt. They know the thrill and the fear. Cycling, so easy to access in the soft sunlight of a summer morning, is hard.

But it should never be this hard. I have perspective now, but Wouter Weylandt has only the thoughts and wishes of so many, most never knowing him. We should, instead, think of those who remain: his family, loved ones and those who will never know him but will miss him eternally.

For all of you, I raise a glass and wish you all the love in the world. Go well.

My good friend, Medway Exiles (http://medwayexiles.squarespace.com/) described a significant upheaval in his life as Big Change. It’s pretty succinct: two words, logically connected, and conveniently capitalised. It’s those two capital letters that tell us it’s not insignificant. 

Sure, moving from a city I had made home for a decade, and for which I have developed the sort of pride all non-natives do, is hardly a massive deal. But, it is. We’re too easily belittled by the world around us – forever told by politicians that we’re ordinary; cheapened by a salacious media desperate to scare us shitless about almost everything. And, in the midst of this, the pressure of just trying to survive from day to day to week to month to year. Just trying to live a life. 

So, here we are. Three of us in our new home. It’s not a flash place, but still I don’t feel I deserve it or have the capability to keep it ours. I’m so happy but want to hide from it and not face the responsibility of Big Change. Life sometimes feels too big to capture. Too much to hold in a single gaze or seize in a singular thought or emotion.

It’s the fact of life’s terror, its pressures and threats that makes Big Change as hard as it is. On the face of it, it should be easy enough. But, actually, there’s so much to take in to do it properly, to do it justice, that Big Change will be here for a lot longer than we think. 

They walk among us. Some you notice, but many you don’t. Sometimes
they work their magic early in the day, in the half light before dawn
truly breaks. Others dart and dive at the height of the day, while
others still wait for the autumn of the light or the depths of
darkness itself.

They are not always easy to identify – often those with that puffy,
dead-eyed look are not the invisible ones, those with secrets and
passions. No, the weavers of time have a keen look, sharp and alert.
For them time is the most precious commodity. They are not those of
the chirpy description of nothing; indeed, rarely will you hear of
their exploits. But they do, and doing is what they do.

These time weavers are the ones who seem to fold the day in on and the
out of itself. With lightness of touch they pass between and through
all around us, filling voids and nipping away at moments and snippets
of floating opportunity.

They are the ones who see hours ahead not as distraction or a
wasteland, but as opportunity, a time to fill and grow. These are the
do-ers, the ones who have something interesting to say, but rarely
waste time by indulging themselves in the telling. Instead, they
occupy the here and now, and jump and pass through our conventional
waking hours to make more of the day (and the night) to live a fuller
life, one where achievement is not to be boasted of, but is a natural
end in itself.

The time weavers, they know how to live.

It was that time again. Indeed, it seemed to come round a whole lot sooner than it ought to have done. And, there it was. The North staring me right in the eyes and egging me on.

Yet again, The North was to be found in the depths of an unsanitised mess of filth and foliage in Prestwich – http://www.hitthenorth.net

I’d managed to avoid incurring the wrath of The North by diverting my gaze and pretending I wasn’t going to be that bothered about where I finished, so long as this time I finished. There has always been a draw about a race, an event, no, a neo-insitution so close to home, and yet my experiences have been, at best, varied. And mainly unpleasant and unpleasureable. 

This time was going to be different. Obviously, or why would I have decided to enlist a 30 year old road bike badly converted into a singlespeed cross bike with a 54 inch gear? Somehow, the inevitable and simultaneous collapse of legs and lungs would excuse the sort of achievement I secretly dream of. The reason, in many ways, why I don’t race more – I hate to be disappointed with my mediocrity.

The foil to success:

But this was not enough to encourage me to stay away, to stand clear of The North’s filthy temper and phlegm of flowing, slurried death-stinking mud. Sign on duly completed, it seemed perverse to bother with a warm up and, when presented with The Field and The Hill, it seemed only sensible to return to the comfort of a swift zip on some tarmac and a chat with long lost comrades. 

There is little worth saying about the detail of the race itself. One gear was no use on the flat, hard uphill and unrequired on the downhills, where the brakes only enhanced the speed and terror of the mud-slide descents. A chat here and there with marshalls, and self surprise at what could be ridden faster than billion-geared stormtroopers with their backpacks, lightsabres and invivible-ink head to toe black. 

