Well, Swine Flu finally reached MK towards the end of the month – though gossip I hearsay sez that it was here before that but hushed up by a major employer for fear of panic! – but I’m not going to spend column inches on that till it looks like it might turn into the Apocalyptic Zombie Death Plague the media clearly wish deep down inside that it could have been. So… August, maybe. ;-)
Instead… Yipes! It’s another merry month of MK news!
Tesco’s plans for some kind of hyper-massive dome controlling Wolverton and the environs seem to have been dashed for now, despite long seeming like they were in the bag. S’probably a good thing, innit? Not like there aren’t any big Tesco’s in MK already. And we may even see a few more years of the woefully empty Agora, at that! ;-)
I’m not sure what’s best about this story – the fact he’s from Milton Keynes, the fact he actually broke the World Record, or the fact that I saw him on BBC News 24 that very morning halfway through the attempt. Nah, actually, the best thing is the fact he calls himself “the David Blaine of football”. That's the best thing.
This is actually a really sad story, and it only shows me to be an insensitive clod that the first thing I thought of when I read it was an elderly shopkeeper sitting down at the keys to play one last tune before they close for ever, and plaintively tinkling a version of the sad music at the end of The Incredible Hulk as his colleagues walk off into the distance…
Rivalling Broughton this month for snootiness, residents in still-only-half-built-last-time-I-was-there western estate Oxley Park have gone to frankly over-antagonistic steps to protest against the No.2 bus coming through their streets!
Oooh, Hot Air Balloons over Milton Keynes... (checks prices) Bah!
Friday, 29 May 2009
Thursday, 28 May 2009
Great Big Melting Pot - Thu May 28
I watched the BNP Euro-Election Party Political Broadcast on TV t’other night, and read Eddie Izzard’s impassioned rebuttal of it in the Daily Mirror at lunchtime yesterday. And – following on from a discussion we were having at a picnic at the weekend where I had to confess how little I actually believe in, deep down – I thought I’d have a bit of a think about what I believe in on this.
Cos the Euro Elections are next week – and though I’ve already done my vote by post (I voted Green, if you’re interested. Voting Green actually seems to count in the format of the European Elections!!), you may not have done, and you may not even be planning on voting. I’m with Eddie on this. Try and vote, if you can, and try and vote for anyone but the BNP.
Their EEPPB the other night relied heavily on the fact that our grandparents and great-grandparents fought and died in wars so we could have the country we have today. Eddie makes the valid point that most of those wars were against the rise of Fascism: a political viewpoint not a million miles from that of the BNP. This is one of the things that irks me most about these people – that they try and tell me that their way of feeling English is the truth of what it is to be English.
I am English. Not only am I English, but you’d have to clamber a long way back up my family tree to find any hint of any other nationality. Many of my friends and acquaintances have at least one grandparent or great-grandparent from another country – if they’re not from another country themselves! Not me though. I think as far as I know I may be one-sixtyfourth Scottish, but that’s a tiny drop in the ocean of my all-encompassing Englishness. I like lists, the Lake District, football, being embarrassed, Stephen Fry and the monarchy. Je suis un Englishman. For real.
And still – I don’t care, I do not care about “foreigners coming over, stealing our jobs and scaring our children”. I can’t share the BNP’s blinkered, paranoid worldview. In fact, I welcome them. I’m all for that great big melting pot. Come, Thomas. Play your French jazz funk upon my stage unmolested. ;-)
For (way historical) example, the greatest thing this nation has ever produced – the English language – would be nothing without the influence of these “foreigners”. Old English is the Anglo Saxon tongue (illegal immigrants themselves, of course – despite the BNP’s wish to teach Anglo-Saxon poetry in our schools), which developed into Middle English with the influence of further Viking and Norman foreign job-and-land-stealers. Modern English (the language of Shakespeare, the King James Bible, Kipling, Alf Garnett and many other things the BNP would hail with misty eyes as being quintessentially “English”, gor bless em) is based on this polyglot descendancy*. We absorb, we develop, we move on. Evolution is a necessary facet of existence.
Nick Griffin and his ilk would probably dismiss me as a middle-class Sainsburys-ethnic-food-aisle-shopping liberal. And they’d be right. But still, it’s my country too – and I like it full of foreigners. I’m not advocating unmonitored open access immigration for all – but then none of the political parties are, when it comes down to it. That’s not what’s happening. It worries me deeply that these last few years have seen their political stock rise and reach a level where they’re treated almost as a serious political party by many and not just a bunch of far-right Little Englanders. These people are The Baddies from where I’m standing…
Fact. The BNP’s constitution bars all but “indigenous Caucasians”. I did not know that.
Fact. In their 2005 manifesto they use such snazzy taglines as “Abolishing multiculturalism, preserving Britain” and “Multi-racialism – a recipe for disaster”. They also propose the re-introduction of “capital punishment for paedophiles, terrorists and murderers”.
So. What a relief. There's something I genuinely believe. I don’t dig on the BNP. I suppose I have to acknowledge their right to say and think what they choose – within non-violent parameters – but… don’t vote for ‘em, eh? Ta.
* My spellcheck doesn’t recognise the word “descendancy”, but I’m pretty sure it’s right. Hey, I’m English! I can make up what I please! ;-)
Cos the Euro Elections are next week – and though I’ve already done my vote by post (I voted Green, if you’re interested. Voting Green actually seems to count in the format of the European Elections!!), you may not have done, and you may not even be planning on voting. I’m with Eddie on this. Try and vote, if you can, and try and vote for anyone but the BNP.
Their EEPPB the other night relied heavily on the fact that our grandparents and great-grandparents fought and died in wars so we could have the country we have today. Eddie makes the valid point that most of those wars were against the rise of Fascism: a political viewpoint not a million miles from that of the BNP. This is one of the things that irks me most about these people – that they try and tell me that their way of feeling English is the truth of what it is to be English.
I am English. Not only am I English, but you’d have to clamber a long way back up my family tree to find any hint of any other nationality. Many of my friends and acquaintances have at least one grandparent or great-grandparent from another country – if they’re not from another country themselves! Not me though. I think as far as I know I may be one-sixtyfourth Scottish, but that’s a tiny drop in the ocean of my all-encompassing Englishness. I like lists, the Lake District, football, being embarrassed, Stephen Fry and the monarchy. Je suis un Englishman. For real.
And still – I don’t care, I do not care about “foreigners coming over, stealing our jobs and scaring our children”. I can’t share the BNP’s blinkered, paranoid worldview. In fact, I welcome them. I’m all for that great big melting pot. Come, Thomas. Play your French jazz funk upon my stage unmolested. ;-)
For (way historical) example, the greatest thing this nation has ever produced – the English language – would be nothing without the influence of these “foreigners”. Old English is the Anglo Saxon tongue (illegal immigrants themselves, of course – despite the BNP’s wish to teach Anglo-Saxon poetry in our schools), which developed into Middle English with the influence of further Viking and Norman foreign job-and-land-stealers. Modern English (the language of Shakespeare, the King James Bible, Kipling, Alf Garnett and many other things the BNP would hail with misty eyes as being quintessentially “English”, gor bless em) is based on this polyglot descendancy*. We absorb, we develop, we move on. Evolution is a necessary facet of existence.
