The question used to be: Can white men play the blues? I suppose over the years enough white men have proved that yes, they can play the blues (have any white women taken up the challenge?) Putting the point beyond doubt at the Queen's Theatre, Barnstaple, were The Blues Band comprising Paul Jones and, er.... some other blokes. It is to my shame that I can't remember their names, but whereas Paul Jones looked much as he did in the 1960s, his fellow musicians rather resembled aging geography teachers let loose on stage. This is to do them a profound disservice as they were all top notch and cranked out a lively set that went on for a good two hours with a short interval and an encore.
But what really got me about this gig was the audience. For a while I thought I was the youngest person there and then some other 49-year-and-11-month-olds turned up. Then I spotted a family group with some children so I knew I definitely wasn't the youngest. Not that it would have made much difference, because the majority of adult males were dressed almost identically - neat jeans and casual tops. The women, who were probably slightly in the minority, were more adventurous. All of us were of a certain age with added weight and inches around the middle, but for a little while on Friday night I suspect many of us were - in our minds, at least - snake-hipped young rockers again. Ah, if only...
One real plus point about the performance - and this really shows my days of being a snake-hipped young rocker are far behind me - was that it wasn't too loud. No ringing ears after this gig; the music was assertive without forcing you back into your seat. Werthers Original anyone?
Sunday 28 March 2010
Saturday 20 March 2010
Nice cup of tea, anyone?
Much distress in Bideford - and understandably so - after a young man called Steven Cloak was assaulted and left with serious head injuries, putting him in Derriford Hospital in Plymouth. He seems to be making some sort of recovery and we can only hope that he will return to full health. These concerns have prompted some of Mr Cloak's friends to organise a march in Bideford protesting at such attacks and calling on people in Bideford to show more respect for each other. So far, so good. However, my eye was caught by a line in the report of this in the North Devon Journal in which local police have promised to look at the way they police the "night-time economy". The what? This will no doubt be done paying full regard to the sensibilities and rights of the "binge-drinking community".
Dear God, what will they come out with next? The night-time economy might suggest that of an evening Bideford is thronged with people making their way between theatres, cinemas, chic bars, happening restaurants and "lovely pubs, where the locals are so friendly". Well, those of us who have endured a night out in Bideford will know the truth of it. While it might be a cause for celebration that Bideford has not gone "all trendy", the reality is that many Bideford pubs are dying on their feet, relying on customers whose basic rule of thumb when it comes to alcohol is that if you haven't actually vomited or passed out yet, you should probably keep having a round of shots until one or other of these outcomes occurs.
This is not to support the view that Bideford is a violent town, which some people claim, just that in Bideford, and much of the UK, many drinkers can have only the haziest idea of what they do on a night-out because their consumption of alcohol is so great it threatens to shut down their central nervous system. In the main, the truth about violence at night in Bideford is that it is between young men who have consumed too much booze. I doubt that there is anyone who takes a drink, who in the course of their lives has never done anything which they do not later regret (yes, me most definitely included). But the unassailable point with alcohol is that for too many young people the lowering of inhibitions results not in some cheery singing and feelings of bonhomie, but aggression, rage and violent acts which can have permanent consequences. On that basis, unsafe sex with casual acquaintances might seem the lesser of two evils, but that is hardly a recommendation.
So, anyway, the "night-time economy", if we must call it that, needs some looking after and let us hope the police can do that effectively. I know it makes me sound old, but I am less and less inclined to go out in places which require large numbers of police to maintain order and I really don't like drinking in pubs which need bouncers to control the clientele. Bloody hell, I only want a couple of pints. The sad irony of all of this is that, so far as I have been able to ascertain, Steven Cloak was a young man who had not been partaking of the "night-time economy". He was on his way home from a friend's house with a takeaway meal. Whether his assailants had been drinking, I do not know, but he has been described to me as someone who would never provoke trouble. All in all, it leaves me wondering if the so-called night-time economy is in just as much trouble as the "real" economy.
