Change is part of stability

This blog title sounds incongruous, but we’re used to the mantra ‘death is part of life’; ‘change is part of stability’ is simply a non-morbid variation.

John Lewis losses
One thing that got me thinking about this was the current predicament of John Lewis and the possibility, floated by Chairman Dame Sharon White, that a necessary cash injection might be needed from outside investors, which is at odds with the long-standing model of employee-only ownership. The company lost £234m last year and has to do something, but those who ought to know better don’t even want to consider Dame Sharon's obvious and sensible idea.

One former JL managing director, Birmingham Mayor Andy Street, told the BBC, "It would be a tragedy if that occurred because I think John Lewis goes a bit beyond a shop. You can buy the same television in other places in truth, but John Lewis was about a way of doing business, showing the market there was a better way almost and that's potentially under threat."

The BBC also reported that Mary Portas – I suppose you’d call her a shopping expert, but she’s got nothing on me – wrote an open letter to the JL partnership this week, urging them to reconsider moves to dilute its current ownership model, describing JL as part of "our collective cultural identity".

Quite frankly, I’m stupefied by the attitude of Street and Portas. Dame Sharon has to do something to stabilise the business, and maybe changing the ownership model would do the trick; not changing the model might mean the end of JL, which would be inherently more unstable. All solutions have to be on the table at this stage and their merits and failings assessed rationally, not emotionally or myopically.

Plymouth tree-felling
The next example of change/stability is about the proposed changes to an area of Plymouth where 129 trees are to be felled to make way for redevelopment. You can imagine that the intended felling at the start of bird-nesting season in the middle of a biodiversity crisis got me as mad as anyone. It was such a crass decision. In fact it was so crass, it triggered two of my mantras: 1) If it sounds too crass to be true it probably is, and 2) If Chris Packham objects to it, it must be a good idea.

So I read what the local council had to say for itself. Turns out that Plymouth’s Armada Way is brutal, including most of the buildings, excessive paving and, to use a trendy planning term, place-making (or rather, lack of). Improvement plans include installing a sustainable drainage system (SuDS), but this isn’t compatible with the current tree / tree root locations, which is why their removal has been deemed necessary and they will be replaced with 169 semi-mature trees. The SuDS is needed because the existing combined sewer system can’t cope with additional demand from new builds and increased storm water run-off. The new SuDS will direct surface water into a new drainage system, allowing capacity for city centre growth, especially residential developments. Rainfall will be stored in underground tanks and rain gardens, and the water reused to irrigate green spaces and trees, leading to less water in the combined sewer discharging into Plymouth Sound. Planted reed beds will naturally clean and filter water, as well as provide habitat for wildlife.

The proposals have the support of Historic England, Homes England, the Twentieth Century Society, Devon Gardens Trust, the Environment Agency, Sustrans, Plymouth Area Disability Action Network and others. The Woodland Trust advised that translocation of the existing trees wouldn’t work. The new trees, with the SuDs, will be more resilient to climate change.

So yes, while felling the trees is awful, not doing anything is also awful. No scheme is perfect and compromises have to be made; the greater number of new trees and the SuDS put huge ticks in many boxes. I’m not happy that the felling is taking place now; however, the original timescale was delayed to allow a further round of consultation, which resulted in more trees being saved. Had the council delayed the scheme again to accommodate nesting birds, then the works' timetable would have been in shreds, contractors would have lost money and so would the taxpayer. 

One thing the council might do to partially mitigate the short-term biodiversity loss is to install lots of bird boxes, bird feeders and bug houses. That’s not such a big ask, is it?

In summary, in the context of this blog, changing Armada Way will stabilise the economic and social viability of the area, the creaking drainage system, long-term tree viability, health of Plymouth Sound and medium-term biodiversity. In other words, while there will be some short-term environmental losses by felling the trees, there will be an eventual environmental net gain to add to the economic and social benefits. 

Plymouth Council’s assistant chief exec, while trying to defend the project said, “Change is difficult.” I think he was being kind. What he meant was, ‘Ignorance is infuriating.’

Life, the Universe and Everything
Science changes or, more accurately, scientific discoveries change what we know about the world and how we should proceed. One discovery was that human-produced greenhouse gases were exacerbating climate change, so we knew we had to change in order to stabilise the planet. Science made the link between cigarettes and lung cancer, which meant we had to change this destructive habit to stabilise our health. Science has also made the link between alcohol and liver disease … I have no idea where I’m going with this so I’m cutting my losses and changing tack.

Our 'happy places' change depending on our needs at any one time; they help to stabilise our emotions as and when. A 'happy place' is actually just the thought of a real or an imagined place that makes us feel happy and calm when we need it.

One of my happy places is our grandfather’s shop in Whitehaven in the 1960s and 70s, when I’d sneak in after closing time with Dad to play the organs. I often ‘go there’ when I’m missing Dad.

I change my happy place to a pub (no surprise there) in the Scottish Highlands when I need reminding that no one can do me down, because I’m indestructible. I’d just ‘escaped’ (there being only one route down, and it involves a bit of guesswork) from Aonach Eagach, the narrowest ridge on the British mainland with a 3,000-foot drop. Everyone else in the pub was simply quenching their thirst. I was secretly thanking the Almighty for allowing me to survive the experience, having nearly slipped off the ridge twice, and taken a nosedive while lolloping on the way down. But it was the ascent where I really thought more than once, ‘this is it.’ A grade 2-ish scramble, the overnight rain had made the rocks slippery. Our guide had taken us up quite a bit, and we had a short descent onto the ridge itself. I got halfway down and then froze. I couldn’t see where to go next. 

Every possible toe or handhold was either not large or secure enough or too big a stretch, so I yelled to the guide who was waiting (im)patiently below, “Bill, what do I do now?”

“You need to bring your right toe where your left toe is, then get your left foot onto that teeny tiny ledge just below the sapling. Then you can see where the obvious handholds are.”

“OK … Um, how do I get my right toe to where my left toe is if my left toe’s already there?”

“You figure that bit out,” he said nonchalantly, removing his cigarette and popping a piece of fudge into his mouth.

I can’t remember exactly how I did it; I think it involved a little hop, a little stretch and a little prayer, as well as a toilet break not long afterwards.

If that’s a happy place, then I’m obviously beyond being stabilised.