Nick Griffin and his ilk would probably dismiss me as a middle-class Sainsburys-ethnic-food-aisle-shopping liberal. And they’d be right. But still, it’s my country too – and I like it full of foreigners. I’m not advocating unmonitored open access immigration for all – but then none of the political parties are, when it comes down to it. That’s not what’s happening. It worries me deeply that these last few years have seen their political stock rise and reach a level where they’re treated almost as a serious political party by many and not just a bunch of far-right Little Englanders. These people are The Baddies from where I’m standing…
Fact. The BNP’s constitution bars all but “indigenous Caucasians”. I did not know that.
Fact. In their 2005 manifesto they use such snazzy taglines as “Abolishing multiculturalism, preserving Britain” and “Multi-racialism – a recipe for disaster”. They also propose the re-introduction of “capital punishment for paedophiles, terrorists and murderers”.
So. What a relief. There's something I genuinely believe. I don’t dig on the BNP. I suppose I have to acknowledge their right to say and think what they choose – within non-violent parameters – but… don’t vote for ‘em, eh? Ta.
* My spellcheck doesn’t recognise the word “descendancy”, but I’m pretty sure it’s right. Hey, I’m English! I can make up what I please! ;-)
Wednesday, 27 May 2009
Special Nectar - Wed May 27
I was probably in the wrong kind of mood to go to the Gallery anyway – but I had to go to the bank besides, and it’s been ages since I last went (six months in fact).
The current exhibition is by the late 20th Century artist James Lee Byars who died in 1997, but more than any other exhibition I’ve seen there in recent years I just felt unmoved by it all. Even Turner-nominated Cathy Wilkes, whose exhibition I didn't like, moved me to indifference. This didn’t even move me that far.
Maybe it was cos I didn’t have anyone with me this time, no Diane, Annabel, James or Nikki. Maybe it was cos I get tetchier every time I’m asked the same questions on entering the Gallery. I know they have to ask them for continuing development purposes, but my answers are always the same. Or maybe it was because for the first time in my memory the staff actually followed me from room to room - even though I was the only person looking round – like maybe I was going to steal one of the huge marble balls in the Long Gallery, or run amok across the sumptuous gold lamé room in the Middle Gallery if I wasn’t supervised.
Or maybe I’m just in a bad mood. Actually that gold room (“Byars Is Elephant” 1997, his last work) was pretty good. But I just wanted to go and lie down in it. That lamé looked soft and cool.
Other than that I couldn’t engage with it at all. I read about half of the 100 stone books in the Cube Gallery, but nothing seemed to be happening inside me - so I strolled blithely out again, as if I’d managed to digest the entire artistic output there on display internally within a matter of five minutes. Still, it’s there for another few weeks, maybe I’ll go back another day.
In Sainsbury’s too I’m getting slightly tetchy with having the same conversation over and over again. Yes, my Nectar card is a slightly different shade of purple to how they normally are. No, there isn't anything wrong with it, that’s just how you gave it to me a couple of years ago. Yes, I suppose it does make me special. Yes, it’s nice to be special.
Maybe if it gave me extra Nectar points. That would make me feel special.
Round Oldbrook the phone boxes down by the furthest-of-the-two-corner-shops still displays posters for Corden & Horne’s “Lesbian Vampire Killers”. Maybe they were expecting it to run in cinemas for longer than it did. I suppose the film company were banking on it being the new Pegg / Frost / Wright successor rather than the new successor to, say, that Mitchell & Webb film . Or “Fat Slags”: The Movie, currently the 12th worst film of all time according to IMDb. Or even that “comedy” film the Smack The Pony women did set in Celtic Britain. (shakes head ruefully). Lessons can be learned from this. Not everyone is a Pegg / Frost / Wright.
The current exhibition is by the late 20th Century artist James Lee Byars who died in 1997, but more than any other exhibition I’ve seen there in recent years I just felt unmoved by it all. Even Turner-nominated Cathy Wilkes, whose exhibition I didn't like, moved me to indifference. This didn’t even move me that far.
Maybe it was cos I didn’t have anyone with me this time, no Diane, Annabel, James or Nikki. Maybe it was cos I get tetchier every time I’m asked the same questions on entering the Gallery. I know they have to ask them for continuing development purposes, but my answers are always the same. Or maybe it was because for the first time in my memory the staff actually followed me from room to room - even though I was the only person looking round – like maybe I was going to steal one of the huge marble balls in the Long Gallery, or run amok across the sumptuous gold lamé room in the Middle Gallery if I wasn’t supervised.
Or maybe I’m just in a bad mood. Actually that gold room (“Byars Is Elephant” 1997, his last work) was pretty good. But I just wanted to go and lie down in it. That lamé looked soft and cool.
Other than that I couldn’t engage with it at all. I read about half of the 100 stone books in the Cube Gallery, but nothing seemed to be happening inside me - so I strolled blithely out again, as if I’d managed to digest the entire artistic output there on display internally within a matter of five minutes. Still, it’s there for another few weeks, maybe I’ll go back another day.
In Sainsbury’s too I’m getting slightly tetchy with having the same conversation over and over again. Yes, my Nectar card is a slightly different shade of purple to how they normally are. No, there isn't anything wrong with it, that’s just how you gave it to me a couple of years ago. Yes, I suppose it does make me special. Yes, it’s nice to be special.
Maybe if it gave me extra Nectar points. That would make me feel special.
Round Oldbrook the phone boxes down by the furthest-of-the-two-corner-shops still displays posters for Corden & Horne’s “Lesbian Vampire Killers”. Maybe they were expecting it to run in cinemas for longer than it did. I suppose the film company were banking on it being the new Pegg / Frost / Wright successor rather than the new successor to, say, that Mitchell & Webb film . Or “Fat Slags”: The Movie, currently the 12th worst film of all time according to IMDb. Or even that “comedy” film the Smack The Pony women did set in Celtic Britain. (shakes head ruefully). Lessons can be learned from this. Not everyone is a Pegg / Frost / Wright.
Tuesday, 26 May 2009
Grubby Moats - Tue May 26
Sorry not been very chatty recently. A mixture of being out and about and doing stuff for my Birthday and beyond, and a general sense of horrible ambivalence bordering upon pessimism, brought about by various circumstances within various walks of my life. Plus what I can only describe as “horrible heavy sinus cold worse than Man Flu but not quite as bad as Swine Flu”.
So what’s with all the Haters all of a sudden? Why do people feel the need to slip on the black peaked cap and become Captain Bringdown? I’m just trying to live my life and love the world and sing the songs and walk in the Summer. You don’t even know me and my crew and how we be rolling. Keep your Bitterness and Bad Vibes outta my face, man. I feel sorry for you.
