A few weeks ago I was invited to a press screening of a documentary called Woodland Awakening. The documentary told the story of Britain’s dwindling ancient woodland (woods which pre-date 1600) and presented some startling facts.

Only 4% of ancient woodland in the UK survives; at the beginning of the last century this figure was 8%. Hectares of ancient woodland were cut down by the Forestry Commission in the 1950s to make way for fast growing conifer trees. These conifer trees soon swamped the ancient woodlands, making life very difficult for native wildlife and wild flowers.

At the present, only 33% of all public forest remains in the UK. Despite the Government referring its plan to sell off this vital public resource to an Independent Forestry Panel, fears about the future of the UK’s public forests remain.

The news isn’t all bad, though. In recent years, the Woodland Trust has bought up areas of ancient woodland and started ambitious conservation efforts. Thankfully, this is paying off. Rare flowers such as orchids and primroses are returning to the ancient forests.

The Government has yet to get away with its devious plan of flogging public forest, so there’s still time to put pressure on them. You can send an email to Caroline Spelman, Secretary of State for the Environment, to voice your concerns (caroline@carolinespelman.com). Click here for tips on what to say.

The short film was produced and directed by Sarah Proudfoot Clinch of Rosylee Productions. As well as talking about ancient woodland from a factual point of view, it also interviewed TV vicar Peter Owen Jones and Bleau-Shanay Hudson, an artist who takes inspiration from the UK’s forests.

To watch a different film by Rosylee Productions which is also about the conservation of ancient woodland, click here.
Photo credit: FatBusinessman

The latest edition of Wiltshire Magazine includes an interview I did with two famous Wiltshire writers, Lauren Child and Judy Golding. I interviewed them over the telephone and they were both a pleasure to speak with. Lauren Child is well known for the Charlie & Lola book and TV series and Judy Golding has just published a memoir of her father, the Nobel prize winning author William Golding, called The Children of Lovers.

In the interview, Lauren Child talks about growing up in Wiltshire, her struggle to get published and her latest book  based on the character Ruby Redfort, from the popular Clarice Bean series. Judy Golding also speaks about her childhood in Wiltshire (in particular visiting her grandfather in Marlborough), but also gives some fascinating insights into father’s complex and often misunderstood character.

Lauren Child and Judy Golding will both speak at the Marlborough Literature Festival, 22 – 25 September 2011.

The latest issue of New Escapologist is now available from their online shop. For those of you who aren’t familiar with New Escapologist, the sporadically published magazine is essentially a manifesto for white-collar emancipation - with lots of humour and a healthy appreciation of absurdity thrown in! Issue 5 looks at Bohemia and features an article by yours truly entitled “Love like a Bohemian” – a little piece I wrote last year with tips on how to love the Bohemian way.

In a recent article in the Independent entitled “The uncomfortable truth about mind control: Is free will simply a myth?”, Michael Mosley argued that, although we don’t like to admit it, the notion that humans have free will is a delusion.

Mosley cites the work of psychologist Stanley Milgram to back up his argument. Milgram is famous for a controversial experiment in which volunteers were enlisted to take part in a “memory and learning experiment”. According to Mosley, Milgram wrote that the experiment was intended to answer the question: “How is possible, I ask myself, that ordinary people who are courteous and decent in everyday life could act callously, inhumanely, without any limitations of conscience.”

In the experiment, volunteers were told that they would be ‘the Teacher’ and their job was to give ‘the Learner’ – who they believed to be another volunteer – a simple set of memory tasks which they would be tested on. For every wrong answer the Teacher would have to give the Learner an electric shock. The voltage of the shock increased with every wrong answer. The Teacher and the Learner conducted this ‘memory experiment’ in two separate rooms, with a microphone and speakers connecting the two.

The results of the experiment were shocking. 65% of volunteers increased the voltage to a level that would have killed the Learner. Mosley goes on to cite other similar experiments which demonstrate the extent to which we are willing to blindly obey authority or conform to social expectations. All of this is convincing evidence for the assertion he makes at the start of the article: “We like to think that we exercise free will, that put into a situation where we were challenged to do something we thought unacceptable then we’d refuse. But, if you believe that, then you are probably deluded.”

