LIKE a wildly gesticulating fat bloke at a rodeo spitting out pieces of pie and insisting that bull riding isn't as hard as it looks I have been given the chance to have a go. Just sitting on the snorting beast in the cage is daunting enough without them opening the gates and allowing it to trample me into the dust only to be jeered at by the baying crowd.

Life is indeed beautiful and the city of York is one of the world's great treasures. Often I will walk the streets of York staring up at the second story where the beauty is intact. Below are the modern shop fronts but raise your eyes and the history remains. It is a beauty that needs to be preserved by people of vision. Recently the buildings of High Ousegate were razed to the ground and while in this state the light flooded in and begged to be allowed to stay. A missed opportunity to create a plaza with seating and fountain. The chance has been lost for millennia.

Similarly the area around Clifford's Tower should be a green area of outstanding beauty instead of a decrepit car park. A city needs lungs but sad to say that if York was a person it would be someone extremely elderly with crippling emphysema. The car has been allowed to encroach for too long and it looms over large in York's narrow streets. There are streets where it may be inconvenient to ban traffic but surely Upper Walmgate is not one of them. Here we have the cart created before the horse for the area has turned itself, through natural evolution, into a popular eating and leisure area. It is presently crying out for a decision that will prevent two-ton chunks of metal depositing carbon monoxide fumes on the freshly baked turbot in white wine sauce.

It's good to see pictures of the Archbishop of York wearing a hoody, especially, as someone pointed out, it was next to a picture of a cute two year old who was also wearing a hoody and who was prevented from entering a store because of it. Has the world gone mad? Was it ever sane? The Arch Bishop has been a Godsend. I recall a few years ago taking my two young sons to a virtually empty matins in the Minster and being treated by one of the attendants like we were, well hoodies! The message was clear; sit still, be quiet and not a squeak, which made me wonder just who the church was actually for. The Minster is one of the wonders of the world and these days the Arch Bishop is standing at the door with open arms and a big welcoming grin for everyone.

A friend of mine returned to England last week looking bronzed after four months in Barbados. The culture shock has been traumatic. He can stand the whipping winds and dark mornings but not the prevailing negativity that began by a simple question to a steward on the flight. "What's the weather like in Britain?" He asked. "Fine today," answered the steward.. "but it will be bitter cold by Wednesday, with snow and ice on Thursday and storms at the weekend and the long term forecast is appalling." I'm surprised he bothered getting off the plane.

I was reminded of another British trait, the one of being blasé towards anyone who does us a good turn. Like the couple staying at their friends house for a few days who receive a cup of tea in their bedroom on the first morning and give profuse thanks. On the second morning they receive the tea again and once more they give thanks although this time they are not quite so gushing. On the third morning they are heard to be muttering, "Where the hell are they with that bloody tea."

There has been talk of York casinos. A recent Despatches' programme suggested there was a government cover up of research showing they could lead to an upsurge in problem gambling. Only one institution said it would not lead to problems. The same institution was sponsored by the biggest bookmakers in the country. This may or may not be taken into consideration when weighing up the pros and cons.

I visited the City Screen at the weekend to see Mel Gibson's remake of Accapulco. It was ok but I prefer the Elvis version.


Brian McCusker