Raindrops: Sooner or later one will land somewhere interesting

I grasp the bar of my bike with my elbow and settle into the rain seat. After many trial and errors I have managed to find a place to sit down during the one and a half hour journey from Canterbury back to London, whilst still keeping my bike close at hand (in case I drop off) and keeping it out of the way of the doors. It took me a while, but I got lucky in the end.
My eyes droop when someone grasps my attention…

“Can I ask mate… is that a road bike… you see I don’t get it. I have had many bike, I love ‘em, but mountain bikes and BMXs. So… your wheels are bigger…right?”. He stand up as he speaks and sits down in the seat in front of me.

“Er…yeah. They are thinner as well, less contact with the road. Less grip, more speed.” I cautiously say. I love my bike and would hate this to preclude them attempting to remove it from my possession. They nod, lifting their baseball cap of the top of their head showing spots and greasy hair, then replacing it, a reflexive gesture. He fidgets and seems a little uncertain how to respond, they kneel on the chair placing their hands on the back of the seat in front. Two things occur to me at that point: 1, they smell; 2, that it is in fact a woman, or at least a girl of around 16 or 17. Her baggy American style hoodie and ‘pants’ have hidden all sign of shape.

“Yeah…ok… so they are faster, but what about going on mud and downhill”. She constantly moves from knee to knee her hands touching her cap again, or sweeping limp hair from her face.

“Yeah… not so good at that. But I mostly ride on the roads so it’s ok.” I have given up all pretence at sleep. Yeah of commuting at all hours in London have taught me how to spot those people who need to talk, and talk she did.

“I don’t have a bike anymore, I did, but I sold it. Can’t remember what for. I’m just coming back from this team day thing that the councillor said I should go on. It’s all about confidence and that. There was this guy there, he couldn’t even talk and I told him to ‘Get off his ass and join in’. I mean, if I can do it, then he can right. You see my confidence is not that great, you know…. Where are you getting off?” It is like she is already judging the length of her story next to the train ride and wants to speed things along so she can fit it in.

“er… London.” Vague, but specific enough I hope.

“Yeah, right, I get off at Dartford, and we are passing the place where it happened. You can see it from the train. You see I saw a man get shot. Seriously… “ The pause is calculated effect, she wants me to react.

“Wow… what happened.” I admit, I am engaged. I want to know now who this person is and what happened.

“I was just there you know, I was just there on the high street and he was just there and this guy… he came out of the betting place and this other guy got out of a car and he kind of punched him… with a gun. I don’t remember the sound, but it must have gone off, there was so much blood. I remember the guy just shouted at him then got in the car and was gone. Everyone was just standing round like they was in shock or something, but I ran towards him and held him. I shouted for someone to call an ambulance. There was so much blood…” Still fidgeting, but more in the moment now, she takes her cap completely off and looks at it reassuringly, before returning it to her head.

“THERE” she stands up pointing out of the window and down into the street that the train crosses over. “That is where it happened, just there”. By the time I look I see shop fronts flash by before it’s is the train sidings again, all trees and discarded rubbish. She sits back down and fidgets a little.

“I had to go to court… I had to say what I had seen. They say that I am traumatised, suffering shock of the moment which is funny ‘cause I was the only one who did something – Ya’ know. I didn’t really think about it much later when I got my clothes back from the police. They still had blood on.” I’m shocked at that.

“What! They sent them back to you with blood on!?” It seems callous, thoughtless.

“Yeah… it was not until then that I cried. You know… properly balled, like when yer a kid. Thing is, I dunno. I not sure about God or nuthin’ but it was like it had to be me, you know. Like somehow I was there just to be with him, in that moment.” I nod and smile. I don’t know what to say – his isn’t about me anyway.

“It’s just… well… it could have happened to anyone. But it didn’t it happened to me. Why me?!” She keeps talking but my mind is racing, she mentions the course she is on and school, not wanting to live with her crazy mum and the problems she has with anger. I’m like a sponge now, trying to hold the moment all in. It is the perfect moment of research, like a pure interview without direction or impetuous from myself. I try and record the moment somehow, physically emulating my digital recorder in my bag…silent yet blinking.

