Something Wrong

There was an article in the local paper here the other day which I found deeply disturbing.

The Westmorland Gazette reported that plans to build some affordable housing in Ambleside, a much needed resource in this part of the world, have been scuppered by local residents. There were plans to build a small development in a field at the end of a cul-de-sac. A lot of work had taken place, a developer and builder found, and most importantly planning permission from both the Local Authority and the National Park had been given. All this had taken about four years. The owners of houses in the road have now clubbed together and bought the land, and stopped the process in its tracks. The land will now be used to make back gardens bigger.

My reaction was, and remains, one of outrage. This is precisely what is wrong with this country. There is a desperate shortage of affordable housing up here, and this was a rare chance to try and make amends. Apparently two of the houses in the road are actually holiday lets and not even occupied full time. Another is a second home. What has happened is the usual, “not here, somewhere else, please” attitude. This is the trouble with having a middle class with time on its hands. The only reason the British Empire got to be as big as was is because people had to worry about the next meal and their family, rather than worry about having “undesirables” living close by.

The same thing is driving the push to cancel the HS2 rail link. It is a deeply undesirable feature of the British psyche. The original railway to the North was built before planning regulations were required, all the builders had to do was pass sums of money to rich landowners to buy the strip of land, and then pay peasants a pittance to do the digging. No worrying about health and safety, the lesser spotted toads, and no middle class to moan.

I despair of this place. Coming back to Ambleside, perhaps the local authority should compulsorily purchase the land and push the development through. Or alternatively, put in some deeply unpleasant factory, perhaps an incinerator or the like. Preferably one that would involve lorries going up and down the road at all times of the day and night.