Anyway. Amorphous and oblique rant over. Back to work. Again. (sniffles mournfully into tissues).
Turns out the Golden Triceratops is part of the 20th anniversary of said dinosaur, I thought it’d be something like that. I did not know though that apparently popular beat combo Bon Jovi helped Bill Billings paint it!!!! (broad grin) What was that, like community service or something*?
I was going to try and cobble together some kind of coherent opinion on all these recent stories of MPs and the Expenses Claim scandal. But it’s just too stupid. Will it be a historical shift in how politics works, bringing down “The Politicians” to replaced by “The Common Man”? No, of course not. There’ll be some wholesale changes no doubt, but my hunch would be that the very act of becoming an MP is enough to turn most Common Men (or Women, before you start!) into Politicians, if you follow the signifiers of my capitalisation. Though perhaps it would take a lot of free dinners and hotel rooms to get me to the point where I thought “hmm… my moat’s looking a little grubby round the edges…”
So let’s end on an Internet funny instead. Cheers B-Dawg. Possibly NSFW if you’ve got your speakers on loud (or at all), but at least features no girls and cups.
* And while we’re here – 20 years? Really? REALLY? I could have sworn it was there in the mid Eighties when we used to drive past on the way to go swimming in the Bletchley pyramid of a Sunday lunchtime…
So what’s with all the Haters all of a sudden? Why do people feel the need to slip on the black peaked cap and become Captain Bringdown? I’m just trying to live my life and love the world and sing the songs and walk in the Summer. You don’t even know me and my crew and how we be rolling. Keep your Bitterness and Bad Vibes outta my face, man. I feel sorry for you.
Anyway. Amorphous and oblique rant over. Back to work. Again. (sniffles mournfully into tissues).
Turns out the Golden Triceratops is part of the 20th anniversary of said dinosaur, I thought it’d be something like that. I did not know though that apparently popular beat combo Bon Jovi helped Bill Billings paint it!!!! (broad grin) What was that, like community service or something*?
I was going to try and cobble together some kind of coherent opinion on all these recent stories of MPs and the Expenses Claim scandal. But it’s just too stupid. Will it be a historical shift in how politics works, bringing down “The Politicians” to replaced by “The Common Man”? No, of course not. There’ll be some wholesale changes no doubt, but my hunch would be that the very act of becoming an MP is enough to turn most Common Men (or Women, before you start!) into Politicians, if you follow the signifiers of my capitalisation. Though perhaps it would take a lot of free dinners and hotel rooms to get me to the point where I thought “hmm… my moat’s looking a little grubby round the edges…”
So let’s end on an Internet funny instead. Cheers B-Dawg. Possibly NSFW if you’ve got your speakers on loud (or at all), but at least features no girls and cups.
* And while we’re here – 20 years? Really? REALLY? I could have sworn it was there in the mid Eighties when we used to drive past on the way to go swimming in the Bletchley pyramid of a Sunday lunchtime…
Friday, 22 May 2009
[ - ]
Hey, cool! Not only have they painted my one of my favourite things - Bill Billings' huge Triceratops at Peartree Bridge - golden, but those underpasses next to it have been temporarily re-decorated with hundreds and hundreds of kids' designs for what other colours the Triceratops could be painted! Fabdozie! Check it out next time you're passing! ;-)
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
Nettle Soup - Tue May 19
Well, clearly it was no fluke. Diane and I did our second Long Walk in seven months yesterday – as perhaps the final instalment of my Birthday Celebrations, sadly it’s back to Real Life™ for MMT now – and we made it all the way to Aylesbury. Oh yes.
I’m not going to retell the journey in quite so much detail as the Bedford Long Walk, partly cos it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but mostly cos my Dictaphone died about halfway through the epic journey. But when I get round to it I’ll do a more extended saga than this entry at least - and with photos from my new digital camera! – for those hardcore Matthew & Diane Walk Fans.
It took us about the same amount of time – eight hours – although the distance was very slightly shorter than Bedford, by something like a mile (15 not 16). But the walk itself was far more interesting; wandering up and down small hills, through scary farmyards, wheat fields, picturesque little villages and shoulder-high forests of nettles at various points. It was alternately gloomy drizzle and cheerful warming sun at apparently random intervals only possibly controlled by whether we’d put our coats on or off (the weather would somehow know and do the opposite).
So, now I’m 34 I definitely feel older and achier than when I was 33. Plus a little more sun-burnt. I guess this is what the Mid-Thirties bring you.
Also this morning got the most enthusiastic support I have ever been given in NatWest. They’re usually less than quick to give me the thumbs up for my performance in life, to tell me how good something I’ve done is. But today, the cashier was keen to assure me that the MonKeyVision Song Contest had been a splendid evening’s entertainment for all. Admittedly, he may have been in one of the bands who performed (and almost won!), but still. It’s about time some pleasant feedback came back my way from the bank!
Right. Back to work tomorrow, MADCAP AGM Thursday, Vodka Boy gig Saturday, and Ludamus to finish. Plus the Waterside now only weeks away. Let’s get my 34 on.
(clutches painful tooth)
(and legs)
I’m not going to retell the journey in quite so much detail as the Bedford Long Walk, partly cos it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but mostly cos my Dictaphone died about halfway through the epic journey. But when I get round to it I’ll do a more extended saga than this entry at least - and with photos from my new digital camera! – for those hardcore Matthew & Diane Walk Fans.
It took us about the same amount of time – eight hours – although the distance was very slightly shorter than Bedford, by something like a mile (15 not 16). But the walk itself was far more interesting; wandering up and down small hills, through scary farmyards, wheat fields, picturesque little villages and shoulder-high forests of nettles at various points. It was alternately gloomy drizzle and cheerful warming sun at apparently random intervals only possibly controlled by whether we’d put our coats on or off (the weather would somehow know and do the opposite).
So, now I’m 34 I definitely feel older and achier than when I was 33. Plus a little more sun-burnt. I guess this is what the Mid-Thirties bring you.
Also this morning got the most enthusiastic support I have ever been given in NatWest. They’re usually less than quick to give me the thumbs up for my performance in life, to tell me how good something I’ve done is. But today, the cashier was keen to assure me that the MonKeyVision Song Contest had been a splendid evening’s entertainment for all. Admittedly, he may have been in one of the bands who performed (and almost won!), but still. It’s about time some pleasant feedback came back my way from the bank!
Right. Back to work tomorrow, MADCAP AGM Thursday, Vodka Boy gig Saturday, and Ludamus to finish. Plus the Waterside now only weeks away. Let’s get my 34 on.
(clutches painful tooth)
(and legs)
Saturday, 16 May 2009
The Entire History Of Life - Sat May 16
I’ve been to and blogged on quite a few MK Dons games now – including a horribly freezing night at the Hockey Stadium; my first game in stadium:mk; seeing them win on penalties to reach their first Wembley final last season; and more recently even starting to enjoy them! – but last night was perhaps the biggest game so far in their embryonic history. And they blew it!
