I like "hyper-local" blogs. Here's a bit of "hyper local" history.
"The town that the Blackpool Tower rises above was once nothing more than a tiny farming and fishing community set on marshy land along the Fylde coast of Lancashire. What transformed its fortunes, from the mid-18th century, was the craze for sea-bathing. Blessed with miles of broad, sandy beaches, it proved a natural magnet for those whose idea of a good time was to rush to the coast at the weekend and plunge into a bracingly cold sea. Before too long, enterprising locals were setting up small hotels and guest houses on the seafront to cater for the bathers. The thrill-seekers were only too happy to part with their money. An industry was born."
We spent Sunday at the olde Cambridgeshire village home of some kind and generous friends. They'd invited about two dozen guests for an afternoon that was part a celebration of a retirement, part just for the pleasure of sitting outside in sunshine and only a little rain. It was a certain kind of English day. And this picture - taken by whichever of my kids had "borrowed" the camera at the time - is what it looked like.
"Of the 127 permanent residents of Berneray, 51 now have broadband internet access from their homes. Of the remaining 76 residents, many have dial-up internet access. Some of these, and some of the decreasing minority of residents who are not online from home, have expressed a desire to move onto broadband soon. Even several of the “pop-ups” (non-residents who own a house on Berneray and occasionally “pop up” for a holiday) have had broadband installed so they can carry out online activities during their visits to Berneray. This puts Berneray ahead of most of the world in terms of both subscribed households and the proportion of residents with home-based broadband access. If Berneray were an independent country it would be globally ranked 9th in terms of broadband access, ahead of Canada and the UK and behind the progressive nations of Iceland, Finland, Norway and Sweden."
The last part of my trip to Scotland took me the "the granite city" - also known as "the oil capital of Europe" - to visit the Aberdeen version of the NCH's pioneering Dundee Families Project, which works on correcting antisocial behaviour. I was told by the proprietor of the guest house I stayed at that Aberdeen is short of two things in particular: accommodation and taxis. I suppose I was lucky to find both at short notice. Now, how's this for daft - a video short of my room while listening to The World Tonight like the good little journalist I am.
Whistle-stop travel can make you a bit loopy, you know. Hey! Anyone want to know what my bedspread looked like?
So, after I slept I woke up. Awaiting my taxi to Torry here's what I saw.
Then I rode down what I've since discovered - thanks to a YouTube commenter - is Market Street, taking me past the docks.
Once in Torry I had an enlightening and, at times, inspiring conversation with the project's leader Pat Beattie, one of her colleagues and a woman the project had helped to take control of herself and her life. I'll be writing about all that for Comment Is Free soon. Then I walked back to the centre of the city in the rain. Here's the view from the Queen Elizabeth Bridge, which straddles the River Dee.
I had a little time to kill so I dumped my bag with Left Luggage at the station where I saw another sign of the times - and, remember, this was before the failed car bomb attacks.
I'd have loved to have stayed for longer. But I had to get back to Glasgow Prestwick airport and fly home.
Bye, bye Aberdeen. Sorry to rush off. I hope it's not the last time we meet.
Yes, it's an ashtray - an ashtray in the bar of the Hotel du Vin in Tunbridge Wells on Saturday lunchtime a few hours before the smoking ban came in. I thought it should be captured for posterity. One day my grandchildren will see it and ask, "Grandad, you sad old blogger git, what are those funny funny grooves for at the edges of that crisp bowl?" And another thing: how will we describe the operational status of ashtrays from now on? Perhaps, to borrow from the IRA, as being "beyond use." Whatever...I was in T-Wells for the friend's wedding mentioned here. While there I was delighted to spot the modest premises of the local Conservative Association (see smaller pic) though disappointed that no statue of local boy Iain Dale has yet been erected outside. No doubt it's only a matter of time.
We stayed at the Ramada Jarvis in nearby Pembury, thus proving that whatever you think of marriage it does create perfect excuses for the relatives and friends of those betrothing to stay somewhere posh overnight instead of spending their money on something dull and sensible. Of course, the Ramada chain reminds me of a scathing term coined by Dennis Skinner MP when Labour dignitaries stayed at the (I think) Brighton branch during a party conference in the early years of Peter Mandelson's "modernising" influence. "Ramada socialism," was what he termed the values of the new regime. I didn't let those Beast Of Bolsover echoes put me off, though: we swam, we lounged, we ate the biggest breakfast in the world. We - well, I - also took a perverse pleasure in the background music in the restaurant on Sunday morning. I jotted down a few of the tunes:
Who decides what music is played during Ramada breakfasts? Are the decisions made in house or are specialist contractors brought in? Is there a book in this subject?
I like "hyper-local" blogs. Here's a bit of "hyper local" history. 