“Anyway mate… this is my stop. Nice meeting you…”

“Yeah… safe journey.” I stare.

“Nice bike mate”.

“Thanks.” And she is gone. Those words replay in my head: ‘…it could have happened to anyone. But it didn’t it happened to me.’ All I can think of is that it did happen to anyone, and that anyone was her.

Inverted Pyramid Scam

This scam works in the same vein as the story above – for the single person it feels special, real, but seen in the context of the many it is pure luck. It is often reported as predicting the outcome of horse races, but has also been the focus of an ‘Alfred Hitchcock Presents’ feature named the Mail Order Prophet[1].

The process is simple, you choose some events in the future, horse races, political elections, lottery numbers etc. and you write a number of letters to cover all eventualities in the first event. For ease, let us assume there at five events, each with a 50/50 chance. The scam works by you writing a number of letters predicting the future – half with the one outcome, half with the other. The letter will state that you can predict the future and can prove it a number of times. Half the letters will be right and half will be wrong. On the next event you write to the half that received the ‘right’ letter and predict the next event; although half of your letters will be right and half will be wrong.  You repeat this as many times as necessarily until you have a small number of people who are convinced by your prowess at predicting the future. You would then ask them if they want to benefit on this and get them to send you money to gamble on your next prediction, one you do not even have to make.

This trick works because for the individual you have proof that accurate predictions have been made. Your understanding of the process is linear, in that it tracks only your ‘straight line’ path through your own personal history. It has no understand of the entire process but nonetheless it feels special, real.

This is the same process that has occurred at the market, many times people refer to the ‘core’ people or the ‘steadfast’ the ‘stalwarts’ of the market and give them something special, some important role in the construction of the market. In reality the market is just as much created through the loss of many individuals as it is through the mainstay of the select few. 

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[1] http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0508320/combined

The use of Sound Recordings in Social Science

What is the use of Sound in Social Science?

Can it provide access to alternative data sources? And how should these be analyised?

Or are they purely, rather abstracted, contextualisations? There to provide a 'feeling' of the place to illustrate something more, but without being able to directly signify it??

Below is a 9 minute recording of a walk through part of my research site: East Street Market in Southwark, South London. Its a lovely thing for me to listen to. It is evocative of so much; diversity, sociality, the space and place of the area, the history and of course, my own small role in it. But what does it do for the person removed? Does it provide an image? Is it a strong message of the place?

Ultimately I want to know if is sound recording works... as a piece of data itself.

Thoughts?

(Note: Enjoy my stupid voice at the beginning forgetting where the market comes out!)

East Street Market by Dr Ed101

The importance of field notes....

I have had it drilled into me that field notes should always be recorded as soon as possible after the event. In a move to test this theory, I have left it a couple of weeks since my second step into the field, to record the details here.

Of course that is a complete lie. I have just been busy and just a little slack.

The day before the interview I went to the location where I would meet my first contact in the area, and someone who will hopefully provide a road into the community. Hopefully she will turn out to be my gatekeeper, or one of them, for most of my fieldwork. I have come a day early so I don't get lost, so I am no late when it comes to the day. But I have also come to the area because it scares the pants of me. The Aylesbury Estate is infamous in South London for being a centre of low income housing and high crime. Arriving at the South end of this large estate find myself nervous and watchful; 'white middle class fear' I attack myself and force myself to walk on. But the concert slabs of buildings with the fenced of ground floor car parks aand net curtained windows feel oppressive and make my hand sweat. I walk as deep as I dare into the area before turning around and returning home...

I had made contact with a member of a community organisation based in the area called Creation. They are a non-funded group aiming to make known the requests, feelings and needs of the local residents and tennents in the area. Sue (not her real name) has lived in the area almost 20 years, and she loves it.