14,479 (still a few thousand short of their record, but then it was on TV as well!) people witnessed two extremely nervous teams attempt to reach the League One Play-Off Final for a chance to gain promotion to the second tier of English football. The only consolation we could find after Tore Andre Flo missed his decisive penalty in the shoot-out was that either of these teams would only have come straight back down on this showing. It was a frustrating, error-strewn game: open goals missed, offside decisions blundered, over two-hours of rain-sodden nerves. I loved it*.
I think at the start of the season 3rd place in League One would have been an amazing dream – the sense of deflation after losing on penalties comes I suppose from the heightened expectations of being 2nd in an automatic promotion place for so long. Cos there’s always next season. And hey, what do I care anyway, right? Surely a more important game is West Ham away to Everton this afternoon with a place in the “Europa League” at stake?
Still… it was pretty grim walking round the stadium to Dad’s car in the opposite direction to the jubilant Scunthorpe supporters. How to convey with your face that you don’t care about their victory cos the Dons are only your second team and even though you’re upset momentarily that will wear off? I’m not sure if I managed it.
And talking of how we as humans convey feelings with our faces (phew! seamless!!) I’ve been very much enjoying reading for the first time David Attenborough’s late 70s classic “Life On Earth”. Not only has it got nice pictures, there’s the occasional genius fact about the supremely beautiful complexity of life and history, such as the old standard:
If the entire history of Life On Earth - from the first basic single-cell organisms to pre-grated cheese on sale in Marks & Spencers – was converted into one calendar year, the first simple multi-cellular life forms appear in October, worms in mid November, the reptiles in mid December, and human beings not till after sunset on New Year’s Eve!
Also, for every human being on the planet there are over one million insects. Helen and I are already trying to establish if we can somehow donate our two million to someone else. Who wants a whole bunch of daddy-long-legs, anyone?
What a world! There now. And it’s also got a new Dudebox Review Of Local MK Bands And Their MySpaces for those as is interested. See? Isn’t that a more pleasant and engaging read than all that icky stuff about girls and cups?
(shudders again)
MMT aged 33 signing off for the last time. My 34 year old counterpart will take up the story again from tomorrow.
* And came up with the neat little homily: “Jude Stirling – he’s not quite good enough to be described as one of those players who’d ‘run through a wall for you’. But he might run INTO a wall for you…”
14,479 (still a few thousand short of their record, but then it was on TV as well!) people witnessed two extremely nervous teams attempt to reach the League One Play-Off Final for a chance to gain promotion to the second tier of English football. The only consolation we could find after Tore Andre Flo missed his decisive penalty in the shoot-out was that either of these teams would only have come straight back down on this showing. It was a frustrating, error-strewn game: open goals missed, offside decisions blundered, over two-hours of rain-sodden nerves. I loved it*.
I think at the start of the season 3rd place in League One would have been an amazing dream – the sense of deflation after losing on penalties comes I suppose from the heightened expectations of being 2nd in an automatic promotion place for so long. Cos there’s always next season. And hey, what do I care anyway, right? Surely a more important game is West Ham away to Everton this afternoon with a place in the “Europa League” at stake?
Still… it was pretty grim walking round the stadium to Dad’s car in the opposite direction to the jubilant Scunthorpe supporters. How to convey with your face that you don’t care about their victory cos the Dons are only your second team and even though you’re upset momentarily that will wear off? I’m not sure if I managed it.
And talking of how we as humans convey feelings with our faces (phew! seamless!!) I’ve been very much enjoying reading for the first time David Attenborough’s late 70s classic “Life On Earth”. Not only has it got nice pictures, there’s the occasional genius fact about the supremely beautiful complexity of life and history, such as the old standard:
If the entire history of Life On Earth - from the first basic single-cell organisms to pre-grated cheese on sale in Marks & Spencers – was converted into one calendar year, the first simple multi-cellular life forms appear in October, worms in mid November, the reptiles in mid December, and human beings not till after sunset on New Year’s Eve!
Also, for every human being on the planet there are over one million insects. Helen and I are already trying to establish if we can somehow donate our two million to someone else. Who wants a whole bunch of daddy-long-legs, anyone?
What a world! There now. And it’s also got a new Dudebox Review Of Local MK Bands And Their MySpaces for those as is interested. See? Isn’t that a more pleasant and engaging read than all that icky stuff about girls and cups?
(shudders again)
MMT aged 33 signing off for the last time. My 34 year old counterpart will take up the story again from tomorrow.
* And came up with the neat little homily: “Jude Stirling – he’s not quite good enough to be described as one of those players who’d ‘run through a wall for you’. But he might run INTO a wall for you…”
Friday, 15 May 2009
Somewhere That's Green - Fri May 15
For some reason I thought that being “on holiday” this week would allow me to get caught up with all the stuff I need to catch up with: Blogs, Poetry, YouTube Films etc. Hasn’t really worked out that way yet – but hey, there’s still time!
Tuesday night the paucity of opposition at Pub Quiz Night has dwindled so much they almost had to pay us to play – and even then it was against an opposition team made up of the on-duty Bar Staff. Seriously, if you know a Pub Quiz Team who want to make a few bob of a Tuesday night, send them along. Though not if they’re too clever, eh? Ta.
You might want to skip these next two paragraphs if you are, like me, very squeamish - or at work! - but there’s a certain group of mates I have who know far more about Internet Cultcha and the Ways Of The WWW than me*, and in long Pub Conversation with them on Wednesday afternoon I discovered all about something which was apparently a “Web Phenomenon” a couple of years ago, called 2 Girls 1 Cup. I’m not going to direct link to it. You almost certainly would rather not see it. Seriously. (shudders) But while running very fast in the opposite direction covering my eyes, I also discovered the very amusing cottage industry in terms of Reaction Footage.
Best of all Reaction videos might just be Kermit’s. That’s pretty much how it was for me too. Um... except the last bit. Still, like those same Internet mates of mine, Rowlf’s not that bothered. And at least Kermit has the good grace to acknowledge his reaction was not necessarily what Jim Henson might have envisaged.
While we’re here, and in case you’ve never seen it before – this old friend is simultaneously one of the greatest and most horrific things the Internet has ever been host to. It is the best of worlds, it is the worst of worlds.
And on Facebook I am asked to do a quiz to work out which Milton Keynes estate I am. Turns out I’m Bancroft, because I contain Roman ruins but I’m still quite handy for Tesco’s. Fair enough.
Thursday night we go to the Theatre for the second part of my long-drawn-out Birthday Celebrations: “Little Shop Of Horrors” is in town! As my favourite ever stage musical - not to mention my sixth favourite film of all time – it’s always a treat, especially cos even though I’ve seen it on stage before I always forget the different ending is coming! And Grahame had never seen it before, so treats all round!
