Cars, Water Taxis, and the Soppy Council

Ah, the city council. Forever the beacon of brilliant ideas. This time, their grand plan to tackle congestion involves "water taxis".

The target, as always, is cars - those little empires of private luxury and environmental destruction. If you're feeling nostalgic, Gary Numan's 80s hit “Cars” might come to mind.

Numan, bless him, penned that tune after nearly becoming a pavement pancake, courtesy of a lunatic rogue driver. He dodged disaster by dutifully riding the pavement in his 1 Series. And from that near-miss, he realised cars are like our own tiny little kingdoms. Behind the wheel, we’re monarchs, lording over our metallic realms, free to unleash our inner tyrants.

There’s a kernel of truth there. Ever notice how mild-mannered folk turn into raging lunatics once they’re ensconced in a car? It’s like dogs barking at each other through a fence. Remove the barrier, and they’re all tail wags and bottom sniffs.

Similarly, the moment we’re separated by a few inches of metal and glass, all hell breaks loose. A minor misstep by another driver or pedestrian, and it’s full-blown road rage. Horns blare, fists shake, and expletives fly. But let’s be honest, people make mistakes. Maybe we could all stand to be a bit more forgiving.

Anyway, enough of that touchy-feely nonsense.

Enter the council’s latest masterstroke: water taxis. Yes, they’ve dreamt up a scheme to whisk York’s ever-growing populace up and down the River Ouse. To where, exactly? Nobody knows. They’re even yammering on about car-free days, reduced bus fares, and park-and-ride schemes, all in the name of easing congestion and making way for more pedestrians in the city centre.

But water taxis? Really?

On paper, it sounds all very eco-friendly and innovative. In practice though, it’s pure folly. Picture this: York’s river teeming with traffic, pollution levels soaring as diesel-chugging boats crisscross the water. A dystopian mess, if you ask me.

For starters, York isn’t exactly sprawling. You can stroll from one side of the city centre to the other in literally five minutes. Why queue for a water taxi when your legs can get you there quicker?

And let’s not forget the logistical nightmare. By the time you’ve queued for your little boat ride, you could’ve walked to your destination, completed your errand, and grabbed a coffee. In London, maybe this aquatic adventure would make sense. But in York? It’s laughable.

At the heart of this debacle is the eternal struggle against cars. Trying to curb our love affair with automobiles is like telling people they can’t shop for whatever they want anymore. Imagine the government handing out lists dictating what you’re allowed to eat and when. There’d be riots. And that’s what makes the future so exhilarating. We need these sorts of changes, but getting the public to accept them? Well, that’s where the fireworks begin.

So, here’s to the city council and their next round of crackpot schemes. May their water taxis float as successfully as their other harebrained ideas. And to the rest of us, buckle up. The ride’s going to be anything but smooth.

A Tale of Cheap Lager and Horse Manure

Ah, the races. Where chavs in Primark suits descend upon the normally serene Knavesmire, turning it into a chaotic carnival of drunken debauchery.

Imagine a plague of locusts, but instead of crops, they devour peaceful communities. I live in South Bank, a mere minute's walk from York’s illustrious racecourse, and let me tell you, it’s like living next to the world's largest chav convention.

You see, these racegoers are like bacteria, multiplying uncontrollably, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. They’re the kind who play FIFA and drink Budweiser, their girlfriends decorating their identikit two-bed new builds with "Live Laugh Love" signs. Why can’t they all just go to the casino and leave the rest of us in peace? Casinos have everything they love: flashing lights, loud noises, and sunbeds. The one in town does anyway.

And they’re not even locals. They swarm in from Newcastle or, even worse, Scarborough. Scarborough! Why would you ever leave to begin with? Stay put and leave York alone - we’re full. It's like they’ve come to York on some sort of pilgrimage, searching for spiritual enlightenment at the bottom of a pint glass.

