I mentioned skate for a different reason, namely and heretofore the campaign to get a skate park up and running in Cromer. Cromer is like many seaside towns in that beneath the picturesque fish-n-chips-on-the-pier exterior there lurks a great deal of deprivation. Jobs here are rare, and if you find them, aren’t much fun, and pay very little. Young people, in particular, suffer for want of constructive activity or harmless ways to let off steam.
But Cromer is also a gerontocracy, and any campaign to enrich the lives of teenagers, no matter how well constituted, and no matter how much support it gets, can be derailed by just one complaint from an elderly nimby. The hope is that this time – this time – it will be different; Cromer will have a skate park; and that the legions of Daily-Fail-reading bungaloid curtain-twitchers can be mollified. Mrs Crox and Crox Minor are actively involved in a campaign that has the support of the community in general as well as our MP, ‘Stormin’ Norman Lamb. Mrs Crox is waist-deep in paperwork about health and safety, Big Society funding and so on and so forth in like fashion. You can follow the campaign on Facebook.
While on the subject of elderly people, I’d like to put in a patriotic cheer for our own Dear Queen, who, as you’ll have gathered, celebrates 60 glorious years as our monarch. My enjoyment of this weekend’s jubilicious festivities will not be derailed by the usual dreary parade of joyless, juvenile left-wing snark that one
steps in finds on teh interwebz. Instead I shall wonder at the sheer length of that reign. Consider just one pertinent fact (this is meant to be a science blog, after all): Her Madge assumed her royalness in the same year that Crick and Watson invented nicked discovered the structure of DNA.
Now, if I’d had a job like that thrust upon me at an early age – a job I didn’t want – and yet executed it with diplomacy, aplomb, courage, energy, grace, decorum and above all tact; not being allowed to speak one’s mind, even after having to suffer the weekly audience with the Prime Minister (twelve so far, if you include Gordon Brown); having to read out all that tedious drivel at the State Opening of Parliament while not even having a vote; having to tour, endlessly, every country in the world from Ruritania to Mordor, while wearing such uncomfortable-looking shoes; having flowers constantly thrust upon one by small girls; hardly having any privacy; I’d deserve to be richly rewarded, and, after sixty years at it – sixty years – I’d be very flattered were there to be a public holiday in my honour. So I say a resounding Hooray for Her Majesty. God Bless Her and All Who Sail In Her.
PS: If you are reading this, Your Majesty, I don’t suppose you’d consider being the patron of the Cromer Skatepark?
* It’s a cod. This was confirmed by my friend Mr P. H. of Cromer, a keen angler.