It was a pretty good version – though as I opined in the pub afterwards, I love the darn thing so damn much anyway that I would probably have enjoyed even an appalling rendition of it. Damian Humbley (apparently!) was excellent as Seymour (even if he was clearly channelling the squinty eyed dude from “Third Rock From The Sun”) and whatsherface from “Two Point Four Children” was great too. And even though his accent and characterisation wandered over hill and dale, nice to see a Real Live Dr Who (Sylv McCoy) on stage in the flesh too.
A couple of hours previously I’d been on One Of My Walks, round Furzton Lake. Although we British Rambled round it last year, I think we’d somehow missed the Triple Starhead up on the highest point. As I staggered up to have a look, I discovered someone had written “Carp Fishing” on one of the stars’ tails. Fitting for the location, of course, but hardly the most inspiring graffiti I’ve seen in my travels…
Okay. And on again. Don’t Feed The Plants.
* Actually it’s most of them.
Tuesday night the paucity of opposition at Pub Quiz Night has dwindled so much they almost had to pay us to play – and even then it was against an opposition team made up of the on-duty Bar Staff. Seriously, if you know a Pub Quiz Team who want to make a few bob of a Tuesday night, send them along. Though not if they’re too clever, eh? Ta.
You might want to skip these next two paragraphs if you are, like me, very squeamish - or at work! - but there’s a certain group of mates I have who know far more about Internet Cultcha and the Ways Of The WWW than me*, and in long Pub Conversation with them on Wednesday afternoon I discovered all about something which was apparently a “Web Phenomenon” a couple of years ago, called 2 Girls 1 Cup. I’m not going to direct link to it. You almost certainly would rather not see it. Seriously. (shudders) But while running very fast in the opposite direction covering my eyes, I also discovered the very amusing cottage industry in terms of Reaction Footage.
Best of all Reaction videos might just be Kermit’s. That’s pretty much how it was for me too. Um... except the last bit. Still, like those same Internet mates of mine, Rowlf’s not that bothered. And at least Kermit has the good grace to acknowledge his reaction was not necessarily what Jim Henson might have envisaged.
While we’re here, and in case you’ve never seen it before – this old friend is simultaneously one of the greatest and most horrific things the Internet has ever been host to. It is the best of worlds, it is the worst of worlds.
And on Facebook I am asked to do a quiz to work out which Milton Keynes estate I am. Turns out I’m Bancroft, because I contain Roman ruins but I’m still quite handy for Tesco’s. Fair enough.
Thursday night we go to the Theatre for the second part of my long-drawn-out Birthday Celebrations: “Little Shop Of Horrors” is in town! As my favourite ever stage musical - not to mention my sixth favourite film of all time – it’s always a treat, especially cos even though I’ve seen it on stage before I always forget the different ending is coming! And Grahame had never seen it before, so treats all round!
It was a pretty good version – though as I opined in the pub afterwards, I love the darn thing so damn much anyway that I would probably have enjoyed even an appalling rendition of it. Damian Humbley (apparently!) was excellent as Seymour (even if he was clearly channelling the squinty eyed dude from “Third Rock From The Sun”) and whatsherface from “Two Point Four Children” was great too. And even though his accent and characterisation wandered over hill and dale, nice to see a Real Live Dr Who (Sylv McCoy) on stage in the flesh too.
A couple of hours previously I’d been on One Of My Walks, round Furzton Lake. Although we British Rambled round it last year, I think we’d somehow missed the Triple Starhead up on the highest point. As I staggered up to have a look, I discovered someone had written “Carp Fishing” on one of the stars’ tails. Fitting for the location, of course, but hardly the most inspiring graffiti I’ve seen in my travels…
Okay. And on again. Don’t Feed The Plants.
* Actually it’s most of them.
Monday, 11 May 2009
Stay In The Sun - Mon May 11
Oh man, I needed that! What a super-fine day all round, and a great way to really kick off my Birthday Fortnight! I knew something special was in the air when I was up before eight on a Sunday and gazing out of the window into a blue cloudless sky - but even then I couldn’t have anticipated just how sunny and calming a day at the beach at Weston-super-Mare would be!
It’s been quite a few years now since our last Impulsive Day Trip to the beach. And even this wasn’t that Impulsive, having been planned a couple of weeks ago. Sadly we just don’t work in a climate these days which allows for Impulsive Day Trips. What happened to the world, man? (shakes head sadly)
Previous Impulsive Day Trips usually took us to Hunstanton cos on paper it’s pretty much the closest Seaside to MK. But doing a little bit of research on the AA website confirmed that MK is so landlocked that almost every coastline is within a two to three hour drive radius. We could have gone to Southend, Brighton, Great Yarmouth, Bournemouth, anywhere really in a similar amount of time. But Brian recommended Weston-super-Mare, and the rest of the team jumped at the chance to get West Coast.
And oh what a day! Even the slight delay getting there (it took just under four hours in the end, Diane’s Irish SatNav man Sean taking us through Bristol city centre as a detour to an M5 queue – how was he to know some of the central road system was closed for some sort of marathon??) didn’t dampen our spirits.
WSM’s beach has apparently won awards for being a good beach – and it really was! It stretched quite a distance, there were no dogs allowed, and it was virtually spotless! We were able to set up base camp on a beautiful stretch of soft warm sand and lie back in the glorious hot sunshine. (sighs contentedly at the memory and idly rubs slightly burnt neck)
The only quibble we had on arrival – that the sea was miles and miles away and wouldn’t come anywhere near the beach for five more hours – soon faded into the background as we spent the afternoon eating fish n chips n cockles n fudge, playing Crazy Golf, buying gay shades, kicking a football around in our bare feet and generally lazing on the sand. Grahame dug an impressively big hole and sat in it.
Simon, Caroline, Helen, Diane and I built… well, not a sand castle. More a sand-Tolkien landscape, complete with multiple castles, a moat, roads, caves and a huge pinnacly mountain thing. About five minutes after we finished it and went back up to our base, we saw a couple of ten year old kids kicking it to shit. Ah, the cycle of civilisations. It’s how History works, you know.
Finally the sea came near enough across the mud flats for us to paddle a bit – though in the end Diane and I didn’t stick our faces in the water to give it a kiss as I’d promised Fay. Cos not only was it murky and slightly foamy, but Grahame and Brian had just spotted what I believe is technically known as “a floater”! Soz Fay, er… maybe next time!
We packed up around half sixish, as the beach emptied and the sun began to amble mellowly towards the glittering water. The long journey home didn’t matter, our tired happy faces had caught the sun and there it would stay. (smiles) Plus we had a hefty supply of Bangin Dance Choons to keep us going. And Sean the SatNav man, now fully qualified as a member of the team in his own right.
Depressed? Mournful? Listless? Struck with ennui? Uh, go to the beach, dude. Seriously. Easy as that.
