What is normal, anyway?
by Charlotte Walters, Planner, and Paul Eden, Insight Director
A recent study found that Didcot is statistically ‘Britain’s most normal town’. But aside from the number crunching, what do the people of Didcot think about this accolade? And what does ‘being normal’ mean in 21st Century Britain anyway?
I have often asked myself: ‘am I normal?’. Not that I’m going to divulge the context under which the question arose. Evidently I am not alone: ‘how can I accept myself as who I am?’ was the 10th most Googled question of 2016. Perhaps there’s some comfort to be found in the fact that everyone else is as obsessed with their own normality as you are.
What if someone else were to call you normal? How would that make you feel? Immediately the word shifts from an introspective assurance to a statement of ordinariness, of being average or unremarkable. And suddenly it’s a little bit more uncomfortable.
But this is exactly what happened when Didcot appeared in the national press earlier this year when the Oxfordshire town was proclaimed to be the most ‘normal town in Britain’. Or more specifically a team of ASI Data Science researchers found that Didcot most closely resembled the statistical median across a range of demographic and societal measures. Some ridiculed the study. Others were outraged. Many dismissed it as just another label, an attempt to categorise a swathe of the country based on a handful of stats.
And ‘normally’, I’d tend to agree. We’re too quick with labels these days — millennials, anyone? But in this post-truth, post- (yep I’m gonna say it) Brexit world, with its quagmire of polarising headlines and diametrically opposing camps, I’ll admit that it came as a breath of fresh air that one place was a happy medium. A comfy, reassuring ‘normal’. The kind of reassuring like your nan making an apple crumble after every Sunday roast — even in the scorching summer. Even the mayor of Didcot declared the results ‘tremendous’. This normal place sounded tempting to me, so I got on a train straight outta Paddington and went to see for myself. I got out there to Didcot, Britain’s most normal town…
…and initially I found nothing there to contradict the study. I expected ordinary, ‘normal’ suburban scenes and I got them in the form of perfectly trimmed hedges, polished Audi TTs in manicured driveways and a Shoe Zone on the high street. In an aesthetic sense, there is nothing out-of-the-ordinary about the town. Even a local journalist admitted: ‘the report confirmed what we knew: there isn’t much here that differentiates from a hundred other towns’.
But then it’s the people that make a place, and through speaking to the people of Didcot I uncovered a very diverse set of responses and opinions about what it means to be ‘normal’ in modern Britain.
For some, normal is satisfying, like a mathematical equation. As a scientist I spoke to described: ‘to be normal in modern Britain has to be the result of a variety of facets, so I’m rather pleased that my town is a perfect example.’ Almost everyone I spoke to pointed to the town’s prime location and varied industries as reasons to live in Didcot. Not too far from London and Oxford but sheltered enough in its little pocket of countryside, the power station, science research facility, railway centre, military barracks and Cornerstone Arts Centre have all attracted a breadth of working professionals, arts administrators, musicians, academics and white-collar workers to the place. In fact, lifelong Didcot-ians were quite hard to locate. As a member of the Didcot Choral Society imaginatively described: ‘it’s a patchwork quilt of people from all over the world. You never think about where someone’s come from because they’re just that person you work with. They become part of the fabric of the place.’
This influx of people doesn’t seem to be decreasing: it’s impossible to be out of earshot or sight of building works in Didcot. Housing estates spill over into the countryside, complete with pristine playgrounds and identikit flowerbeds. The fact that Didcot was recently the first historic town to be awarded ‘Garden Town’ status, sets the pace for future development. There’s certainly a sense of excitement in town about the re-furb — particularly for the new shopping centre and school coming later in the year (despite whispers of concern that other infrastructure may not keep up with the demand). Telling, though, was a clear disparity between the old and the new. For relative newcomers who use the town as a convenient base but work elsewhere, the arrival of a Marks and Spencer is an exciting new development. For others who’ve lived in Didcot for longer, it’s a sign of the changing pace of normality — a pace at which they cannot keep up.
A stark example of this disparity is the existence of a food bank in Didcot. Set up following the economic crash of 2008 by a local voluntary team, manager Andrew tells me they’ve witnessed a usage increase year-on-year, particularly after the roll-out of Universal Credit. This is typical of trends seen nationwide: in the last year alone the number of people using foodbanks has risen by 7%. As Andrew relates: ‘it’s sad that this is the new norm for Britain — ultimately we as food banks don’t want to be here’. It is a sobering sign of the times, and a testament to a resolute community spirit across the UK, that after almost a decade foodbanks continue to be run by the voluntary sector.
This unwavering sense of community also emerged when I asked about the now-defunct power station. As an outsider, I expected shaking heads when the subject arose — long have the cooling towers been described as an eyesore by the press. Instead the overwhelming reaction was one of heartfelt attachment. One pub landlady nostalgically described camping all night with other residents to watch the demolition of one of the towers early the next morning. In a sea of normal-ness, the power station puts a stamp on Didcot in a way any other landmark could not. It’s a symbol of an historic industry, like a closed mine in a pit town. In 2016, the power station was the scene of a terrible accident where four men lost their lives. The sight of the towers serves as a memorial and a focal point for the community’s grief. The towers are undoubtedly the physical glue that brings this patchwork community together.
In my time in Didcot I met lots of interesting people. Some were more unusual characters: a Great British Bake-Off contestant bringing her culinary flair to the town, a troupe of belly dancers who laugh in the face of the ordinary with their zest for life, and the founders of the Thong Rangers — a group of middle-aged men who take part in charity marathons dressed only in thongs. This last group of men were truly humbling to meet. Starting with a single man running the streets in eye-catching thongs, this crew gathered a ground swell of volunteers to the extent that most people in Didcot claim some involvement — be it through donations, admin help, crowd supporters or donning a costume themselves. Their reputation in the area precedes them and, having raised over £250,000 over a period of fifteen years, are a wonderful example of a small group of people bringing a new norm to a place, as one passer-by remembered: ‘it was as though the extraordinary became ordinary overnight!’. There is a great deal of care and enthusiasm amongst community members for Didcot, seen at its best in the Cornerstone Arts Centre, the Choral Society and various other musical groups, and not least through people like the Thong Rangers.
Didcot’s community representatives at local and national level show no less enthusiasm and passion for the town. Steve Connel, former mayor and current town councillor, nearly burst with pride when describing the international media attention garnered by the study. To Ed Vaizey, MP for Didcot and Wantage, the study has put his constituency (and himself) on the map — giving him bragging rights in parliament to ‘speak for Britain’s majority’. He takes care to remain ‘as normal as possible, because people in your constituency rightly don’t care about the Westminster bubble’. For him, normality is essential to stay in touch and, given he was recently re-elected with a landslide majority, clearly he’s doing a good job. (We did notice him smoking a pipe outside, but we’ll allow him that one, shall we?)
Whether you’ve lived in Didcot all your life or you’ve just arrived, it’s clear that the town’s lack of pretensions and relaxed atmosphere make it an attractive place to live. It is a dormitory town, and it is fairly ‘normal’. But I learnt from the people of Didcot that normal isn’t necessarily something we should shy away from. Sometimes, normal is nice.
Particularly in terms of a place, normal is good because it’s a blank canvas — allowing you to be whoever you are, knowing that everyone around you is striving for the same thing in their own individual way.
One thing’s for certain — just don’t call it ordinary!
