An Inspector Calls

As my planning appeal hearing was cancelled due to Covid-19, I agreed with the planning inspectorate that I’d be happy to proceed through written representations, as I couldn’t see the crisis ending anytime soon.

Pembs county council agreed, and more writing took place, the final comments as it were, having already had the final comments before the hearing. So I made my final comments, others made their final comments. The Council made their final comments. Only one and a half pages, mostly just referring to the retrospective nature of my application. If only they knew the bungalow envy I suffer everytime I drive through Efailwen and see the centrally heated homes all neatly lined up.

Anyhoo. After these final comments, I was told that I then had an opportunity to make final comments regarding the Councils’ final comments. So again, I made my final comments, mostly based around my bungalow envy., There have been so many final comments I’m running out of final comments, but the council always manage somehow to irritate me enough to make another final comment. So, I made my final comments.

Meanwhile, I was told the planning inspector would do a site visit, but as the council would not be present I was not to approach him. I didn’t move for a week.. I watched, I analysed every dog bark, I peeped, but the guy is a ninja, because I didn’t see him. However, I knew he’d been, because the process continued at the end of the week, thus demonstrated by the request for final comments on the final comments.

It’s been three days since the final comments deadline. I’ve been told it can take up to six weeks for a decision to be made. I’m also aware that the planning inspectorate have been really quick dealing with every milestone of my case, so that makes me feel that I could get the decision any minute. So here I am, in lockdown, alone, in the place I’m not allowed to be, waiting for the word to say I can either be here or I can continue to not be.

The weirdness of life right now is surpassing every other time of life that I thought was weird. I should be climbing the walls by now. But I seem to have reached this state of Zen. Either that or delirium. Either way, ironically, for the first time ever, no one is coming to get me, because they’re all on lockdown and working from home.

I’ve had a cough which didn’t progress to anything but which has meant I have to stay put. It feels, for the first time, like I’m allowed to be here. I’m not sure whether to enjoy the feeling, or to not get too into it, just in case I get an email in a minute saying my appeal was refused. This is the most surreal limbo you can ever imagine, and I can’t even go out for a bit to see a chum or the folks. How very ironic that is.

Half of me hopes that he takes ages to decide and leaves me be for a good few weeks with the illusion. The other half wants it over and done with, so I know whether or not I can relax or if I have to prepare for further battle.

On the plus side, the place is looking mega. I’ve planted extra veggies, instantly regretting it as I pot on a million cabbages, but I won’t be regretting it when civilisation collapses. There are many people taking this opportunity to grow victory gardens, and I love that. I love that the crisis has made people see what’s important. It certainly eliminates the bullshit. I usually wake up each day vaguely nervous that I’ve got to leave site and face the real world. At this moment, I can’t, so all the guilt and stress of that thought is instantly dispersed. Knowing that you can’t go anywhere is nice when you don’t particularly want to go anywhere. All I have is this twilight time where I can reflect and observe the blossom on the fruit trees, the leaves and catkins busting from the willows, the veggies growing an inch a day in the polytunnel that I’ve finally got the way I want. There’s new life everywhere, the bees are awake, the bird houses are filling up, the ground is drying and the air is full of singing birds, made louder by the lack of planes.

This feeling could last a day, or six weeks. If my appeal is successful it’ll last forever. So, I’ll just wait. And be happy for the present. Who knows what’s next?