It’s been quite a few years now since our last Impulsive Day Trip to the beach. And even this wasn’t that Impulsive, having been planned a couple of weeks ago. Sadly we just don’t work in a climate these days which allows for Impulsive Day Trips. What happened to the world, man? (shakes head sadly)
Previous Impulsive Day Trips usually took us to Hunstanton cos on paper it’s pretty much the closest Seaside to MK. But doing a little bit of research on the AA website confirmed that MK is so landlocked that almost every coastline is within a two to three hour drive radius. We could have gone to Southend, Brighton, Great Yarmouth, Bournemouth, anywhere really in a similar amount of time. But Brian recommended Weston-super-Mare, and the rest of the team jumped at the chance to get West Coast.
And oh what a day! Even the slight delay getting there (it took just under four hours in the end, Diane’s Irish SatNav man Sean taking us through Bristol city centre as a detour to an M5 queue – how was he to know some of the central road system was closed for some sort of marathon??) didn’t dampen our spirits.
WSM’s beach has apparently won awards for being a good beach – and it really was! It stretched quite a distance, there were no dogs allowed, and it was virtually spotless! We were able to set up base camp on a beautiful stretch of soft warm sand and lie back in the glorious hot sunshine. (sighs contentedly at the memory and idly rubs slightly burnt neck)
The only quibble we had on arrival – that the sea was miles and miles away and wouldn’t come anywhere near the beach for five more hours – soon faded into the background as we spent the afternoon eating fish n chips n cockles n fudge, playing Crazy Golf, buying gay shades, kicking a football around in our bare feet and generally lazing on the sand. Grahame dug an impressively big hole and sat in it.
Simon, Caroline, Helen, Diane and I built… well, not a sand castle. More a sand-Tolkien landscape, complete with multiple castles, a moat, roads, caves and a huge pinnacly mountain thing. About five minutes after we finished it and went back up to our base, we saw a couple of ten year old kids kicking it to shit. Ah, the cycle of civilisations. It’s how History works, you know.
Finally the sea came near enough across the mud flats for us to paddle a bit – though in the end Diane and I didn’t stick our faces in the water to give it a kiss as I’d promised Fay. Cos not only was it murky and slightly foamy, but Grahame and Brian had just spotted what I believe is technically known as “a floater”! Soz Fay, er… maybe next time!
We packed up around half sixish, as the beach emptied and the sun began to amble mellowly towards the glittering water. The long journey home didn’t matter, our tired happy faces had caught the sun and there it would stay. (smiles) Plus we had a hefty supply of Bangin Dance Choons to keep us going. And Sean the SatNav man, now fully qualified as a member of the team in his own right.
Depressed? Mournful? Listless? Struck with ennui? Uh, go to the beach, dude. Seriously. Easy as that.
Thursday, 7 May 2009
"like a sad, strawberry jelly..." - Thu May 7
I got momentarily very excited about semi-occasional-Monkey-Kettle-compadre Darren G’s self-imposed scheme to write 100 poems in the month of May – partly cos I think his writing’s good and he hasn’t sent us any poems in yonks, but mostly cos I had a brief vision of trying the same thing myself!
100 poems? That’s only 3.28 per day, I worked out. Then of course after the initial excitement about all the things I could write died down, I remembered I’d written less than 3.28 poems in the last year, so p’raps it’s a crazy-intense-plan too far for me at this stage. Still… I might try and write some poems during my Birthday week off next week. There’s been plenty of ideas flitting round the inside of my head for months now, waiting for a prolonged period of time for me to let them out. Almost like some kind of moth-lightbulb-window analogy there waiting to be made, no doubt.
As if by blogging-happy chance, I came across my first ever published poetry this morning while tidying my Poetry Shelf. ‘Twas the Spring of 1987 in which a city-wide Schools Poetry Competition ran, and via which both Matthew Taylor (11) and Simon Edwards (12) from our class at Bushfield (as well as Christopher Taylor (9), incidentally!) had work selected for a small colourful – Monkey Kettle-sized! – pamphlet featuring the cream of MK’s 5 – 12 year old writing talent that year!
Then as now, those extra four months’ experience counted for a lot in the quality of our writing, as you’ll see from these brief excerpts. Simon’s poem “Silent” already features some of the strong rhythmical writing which has become his trademark in later years:
“… Not a sound can I hear
Silence passes through each ear
A faint faint noise
I differ my poise
I turn
I twist
I twist my wrist
I turn my head
I look around
But silently I hear no sound…”
whereas I was clearly always more about the Imagery, as evinced in my poem about a cow:
“… Her udder hangs limp, like a sad, strawberry jelly
Water drips from her eye, she is crying
So sad, sluggish, slothful, looking unhappy *
Knees quiver like the shaky legs of a grief-ridden widow…”
Still, for some reason it was my other poem “Quietly Quiet” (which opens with the famous line “It was night, and the air screamed quietly in my ear”!) which was selected as one of the ten winners on the night** by second-division Mersey Poet Adrian Henri – enabling me for evermore to bill myself as Milton Keynes Young Poet Of The Year 1987! Kerching! ;-)
I was reading through this pamphlet again today to see if anyone else we later came to know featured in amongst the 100 or so kids’ poems, but sadly not – nor indeed anyone who’s subsequently come to our attention via Monkey Kettle. Clearly my Assistant Resource Sub-Editor and myself are the only survivors of some kind of Golden Generation of MK Young Poets. Man. Makes you think, doesn’t it…
The “Street Names 2009 (Vol 2) Launch” went pleasantly calmly yestereve, attended by only a dozen or so stalwarts, but it was designed to be a lo-fi affair anyway. The real reward is having an exhibition up in the Library at all. Alan, the Library Guy who made this all possible was telling me that the monthly average for people coming through the Library doors is 40,000! 40,000!!! So, let’s say for the sake of argument only half of them go upstairs, that’s still 20,000 punters – about 1,000 times more people than have ever heard of Monkey Kettle up to now, if my figures are accurate! No wonder we’ve already started registering sales!
(rubs hands together greedily)
Anyway, it's there upstairs all of May. Go see! Go see!!
* I guess we must have done Alliteration at school that week...
** I’ve just remembered it was in the same hall which must have been only a couple of years away from becoming also known as The Pitz! My first triumph there, but not my last! ;-)
100 poems? That’s only 3.28 per day, I worked out. Then of course after the initial excitement about all the things I could write died down, I remembered I’d written less than 3.28 poems in the last year, so p’raps it’s a crazy-intense-plan too far for me at this stage. Still… I might try and write some poems during my Birthday week off next week. There’s been plenty of ideas flitting round the inside of my head for months now, waiting for a prolonged period of time for me to let them out. Almost like some kind of moth-lightbulb-window analogy there waiting to be made, no doubt.
As if by blogging-happy chance, I came across my first ever published poetry this morning while tidying my Poetry Shelf. ‘Twas the Spring of 1987 in which a city-wide Schools Poetry Competition ran, and via which both Matthew Taylor (11) and Simon Edwards (12) from our class at Bushfield (as well as Christopher Taylor (9), incidentally!) had work selected for a small colourful – Monkey Kettle-sized! – pamphlet featuring the cream of MK’s 5 – 12 year old writing talent that year!
