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| Version 2 | Version 3 |
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| The joys of a repair cafe: Mad Max with a KitKat and a nice cup of tea | The joys of a repair cafe: Mad Max with a KitKat and a nice cup of tea |
| (1 day later) | |
| 12. Llandrindod Repair Cafe, Llandrindod Wells, Wales | 12. Llandrindod Repair Cafe, Llandrindod Wells, Wales |
| What is a repair cafe? It’s exactly what it says on the tin; it’s a place where you can go, with your broken items, to consult people more knowledgeable than you about how to fix them. Oh, and have a cup of tea and a cake while doing so. The world’s first repair cafe appeared in Amsterdam in 2009, set up by Martine Postma. Now, there are around 400, from Australia to the US, with more being registered each day. At present, Wales hosts two, one in Newtown and the other – which I am attending – in Llandrindod Wells, a Victorian spa town in the Radnorshire hills where folk would go to take the chalybeate waters, believed to be curative (and which taste like blood licked off a rusty hoe). Once a temperance town, it is poorly equipped with hostelries, but the hotels are grand (in one of which the Welsh FA meets annually to discuss how badly the qualifying campaign is going), the architecture impressive, and Rock Park, where Rupert Bear used to play (his creator, Mary Tourtel, lived in the town for some years), is a magical grade 2-listed squirrel-busy and salmon-rivered dingly dell where you can get contentedly lost and want never to be found again. | What is a repair cafe? It’s exactly what it says on the tin; it’s a place where you can go, with your broken items, to consult people more knowledgeable than you about how to fix them. Oh, and have a cup of tea and a cake while doing so. The world’s first repair cafe appeared in Amsterdam in 2009, set up by Martine Postma. Now, there are around 400, from Australia to the US, with more being registered each day. At present, Wales hosts two, one in Newtown and the other – which I am attending – in Llandrindod Wells, a Victorian spa town in the Radnorshire hills where folk would go to take the chalybeate waters, believed to be curative (and which taste like blood licked off a rusty hoe). Once a temperance town, it is poorly equipped with hostelries, but the hotels are grand (in one of which the Welsh FA meets annually to discuss how badly the qualifying campaign is going), the architecture impressive, and Rock Park, where Rupert Bear used to play (his creator, Mary Tourtel, lived in the town for some years), is a magical grade 2-listed squirrel-busy and salmon-rivered dingly dell where you can get contentedly lost and want never to be found again. |
| Llandrod’s (as the locals abbreviate it) repair cafe takes place under the Rock Park pavilion canopy, all blue paint and frosted glass, mosaic floors and a horseshoe bar of marble. Late swallows zip through. Around it stand gingkos, sweet chestnuts, sequoias. Pierrot shows and balls were once held here. When I arrive, there are people up ladders, stringing wires, there are lathes, lamps, workbenches, and signs above them that read: Electricals & computers/woodwork and general/textiles & jewellery/bikes. Centrepiece is a small library table of instruction manuals and guides. A hanging banner reads: Throw it away? No way! Just visible, through a gap in the static thrash of exotic trees, is the playing field on which Roman soldiers would test their weapons. It’s a strange and intriguing place, right enough. | Llandrod’s (as the locals abbreviate it) repair cafe takes place under the Rock Park pavilion canopy, all blue paint and frosted glass, mosaic floors and a horseshoe bar of marble. Late swallows zip through. Around it stand gingkos, sweet chestnuts, sequoias. Pierrot shows and balls were once held here. When I arrive, there are people up ladders, stringing wires, there are lathes, lamps, workbenches, and signs above them that read: Electricals & computers/woodwork and general/textiles & jewellery/bikes. Centrepiece is a small library table of instruction manuals and guides. A hanging banner reads: Throw it away? No way! Just visible, through a gap in the static thrash of exotic trees, is the playing field on which Roman soldiers would test their weapons. It’s a strange and intriguing place, right enough. |
| I talk to Joe Botting and Nick Talbott, organisers (and Joe is also a geologist, whose fossil display in the town’s museum is fascinating) and Hilary McAuley, who advises with woodwork and is also chairperson of the Friends of Rock Park. They clue me in on the repair cafe’s ethos, how it is both galvanised and propelled by austere economics and a response to ecological concerns; white goods and the like, and their poisons, need to be recycled, cannibalised, maintained in working order for as long as possible. The terms throwaway culture, or disposable culture, belie the longevity of the discarded item’s capacity to pollute and damage. | I talk to Joe Botting and Nick Talbott, organisers (and Joe is also a geologist, whose fossil display in the town’s museum is fascinating) and Hilary McAuley, who advises with woodwork and is also chairperson of the Friends of Rock Park. They clue me in on the repair cafe’s ethos, how it is both galvanised and propelled by austere economics and a response to ecological concerns; white goods and the like, and their poisons, need to be recycled, cannibalised, maintained in working order for as long as possible. The terms throwaway culture, or disposable culture, belie the longevity of the discarded item’s capacity to pollute and damage. |
