Even though it became a kind of lads’ anthem, it’s worth remembering that the Manic Street Preachers’ ‘Design for Life’ has the immortal opening line, “Libraries gave us power”. And it’s important to remember that they still do.

In a blog a few weeks back, I wrote about how Sutton Coldfield Library was my real school. I’ve since remembered that the two books that inspired me to enrol on an English A-Level at an actual night school when I was 22 were also both borrowed from the library: Ted Hughes’ Selected Poems and John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath. (yes, I know Hughes is problematic, but I didn’t then). I felt there was something more to both than just poetry and a good story—metaphor or symbolism or something—but I had no idea how to access it. Hence night school, then uni, and my eventual career as a professional writer and editor.  

This process began back in 2006, the last time mullets were fashionable and when Sutton Library still commanded two floors. Its adult, children’s, music, and reference libraries were all in separate sections. There were plenty of tables and chairs where people could sit and read, study, and write. Nowadays, what remains of its once seemingly endless stock is squeezed into one big room. There’s a solitary table in the corner.

But at least it still exists, for now.

As anyone reading this will know, Birmingham City Council is bankrupt and looking to atone for it by closing 25 of the city’s 36 public libraries. Just as concerning, and what I want to focus on here, is that the remainder will be turned into “community living rooms”, sharing space with other services (whatever they might be), and being run by volunteers. Once more, those in power are proving themselves ruthlessly incompetent and expecting others to pick up the slack, for free, out of the kindness of their hearts. It’s happened with the rise of food banks, and now Birmingham Council seem to be using the same tactic against libraries.

Leaving the real-world problems of this aside for the moment, the issue is that it’s a PR masterstroke on the council’s behalf. “Community living rooms”, volunteers stepping up and doing their bit… All sound so cosy and Blitz-spirit, doesn’t it? And that’s the problem. Those of us trying to oppose this wanton act of cultural and community destruction can easily be painted as bitter, backwards lefties, romanticising an outmoded system: “The council’s broke, though. Everyone’s got a kindle nowadays, ain’t they? Where’s the money to pay for it coming from? How much more do you suggest we increase council tax by, then?” We’re back to the daft and misleading national-credit-card-bill arguments that got flung around in the early days of austerity. “Brum’s gotta tighten its belt. Simples.”

Pointing out that the council has a legal responsibility to provide a free and sufficient public library service just won’t cut it in the face of rose-tinted notions of charity-shop-style volunteer retirees helping out by manning the desk and filing a few books away (“It’s hardly graft is it? And I bet ‘alf of ‘em are on silly money anyway.”)

But it’s not just the right that this PR approach wins over. It also potentially appeals to liberals, those who thrive on romantic ideas of people power, local community businesses, and the can-do, bread-baking, Zoom-quizzing pandemic spirit of looking out for each other while everything goes to shit. You have to give it to whoever thought it up because it’s absolute genius. A pint in the Square Peg says someone in London’s already working on a heart-warming film script and Emma Thompson’s practising her Brummie accent (as long as she’s not doing it by watching This Town, amirite?).

I spent election night 2019 working in a pub where the majority of regulars were so right-leaning that they once questioned a bloke’s heterosexuality because he mentioned that he’d recently played a board game. It was like sitting with the opposition fans when your team loses 10-0, and I ended up in an argument with a few of them about food banks. They were saying how “wonderful” they were; I was saying they shouldn’t have to exist. “Yes but they do, and isn’t it fantastic? What else are they meant to do? Let people starve?” In a sense, they were right of course, and it’s harder to argue against someone you basically agree with, especially when disagreeing makes it seem like you’d rather people were left to die of hunger.

21st century economics are eroding the basic safety nets of 20th century society like the sea is eroding the East Yorkshire coast. Libraries are the latest old cottage that looks like falling in, swept away by waves of similar logic. “There’s an issue, and people are stepping up and making a difference. What are you doing besides moaning?” Okay, libraries aren’t as essential as eating, but that doesn’t mean they’re not vital and don’t still have a role to play—a role that needs proper council funding. Once they’re gone and volunteers have to step in, you can’t go back or argue against it—or you can, but you look like a loony leftie luddite demanding that taxpayers’ money goes on a load of old books rather than “something useful like collecting the bins or fixing all the bloody potholes.”

