Banksy's Bristol: Home Sweet Home
The Unofficial Guide
By Steve Wright
I read this book during one sunny weekend in April. That weekend I wondered where I went wrong. Why had I never lived in Bristol? Brighton's so clichéd and London’s so expansive.
Bristol, now there's a city, and it's a real a city. It's not just a collection of people living on top of each other, paying through the nose for a tiny piece of real estate, fighting over land and hoping to catch a piece of cool.
Bristol's naturally alternative. It's not some London spin off.
Okay, the Massive Attack referencing was lost on me, but the portrayal of the scene in general had me salivating.
The 90s. Mixed in with the graffiti artists were the hip-hop crews, the ravers and the political idealists. Read the interviews, feel the enthusiasm and note the lack of ego. It's inspiring.
It's unfortunate that, as Matthew Smith states:
"The whole London thing is crucial. It’s sad, but he would never have become the success he has if he hadn’t left Bristol and got his work on the walls of the city that houses all the creative heads of state, most of whom are far too complacent to leave the capital for any length of time. Spraying around Soho, Hoxton and the East End is a great way to become instantly trendy, as long as you have the product..."
This weekend reminded me that I chose to live where I live for damn good reasons. Grass is always greener from a distance.
For the last weekend of the Brighton Festival, I finally embraced it. No longer sidetracked by excursions or visitors, I went to it and it came to me. My journey was organic, unforced, and really quite magical.
On Friday, feeling sorry for myself (a wee sore throat my dears), I spent my lunch break watching a rehearsal in St Nicholas Rest Garden's. This is a peaceful churchyard removed from its church by a nasty road. Without any paying visitors, the show was, for the most part, mine. Musical, comedic and masked, I watched as Shakespeare's Globe Theatre performed one act of the 'The Comedy of Errors' several times. I also got the directorial commentary for gratis. They had a kazoo and were all quite mad. That has to be up there on the best lunch breaks ever list.
Saturday, on a roll, I walked to a spectacular view of the South Downs, visited once before on one of the bus walks that we’re endeavouring to walk in numerical order, some Sunday’s. We’ve managed six so far, and as of Saturday, we’ve done ‘Walk 3’ twice.
Against the backdrop of the city and the sea, there sat the view, cleansed and re-captured in Anish Kapoor's C-Curve. On the backside, the world was turned upside-down and inside out. The C-Curve will be gone by Tuesday. I’m so very glad that I saw it on a perfect sunny morning. "Is it far?" an elderly lady asked. We reassured her that it was well worth the walk. I anticipated that her feisty spirit would make it so. That'll be me in years to come, posh accent an' all. I practice in my sleep.
Then in the heart of town, Fringe Streets beckoned. Children sat eyes agog. An assemblage of grinning masses, myself included, witnessed stunts galore. The freaks on the streets have really upped their game, and this was the best yet. Flamethrowers attached to stunt cars jumped members of the public, violinists stood on each other’s shoulders, clowns performed to stories and, for the most part, pure idiocy reigned. The Fringe Streets are free to attend and they occur every Saturday of the festival. Next year, be there.
Yesterday, the weather was piping; the Bank holiday dream.
Several years ago, with the help of many, I organised a festival in our back garden. It was called Gardenbury. There was a free cocktail bar, a free barbeque, lots of bands and DJs and a polite visit from the noise police. It was a major success, still talked of to this day.
One Renée McAlister had been booked to play, but - alas and alack - could not make it on the day. Renée is a performance poet, finalist in the UK poetry slam and a brilliant person for many other reasons. Yesterday, I finally saw her perform and it was amazing. In the 'Smack Your Beach Hut' Open House, Renée was so good, that I, yes me, got a personal thanks for my facial expressions from another attendee.
Then, as happens, friends led me astray. I had intended to bike to the Marina to see more street performers, but instead I saw four more Open Houses close by. I'd never even been to an Open House before.