And the joy of finding a £20 note on the ground after they’ve all stumbled home is gone, thanks to the rise of online banking and debit cards. Back in the day, you could at least count on a bit of loose change to make up for the inconvenience of their presence. Now, you’re lucky if you find a discarded plastic cup.

I’ve never even seen a horse race here. Sometimes I’m convinced there aren’t any horses at all, just a lot of drunken people hallucinating equine spectres. It’s like some bizarre mass delusion: gather enough drunkards in one place, and they start seeing things that aren’t there. A sort of alcohol-induced mirage, if you will.

Ah, but it’s good for the economy, they say. Is it, though? Rachael Maskell, our MP for York Central, would probably disagree. Reports of disrespectful behaviour have spurred the launch of the “Choose Respect, Not Regrets” campaign, part of the Purple Flag programme to foster a safer, more respectful city environment. York isn’t exactly a party city, but it sure attracts one.

Rachael Maskell rails against the excessive hen nights for instance, calling them a disgrace. In the end, I suppose it's a balancing act, embracing what York has to offer while maintaining some semblance of community decorum. Bloody hell, even I’m not sure I believe that. It sounds like a utopian dream.

In the end, I just wish the racegoers would disappear. That’s all. If they could just evaporate, like the morning mist over the River Ouse, life would be infinitely better. York would return to its tranquil, idyllic self, and we could all go back to enjoying our city without the invasion of the Primark-worshipping hordes.

The Vanishing Shop Problem

It seems the people of York are never satisfied. They complain about a lack of shops, yet when it comes to actually shopping, they'd rather head to the out-of-town retail parks.

Well, well, well. According to the sages of Facebook, York has apparently turned into a barren wasteland devoid of any shops. "What high street?" cries Linda Baker, undoubtedly peering through the wrong end of a kaleidoscope as she laments the absence of every shop she didn't bother to visit. Another voice in the void declares, "It’s rubbish there’s no shops in town anymore especially clothes shops." Ah yes, because York is now just one big, empty street with tumbleweeds and the occasional tourist wondering where all the shops went.

This news shocked me, to say the least. Because the last time I wandered through York, it was teeming with shops of every stripe. But no, according to Toby on Facebook, he avoids town unless he needs something from Barnitts the tool shop. "I can get everything else I need from the 3 massive out of town retail parks," he proclaims with a shrug emoji. Right, Toby. Because nothing says "I support local business" like driving to the edge of civilisation to buy your socks and spanners.

But let's dissect this for a moment. How is it York's problem that Toby and his ilk would rather stay home, avoiding everyone, and buying only tools? Is it really our city's fault that they don't have the vision or imagination to explore the numerous independent shops dotted all around? Not in the slightest. This is just another symptom of people’s tendency to complain about anything they think is trendy to whine about.

When it comes to York, these same tired arguments are parroted by the same middle-aged Facebook warriors, with no actual truth behind them. "We need less coffee shops and tourist shops and more shops for local people," says Nigel. I'm sorry, Nigel, but do local people not enjoy coffee shops? Are they reserved exclusively for Chinese tourists and hen parties, leaving baffled residents to sip their instant coffee at home?

And what exactly is a "local shop" for "local people"? It's like they want their very own 'League of Gentlemen' experience, a dark and dreary shack where only the initiated may enter. "This is a local shop for local people," the mad shop owner would decry, eyeing strangers with suspicion. "We'll have no trouble here!" Clearly, this is the sort of shopping experience our Facebook friends desire. God forbid they step into a modern, well-lit store with helpful staff and a wide range of products. No, they'd prefer their putrid little pits that exclude everyone who wasn't born on the back of a truck in 1926, no further than Malton.

Maybe it's me who's out of touch. Perhaps I've been swept away by the tide of modernity and no longer understand the real spirit of the people. But if we're going to complain, let's complain about things that actually matter, like the potholes and the state of public toilets.

York's shops are there, vibrant and varied, if only you'd take the time to notice. So, to the critics, I say this: put down your pitchforks, step away from the retail parks, and take a wander through your own high street. You might be surprised by what you find.