City living.

One of the candidates for the position of Mayor of London has been criticised for being unable to answer a question about stations on the underground system in the centre of London. Does the Mayor of London really need to be good at Mornington Crescent, the crazy game played on the Radio 4 panel quiz show "I'm Sorry, I haven't a Clue"? (This game involves panellists naming London streets and tube stations linked in some incomprehensible way until one of them wins by naming Mornington Crescent.) The point made in criticism of the mayoral candidate is apparently that any regular user of the tube in central London would be able to answer the question, naming a specific station because they would see it every day on their journey. The fact that he was unable to do so is being taken as an indication that he is not a tube user because he is rich enough to go everywhere in central London by taxi. Would such a man, they wonder, be able to understand the needs and demands of ordinary Londoners? For more arguments about this, here is a link to an article. 

Will the same sort of arguments crop up if ever Greater Manchester has its own mayor? Would a mayor of Greater Manchester understand the needs and demands of public transport users such as me? Could he solve the problem of buses which simply do not turn up, as happened this morning? I went out to catch a bus to the house our daughter is renting out, so that I could do a little painting and general tarting up before her new tenant moves in next month. I was on a tight schedule: bus to the house, a bit of painting and decorating, bus into the town centre for an appointment with the optician. The non-arrival of my bus knocked all my timing into a cocked hat. I would barely have time to get started on the painting before I had to leave to catch the bus to the town centre. So I went back home! Mission aborted! Such are the problems of living on the edge of town. 

Doubtless such problems do not exist for those who live in the centre of Manchester, which is now more inhabited than it ever used to be. Twenty years ago almost nobody lived right in the centre. When I attended evening classes at a central college I would walk briskly through almost deserted streets to the bus or train or wherever I had parked my car. But now buildings originally used for other purposes have been converted into apartments for those, mostly young people, who choose to live in the centre. And the streets are much livelier as a result. 

And then, I read something written by a "chugger", which investigation tells me is someone who goes round knocking on doors fundraising. The writer told of the trials and tribulations of such a life, how hard it is to get people to sign up to give their money away and the insults and churlish responses "chuggers" have to put up with. Doors slammed in their faces and such like. She (somehow the article felt as though it had been written by a woman) went on: 

"City centre apartments are the only exception to that rule. They’re filled with impressionable twenty-somethings with plenty of disposable income. But knocking apartments is a risky strategy. It’s a race against time before I’m forcibly removed by the concierge." 

Who are these "twenty-somethings with plenty of disposable income"? I thought young people were being forced back home to live with their parents because they cannot afford to live independently. On reflection, maybe it's because of signing up to make too many charitable donations that they cannot afford to live independently. 

Personally, I really dislike "chuggers" coming and knocking on my door. As a rule they don't like leaving their papers with you so that you can think about it and then sign up later online if you agree to donate. They know that you are quite likely to change your mind once they go away. My problem though is that I don't want to give my bank details to some random person even with an official "chugger" ID badge. 

On the whole, however, I am polite and friendly to them, with the exception of certain types of "God-botherers", who simply get on my nerves and are usually given short shrift.