Although Mosley’s article raises fascinating questions about human behaviour, it does not prove that free will is a myth. Every human action is preceded by a choice. The volunteers in the experiment chose to obey authority, even if it made them uncomfortable. It is easy to think that this means humans are not free, that the majority of us are hardwired to blindly follow orders or seek conformity. I disagree. Although the volunteers did not feel free, they were free.

To say that Milgram’s experiment proves that free will is a myth is like saying that because Queen Elizabeth II does not dissolve Parliament when she feels like, it means the Queen does not have the power to do so. Technically the Queen can dissolve Parliament at any time; she just chooses not to for practical reasons. In the same sense, a person who obeys authority or conforms to social expectations has the power to choose freely; they just choose not to use it.

The question that Mosley should be asking is not, “Is free will a myth?” but why are we so willing to give up free will in order to conform? The 19th Century philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche described this as the “herd instinct” and was rather scathing about the people he believed to be “herdmen”. However another German philosopher, Martin Heidegger, believed that the herd instinct is much more complex than a simple desire to fit in.

Heidegger gave the name “They-Self” (or Das Man in German) to the state of being which is governed entirely by the herd instinct. The “They-Self” is you in everyday life: it is the Parent-You, the Work-You, the Neighbour-You. In other words, it is the you that plays the roles and lives by the rules that society, not you, construct. Heidegger described the “They-Self” succinctly when he wrote, in his seminal work Being and Time, “Everyone is the other and no one is himself.” For Heidegger, the “They-Self” is the most basic form of our existence; the “They-Self” comes first and the “I-Self” comes afterwards, if at all.

Stanley Milgram’s findings are disturbing because they prompt us to ask, “How would I act such circumstances? Would I act as “Them” or as “I”? It is a question with frightening implications and which often leaves us believing vainly that we would be in the minority. As Mosley rightly points out, such a belief is a terrible delusion.

The question of whether or not we exercise our free will is not limited to life or death scenarios. It is a question which can be, and should be, addressed in everyday life. As Heidegger argues, it is in everyday life that people tend to relinquish their individuality and become a part of “Them”. The real test of individual freedom for most of us will not be in the dramatic scenarios fabricated by psychology experiments but in the way we live out our lives. Everyday choices, while rarely a matter of life or death, are always a matter of freedom.

There’s more on free will in Issue Four and more Milgram in Issue One.

Originally in my Wiltshire blog.

“This is a local shop for local people. There’s nothing for you here!”

So says Tubbs from The League of Gentleman to any outsider who happens to enter her shop. Married to her brother Edward, Tubbs is extremely distrustful of strangers and, along with Edward, often murders them. Sounds just like your local corner shop, doesn’t it?

There is a popular stereotype about local shops that was illustrated best by The League of Gentleman sketch described above. The scenario above is hilariously exaggerated, but the ideas are the same. Local shops are insular places. They don’t like ‘outsiders’ and treat them with distrust bordering on rudeness.

There is undoubtedly truth in this, to a varying degree, in every local shop. Even Edwin Giddings, the shop I worked at for six months was not entirely immune, and yet it was definitely on the lower end of the scale – as far away from Edward & Tubbs as the town of Royston Vassey.

Edwin Giddings is one of the oldest shops in Devizes. Originally it was solely a wine merchant; now it’s a wine shop, delicatessen and cafe. It was sold to the Wadworth Brewery after the death of Edwin Giddings himself in 1918.

Giddings is a local shop: Many of its customers are devout regulars who patronise the shop just as much to talk to the manager as they do to buy wine. After six months of working there many of them knew me by name and occasionally chatted with me as they would the manager.

Giddings is one of those old fashioned places where people congregate to share stories and gossip. It’s like the old local pub or barber shop, and yet to write it off as a quaint symbol of the past would be an injustice to a shop which continues to offer value in a way no supermarket can.