Dear God, what will they come out with next? The night-time economy might suggest that of an evening Bideford is thronged with people making their way between theatres, cinemas, chic bars, happening restaurants and "lovely pubs, where the locals are so friendly". Well, those of us who have endured a night out in Bideford will know the truth of it. While it might be a cause for celebration that Bideford has not gone "all trendy", the reality is that many Bideford pubs are dying on their feet, relying on customers whose basic rule of thumb when it comes to alcohol is that if you haven't actually vomited or passed out yet, you should probably keep having a round of shots until one or other of these outcomes occurs.
This is not to support the view that Bideford is a violent town, which some people claim, just that in Bideford, and much of the UK, many drinkers can have only the haziest idea of what they do on a night-out because their consumption of alcohol is so great it threatens to shut down their central nervous system. In the main, the truth about violence at night in Bideford is that it is between young men who have consumed too much booze. I doubt that there is anyone who takes a drink, who in the course of their lives has never done anything which they do not later regret (yes, me most definitely included). But the unassailable point with alcohol is that for too many young people the lowering of inhibitions results not in some cheery singing and feelings of bonhomie, but aggression, rage and violent acts which can have permanent consequences. On that basis, unsafe sex with casual acquaintances might seem the lesser of two evils, but that is hardly a recommendation.
So, anyway, the "night-time economy", if we must call it that, needs some looking after and let us hope the police can do that effectively. I know it makes me sound old, but I am less and less inclined to go out in places which require large numbers of police to maintain order and I really don't like drinking in pubs which need bouncers to control the clientele. Bloody hell, I only want a couple of pints. The sad irony of all of this is that, so far as I have been able to ascertain, Steven Cloak was a young man who had not been partaking of the "night-time economy". He was on his way home from a friend's house with a takeaway meal. Whether his assailants had been drinking, I do not know, but he has been described to me as someone who would never provoke trouble. All in all, it leaves me wondering if the so-called night-time economy is in just as much trouble as the "real" economy.
Wednesday 17 March 2010
Change is in the air, but some things stay the same
Crocuses and daffodils are popping up everywhere so surely spring is not far off. But what really confirms that for me is seeing the Hockings ice cream van near the Kingsley statue at the end of Bideford Quay. It's never too early in the year for a Hockings and never really too late in the year either. Having said that, on the day I spotted the Hockings van I was walking the dog and heading for Victoria Park so I didn't stop. Even so there were a few people who decided an ice cream was just what they needed despite the chilly east wind blowing across the Torridge.
There were also a good few people in the park, mums and dads with their kids on the play equipment, some lads kicking a ball around in front of a goal and a group comprising three girls/young women and a youth ie boy/man - not a little boy, but not a grown-up man. One of the females had a buggy complete with child of indeterminate sex. One of the young women had a bottle of cider, one of those big three-litre jobs, with about half gone. They were all - apart from the child in the buggy - passing round a joint. One of the women said she was determined to get "one last toke" out of it. I suppose that shows that while we may not like the idea of mum, or big sister, getting boozed up while taking junior to the park, at least Bideford's weed smokers are not spendthrifts and like to get value for their money.
So, yes, the rotation of the seasons continues. You don't see it happening, but you can't help notice that suddenly you're a lot further forward in the year than you realised. But in the meantime, Bideford's young people seem intent on blotting everything out. Oh dear, I am getting old or maybe I'm just increasingly conscious that time is not for wasting.
There were also a good few people in the park, mums and dads with their kids on the play equipment, some lads kicking a ball around in front of a goal and a group comprising three girls/young women and a youth ie boy/man - not a little boy, but not a grown-up man. One of the females had a buggy complete with child of indeterminate sex. One of the young women had a bottle of cider, one of those big three-litre jobs, with about half gone. They were all - apart from the child in the buggy - passing round a joint. One of the women said she was determined to get "one last toke" out of it. I suppose that shows that while we may not like the idea of mum, or big sister, getting boozed up while taking junior to the park, at least Bideford's weed smokers are not spendthrifts and like to get value for their money.