By the end of the hour long interview, or general conversation with slight direction from me, she asks me where I am heading, and we plan together to walk through the estate, North, to the otherside. As we do she introduces me to the area a little and finally we get onto the subject of crime. She makes no small thing about telling me how bored she gets hearing people talk about the estate in such a bad light. She has never had any problems, and it has gotten better everyyear. Although some of what she says hides a little more of the truth, I am still left feeling silly and pathetic. But, after all, this is what this project is about... how does my understanding of this estate change from my image of it now, to the end of my research. How will this 'place' effect me and how has it affected others.

It feels like a long road... and the first steps, like any good journey, are a little scary.

The narrative begins...

I have chosen to blog my fieldwork diary. Ultimately this is a decision that feels right for me. I am not comfortable writing by hand, and have never really been. I also find the flexibility of test, even just the simple cut and paste, to be a constant creative tool for me. The blog is another medium, and its another tool, so, like the written word, it has function and it has form and as such I often feel free to express in way that the written, in he form that feels right.

I have taken my first step into work on my PhD. Ultimately it many never form a huge part of the results, or conclusions, but discussions I have with myself, with Caroline, with my colleagues will be the ones concerning method, and the method started today. Today I undertook my first piece of oral history.

I am currently taking a Masters in Social Research Methods at the School of Social Policy, Sociology, and Social Research (SSPSSR) at the University of Kent, Canterbury. Its funny saying that as I know how ridiculous that sounds and also because everyone who is ever likely to read this will already know. As part of the methods training, paid for you by one of the last 1+3 funding awards this country is ever so willy nilly hand out to the likes of me. If I had not made funding this year, I would have had to change my dreams. This has never been spoken, but Caroline and I know that we would need to. That said, they are now teaching me something that I never had time for as an undergrad. They are teaching me the methods of research... I thought that was what you did when you opened a book, or drank a pint with a friend!

So today, armed with a GPS phone accurate to 2700 meters (thank god it was that good) a shaky email giving me directions to a farm from the wrong direction, and assuming I was in a car rather than walking the 3.7miles from Berkhampsted Train station, and a name 'Ray Cooper'. Oh year... and it was raining. I got as close as I could to the farm without moving away from the nearest pub, and I stopped for a swift one. I honestly thought it would help. A sandwich and and a mint later I continued the last 1.9miles. I arrived, perfectly on time, and only damp enough not to illicit remark. We smiled and shook hands, he seemed instantly at ease in his own workshop. People obviously came and chatted alot, and it was good. I selected a tall seat for me, as if I was about to sit down and strum a guitar that he had just made. Ray Cooper was a Luthrian. He makes bespoke guitars for the those who can afford it. He is a drummer, a guitar player, he is "Ray the Guitar Maker". He lives in Potten End North East of Berkhampsted, and as we sit down and settle, I explain what this is for, and about the recorder. I place it casually on the floor and I ask "So tell when did you first hear about Potten End".

What then opened up was a delightful development of what Ray though of Potten End, Rays life surrounding the little village and how it has book marked his life through his 62 years. I spent the entire time stealing glances and trying to keep abreast of the multiple levels of information that I was trying to keep an eye on. It had only to last 1 hour. This is not a suggestion, it is just that I needed to leave and pick up Chas. Was this borrowed recorder working, a red flashing light told me that. Have I made suitable notes, have I got the issues I want to bring up again. More onto of this, 'What has he just said? What did I just say? Was that interesting? Are we off the topic? Did I miss something there? Did I just say that? Why did I just say that? What did he just say?". It was hard but execrating work. And then I walked the 3.7miles back to the station, listening to the tape again, smiling.

I did things wrong, I missed moments and talked over him 3 or 4 times. But I was on a tight control and he would never has stopped. I took it that there were time when he was more open, almost needing a new topic as he was getting board with the last one. But he would not have stopped, just needed to know that this is what I wanted. He talked alot, and that made things very easy. But it is in itself not necessarily useful or of higher quality. But there were other times when all I did was smile and nod and he continued.

I really enjoyed today. I am floating on the waves of it, the thought of it. The road that I have started on.