Can Small Towns Have Big Culture?
One of the things I hear most often about Colchester goes something like this...
“There’s nothing to do here.”
Sometimes it’s said jokingly.
Sometimes with genuine frustration.
Sometimes by people who have lived here their whole lives.
Sometimes by people who left, only to come back years later.
I understand the feeling.
It’s easy to compare ourselves to London. Or Manchester. Or Brighton. Cities where there seems to be an exhibition opening every evening, a gig every night and enough independent cafés to visit a different one every day for a year.
Small towns can feel... quieter.
But over the last few months I’ve started wondering if we’ve been asking the wrong question.
Maybe the question isn’t:
“Why doesn’t our town have more culture?”
Maybe it’s:
“What kind of culture do we want to build?”
Opening House of Joy has completely changed the way I look at Colchester.
Before the shop, I thought about culture as something you consumed.
You went to the cinema.
You visited a gallery.
You watched a play.
You bought a ticket.
Now I think culture is something people create together.
It’s conversations.
It’s communities.
It’s the places where strangers become familiar faces.
It’s the confidence to say, “Let’s put on an event and see who turns up.”
One of my favourite things about running House of Joy isn’t selling books.
It’s seeing people discover each other.
Someone comes to Little Readers Club and ends up chatting to another parent.
Someone comes to an author event and leaves having exchanged phone numbers with someone they’d never met before.
Someone wanders in because they saw us on Instagram and leaves saying, “I didn’t know somewhere like this existed.”
Those moments feel small.
But perhaps culture has always been built from small moments.
I think we often imagine culture as something that arrives.
As though one day a big investment appears, a famous venue opens and suddenly the town becomes “cultural.”
But I don’t think that’s how it works.
Culture grows.
Quietly.
Patiently.
One conversation.
One exhibition.
One poetry night.
One book club.
One independent café.
One theatre.
One record shop.
One community choir.
One person deciding to make something instead of waiting for someone else to do it.
House of Joy certainly isn’t trying to become the centre of culture in Colchester.
That would be impossible.
But I do hope it can become one small thread in a much bigger tapestry.
Because we’re lucky.
Within a few minutes of the shop, you’ve got artists, theatres, musicians, independent cafés, makers, bookshops, community groups and people creating brilliant things every single week.
The challenge isn’t that creativity doesn’t exist.
It’s that we don’t always know where to find one another.
Sometimes it feels like everyone is building something wonderful behind separate doors.
What if we opened those doors a little more?
I’ve realised something else since opening the shop.
People want to belong to something.
They don’t just want somewhere to buy a book.
They want somewhere that feels like theirs.
That’s probably why our events have become some of my favourite parts of the week.
Watching people arrive slightly nervously before gradually relaxing into conversation reminds me that community isn’t automatic.
Someone has to create the opportunity for it.
Someone has to unlock the door.
Someone has to put the chairs out.
Someone has to make the coffee.
None of that feels particularly glamorous.
But maybe that’s exactly what culture looks like.
Not red carpets.
Not headlines.
Just people choosing to spend time together.
I think that’s something we’ve underestimated.
Social media has convinced us that culture only counts if thousands of people see it.
That success is measured in views.
That something isn’t important unless it goes viral.
But some of the most meaningful moments I’ve experienced this year have involved fewer than twenty people.
A room full of children listening to a story.
A local author talking about their work.
Parents chatting while their children colour.
Someone recommending their favourite novel to a complete stranger.
None of those moments will trend online.
Yet they’re exactly the moments that make somewhere feel alive.
Can small towns have big culture?
I don’t think they can.
I think they already do.
It just looks different.
It’s slower.
More local.
More personal.
It grows through familiar faces rather than famous names.
Through volunteers rather than celebrities.
Through independent businesses willing to take a chance.
Through people who choose to create instead of complain.
House of Joy is just one tiny part of that.
We’re a bookshop.
A coffee shop.
A place for children’s stories.
A place for conversations.
A place for events.
Hopefully, a place where people feel welcome.
We’re not trying to become London’s cultural scene.
We’re trying to become our own.
Because maybe big culture isn’t about the size of the place.
Maybe it’s about the size of the welcome.
And if that’s true, then I think small towns have a much bigger future than we sometimes give them credit for.