So, yes, the rotation of the seasons continues. You don't see it happening, but you can't help notice that suddenly you're a lot further forward in the year than you realised. But in the meantime, Bideford's young people seem intent on blotting everything out. Oh dear, I am getting old or maybe I'm just increasingly conscious that time is not for wasting.
Thursday 11 March 2010
Do we want to be like Belgium?
Well do we? Former Chief of Defence Staff Lord Guthrie wants to know. At least I assume he does seeing as he asked the question on the radio this morning. I took him at his word. When I think of Belgium I think of superb beer, wonderful chocolate and shooting a nun with a pellet gun.
The first two of these speak for themselves: some of the best beers in the world – in my opinion – come from Belgium and likewise for chocolate. As for shooting a nun with a pellet gun this was a youthful transgression on my part and the nun escaped unharmed. I suspect she was also oblivious of the grievous assault seeing as her capacious habit absorbed the projectile which was shot from behind. Before anyone worries too much about the nun, the weapon used was a spring-powered gun sold to children and I was a child at the time. My friends and I all had these guns, which we bought during a family holiday in Belgium and we all shot each other with them with no harmful effect. Having said that, it’s just the sort of incident which these days would see a police armed response vehicle showing up with the likelihood of the cops firing off a few rounds because, as we all know, the war on terror must never cease.
So to get back to the noble lord’s question: on the basis that beer and chocolate get a yes vote and nun-shooting gets a no that’s still a majority verdict in favour of being like Belgium. Of course, I suspect that Lord Guthrie wasn’t thinking of beer and chocolate, although strangely enough shooting (but not of nuns) was probably more on his mind. So basically what he wanted to know was does Great Britain want to be a force on the world stage with enough military muscle to still be considered a bit tasty or would we settle for a smaller military capability and consequently a reduced role in international affairs. Lord Guthrie made his view fairly plain and wants more money for the Army, in particular, so we as a nation can carry on doing what he clearly considers to be good things around the world (also known as other people’s countries).
I suppose it would be naïve of me to suggest that shedding our reputation as a nation ready to wade in, usually behind the USA, with all guns blazing need not be a bad thing. I expect Belgium has its moments, it certainly is a country with a grim colonial past, but by and large it seems to keep itself to itself – except for the beer and choccies. Having said all that, and having suggested I might not vote in the forthcoming General Election, I was impressed by the enthusiasm in Iraq for those voting in their recent elections, despite the worst efforts of bombers believed to be linked to Saddam’s Baath party. The question Lord Guthrie might then reasonably ask is: would elections in Iraq have been achieved using only copious applications of beer and choccies?
The first two of these speak for themselves: some of the best beers in the world – in my opinion – come from Belgium and likewise for chocolate. As for shooting a nun with a pellet gun this was a youthful transgression on my part and the nun escaped unharmed. I suspect she was also oblivious of the grievous assault seeing as her capacious habit absorbed the projectile which was shot from behind. Before anyone worries too much about the nun, the weapon used was a spring-powered gun sold to children and I was a child at the time. My friends and I all had these guns, which we bought during a family holiday in Belgium and we all shot each other with them with no harmful effect. Having said that, it’s just the sort of incident which these days would see a police armed response vehicle showing up with the likelihood of the cops firing off a few rounds because, as we all know, the war on terror must never cease.
So to get back to the noble lord’s question: on the basis that beer and chocolate get a yes vote and nun-shooting gets a no that’s still a majority verdict in favour of being like Belgium. Of course, I suspect that Lord Guthrie wasn’t thinking of beer and chocolate, although strangely enough shooting (but not of nuns) was probably more on his mind. So basically what he wanted to know was does Great Britain want to be a force on the world stage with enough military muscle to still be considered a bit tasty or would we settle for a smaller military capability and consequently a reduced role in international affairs. Lord Guthrie made his view fairly plain and wants more money for the Army, in particular, so we as a nation can carry on doing what he clearly considers to be good things around the world (also known as other people’s countries).