Not every climb could be ridden, so onto foot and the seizure of long abused back muscles. What the hell.  But lots was ridden and occasionally I looked like I knew what I was doing. The camera knows how to lie:

But, the proof, as always, in whether you’d eat that that restaurant again. And, in spite of the surefire risk of dystentry from mud so thick and stagnant, and a near universal unwillingness to avoid any of it. Yeah, I’ll be back. Probably on the same unsuitable iron, with the same shit-eating grin from having a wholelottafun in a filthy park in north Manchester. 

You better watch out, The North. Stand still too long and I might just hit you back. 

I sleep terribly. That’s not to say I spend long, dark hours alone and staring at nothing. Instead, I go to bed shattered (especially after some days commuting by bike) and fall asleep quickly and heavily. 

The duvet feels like a dead weight. It bunches between me and her, forcing a divide and solitude. The mattress feels hard, too soft, lumpen and pan flat. The pillows bunch and tip my head forward or sideways or not sideways enough or too far back. 

I wake regularly and sharply, dragged from sleep by terrifying dreams and the most vividly unpleasant sights behind my eyelids. Turning over does nothing to bring calm. And then I notice the back of my head and neck are numb.

Morning arrives before the alarm clock, but the weight of deep sleep drags my eyes closed and makes me fear rising. Eventiually, I concede to the incessant shrieking of the alarm and lie there wishing it were night again. 

I rise, exhausted, and often late. Dressing to ride or showering before the irregular drive, I feel the pressure of time. The clock is ticking and I can’t dawdle. 

I spend all my time daydreaming of sleep peacuful and calm.

After my previous post on the forest sell-off proposals, where I challenged him (a Lib Dem MP of an urban constituency), he has responded. I print his reply in full below. Lengthy, but I promised to print it, and I think it’s useful to record the attitudes of a government MP. Accountability is essential.

Dear [ourmaninthenorth],

Thank you for taking the trouble to contact me in relation to the future of the Public Estate. I apologise for the delay in my response, this is due to the large volume of emails I received on the subject.

I am sure you will know  of the recent announcements by Caroline Spelman, regarding the consultation regarding the future of the public estate. Due to the public response, plans for the sale of woodland have now been put on hold. There has certainly been a strong response from the constituency and I have taken on board the views of everyone that has contacted me.

I was able to attend the vote on the 2nd February and was pleased to have a chance to speak in the House. I have attached a transcript of my speech in that debate to this email below.

You are probably aware this was not actually a vote to implement any of the proposals set out by Defra, but a vote of opposition brought forward by the Labour party. They simply chose to try to score some cheap political points by bringing forward an opposition day motion to grab the headlines, rather than take part in the consultation constructively. I believe they have purposely promoted many of the myths surrounding this issue which I think is too important to manipulate. This is why I did not vote with them.

But this does not mean that I fully supported the measures included in the consultation document. This issue is far too important to fall victim to misinformation that all the woodland will be sold off, lost and developed on. This was not the case. However I do want to see much more detail in the regulation safeguarding this land. In terms of logging companies, only areas already used for timber production would have been made available to them, but with strict rules regarding the rights of access.

Personally I would never support the sell off or leasing of woodland if it would be detrimental to the long term sustainability of the woodland, its biodiversity and would threaten the access that people have enjoyed over a long period of time.

I think the debate should not be solely about who owns the land, but what is best for each individual forest decided on a case by case basis. If it is clear in any instance that it would be safer under public ownership then it should remain that way.

That said, I think there are many different examples of private ownership being beneficial. This includes the local example I referred to in my speech, but also the many community groups and conservation charities throughout the country. These would all be considered private owners but have done enormous amounts of good work for us as well as the natural environment.

As you can see, I asked what measures would have been in place to protect our woodland so no biodiversity or access is lost. Furthermore I wanted to know what pro-active measures would be put in place. These are necessary so that whoever owns the land is compelled to improve access and habitat. I also asked about the proposed lifetime of any safeguards put in place.

I also shared your concerns that there is not a solid financial case for this. The Forestry Commission would quite rightly be there to help new owners, but this will be an ongoing financial burden for the Commission after it has sold its lucrative property. I think any new scheme should be economically sustainable.

