Honey Pot

We have created a civilisation that destroys the things it loves. The rainforest, the polar wastes, the cetaceans, the African megafauna; these are the victims of greed, neglect, political failures. But smaller tragedies are caused by the way we communicate to one another that a particular place or experience will bring us excitement, insight, peace or fulfillment. The consequence is that multitudes of us pursue the same psycho-spiritual goal and, in doing so, tarnish, pollute, denature or destroy the very thing we are seeking

Everest, Machu Pichu, the Taj, Mediterranean beaches, Venice, the Lake District, Cornish villages - we all have our own favourite examples of the tragedy of tourism, mobility and the aggregate effect of small individual impact multiplied by a host of individuals

Watching a long processionn of south-east Asian children follow a flag along Stratford-upon-Avon High Street, I wondered what they were seeking, what their parents or teachers thought they would gain from this experience. Shakespeare may have lived here some of the time, but his plays were set throughout Britain and Europe, or in imagined mythical worlds. How does a parade past W H Smith, Jack Wills and Starbucks give them greater insight? 

Underneath all the press of tourists, the town is as beleagured as many others: empty premises, failing shops, sparse shelves, our favourite cafés closed. For all that the local politicians want the visitors' cash, it does not sustain a thriving, balanced commerce, or a town at ease with itself

This is the area outside the theatre entrance, between the town and the river; a relatively open public space into which the crowds can spill. It still felt like a sea of faces, as we made our way through it, back to the car, puzzling over how a small town should manage such popularity and expectation