Then as now, those extra four months’ experience counted for a lot in the quality of our writing, as you’ll see from these brief excerpts. Simon’s poem “Silent” already features some of the strong rhythmical writing which has become his trademark in later years:
“… Not a sound can I hear
Silence passes through each ear
A faint faint noise
I differ my poise
I turn
I twist
I twist my wrist
I turn my head
I look around
But silently I hear no sound…”
whereas I was clearly always more about the Imagery, as evinced in my poem about a cow:
“… Her udder hangs limp, like a sad, strawberry jelly
Water drips from her eye, she is crying
So sad, sluggish, slothful, looking unhappy *
Knees quiver like the shaky legs of a grief-ridden widow…”
Still, for some reason it was my other poem “Quietly Quiet” (which opens with the famous line “It was night, and the air screamed quietly in my ear”!) which was selected as one of the ten winners on the night** by second-division Mersey Poet Adrian Henri – enabling me for evermore to bill myself as Milton Keynes Young Poet Of The Year 1987! Kerching! ;-)
I was reading through this pamphlet again today to see if anyone else we later came to know featured in amongst the 100 or so kids’ poems, but sadly not – nor indeed anyone who’s subsequently come to our attention via Monkey Kettle. Clearly my Assistant Resource Sub-Editor and myself are the only survivors of some kind of Golden Generation of MK Young Poets. Man. Makes you think, doesn’t it…
The “Street Names 2009 (Vol 2) Launch” went pleasantly calmly yestereve, attended by only a dozen or so stalwarts, but it was designed to be a lo-fi affair anyway. The real reward is having an exhibition up in the Library at all. Alan, the Library Guy who made this all possible was telling me that the monthly average for people coming through the Library doors is 40,000! 40,000!!! So, let’s say for the sake of argument only half of them go upstairs, that’s still 20,000 punters – about 1,000 times more people than have ever heard of Monkey Kettle up to now, if my figures are accurate! No wonder we’ve already started registering sales!
(rubs hands together greedily)
Anyway, it's there upstairs all of May. Go see! Go see!!
* I guess we must have done Alliteration at school that week...
** I’ve just remembered it was in the same hall which must have been only a couple of years away from becoming also known as The Pitz! My first triumph there, but not my last! ;-)
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
Vigorous Vernacular - Tue May 5
You’d be surprised, I think, how often I’m sent emails to the Monkey Kettle Inbox asking me to review new poetry books people have released. I think some years back we somehow got added to a mailing list somewhere, and these publishing companies and self-publishing poets have no clue what’all that we’re a tiny wackadoo ragazine with a circulation of under 100 and controlled from a desk covered in tea-stains situated in between my bed and my bedroom door.
Anyway, that’s what I usually say to these soliciting emails, and make it clear that though I will review things for them, is it really worth their while? Almost without fail, they don’t actually answer this reply.
Besides, I’d rather try and have some kind of logical process at work behind the Reviewers’ “Art”. So generally I try and restrict it to people who a) have been in Monkey Kettle themselves at some point over the years, and / or b) are willing to send me a free copy in order to conduct said Review.
This has worked pretty well for me in the past – if I’ve included them in the mag before then there’s clearly something I already like about their writing. So if you’re asking, I’m happy to recommend things like “the loose end of the night”, a 2006 haiku book by one of my favourite local writers, Paul Grant; or “Ghostly Sightings Of The Pornographic Lady” by Rogan Whitenails, to my bleary peepers one of the top three most-talented writers ever to feature in our half-assed rag.
Or, now, “Vigorous Vernacular” by Kevin Densley, from Picaro Press. Kevin’s a poet from Australia who’s appeared in Monkey Kettle several times (#14, #23, the Monkey Kettle Book and next Autumn’s #32 if you’re counting!) – in fact it says so right there on the back of this nifty little collection! Caramba!
What’s good about Kevin’s writing – and the reason he feels a bit Monkey Kettley to me – is that he’s capable of doing several different things with his writing, and well. The longer poems about Australian history (e.g. “The Shooting of Fred Lowry at Tom Vardy’s Limerick Races Hotel near Goulburn, New South Wales, August 29th, 1863”) are competently written, but not really my cup of tea; but the wistful ones (e.g. “Matins”, “Scarlatti’s Pearls”, and MK fave “Her First And Second Husbands”) are spot on – not easy to do!
And best of all – the funny ones are not just overtly gag-laden, there’s other edges underneath. The occasional sharp point or dark shape breaks the comedic surface layer for those who want something more to their humour (e.g. “Grandfatherly Metaphysics”, “Ariadne Threadless”, “The Girl in the Giant Wombat Tourist Shop”).
It’s always good to read writers with a bit of ‘range’, makes my job sifting through the submissions a lot easier, anyway. Cheers Kevin, best of luck with it Down Under and, er, Up Over as you’re looking at it! ;-)
While I’m in this kind of effusive mood, a quick word also for north-eastern poetry mag “Moodswing” who sent me a copy of their produce a few months back. It’s a nicely executed idea, too – comes in a little A6 brown paper cover and folds out into a map-sized swathe of poetry. I don’t think they have a website though, so you’ll have to borrow my copy if you want to read it. Just let me know.
Anyway, that’s what I usually say to these soliciting emails, and make it clear that though I will review things for them, is it really worth their while? Almost without fail, they don’t actually answer this reply.
Besides, I’d rather try and have some kind of logical process at work behind the Reviewers’ “Art”. So generally I try and restrict it to people who a) have been in Monkey Kettle themselves at some point over the years, and / or b) are willing to send me a free copy in order to conduct said Review.
This has worked pretty well for me in the past – if I’ve included them in the mag before then there’s clearly something I already like about their writing. So if you’re asking, I’m happy to recommend things like “the loose end of the night”, a 2006 haiku book by one of my favourite local writers, Paul Grant; or “Ghostly Sightings Of The Pornographic Lady” by Rogan Whitenails, to my bleary peepers one of the top three most-talented writers ever to feature in our half-assed rag.
Or, now, “Vigorous Vernacular” by Kevin Densley, from Picaro Press. Kevin’s a poet from Australia who’s appeared in Monkey Kettle several times (#14, #23, the Monkey Kettle Book and next Autumn’s #32 if you’re counting!) – in fact it says so right there on the back of this nifty little collection! Caramba!
What’s good about Kevin’s writing – and the reason he feels a bit Monkey Kettley to me – is that he’s capable of doing several different things with his writing, and well. The longer poems about Australian history (e.g. “The Shooting of Fred Lowry at Tom Vardy’s Limerick Races Hotel near Goulburn, New South Wales, August 29th, 1863”) are competently written, but not really my cup of tea; but the wistful ones (e.g. “Matins”, “Scarlatti’s Pearls”, and MK fave “Her First And Second Husbands”) are spot on – not easy to do!