The idea of going into a stranger's house and refusing their cakes and Pimm's frightens me a little, but, when with friends, anything goes. Our second port of call was The Regency Town House in Brunswick Square. The building’s currently undergoing a long restoration process, but getting arty in the meantime. We walked into a darkened room, collected a pair of 3-D specs and lay on mats in a damp scented room. A naked lady hung from the ceiling. She slowly turned, showed us her breasts, slim stomach and pubic triangle. Then she showed us her bottom once more. It was oddly brilliant. The Revery Alone is a film installation by Billy Cowie. Eleonore Ansari, the naked one, has a body to envy.
To finish my sidetrack, we visited Embassy Court, which I last visited prior to restoration, when the ceiling threatened to fall on my head. The best part of yesterday's visit, was being able to freely roam the 50s seafront building with stunning views of Hove Lawns, the West Pier, the French Market, and lots of gently roasting and very happy people. The man with his tin can art in the basement was rather cool too.
It's been a proper bank holiday. Under the watchful eye of evil gnomes, the back garden got lots of attention too.
Fabpants Recommends I’m seeing Deerhunter tonight. So let’s warm up now... With some completely different music and, to be quite honest, far better.
Download MP3: Future of the Left - Arming Eritrea (courtesy of gimmetinnitus.com)
Download MP3: Future of the Left - You Need Satan More Than He Needs You (courtesy of merryswankster.com)
The new Future of the Left album, 'Travels with Myself and Another', is out.
Oh, and before I forget, the Alternative Great Escape was brilliant. Much better than queuing for great bands that you never get to see at the real thing. Once A Thief, The Muscle Club, Sam Issac and Kyte put on a great show. Pulled Apart By Horses were on at midnight and it was a school night. I went home instead of waiting 45minutes for them, which is a bit crap of me. As well as free entry, I got given a free drink at the bar!
Monday, 25 May 2009
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
Look a Book: Graphic Gaza
Palestine
Joe Sacco
Israel, as a country, and Gaza, as a battleground, have always left me feeling out of my depth. When it all kicked off in the winter of 2008/2009, I was coincidentally reading a book called 'Palestine' by Joe Sacco. The book focuses on the stories of the Palestinian people that Joe spent time with in 1991-1992.
Palestine is a graphic novel that makes learning about Gaza accessible. Now, when I read the news about Gaza, it fits. It only took one book.
Joe, bespectacled and with foibles, is hungry for a story. He puts himself in danger to get it. Joe has a graphic novel to write.
Joe does not seem brave or fearless. His manner is unassuming, attentive and gracious. He befriends those he meets and, to some extent, he lets his hosts guide him, make connections for him and lead his way. Over time, the stories become the same and Joe’s hunger grows, while his enthusiasm tires.
Stop me, oh, stop me. Stop me if you think that you’ve heard this one before. No one wants to stop. This is the story of their lives. To each person telling it, the story is theirs. The story is unique and it must be heard. The story goes on. Reading the news today, it’s hard to believe that so little has changed in seventeen years.
Joe’s images of a cramped populous living under curfew, throwing stones at Israelis, drinking tea and talking politics from dawn to dusk is striking. The images depict generations of Palestinians, some who have lived other lives, in other places or at other times, and some who haven’t. Now, together, they’re caught in a battle over territory and there is no happy end in sight.
Read the book, see the images, learn the story.
In the meantime, here are some tasters. I have chosen the following excerpts because they include long streams of dialogue, which make sense in non-graphic format. Joe interviews people of all ages and sexes. His drawings truly enhance the story, so beg, steal or borrow to view them. This is just the start.
Excerpt 1:
"Weeks later, in Jabalia refugee camp, I met an old Palestinian who told me about the home he fled in 1948 after Israel declared independence and the Arab armies invaded...
Elder:
The Jews came and occupied the village and arrested everyone left behind, including my father, who was an old man and couldn't move. I walked with my wife, who was pregnant, for four days... The Egyptian army refused to take us in trucks... The Jews bombed us... Even the ants ran after us.
It was a black day when I left my land.
He returned, as it were, a few years ago. He got a permit from the Israeli authorities. For a few hours he could leave the Gaza strip... He would cross into what is now Israel to visit his home village.
Elder:
I took my family to see my land... Where my house was and my school... Some people are paralyzed after they have a chance to go back and see. They destroyed everything. There is no sign that we ever lived there."