Imagine the scenario: you’re buying a bottle of wine for somebody who knows a thing or two about the stuff. You know they drink French and that they usually drink red, but that’s it. You don’t know which region they like and even if you did, you don’t know which wines offer the best value.

In a supermarket you would be lost. Aisles of wine bottles would glare sharply under artificial light, all looking exactly the same. You might try and read the write-up on the back of the bottle, but usually they’re about as informative as a Hollywood tagline: “Merlot just got fruitier”, “Get ready for the Shirazamatazz” etc.

In a small shop like Giddings this isn’t a problem. One of the big draws of the place is the fact that Colin, the manager, can always suggest something to suit your taste. Like all good wine shops, you only have to say what you’ll be eating for dinner and Colin will have just the wine in mind.

It was this personal touch which impressed me most during my time working at Giddings; a shop with all the best attributes of a ‘local’, but without the rudeness or, God forbid, the murderous undertones of Royston Vassey.

Originally in my Wiltshire blog; published in Wiltshire Magazine, December 2010.

When you come face to face with death, a walk in the countryside sounds like a very good idea indeed.

That was my family’s feeling last weekend after learning that Oscar the dog has cancer. Following a period of shock and disbelief, my parents decided to take Oscar on one of his favourite walks.

The walk from the A420 near Biddestone to Castle Combe cuts through some of the most beautiful countryside in Wiltshire. Beginning quite low, the path follows the Bybrook for about a mile, passing through fields used since medieval times, before reaching the sleepy hamlet of Long Dean. From here the path ascends along a ridge overlooking the Bybrook. It passes a small pig farm and fields which are often home to donkeys and ponies before descending through the ancient forest which surrounds Castle Combe.

Oscar loves this walk. He rushes back and forth, greedily sniffing everything he can get his nose close to. The cattle are sheepish as he jots around their field; they watch him with a shy curiosity and then return to munching grass.

At the smallholding, we all stop to watch the pigs roll about in their pen. The younger ones in particular love to play fight; they rub their snouts in each others faces and chase one another in circles. They have the energy and exuberance of a group of toddlers in nursery school and they’re so fun to watch that we stand there for a full five minutes. Perhaps they run around to keep warm, as I can already feel the chill of autumn in the air.

The donkeys aren’t there this time. In the summer they stand under the trees near the fence, close enough for us to reach over and pet them. The path is quieter without them. The only sounds are of the Bybrook in the valley below and the ponies snorting and clip-clopping in the field above.

On the outskirts of Castle Combe we notice the first sign of the film crew which has been based here for two weeks: a huge marquee with a security guard sat outside. A few days earlier Steven Spielberg was filming War Horse here – an adaptation of the popular novel and stage play about a horse called Joey who is separated from his owner when he is sent to serve in the First World War.

In order to transport the town back to 1914 the roads of the village have been covered with dirt. The names of the pubs have been changed too, and Union Flags fly above some of the houses.

We end our walk at The White Hart, now called Fry’s Tavern. I drink my pint of 6X slowly while Oscar shuffles around the pub garden, sniffing under the tables and benches. The pub garden is quiet and conducive to contemplation. As Oscar sniffs about the place I begin to wonder if he knows that he is unwell.

Is he capable of knowing that? Is he even aware of his own mortality? Would he act any differently if he was? Would any of us?

Originally in my Wiltshire blog.

Marlborough’s first ever literary festival started with drinks in the town hall.

“The great thrust of this festival is about writing. Good writing, as opposed to celebrity books. We are going to go on supporting that.”

This was the main emphasis of Mavis Cheek’sspeech at a party celebrating the first talk of Marlborough’s debut literary festival on Friday.

Looking around the room I saw a couple notable faces – Mavis herself, of course, and the guest speaker Margaret Drabble. But there was no one who was likely to appear on the cover of OK! Magazine anytime soon. The organisers had succeeded in keeping the festival a celebrity-free event.

I went to the party as a representative for Wiltshire Magazine. As a newbie in journalism I still find entering a room full of distinguished strangers a little intimidating. Thankfully such events are always well stocked with alcohol. Being a classy event, the Marlborough Literary Festival had a good supply of the local bubbly from a’Beckett’s Vineyard near Devizes.