| Added to this is the desire to keep old skills alive, and pass them down, and to create new ones; the wireless speaker which I take along, for instance, would have been unthinkably ensorcelled to any frock-coated and top-hatted whiskered gent wincing at a beaker of sulphur water. And Di Greaves, as co-secretary for the Transition Group, sibling to the repair café, places the philosophy in the wider context; the Welsh towns of Rhayader, Presteigne, Montgomery and Newtown are preparing for a society post-carbon and fossil fuel. To quote the manifesto: “We are committed to positive local community action in response to the global challenges of economic crisis, climate change, and resource depletion … We see this transition as an enjoyable journey … We are non-political and non-confrontational.” A world after peak oil, Greaves says, “is on its way, and the politicians will do nothing.” This is the apocalypse with a homely smile and a slice of Battenburg. It’s Mad Max with a KitKat and a nice cup of tea. The well waters contain lithia. The mayor, Elaine Worgan, sadly without her regalia, and Jan Swindale the town crier, resplendent in hers (and which, she proudly tells me, she made herself), turn up to open the proceedings; the bell is rung, the people – a score in number, at first, but many drift in and out throughout the day – are gathered, the announcement is made: ‘Oyez! Oyez! Throw it away? No way!’ Instantly there’s industry, busy-ness; there is grinding and gossip, there are torrents of sparks. I take my speaker over to Jake Rothman, the electronics guy, and witness the birth of a new skill, namely that of discovering how to get into a sealed electronic box. | Added to this is the desire to keep old skills alive, and pass them down, and to create new ones; the wireless speaker which I take along, for instance, would have been unthinkably ensorcelled to any frock-coated and top-hatted whiskered gent wincing at a beaker of sulphur water. And Di Greaves, as co-secretary for the Transition Group, sibling to the repair café, places the philosophy in the wider context; the Welsh towns of Rhayader, Presteigne, Montgomery and Newtown are preparing for a society post-carbon and fossil fuel. To quote the manifesto: “We are committed to positive local community action in response to the global challenges of economic crisis, climate change, and resource depletion … We see this transition as an enjoyable journey … We are non-political and non-confrontational.” A world after peak oil, Greaves says, “is on its way, and the politicians will do nothing.” This is the apocalypse with a homely smile and a slice of Battenburg. It’s Mad Max with a KitKat and a nice cup of tea. The well waters contain lithia. The mayor, Elaine Worgan, sadly without her regalia, and Jan Swindale the town crier, resplendent in hers (and which, she proudly tells me, she made herself), turn up to open the proceedings; the bell is rung, the people – a score in number, at first, but many drift in and out throughout the day – are gathered, the announcement is made: ‘Oyez! Oyez! Throw it away? No way!’ Instantly there’s industry, busy-ness; there is grinding and gossip, there are torrents of sparks. I take my speaker over to Jake Rothman, the electronics guy, and witness the birth of a new skill, namely that of discovering how to get into a sealed electronic box. |
| It’s a puzzle and a challenge which clearly delights Rothman. The original makers hide the screws, he explains, to deter DIY, which leads to increased profits for the manufacturers and greater expense for the consumer and, generally, needless waste. I’m told about RoHS - the restriction of hazardous substances, which demanded that lead be replaced with tin, which is less toxic but a lot more perishable; there’s been an expeditious increase in discards. A greater emphasis on repair, of course, is one solution to this. Rothman finds the hidden screws and gets into the box but he can’t find anything wrong; I wonder about a built-in suicide device. “These are not designed to be fixed,” says Rothman, but he’s tenacious as a terrier, he identifies the problem and the solution (embarrassingly, after all that, it turns out that the plug has gone, so all it needed was batteries and a replacement lead. Ridiculous. | It’s a puzzle and a challenge which clearly delights Rothman. The original makers hide the screws, he explains, to deter DIY, which leads to increased profits for the manufacturers and greater expense for the consumer and, generally, needless waste. I’m told about RoHS - the restriction of hazardous substances, which demanded that lead be replaced with tin, which is less toxic but a lot more perishable; there’s been an expeditious increase in discards. A greater emphasis on repair, of course, is one solution to this. Rothman finds the hidden screws and gets into the box but he can’t find anything wrong; I wonder about a built-in suicide device. “These are not designed to be fixed,” says Rothman, but he’s tenacious as a terrier, he identifies the problem and the solution (embarrassingly, after all that, it turns out that the plug has gone, so all it needed was batteries and a replacement lead. Ridiculous. |