Excerpt 2:
"As a rule of thumb, I avoid groups of teenaged boys... I figure, why chance getting on the wrong side of some 17 year old's testosterone secretion when I can cross the road instead. And it's always safest to give kids with Uzis a wide berth... HEBRON.
Not to bad-mouth a settler based on his personal arsenal, y’understand... not out loud, anyway, and not here in particular... This has been a cruel town to Jews... in the Arab riots of 1929 upwars of 60 Hebron Jews got massacred... in ’36 the small Jewish community got run out of town all together.
Fortunes change... Israel nabbed the West Bank in the ’67 war and settling biblical Judea and Samaria has been a religious imperative for fundamentalist Jews ever since... Their policy’s been: Settle first and Israel government approval will come follow (and eventually the Messiah)... Such audacity got them the nearby (like one kilometre nearby) Kiryat Arba settlement in ’72... but that wasn’t enough... in ’79 Gush Emunim zealots squateed Hebron proper downtown... and they’re here to stay, you better believe it, with their finger on the trigger in case some unruly “Canaanite” gets other ideas..."
Excerpt 3:
"Someone in the Gaza Strip once told me, “When you are under interrogation you forget the name of your father”. Me? I wonder how long I’d last getting the business behind a closed door... Not long I bet, but I’m a Pussy First Class... a harsh word and a dirty look and I’d be screaming for Amnesty Int’l.
I meet a Palestinian woman about my age, though, who is one tough cookie. Two years ago she did 19 days in Jerusalem's notorious Russian Compound, courtesy of the Shin Bet... And still she’s bitter about the guys who squealed on her, who named her for something she says she didn’t do – under writing nationalistic pamphlets...
Some of them were arrested in the morning and denounced in the afternoon... They couldn't tolerate one day of pain... Not only were their bodies weak, but their minds were weak, their commitment to the national cause was weak...
And in the Russian Compound the Shin Bet stood her up in the “coffin” half a day after she’d undergone a liver biopsy.
It's a small closet, you stand up in it, it's 80x60cm, two meters high, very dark... I had lumps in my legs, I couldn’t stand up, I was still feeling the anaesthetic... It was cold... I fell unconscious...
And they tied her and hooded her – the Palestinians call this technique... They made her sit straight with a metal bar pressing down the centre of her back, she says, they hit her when she leaned against the wall... But worst of all was isolation, her cell, which was besmirched with filth, she ways, and where she was left without toilet paper and sanitary napkins. She longed for the interrogations, when she’d have someone to talk to... ”I’d have fun with them”... she says she'd figured out the Shin Bet...
The Shin Bet reckoned they could play the twin cards of gender and Arab culture against her... They implied a long imprisonment would ruin her marriage prospects... And they threatened rape, she says... they accused her of using a trip overseas to find sexual partners. Once she'd made clear they couldn't intimidate her sexually, the Shin Bet abandoned that tack – and eventually the interrogation itself..."
Excerpt 4:
Family of a youth shot dead by settlers:
"It was 9p.m. We were in the house. We heard a bulldozer. Some settlers had come to demolish water pipes in the village... There was a confrontation. My brother went out the back door on this small roof with our cousin to see what was going on... NOT to join in. A settler shot him from the road down there. Our cousin died immediately. My brother was shot in the abdomen, and he made it back into the house. The soldiers put a curfew on the village, and we couldn’t leave the house to take him to hospital. He was with his mother and father. He bled to death in three hours. He was 21. My cousin was 17."
Excerpt 5:
Visiting the elderly uncle of a guide.
"I want to know about 1948. 1948: for the Palestinians, The Catastrophe... Yes, he was one of more than 20,000 who escaped to Gaza... The Zionist forces were relatively well armed, well trained... The Palestinians in the other hand had been forcibly disarmed by the British a decade before... Mostly, they pinned their hopes on the intervening Arab armies.
Elder:
We had five guns in the village. We had them hidden but they weren’t enough... The Jews came... I escaped with my family, with the clothes I was wearing, with some flour... The Jews destroyed the village. Now it is farmers’ fields. I walked through it four or five years ago.
Okay, but what about before 1948? How did Jews and Palestinians get along then?