After a few sips of the sparkling wine I began to wonder what literary events in the old days were like, when writers like Dylan Thomas and Ernest Hemingway – both of whom were famous for their heavy drinking – were alive.

When Dylan Thomas toured the US with Under Milk Wood, was the bar at every venue stocked with his favourite whisky? And before Ernest Hemingway gave a talk about his latest novel, did he knock back half a bottle of wine as his characters so often do in his books?

Imagine what a Beat festival in the 1950s must have been like, when William S Burroughs, Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac were about – all of whom enjoyed experimenting with “mind expanding” substances. There must have been drugs galore at those festivals!

As my mind slowly returned to reality – it took a few seconds to end that bizarre train of thought – invited guests mingled and chatted with each other. A relaxed vibe came over the place as the organisers of the festival, who had worked for months to make it happen, were starting to let loose.

I stopped the mayor to ask for a photo and he began joking with his friend about whether or not he should be photographed holding his champagne flute. “Why pretend to be something you’re not?” his friend responded. I photographed the two of them next to each other: the mayor standing flute-less and alert, the friend holding his bubbly with a sly grin.

To some, this would be a humorous example of a country town trying to embrace the world of culture and the arts. It would be the sort of event that the Spinal Tap creator Christopher Guest would use as the subject of a mockumentory – an English version of Waiting for Guffman set in Wiltshire.

Yet I imagine that a bigger, more established event – such as the Cheltenham Literature Festival – would have much less zest than this small, provincial appreciation of the arts.

And, on reflection, zest was the dominant feeling of evening: Zest for good writing by good writers, with not a single celebrity in sight.

Originally in my Wiltshire Blog

We often do crazy things to feel alive. Earlier this week I tried hitchhiking, and met an interesting character on the way.

“The less routine the more life,” wrote Amos Bronson Alcott, a 19^th century American teacher.

Routine is undoubtedly important in life. Like all rituals, a daily routine can give a sense of reassurance and order. Without keeping to a routine it would be very difficult to reach goals in life, such as mastering an instrument or excelling at a sport.

But routine can also be stifling. It can make us feel like we exist merely to perform the same set of actions every day. To combat this, I try to break up my routine every now and again by introducing small spontaneous actions.

Earlier this week I hitchhiked for the first time in years. I had been dropped off on the outskirts of Bath and needed to make my way into the centre.

Rather than wait for the bus I decided to ‘thumb a ride’, and stood facing traffic for about 10 minutes before somebody stopped.

I ran up to the car and saw a man in the driver’s seat, frantically taking piles of paperwork off the passenger seat and throwing them in the back of the car, which was already a sea of paper.

After the necessary salutations, we introduced ourselves. Kofi is a doctor on his way to a conference in Dorset. Originally from West Africa, he now lives and works in Manchester.

As the sat nav guided us through the Georgian streets of the city, I learned enough about this man to guess why he would pick up a hitchhiker.

Kofi only works in hospitals for one year before moving on. While he loves what he does, he finds the politics of hospitals so demoralising that he purposefully takes short contracts. Although such a lifestyle is less stable, it affords more freedom, and this is what Kofi really cares about.

I realised that Kofi and I are quite similar. We both value the feeling of freedom, we both need the occasional spontaneous action, and we are both terrible at organising paperwork.

After Kofi dropped me off I felt strangely exhilarated. I didn’t care about having to walk the rest of the way in the rain. I had taken an opportunity for spontaneous living, and had met an interesting person because of it.

Image of Banksy’s ‘Hitchhiker’ couresty of Noodlefish

You know the festival season is here when the CAMRA boys erect a tent and start charging entry.

There has been a trend in recent years towards the commercialisation of festivals.

Whether they are music festivals or literature festivals, many have succumbed to corporate sponsorship and all its limitations.

Overpriced food, a one-brand-of beer bar, and annoying bloody wristbands have all become the norm.