I suppose it would be naïve of me to suggest that shedding our reputation as a nation ready to wade in, usually behind the USA, with all guns blazing need not be a bad thing. I expect Belgium has its moments, it certainly is a country with a grim colonial past, but by and large it seems to keep itself to itself – except for the beer and choccies. Having said all that, and having suggested I might not vote in the forthcoming General Election, I was impressed by the enthusiasm in Iraq for those voting in their recent elections, despite the worst efforts of bombers believed to be linked to Saddam’s Baath party. The question Lord Guthrie might then reasonably ask is: would elections in Iraq have been achieved using only copious applications of beer and choccies?
Sunday 7 March 2010
Are we nearly there yet?
The question children ask their parents on journeys could equally be posed by the electorate as we inch towards the General Election. For God's sake, how much longer must we wait until...well, until what? The election campaign has got under way, it's just that nobody will really admit it. It is typified by each of the three main parties - or the two main parties and the Liberal Democrats - saying that the others are pants. So in a sense, we are "there", the election is under way in everything but name.
And to make matters even better, the parties have started coming up with some slogans. Labour said "A future fair for all" and the Tories said "Vote for change". I'm not sure if the Lib-Dems have come up with anything at all - maybe "Don't forget us". Anyway, as slogans go the ones we have been informed about so far cannot be said to be too edgy. Did Labour toy with "A future fair for some of you and the rest can f*ck off". Were the Conservatives considering "Please, please, please vote for us - we want a go now".
Here in North Devon - the geographical area covered by two constituencies, that is - will any of this make any difference? It's not rocket surgery to suggest that Lib Dem Nick Harvey will hang on in North Devon, the political seat, as the Tories and their wayward offspring - Independent Rodney Cann, UKIP and a smattering of right-wing groups with their eyes too close together - bitch and moan at each other and tumble over the Reichenbach Falls. In Torridge and West Devon, I suppose the safe bet is sitting Tory Geoffrey Cox, if only because he hasn't done anything you could specifically point your finger at and say "You clown, what's that all about" or alternatively "Well done, Geoffrey, you're just the sort of bloke in a tweed jacket we need round here".
But, as I have said before, I am contemplating not voting at all. My head says I should, my heart says "Sod that, what's the point". This is a point of view that I have begun to hold more strongly since MPs awarded themselves a £1,000 a year pay rise. After the shitstorm MPs went through over their expenses, this move is the equivalent of a chavvy crim in a magistrates' court flicking the bench the V-sign as he leaves, having been let off once again. The thinking of the MPs/chavvy crim goes: I've been done for the more serious crime (fiddling my expenses) at this late stage in the hearing (Parliament) are they really going to haul me back for more punishment. The difference being, of course, that the chavvy crim has received some sort of sanction; by and large, MPs have got off Scot free and seem intent in carrying on in their merry way.
Anyway, someone once said (I think it was poet ee cummings) "A politician is an arse upon which everyone has sat except a man". If he were still alive, I expect cummings would have found some way to add "or a woman".
As a complete aside, I went to the Plough, Torrington, the other night to see Tavaziva Dance perform Wild Dog which was completely baffling, but the women dancers were fit as and the men dancers put fat slobs like me to shame. Dance, it's just a bit weird for a bloke like me.
Just reflecting on the Reichenbach Falls bit, that was where Sherlock Holmes and arch-criminal Professor Moriarty tumbled to their deaths in each other's grip. Holmes' death, even though of a fictional character, caused such a stink that Conan-Doyle had to bring him back to life. Would that happen to the Tories in North Devon (not forgetting disgruntled ex-Tory Rod "Rodders" Cann)? Nah, let's hope not.