The Jews and Arabs lived together. Yes, I had Jewish friends... A Jew used to visit my brother. They would drink coffee together... Black coffee.
Ah... now that's a pleasant image... a delicate one, granted, and perhaps on the idyllic side, but one wishes mountains from such molehills... I remind myself that was long ago. Ammar's uncle has had to live in this bog upwards of four decades... So what's his take on the chance for peace now?
The Jews are like a dog that has got ahold of some meat... There won't be any peace until you kill the dog."
Fabpants Recommends: Let's start off with a topical film, eh?
Closed Zone by Yoni Goodman, Director of Waltz with Bashir
Art Brut aspires to making a song that makes Israel and Palestine get along. If the were to play a gig in Gaza, I bet it would do the trick. Whenever I see them, and I have very recently, I want to form a band. I can’t sing or dance and I have absolutely no sense of rhythm, but Eddie Argos sure knows how to put a fire in the belly.
Download MP3: Art Brut – Formed a Band
As for more recent tunes, today I've enjoyed the following:
Download MP3: Super Furry Animals – Helium Hearts (courtesy of loftandlost.files.wordpress.com)
And if you thought the Furries sometimes get weird, check out this chaos in a tin can:
Download MP3: Micachu - Vulture (courtesy of newyorkrockmarket)
Download MP3: Micachu - Calculator (courtesy of weeklytapedeck.com)
Joe Sacco
Israel, as a country, and Gaza, as a battleground, have always left me feeling out of my depth. When it all kicked off in the winter of 2008/2009, I was coincidentally reading a book called 'Palestine' by Joe Sacco. The book focuses on the stories of the Palestinian people that Joe spent time with in 1991-1992.
Palestine is a graphic novel that makes learning about Gaza accessible. Now, when I read the news about Gaza, it fits. It only took one book.
Joe, bespectacled and with foibles, is hungry for a story. He puts himself in danger to get it. Joe has a graphic novel to write.
Joe does not seem brave or fearless. His manner is unassuming, attentive and gracious. He befriends those he meets and, to some extent, he lets his hosts guide him, make connections for him and lead his way. Over time, the stories become the same and Joe’s hunger grows, while his enthusiasm tires.
Stop me, oh, stop me. Stop me if you think that you’ve heard this one before. No one wants to stop. This is the story of their lives. To each person telling it, the story is theirs. The story is unique and it must be heard. The story goes on. Reading the news today, it’s hard to believe that so little has changed in seventeen years.
Joe’s images of a cramped populous living under curfew, throwing stones at Israelis, drinking tea and talking politics from dawn to dusk is striking. The images depict generations of Palestinians, some who have lived other lives, in other places or at other times, and some who haven’t. Now, together, they’re caught in a battle over territory and there is no happy end in sight.
Read the book, see the images, learn the story.
In the meantime, here are some tasters. I have chosen the following excerpts because they include long streams of dialogue, which make sense in non-graphic format. Joe interviews people of all ages and sexes. His drawings truly enhance the story, so beg, steal or borrow to view them. This is just the start.
Excerpt 1:
"Weeks later, in Jabalia refugee camp, I met an old Palestinian who told me about the home he fled in 1948 after Israel declared independence and the Arab armies invaded...
Elder:
The Jews came and occupied the village and arrested everyone left behind, including my father, who was an old man and couldn't move. I walked with my wife, who was pregnant, for four days... The Egyptian army refused to take us in trucks... The Jews bombed us... Even the ants ran after us.
It was a black day when I left my land.
He returned, as it were, a few years ago. He got a permit from the Israeli authorities. For a few hours he could leave the Gaza strip... He would cross into what is now Israel to visit his home village.
Elder:
I took my family to see my land... Where my house was and my school... Some people are paralyzed after they have a chance to go back and see. They destroyed everything. There is no sign that we ever lived there."
Excerpt 2:
"As a rule of thumb, I avoid groups of teenaged boys... I figure, why chance getting on the wrong side of some 17 year old's testosterone secretion when I can cross the road instead. And it's always safest to give kids with Uzis a wide berth... HEBRON.
