Saturday, 21 January 2006


Polish Lodger's Girlfriend's Cousin has decided that Wallasey is actually the Shire and that the people who live here are Hobbits.

Her hypothesis is based on the fact that people don't travel. Not really even through the tunnel to Liverpool. And people who do - or have done - are viewed with same suspicion with which his neighbours viewed Bilbo Baggins.

Apparently, her customers and colleagues in the (very, very 'local') pub where she is working are constantly asking her for tales about her sojourning around the world, and 'oooh-ing' and 'aaah-ing' at her adventures and telling her how they would like to travel. And then they say that, of course, they never would, they just couldn't, leave Wallasey.

Leaving aside the whole 'Plastic' issue (people on the Wirral aren't real Scousers (Liverpudlians), they are Plastic Scousers, ie, pretend ones, shortened to 'Plastics'), it's a bit odd.

I noticed it when I first moved up here - partly because it's quite a similar culture the one I left in the valleys of South Wales, where people were reluctant to travel even five miles up the valley to the next town for work. I formed a theory then that it was to do with the landscape - the mountains of Wales enclose the people, they kind of grow in to the spaces between them.

Perhaps the Wirral is the same - it's bounded on two sides by rivers, the Mersey and the Dee. In days gone by, it was virtually an island.

It's kind of comfortable.

We have been invited to a 'Preparation For Adoption' course for three days at the end of February, beginning of March. It's too big and too exciting and too hopeful and too scary to write a whole post about - it's the make or break. After it, they decide whether they want to take us forward for the formal approval process. And we decide whether we want to proceed.

We are working away until Monday night, so probably no more posts until Tuesday.

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