As I was walking through the park this morning, it occurred to me quite how much I despise English cities. Although I went to school in what was technically a London borough, and one of the worst at that, I lived for the majority of my childhood in a village high on the North Downs. It was a great place to grow up, really, and one that instilled in me a love of the countryside. Trees and grass and animals are fantastic, and the park on the way in is a little haven in the concrete jungle that is Sheffield. Except that it�s not quite right. I can still hear all the traffic in the background, and when I close my eyes and put on my mp3 player, the grass doesn�t feel right beneath my feet. I can�t put my finger on exactly why, but it all feels wrong. Perhaps some prehistoric sixth sense can feel the vibrations from the traffic, or perhaps it�s just that the turf I�m walking across is so overworked, and the grass an imported variety. Why import grass? The stuff we have here is bloody good stuff. Why else would we be so good at livestock?
And when you emerge from the park, it just gets worse. Here and there are valiant attempts at greenery, but all fall short of the mark. Yesterday, as I walked past a caf� that is having a patch of earth which skirts around its front �landscaped�, I saw that an acer had been planted. Acers are commonly known as Japanese maple, and really are fantastic looking trees. But not a native variety. Surely it would have been more productive to plant a tree that is proven to do well in our environment, than one that will need nurturing until it has grown strong enough to survive on its own, in ten years� time. I suppose I just don�t understand the point of a garden unless it�s as natural as it is possible to be. A garden should be a reflection of the countryside, constantly on the verge of being as wild as the environment it has replaced. But city gardens are, typically, anything but. I�m of the opinion that a city garden should be even closer to nature than its counterpart in the countryside, just because that sense of wilderness is so far detached when you live in the city.
Now, I�m aware that all this is slightly flawed as a concept. In theory (and in fact) most of the English countryside is an import if you delve far enough into the past. It would be reasonable to argue that the introduction of foreign planting has led to the countryside we have today. Reasonable, but rather pointless, I think. It�s ok to deal in ideals all the time, if all you ever wants is dreams. But this is a reality, and the line has to be drawn somewhere. So, what counts as native? I would say anything that was here before 1000AD is a native species. There�s quite a good article here discussing native and non-native trees, and the list of true natives really comes up quite short. I wouldn�t be that harsh, but I like the way it�s been handled.
So I suppose I should sum this up and get to the point. Well, there isn�t much of a point, is there? It�s not as though we really have the opportunity to change anything, is it? I would love to see every possible square inch of London�s rooftops covered in the green stuff, with more spilling out of the sides of the buildings all the way down, but it�ll never happen, and I can sort of accept that. I love the imagery behind this artwork , and I suppose that one day I hope the world�s cities resemble it, but it�s fantasy. It�s from a game called Final Fantasy XII. So not reality, then, nor is it ever likely to be. I just wish our cities were a little more like that, and a little less like, well, cities.
That�s quite enough from me right now, I�m getting incoherent.

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