Not to bad-mouth a settler based on his personal arsenal, y’understand... not out loud, anyway, and not here in particular... This has been a cruel town to Jews... in the Arab riots of 1929 upwars of 60 Hebron Jews got massacred... in ’36 the small Jewish community got run out of town all together.
Fortunes change... Israel nabbed the West Bank in the ’67 war and settling biblical Judea and Samaria has been a religious imperative for fundamentalist Jews ever since... Their policy’s been: Settle first and Israel government approval will come follow (and eventually the Messiah)... Such audacity got them the nearby (like one kilometre nearby) Kiryat Arba settlement in ’72... but that wasn’t enough... in ’79 Gush Emunim zealots squateed Hebron proper downtown... and they’re here to stay, you better believe it, with their finger on the trigger in case some unruly “Canaanite” gets other ideas..."
Excerpt 3:
"Someone in the Gaza Strip once told me, “When you are under interrogation you forget the name of your father”. Me? I wonder how long I’d last getting the business behind a closed door... Not long I bet, but I’m a Pussy First Class... a harsh word and a dirty look and I’d be screaming for Amnesty Int’l.
I meet a Palestinian woman about my age, though, who is one tough cookie. Two years ago she did 19 days in Jerusalem's notorious Russian Compound, courtesy of the Shin Bet... And still she’s bitter about the guys who squealed on her, who named her for something she says she didn’t do – under writing nationalistic pamphlets...
Some of them were arrested in the morning and denounced in the afternoon... They couldn't tolerate one day of pain... Not only were their bodies weak, but their minds were weak, their commitment to the national cause was weak...
And in the Russian Compound the Shin Bet stood her up in the “coffin” half a day after she’d undergone a liver biopsy.
It's a small closet, you stand up in it, it's 80x60cm, two meters high, very dark... I had lumps in my legs, I couldn’t stand up, I was still feeling the anaesthetic... It was cold... I fell unconscious...
And they tied her and hooded her – the Palestinians call this technique... They made her sit straight with a metal bar pressing down the centre of her back, she says, they hit her when she leaned against the wall... But worst of all was isolation, her cell, which was besmirched with filth, she ways, and where she was left without toilet paper and sanitary napkins. She longed for the interrogations, when she’d have someone to talk to... ”I’d have fun with them”... she says she'd figured out the Shin Bet...
The Shin Bet reckoned they could play the twin cards of gender and Arab culture against her... They implied a long imprisonment would ruin her marriage prospects... And they threatened rape, she says... they accused her of using a trip overseas to find sexual partners. Once she'd made clear they couldn't intimidate her sexually, the Shin Bet abandoned that tack – and eventually the interrogation itself..."
Excerpt 4:
Family of a youth shot dead by settlers:
"It was 9p.m. We were in the house. We heard a bulldozer. Some settlers had come to demolish water pipes in the village... There was a confrontation. My brother went out the back door on this small roof with our cousin to see what was going on... NOT to join in. A settler shot him from the road down there. Our cousin died immediately. My brother was shot in the abdomen, and he made it back into the house. The soldiers put a curfew on the village, and we couldn’t leave the house to take him to hospital. He was with his mother and father. He bled to death in three hours. He was 21. My cousin was 17."
Excerpt 5:
Visiting the elderly uncle of a guide.
"I want to know about 1948. 1948: for the Palestinians, The Catastrophe... Yes, he was one of more than 20,000 who escaped to Gaza... The Zionist forces were relatively well armed, well trained... The Palestinians in the other hand had been forcibly disarmed by the British a decade before... Mostly, they pinned their hopes on the intervening Arab armies.
Elder:
We had five guns in the village. We had them hidden but they weren’t enough... The Jews came... I escaped with my family, with the clothes I was wearing, with some flour... The Jews destroyed the village. Now it is farmers’ fields. I walked through it four or five years ago.
Okay, but what about before 1948? How did Jews and Palestinians get along then?
The Jews and Arabs lived together. Yes, I had Jewish friends... A Jew used to visit my brother. They would drink coffee together... Black coffee.
Ah... now that's a pleasant image... a delicate one, granted, and perhaps on the idyllic side, but one wishes mountains from such molehills... I remind myself that was long ago. Ammar's uncle has had to live in this bog upwards of four decades... So what's his take on the chance for peace now?