Thank you again for contacting me on this subject. I will certainly continue to stress my view to my colleagues. The response has certainly been strong and is an issue I feel passionately about and will fight for. Please feel free to get in touch if you have any more thoughts on this issue, or any other.

Yours sincerely,

JL

My speech:
(For the Hansard transcript including all interventions please go to: http://www.publications.parliament.uk/pa/cm201011/cmhansrd/cm110202/debtext/110202-0003.htm)

I am glad to have the opportunity to take part in the debate. Although my constituency may not be the most directly affected by the proposals to sell off or lease woodland currently owned by the state, the issue has attracted considerable interest among hundreds of my constituents who are rightly concerned about the impact that such a sale might have. There is little doubt that there has been much speculation, and even scaremongering, about what may or may not happen to public forests. I have received hundreds of e-mails from constituents, some of whom have been led to believe that whole swathes of woodland will be razed to the ground to make way for housing developments, golf courses and leisure clubs.

Other constituents have sent e-mails suggesting that forests are going to be closed off to the public and surrounded by 10-foot fences, but that is clearly not the case. Unfortunately, the Labour party has been complicit in this misinformation and shameless in its attempts to scare people into believing that the future of our forests is under threat. Instead of participating constructively in the consultation on the future of our woodland, Labour Members simply choose to try to score cheap political points by tabling an Opposition day motion to grab the headlines. That is why I certainly will not be voting for Labour’s motion and why I will support the Government’s amendment, which exposes the disgraceful sell-off of thousands of acres of public woodland by the previous Labour Government without any of the protection being put in place and promised under the coalition Government’s consultation. However, I wish to go on record as welcoming the measured comments made by the hon. Member for Hayes and Harlington (John McDonnell) about staff at the Forestry Commission, which should be added to the consultation process.

I will never support the sell-off or leasing of woodland if I think that it will be detrimental to the long-term sustainability of the woodland and its biodiversity, and will threaten the access that people have enjoyed over a long period. What better safeguards will Minister’s introduce to protect the land and access to it compared with those that we already have? These forests will outlive all of us in this Chamber today and the public want to know how long these safeguards will be in place. Can I be assured that, whichever organisation might take on the running of a public forest, these safeguards will remain in place for not only our lifetime, but centuries to come?

Guaranteeing the future of the woodland is important, but so, too, is the guardianship of that land in the meantime. There is a real fear that the trend to improve the forests will fade over time. What assurances can the Minister give that the woodland will not just be maintained as it is and that the new owners will be compelled to improve both access and the natural habitat? The public estate enjoys 40 million visits a year, a quarter of it is dedicated as a site of special scientific interest and it hosts a wealth of biodiversity. None of those things should be under threat, and they must flourish under this coalition Government.

One of the big unanswered questions is whether or not the private ownership or leasing of forest land will make the savings that the Government anticipate. I am not convinced that these proposals will save any money; they may end up leaving the Government with a bigger bill to maintain the forests, because the sale or lease of commercially attractive forests will mean that their revenue is no longer available to subsidise the running of heritage and other loss-making forests. That was the only sensible point made by the shadow Secretary of State.

I do not think we should be too precious about the model of ownership of our forests. The previous Government could not be trusted to safeguard the future of the public forests that have been sold off in the past 13 years. It is certainly not the case that the forests would be safer in Labour hands. Many might argue that the future of the forests would be more certain if they were run and managed by organisations such as the Woodland Trust or the National Trust. It is not the model of ownership that we should be precious about but the people, including the staff, and the organisations that might run the forests.

In my constituency, after the previous Labour Government closed my local hospital, Withington hospital, Paupers wood on that site was put up for sale. Like many others, I expressed grave concerns about what that might mean for the future of that relatively small piece of woodland. However, the sale of that land to one of my constituents, Mary, resulted in enormous benefit for the community. That area of woodland, which had not been maintained for years and had been inaccessible to local people, is now available for local community groups to enjoy and for schools to use for outdoor classrooms. The woodland is well managed and is now sustainable for the future. That would not have happened without that sale. It is not simply a case of public ownership being good and private ownership being bad. This debate should be about what is best for individual woodlands and communities and about securing the future of our forests for generations to come.