Virtual hen parties

Towards the end of my long holiday recently, I visited the town centre of Corby, in the East Midlands, which until the late 1970s was a very important steel town. It has gone through various metamorphoses and regenerations in its long existence, and is currently going through yet another evolution. 

Corby has had a reputation for the kind of social ills associated with poor education, low incomes and high unemployment. However, passing through the outskirts of the town on previous visits to the East Midlands, I'd got the impression that although the closure of the steel plant in 1980 was a disaster for Corby, it had been overcome, busy industrial estates just off the A43 suggesting that the place was on its feet again. Anyway, I wanted to see a town I could contrast with affluent Stamford, not far away. There was also another motive. Corby was designated a 'New Town' in the early 1950s, and I wanted to see whether any of the architecture from that time still survived, and if so, to photograph it before it was pulled down and redeveloped. 

There was certainly ample evidence of new building. For instance, Corby railway station, my first stop, had been reopened with stylishly modern new buildings and facilities, and a frequent direct service to London St Pancras. This is it, complete with an artwork next to the large and well-filled station car park:

Pretty good. I wondered if the town centre had been revamped along the same lines. Leaving the car park there, I passed this big 'C' in a passage leading to the shops, with a 'welcome' notice beyond:

This augured well. Maybe the town centre had been beautified and greened, with a lively mix of pedestrian attractions? The following shots record however the scenes that dampened my enthusiasm. All was tidy, almost unnaturally so, but the shops were ordinary and the architecture was humdrum. Efforts had clearly been made to modernise the shopping precinct, using canopies and splashes of colour, but they hadn't made it exciting. The most interesting sight was the people, some in a hurry, but many meandering about without obvious purpose. It ought to have been much busier, too. It was lunchtime after all.

Perhaps a bit of height would help. I saw some steps upward. I took them. 

Ah, that was an improvement. At least I got a better impression of the town centre from up here - and I could see what was left of the 1950s 'New Town' construction.

But there were too many discount shops, Turkish barbers and nail bars. It suggested that the local population didn't have a lot of money to spend. But then many town centres were like this nowadays, and some city centres too. I was reminded, for instance, of Plymouth, a classic case of a city centre rebuilt to a fresh street plan after the war, once bright and inspiring but now looking tatty and drab.

I couldn't find any evidence of culture here. If there were a theatre or library or art gallery, I didn't find them. These were in fact now located inside a large new building called The Cube, set apart from the shopping centre. Here it is. It's imposing, square and stripy, but somehow still not a thing to set the blood racing.

Dodging into W H Smith, the only place selling books so far as I could see - I looked in vain for a Waterstones - simply reinforced the banal impression Corby was making on me. On the whole, shops only sell what customers want to buy. The cards and magazines on sale in W H Smith were as good an indicator of local taste as anything else.

And yet I'm convinced that most Corby people are all right. I was taking a shot when a local man walked into my picture from the left. He immediately apologised, saying that he didn't want to spoil my picture. I was struck by his warmth and cheerfulness. I assured him that he hadn't spoiled my shot, and thanked him for caring. We parted on the best of terms. If he is representative of Corby folk, then I'm not going to worry one bit about the town losing its way again.

But unfortunately there were people around clearly not like him. They shuffled by, aimless and defeated, and did not look in good health. Clearly they survived on benefits and had nothing much in their lives. What would be their future? What good would 'levelling up' do them?

There were other things that I found unsettling. I passed this shop, and at first wondered what it was selling, and who its customers might be:

It reminded me of a billboard I saw in Truro in 2020:

I'd gathered that the Truro shop wired you up for an immersive headset experience - whatever kind of competitive thrill you were looking for. I could see some point to that, exploring some make-believe, computer-generated world and using personal skills to thwart or overcome whatever surprises were launched at you. 

But the shop in Corby wasn't offering combat thrills. It was inviting customers to participate in an imaginary hen party. Really? I guessed it must be a hen party that went way beyond what could possibly happen in a real one. (For real-life comparison, I was drawing on a Rugby Club event I saw advertised in Blaenau Ffestiniog back in 2014, and occasional very loud night-time girly gatherings observed in the Brighton Lanes) An outrageous experience, then; excess on excess with no restraint; every lurid temptation indulged. But no hangover afterwards, and no next-morning guilt of any kind. 

And how might it be for a young man wanting to attend a virtual stag party? Again, he'd be able to go far beyond the limitations of the real thing. Every kind of bad and illegal behaviour would be permitted. And no sanctions, recriminations or retributions afterwards.

I suppose that the chance to misbehave in a virtual situation, without actual harm or comeback, must be very appealing to some. Very addictive too. And it didn't matter who you actually were in real life. Presumably there was no bar (in the hen night scenario) on a fat, middle-aged male enjoying an adventurous romp with sexy young mums out on the razzle. In the virtual world you can be anybody, and do anything. And it need not be the preserve of singletons with a sad life. A group of friends could experience this together. 

I suppose it's a much more exciting use of money than gambling, or boozing or saving for a rainy day. But I can't help feeling that, for those who need an escape from a grey and boring life, or from the bland concrete of Corby, the repeated comedown to their ordinary existence must get harder and harder to bear. Eventually they'd want to inhabit the virtual world all the time. And that can't be a good thing. 

Back at Fiona, I heard an argument going on not far away. A cluster of black youths, in school uniform to be sure, but looking like young men rather than teenage schoolkids. The tallest (made taller still by a strange, piled-up hair style) was having a go at a shorter kid, shouting the same staccato words at him over and over again in an accusing tone. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but it was probably about money or a girl, and it looked as if the confrontation might end badly, perhaps in a knife fight. Indeed, a host of local people had gathered to watch at a safe distance, some looking apprehensive, others less so, as if enjoying the diversion. One woman called out that the police were on their way. Whether or not that was true, I deemed it prudent to get out of the car park while I could. And certainly not attempt a sneaky souvenir slice-of-life shot with LXV. Nobody had so far minded my taking pictures. But I was sure those kids would. An incident to set against my friendly encounter with the local man not long before.