And best of all – the funny ones are not just overtly gag-laden, there’s other edges underneath. The occasional sharp point or dark shape breaks the comedic surface layer for those who want something more to their humour (e.g. “Grandfatherly Metaphysics”, “Ariadne Threadless”, “The Girl in the Giant Wombat Tourist Shop”).
It’s always good to read writers with a bit of ‘range’, makes my job sifting through the submissions a lot easier, anyway. Cheers Kevin, best of luck with it Down Under and, er, Up Over as you’re looking at it! ;-)
While I’m in this kind of effusive mood, a quick word also for north-eastern poetry mag “Moodswing” who sent me a copy of their produce a few months back. It’s a nicely executed idea, too – comes in a little A6 brown paper cover and folds out into a map-sized swathe of poetry. I don’t think they have a website though, so you’ll have to borrow my copy if you want to read it. Just let me know.
Monday, 4 May 2009
Spaghetti & Meatballs - Mon May 4
Me and Diane are going on another Long Long Walk in a couple of weeks time, so I’ve been stepping up the redway-trekking again over the Bank Hol weekend. I’m way out of practice, it’s been a long lazy Winter, but the Spring is here. So today I decided to take my mind off the rest of the world again by seeing how long it would take me to walk from our flat to the edge of town. I know, these concepts are getting increasingly one-dimensional. Still… the more I walk, the more ideas about better ideas I’ll have.
I went South – as it turned out not too dissimilar to a walk I did last March, so I definitely am starting to repeat myself now. Well, actually it was more like South-South-East, but who’s counting? Anyone?
First major landmark of note, and coincidentally something I’ve been meaning to look at for some months now, is the ever-growing Milton Keynes Academy which continues to take shape just along from the Woughton Centre in Leadenhall. Colour me dimwitted, but I’d had no idea that Sir Frank Markham School was there abouts, as well as MK College. I mean, I know there’s a school there too, but not that it was Sir Frank Markham. Though not for much longer, I mean. I know.
On paper – well, on web page – the MK Academy looks like it’s got all the right ideas. I’m sure there’s a catch though, like it’s only for posh kids, or Christians, or ginger kids or somethink. I’ll have a confer with those mates who know about local school systems and see what the gist really is. Cos there’s no time to stop and peer over the security fence at the empty construction site today – I’ve got to stride on through Beanhill and the beautiful smell of curry cooking for lunch and onwards.
West Ashland continues to transform from the eerie post-apocalyptic wilderness I excitedly discovered in 2006. It’s no longer even the flattened scrubland of 2008, the immense Dominos Pizza warehouse base is well under way now. And my favourite underpass in MK – blocked up with earth in 2006 and as you’ll see from the photo flooded last year – is now fenced off with tall railings, clearly now the property of the MK Dons and no thoroughfare for walking poets.
By 45 minutes from my door I was at the Mount Farm lake, marvelling at the sheer volume of traffic round this industrial maze end of MK. I mean, Bank Holiday and all, but come on! You could be at the seaside, why waste your time with IKEA and ASDA? How cliched a Bank Holiday activity for all the family is that?
At 53 minutes, standing for ages and waiting to cross a busy road in the none-more-industrial Denbigh East, I suddenly came to my senses and realised “what am I DOING?”. I turned back. I made my way to IKEA. Walk over.
So – I wasn’t far off the southern border at that point, let’s say it was 1 hour 4 minutes. More importantly, my two favourite Bizarre Industrial Units Of The Day? Denbigh East’s “Axe & Status” who may sound like a Viking Political Consultancy but in fact “offer a range of machinery for both metal cutting and general fabrication”; and Denbigh West’s “G.Ryder & Co Ltd” who have apparently been manufacturing the finest “hand-made boxes” since 1914. They should try crossing the H10 at the lights and popping in to IKEA. They do them there well cheap!
Waiting at the bus stop opposite Tesco’s for the #5 home, a bloke recognises me “from a band or something”. We have a chat about the MK music scene, he tells me at length about branching out from dance music into guitar stuff, and I promise to check out his MySpace when I get in. However, it turns out it doesn’t exist…
(looks puzzled)
I went South – as it turned out not too dissimilar to a walk I did last March, so I definitely am starting to repeat myself now. Well, actually it was more like South-South-East, but who’s counting? Anyone?
First major landmark of note, and coincidentally something I’ve been meaning to look at for some months now, is the ever-growing Milton Keynes Academy which continues to take shape just along from the Woughton Centre in Leadenhall. Colour me dimwitted, but I’d had no idea that Sir Frank Markham School was there abouts, as well as MK College. I mean, I know there’s a school there too, but not that it was Sir Frank Markham. Though not for much longer, I mean. I know.
On paper – well, on web page – the MK Academy looks like it’s got all the right ideas. I’m sure there’s a catch though, like it’s only for posh kids, or Christians, or ginger kids or somethink. I’ll have a confer with those mates who know about local school systems and see what the gist really is. Cos there’s no time to stop and peer over the security fence at the empty construction site today – I’ve got to stride on through Beanhill and the beautiful smell of curry cooking for lunch and onwards.
West Ashland continues to transform from the eerie post-apocalyptic wilderness I excitedly discovered in 2006. It’s no longer even the flattened scrubland of 2008, the immense Dominos Pizza warehouse base is well under way now. And my favourite underpass in MK – blocked up with earth in 2006 and as you’ll see from the photo flooded last year – is now fenced off with tall railings, clearly now the property of the MK Dons and no thoroughfare for walking poets.
By 45 minutes from my door I was at the Mount Farm lake, marvelling at the sheer volume of traffic round this industrial maze end of MK. I mean, Bank Holiday and all, but come on! You could be at the seaside, why waste your time with IKEA and ASDA? How cliched a Bank Holiday activity for all the family is that?
At 53 minutes, standing for ages and waiting to cross a busy road in the none-more-industrial Denbigh East, I suddenly came to my senses and realised “what am I DOING?”. I turned back. I made my way to IKEA. Walk over.
So – I wasn’t far off the southern border at that point, let’s say it was 1 hour 4 minutes. More importantly, my two favourite Bizarre Industrial Units Of The Day? Denbigh East’s “Axe & Status” who may sound like a Viking Political Consultancy but in fact “offer a range of machinery for both metal cutting and general fabrication”; and Denbigh West’s “G.Ryder & Co Ltd” who have apparently been manufacturing the finest “hand-made boxes” since 1914. They should try crossing the H10 at the lights and popping in to IKEA. They do them there well cheap!
Waiting at the bus stop opposite Tesco’s for the #5 home, a bloke recognises me “from a band or something”. We have a chat about the MK music scene, he tells me at length about branching out from dance music into guitar stuff, and I promise to check out his MySpace when I get in. However, it turns out it doesn’t exist…
(looks puzzled)
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