So where is Beestonia? Ah, its not so much a place as a state of mind, innit? Sorry, no. Cartography does not map abstractions, and on a more practical basis, I can hardly campaign to be Lord of somewhere you are thinking about. Makes the taxation system tricky.
So Beeston’s present borders are as such: the University West entrance, along Woodside Road to the Priory, round the roundabout and down the A52 to just shy of Cow Lane, and all enclosed. To the South, the Trent forms a natural barrier, which runs West through fields and is less distinct, and East towards Attenborough, easily measured by the DMR (Daily Mail Rate) which starts to ping off the scale somewhere round The Beekeeper. Centrally, Castle College is a pretty good marker of where Beeston slips into the wild lands of Chilwell. We’ll have that, it looks pretty smart now, unlike when I stumbled through two years of A-Levels there, when its shabby exterior matched the blunted ambitions of it students.
But Beestonia will be a little bit more ambitious. The first annexe will be the University. Long referred to as ‘Beeston Poly’, its time to draw this fine land to our Beestonian breast. Replete with a lovely allegedly pike-filled lake (still the warning from my dad, when taking as out boating that the pike there would snap at your fingers if we trailed our digits in the murky depth, and that many a duck now struggled along with one leg after an attack-presumably swimming in confused circles, still the warnings ring true to the extent that when cycling by, I’m mindful to beware of any fish attack that may result in my getting too close to the edge), stunning Portland-stone architecture, tennis courts, gyms, libraries and billions of other facilities that would be useful to our independence. It even has a meadow. With flowers. Go and have a look. Its rock hard to find.
Attenborough is also vital to Beeston. The Nature Reserve, which the BBC designated the ninth best eco-destination in THE WORLD a few years back ( http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/nottinghamshire/6178066.stm -not as good as Namibia’s Damaraland or the Il N’Gwesi Lodge in Kenya, but shits on the Grecian Ionian Eco Village in Zakynthos) is ace. Many an afternoon has been spent perching on my bike taking rubbish 3mp camera phone pics of bushes and indifferent ducks. Its 250 acres of beauty, and even has, right in its middle, some Highland cattle. Bet you can’t find them. Try, after you find the elusive Notts. Uni campus meadow. It will be ours, as the river is vital as a natural defence. A checkpoint will be set up at Trent Lock, where Sawley will become Britain again. The inhabitants of Attenborough Village? I’d hate to sound all class warrior by suggesting that they would be first against the wall, Ive met some and they’re not all evil capitalist running dogs. However, residents of the Strand who opposed the flood wall, preferring to flood the good people of the Rylands than take a few quid off their already overpriced house-prices, they are to be moved to a set of prefabs built around the concrete platform of Beeston Weir. Without towels or tumble-driers.
All golf courses to be nationalised and turned into big parks, possibly with go-carts and definitely with death-slides. Golfers are invited to move to West Bridgford, an appropriate place of exile for these evil, evil men.
I like Chilwell. There, I said it. Seen by some as a bit rough and a bit shabby, especially round Inham Nook, has led many to overlook the fact that it is full of parklands and pleasingly quiet streets. The far end backs onto the fields that seperate the area from St. Apleford and Brian Clough Way. If you’ve never rode the dirt-track that runs from the A52 bridge down to Bardills on a bouncy mountain bike on a meltingly beautiful summer’s dusk with perhaps a little too much cider bouncing in your guts, then I’m afraid you haven’t lived. Its the Cresta Runon dust. And for this fact alone, a further annexe is Chilwell and outlying fields, to Baulk Lane in Bramcote. Yes, thats the whole of St. George’s park and Blubell Woods. Do my ambitions know no bounds??
That pretty much sums it up. I will allow Beestonian Embassies to exist in other towns, my dearest ex-pats, and you may apply for these forthwith. These will be subject to the usual Ambassadorial privelidges, including freedom from local taxation, diplomatic immunity and extremely moreish yet tacky chocolate treats. Anywhere I’ve missed? Do tell, this is an essential debate. OnceI have your views, I’ll phone GoogleEarth and inform them. Tarah, ducks.