| The problem is that if the piece of machinery is as baffling as a wireless speaker – I mean, how on earth do they work? – then I assume that the fault will be baffling too) and a few hours later I’m home, Bluetoothing music across the house, the iPad and the wine at my knee, happy. As happy as the giant salmon seemed to be when it launched itself out of the Ithon when I went for a stroll through the Rock Park woods. It’s a tremendous idea, the repair cafe. And I loved, in Llandrod, the air of amiable assistance, the spirited warmth of communal endeavour; this sense is strengthened when Jake tells me that his grandfather was Benny Rothman, who led the great trespass across Kinder Scout. Credentials to admire. The well waters here were never going to mend the broken body, but a non-spinning washing machine, a tickless clock, an unchained necklace, a buckled bicycle, a silent speaker, or a wheezing planet … well, they’re a different matter entirely. | The problem is that if the piece of machinery is as baffling as a wireless speaker – I mean, how on earth do they work? – then I assume that the fault will be baffling too) and a few hours later I’m home, Bluetoothing music across the house, the iPad and the wine at my knee, happy. As happy as the giant salmon seemed to be when it launched itself out of the Ithon when I went for a stroll through the Rock Park woods. It’s a tremendous idea, the repair cafe. And I loved, in Llandrod, the air of amiable assistance, the spirited warmth of communal endeavour; this sense is strengthened when Jake tells me that his grandfather was Benny Rothman, who led the great trespass across Kinder Scout. Credentials to admire. The well waters here were never going to mend the broken body, but a non-spinning washing machine, a tickless clock, an unchained necklace, a buckled bicycle, a silent speaker, or a wheezing planet … well, they’re a different matter entirely. |
| The projects in this series: | |
| 1. The community supported farm | 1. The community supported farm |
| 2. The bike repair co-operative | 2. The bike repair co-operative |
| 3. The community garden centre | 3. The community garden centre |
| 4. The community forest | 4. The community forest |
| 5. The meat-rearing collective | 5. The meat-rearing collective |
| 6. The owl conservation group | 6. The owl conservation group |
| 7. The neighbourhood community scheme | 7. The neighbourhood community scheme |
| 8. The local beer-growing group | 8. The local beer-growing group |
| 9. The Solar Schools project | 9. The Solar Schools project |
| 10. The clothes swap project | 10. The clothes swap project |
| 11. The beekeeping group | 11. The beekeeping group |
| 12. The repair cafe | |
| 13. The ecotherapy garden | |
| 14. The community allotment | |
| 15. The nature reserve | |
| 16. The school growing project | |
| 17. The traffic reduction project | |
| This article is part of the Live Better Community Project month. In September, we are showcasing 17 community projects from around the UK. We are asking you to vote for your favourite project. The project with the most votes will be awarded £1,000 of funding, and two runners-up will each receive funding of £500. One voter chosen at random will receive £150 worth of gift vouchers for Nigel’s Eco Store. Terms and conditions here. | This article is part of the Live Better Community Project month. In September, we are showcasing 17 community projects from around the UK. We are asking you to vote for your favourite project. The project with the most votes will be awarded £1,000 of funding, and two runners-up will each receive funding of £500. One voter chosen at random will receive £150 worth of gift vouchers for Nigel’s Eco Store. Terms and conditions here. |
| With thanks to: 10:10; FOE; Project Dirt; Neighbourly; UK Community Foundations; Groundwork; Business in the Community; Federation of City Farms and Community Gardens; the Prince’s Trust; Garden Organic; the Royal Horticultural Society; the RSPB; Keep Wales Tidy; The Wildlife Trusts; and Mind. | With thanks to: 10:10; FOE; Project Dirt; Neighbourly; UK Community Foundations; Groundwork; Business in the Community; Federation of City Farms and Community Gardens; the Prince’s Trust; Garden Organic; the Royal Horticultural Society; the RSPB; Keep Wales Tidy; The Wildlife Trusts; and Mind. |
| Interested in finding out more about how you can live better? Take a look at this month’s Live Better challenge here. | Interested in finding out more about how you can live better? Take a look at this month’s Live Better challenge here. |
| The Live Better Challenge is funded by Unilever; its focus is sustainable living. All content is editorially independent except for pieces labelled advertisement feature. Find out more here. | The Live Better Challenge is funded by Unilever; its focus is sustainable living. All content is editorially independent except for pieces labelled advertisement feature. Find out more here. |