The Jews are like a dog that has got ahold of some meat... There won't be any peace until you kill the dog."
Fabpants Recommends: Let's start off with a topical film, eh?
Closed Zone by Yoni Goodman, Director of Waltz with Bashir
Art Brut aspires to making a song that makes Israel and Palestine get along. If the were to play a gig in Gaza, I bet it would do the trick. Whenever I see them, and I have very recently, I want to form a band. I can’t sing or dance and I have absolutely no sense of rhythm, but Eddie Argos sure knows how to put a fire in the belly.
Download MP3: Art Brut – Formed a Band
As for more recent tunes, today I've enjoyed the following:
Download MP3: Super Furry Animals – Helium Hearts (courtesy of loftandlost.files.wordpress.com)
And if you thought the Furries sometimes get weird, check out this chaos in a tin can:
Download MP3: Micachu - Vulture (courtesy of newyorkrockmarket)
Download MP3: Micachu - Calculator (courtesy of weeklytapedeck.com)
Thursday, 14 May 2009
Day Tripping and Fly Tipping
Some days I like to catch flies and tip them. The tip is "Make an advance directive: If drowned lay on salt."
Visiting London is better than living there.
On the Saturday just gone, plans to visit friends were broken. Plans made to tally stuck. Off to London we tootled, friendless but not mournful.
Act One: Borough Market
If you are ever near London Bridge, you must visit Borough Market. It puts other markets to shame. Some ten years ago, it was almost dead. Love, enterprise and goodwill has made it special once more. Beautiful stalls proffer the freshest of fruit, vegetables, sea fayre, meaty carcasses and bread. Rare beers, fabulous fungi, Brick Lane tofu and meze style treats entice the hungry caterpillar in everyone.
Borough Market is a place to drop the jaw and drool.
Act Two: The South Bank Trail
I love this walk, but the word about the South Bank is out. Not yet summer, Saturday’s South Bank was the busiest that I've seen it. Charm may diminish with too many, but, for now, the masses are tolerable and the promenading remains good and wholesome.
Never one to miss the chance to piss in Shakespeare's Globe, I did. Manga versions of his works say "Hey children, Shakespeare is cool". Never a fan, overrated, says I.
With a choice between Shakespeare and the Wild Poland Exhibition I’d choose the latter.
In September of 2007, whilst cycling through Hungary - all on my oddy-knocky - I met a German couple who were touring too. That day, the rain was relentless and the side winds fierce. As wet as I, the couple were also equally unsure of the way. Their misery, and not their faces, remains etched in my memory. In the woods, my small talk was welcomed like ripe fart. I was polite, not needy, but who were they to know. The sorry Berliners gave me the gift of joy on that cold, wet day, just by being miserable.
Deep inside, at the place where stomach and lungs make friends, a internal laugh echoed out, without sound, tingling through my many cells. To be so wet, so far from home, with no knowledge of bicycle maintenance, was absurdly stupid, wonderfully funny and blissfully free-range. Hungary is quite beautiful, like Norfolk in the seventies, even in the rain. The two faces before me reminded me of this. Looking to the past and trapped in a short conversation with yours truly, the downhearted duo told me of better days in Poland and cycling there.
I decided I would go to Poland too, one day. I left them cycling in the rain. That evening I cycled around Lake Tata. I was wet inside out and equally enamoured.
I renewed my vows to cycle through Poland last Saturday. The photographs were outstanding.
As was the exhibition that isn't really an exhibition in the Turbine Hall at the Tate Modern. Captured on film, by William Forsythe’s 'City of Abstracts', I watched myself move in slow motion. My body dragged itself horizontally, head, then body, then legs. I found myself transfixed by the distorted memory of me, just some seconds ago.
Act Three: The London Duck
I'd visit Cromer, Bournemouth, or Linz, for little more than a ride on the tourist train. Such giant road-riding toys, dressed to look like trains, make my stomach bubble with childish, wholesome excitement. I beg to climb aboard. "Can we go? Can we go? Can we?" With as much class as a rubber band, to me the road trains are quite charming. They are what they are. I wave at those we pass, bounce up and down in my seat, and giggle at the absurdity of it all. They are ridiculous and this is what makes them great.