Thankfully, there are still lots of small festivals around the country. These local, often crappy looking festivals fill the void which the expensive festivals have created.

The cheese rolling festival in Gloucestershire is a great example of a community having fun with few resources, except a massive cheese. You never see people wearing wristbands to watch cheese.

The staple festival of the summer however, which happens in every town and village, is the beer festival. Had the Reformation not taken place, I am certain that we would celebrate every Feast Day with a roaring beer festival.

As it stands, the beer festival is a secular event, where the closest thing to a religious experience is the feeling of penance the next day when you wake up with a rotten hangover.

Devizes had its CAMRA beer festival last weekend. As usual, I left it too late to get tickets and the event sold out. That didn’t stop some people however. One man told me in great detail how to crash the event.

“Don’t go before five,” he urged in hushed tones, “or they’ll definitely catch you.”

“Once you’re in just pick up a used glass off the brick wall, wash it out, buy a few tokens and do your best to blend in”.

It sounded all too simple. The only sticking point was the used glass. I didn’t really feel like indirectly kissing a member of CAMRA, who, let’s face it, is likely to have mutton chops the size of Ireland and terrible dental hygiene.

That and the thought of finding bits of beard stuck to the inside of the glass made me a little cautious about the idea.

I decided to investigate the festival first, and make up my mind afterwards. On my way to the wharf – where it is held every year – I reassured myself that it wouldn’t be such a catastrophe if I was caught sneaking in. A little embarrassing, yes, but not an event of any cosmic importance.

As I neared the infamous wall – with spare glasses atop – a man came up to me with a knowing look and whispered, “You won’t have any luck in there”.

My face must have made the shape of a question mark because he lent towards me and sighed the word, “wristbands”.

Wristbands! Bloody wristbands, I thought to myself, as I trudged up the towpath to the nearest wristband-free pub.

Originally in my Wiltshire Blog

On the benefits of extending hospitality to friends from far away.

“If it were not for guests all houses would be graves,” wrote Kahlil Gabran. I believe ‘grave’ is an adequate description.

I have been into houses where it is evident I am the first guest in many years. The place often feels like the neglected wing of a museum: lifeless, sombre, and neat.

Throughout history and in most cultures, hospitality has been an important social function. In ancient Greece it was a sacred duty to accept passing strangers into your home. The same was true of the Middle Eastern cultures; a tradition which is said to continue to this day.

When Macbeth deliberates over killing King Duncan, he does so not only because he is Duncan’s subject but also because he is his host, “Who should against his murderer shut the door, / Not bear the knife myself.”

It is with this ancient tradition in mind that I welcomed two friends from Japan to my home in Wiltshire last weekend, and played the part of host as best I can.

Chieko and Shigeru are in a band called Eddy, and they have come to the UK to play live gigs in London and Scotland. I arranged their gigs in and around London and managed to get them three gigs; the remaining two are happening on 1 July in Guildford and 2 July in Brixton.

As a sign of thanks they gave me four cans of Japanese beer and a yukata. I drank the first beer during the England v. Germany game. I drank the remaining three immediately afterwards.

One of the great things about having guests from abroad is that they see all the things you are used to with fresh eyes.

Watching Chieko and Shigeru take photos of Devizes Marketplace made me think that rather than go on holiday to escape a place you are bored with, you should try inviting guests from another land.

They will be fascinated by all the things you take for granted, and their fascination may spread to you.

Chieko and Shigeru enjoyed the easygoing pace of the countryside and said they felt refreshed as we drove them to Great Bedwyn train station, passing the Pewsey white horse and Wilton Windmill on the way.

Returning to Devizes, I was surprised to meet a flock of sheep crossing the road. As I dug out my camera for a few pictures I thought that this probably happens every day in Wiltshire.

“But not to me”, my mind countered, as I took half a dozen photos of sheep.

If you would like to see Eddy live, they will be playing at The Row Barge in Guildford on the evening of Thursday 1 July, and at The Windmill in Brixton on the evening of Friday 2 July. For Edinburgh dates please enquire to t.f.mellors [at] gmail.com