And to make matters even better, the parties have started coming up with some slogans. Labour said "A future fair for all" and the Tories said "Vote for change". I'm not sure if the Lib-Dems have come up with anything at all - maybe "Don't forget us". Anyway, as slogans go the ones we have been informed about so far cannot be said to be too edgy. Did Labour toy with "A future fair for some of you and the rest can f*ck off". Were the Conservatives considering "Please, please, please vote for us - we want a go now".
Here in North Devon - the geographical area covered by two constituencies, that is - will any of this make any difference? It's not rocket surgery to suggest that Lib Dem Nick Harvey will hang on in North Devon, the political seat, as the Tories and their wayward offspring - Independent Rodney Cann, UKIP and a smattering of right-wing groups with their eyes too close together - bitch and moan at each other and tumble over the Reichenbach Falls. In Torridge and West Devon, I suppose the safe bet is sitting Tory Geoffrey Cox, if only because he hasn't done anything you could specifically point your finger at and say "You clown, what's that all about" or alternatively "Well done, Geoffrey, you're just the sort of bloke in a tweed jacket we need round here".
But, as I have said before, I am contemplating not voting at all. My head says I should, my heart says "Sod that, what's the point". This is a point of view that I have begun to hold more strongly since MPs awarded themselves a £1,000 a year pay rise. After the shitstorm MPs went through over their expenses, this move is the equivalent of a chavvy crim in a magistrates' court flicking the bench the V-sign as he leaves, having been let off once again. The thinking of the MPs/chavvy crim goes: I've been done for the more serious crime (fiddling my expenses) at this late stage in the hearing (Parliament) are they really going to haul me back for more punishment. The difference being, of course, that the chavvy crim has received some sort of sanction; by and large, MPs have got off Scot free and seem intent in carrying on in their merry way.
Anyway, someone once said (I think it was poet ee cummings) "A politician is an arse upon which everyone has sat except a man". If he were still alive, I expect cummings would have found some way to add "or a woman".
As a complete aside, I went to the Plough, Torrington, the other night to see Tavaziva Dance perform Wild Dog which was completely baffling, but the women dancers were fit as and the men dancers put fat slobs like me to shame. Dance, it's just a bit weird for a bloke like me.
Just reflecting on the Reichenbach Falls bit, that was where Sherlock Holmes and arch-criminal Professor Moriarty tumbled to their deaths in each other's grip. Holmes' death, even though of a fictional character, caused such a stink that Conan-Doyle had to bring him back to life. Would that happen to the Tories in North Devon (not forgetting disgruntled ex-Tory Rod "Rodders" Cann)? Nah, let's hope not.
Tuesday 2 March 2010
Apparently I am not the centre of the universe
Do you ever get the feeling that events, things and people are all out to get you? That life is just a bit rubbish and it's much worse for you than anyone else. Well, tough. Who gives a monkeys? Nobody. And the reason is, it's not all about you, me or anyone else. Things are just the way they are. I am sorry this is slightly incoherent, but I haven't really had the time to work out exactly what it is I wanted to say, other than a day, a week, a month can, in some situations, seem like a lifetime, but a lifetime is just a flash and then it's gone.
If you get the chance to break away from blubbing into your beer, look up at the stars. Just remember all that stuff about how the light from some of them started its journey to earth before Christopher Columbus set off to grab a bit of territory on the other side of the Atlantic - and he's been dead ages. What I'm sort of vaguely bumbling my way towards is that you must try not to worry about stuff that in time won't really matter much. Oh, and by the way - you are a piece of insignficant crap.
If you get the chance to break away from blubbing into your beer, look up at the stars. Just remember all that stuff about how the light from some of them started its journey to earth before Christopher Columbus set off to grab a bit of territory on the other side of the Atlantic - and he's been dead ages. What I'm sort of vaguely bumbling my way towards is that you must try not to worry about stuff that in time won't really matter much. Oh, and by the way - you are a piece of insignficant crap.
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