And what’s the reality of this knitted-blanket vision of community-run libraries? Without funding and trained, knowledgeable staff, they won’t be decently-stocked places where there are plenty of kids’ activities, your nan can get her large-print Agatha Raisin novels and have a nice chat, students can write and research, and those who need internet access can get it for free. They’ll be broom-cupboards that open for a handful of hours every week (assuming they can get the volunteers), and they’ll end up relying on book donations. In other words, give it a couple of years, and once all the decent stock has been sold to keep the lights on, you’ll be left with half a shelf of dog-eared Richard Osman novels in a damp, leaky room where half the strip-lights no longer work.

How modern. How quintessentially British.

Forward!

I didn’t post anything here last week because there was so much other stuff going on. On top of work, looking for work, parenting, volunteering for a “Save Our Libraries” campaign (see previous blog post), trying to work on my next book, food shopping, and attempting to get the house presentable for a party we’re having here in a few weeks, I was also doing some last-minute training for the Birmingham Half Marathon, which I ran last Sunday in a time of two hours and fourteen minutes (sixteen minutes ahead of my target time, which I'm very proud of).

I first took up running in early 2008 when I decided to do the annual fun run in Sutton Coldfield, where I grew up. I can’t remember any exact reason for wanting to do it beyond just wanting to say I’d done it, but I trained religiously twice a week for a few months and completed it in just over an hour (it’s about eight-and-a-half miles). An hour after I crossed the finish line, I went straight to a nine-hour shift at a busy local pub. The joys of being 24 years old!

I’ve had bursts of running on and off since then, usually sparked by a bout of anxiety or entering a run so that I have a reason to go out and do it. A lot of people sneer at running—“I’ve never seen a happy-looking jogger” etc.—but I’ve learned so much about myself and mindfulness through the simple act of going out and running that I thought it worth writing about here.

The first epiphany I remember having was quite early, whilst training for the initial fun run. I’d covered a fair distance and was maybe a mile or so from home. I forget why, but I glanced back over my shoulder. Doing this made me think about how far I’d run; turning back to look where I was going made me realise how far I had left to go. As a result, I suddenly felt exhausted and had to drop down to a walk, even though I’d been okay just a few seconds before.

It dawned on me as I trudged home that, as soon I’d slipped out of the present moment, I’d become overwhelmed. To run most effectively, I had to keep my mind solely focused on where I was, not where I’d been or still had to go. I later mentioned this to a brilliant doctor I was fortunate enough to have who replied, “Well, there you have the essence of mindfulness.” I still think about this now—whenever I’m running and feel myself getting tired by the thought of how far I’ve still got to go, I stare at the ground just in front of me and let my mind settle on that. “Just be where you are now,” I tell myself, and pretty quickly, I’m back in the present moment.

This is why I find running a brilliant natural anxiety antidote for me. As well as the endorphins and other physical benefits of the exercise, it helps me to become present in other aspects of my day. I become less likely to project into a potentially terrifying future or ruminating on a mistake-laden past.   

I had another epiphany about running when I did the half-marathon on Sunday. As I was stood with the thousands upon thousands of other competitors on Broad Street, waiting to get going, I was looking around at everyone. So many people were running for charities; they had t-shirts on for charities dealing with everything from cancer to Alzheimer’s to homelessness to Palestine. Others had t-shirts bearing photographs of lost loved ones. I was running to raise money for a lung charity (I suffered a collapsed lung in 2009 and had been saying ever since that I would raise money for such a cause one day) and for one offering support to those bereaved by suicide.

As we all started winding our way through the streets of Birmingham, whether we were running or walking and whether we had all the right gear or were dressed as a carrot, I got a little emotional. I realised that it was because this event was so charged with meaning. It was all kinds of people, from all backgrounds, from all angles of the political spectrum, all doing something to make a difference, however small. To be part of that was beautiful. The medal I got for completing it really doesn’t come close (although the t-shirt will come in handy for the gym).

I haven’t entered any other runs yet, so I’m now facing the challenge of staying motivated to keep going out and keep the fitness levels up. I was pretty sore after the run, and the endorphins didn’t properly kick in ‘til the next day, but when they did, they were worth the wait.

That’s my weekly reflection. At some point, I will start putting clever sign offs and quirky headlines, but right now, it’s lunchtime.