One-day word got to me of the Liverpool Duck. You can imagine my reaction. It might be the home of The Beatles, the 2008 European Capital of Culture and a monument to maritime days, but the amphibious tour Duck is the attraction that could really make me go. It puts Liverpool in my crosshairs. A brightly coloured tour vehicle that rides on land and water is so very, very enticing.
Part of me is a little sad that I didn’t ride on my first Duck in Liverpool, but - woo hoo - I was grinning from year to year in London last Saturday. Ducks live in London too.
Now hear this, the ducks are not the giant toys that silly old me had them pegged for, they are historical wonders. The DUKW vehicles were World War II transportation vehicles and, amongst other tasks, helped with the D-Day landings. Imagining this, whilst looking at the old instrumentation onboard, my brain filled with sights and sounds so vivid that my ears tingled.
The tour was outstandingly brilliant. There were no headphones. There was no pre-prepared speech delivered by an automaton with a tape recorder. A real Cockney stood before us. He filled my ears with facts, had me laughing at embarrassingly brave sing-alongs, told saucy jokes, made up stupid quizzes and demonstrated a genuine passion for his heritage.
I learnt that:
The best part of the tour was being on the Thames. It was really quite something. We dived in from the MI6 slipway and, from there on in, we sat so low in the water I could have had a wash. To the Houses of Parliament we went, and back again. Yes, I did say MI6.
Act Four: A Free Self-Guided Walking Tour
The London Walking Tours website is a gem, and Richard Jones deserves great praise. We opted for the the Secret City Tour, which took us through the heart of The City, on a Saturday, when all the bankers are in their mansions in other parts of the world. It was all ours.
My favourite parts of the tours were:
If you find a recently drowned fly, lay it carefully on salt. It will come back to life.
Fabpants Recommends: Sam Isaac has put two pals and moi on his guest list for tonight. Kyte are headlining. It should be fun. So listen to Sam. Listen to Sideways if you can. I can’t find it to stream here, but it's on a brilliant CD I own called 'Sticker Star And Tape'.
These tracks are good too:
Download MP3: Sam Isaac – Sticker Star And Tape (indierocker.net)
Download MP3: Sam Isaac – Come Back Home Tonight (sorry, this link has died)
Sam is very good live. I saw him at Truck 2007 and at Komedia 2008.
Visiting London is better than living there.
On the Saturday just gone, plans to visit friends were broken. Plans made to tally stuck. Off to London we tootled, friendless but not mournful.
Act One: Borough Market
If you are ever near London Bridge, you must visit Borough Market. It puts other markets to shame. Some ten years ago, it was almost dead. Love, enterprise and goodwill has made it special once more. Beautiful stalls proffer the freshest of fruit, vegetables, sea fayre, meaty carcasses and bread. Rare beers, fabulous fungi, Brick Lane tofu and meze style treats entice the hungry caterpillar in everyone.
Borough Market is a place to drop the jaw and drool.
Act Two: The South Bank Trail
I love this walk, but the word about the South Bank is out. Not yet summer, Saturday’s South Bank was the busiest that I've seen it. Charm may diminish with too many, but, for now, the masses are tolerable and the promenading remains good and wholesome.
Never one to miss the chance to piss in Shakespeare's Globe, I did. Manga versions of his works say "Hey children, Shakespeare is cool". Never a fan, overrated, says I.
With a choice between Shakespeare and the Wild Poland Exhibition I’d choose the latter.
In September of 2007, whilst cycling through Hungary - all on my oddy-knocky - I met a German couple who were touring too. That day, the rain was relentless and the side winds fierce. As wet as I, the couple were also equally unsure of the way. Their misery, and not their faces, remains etched in my memory. In the woods, my small talk was welcomed like ripe fart. I was polite, not needy, but who were they to know. The sorry Berliners gave me the gift of joy on that cold, wet day, just by being miserable.
Deep inside, at the place where stomach and lungs make friends, a internal laugh echoed out, without sound, tingling through my many cells. To be so wet, so far from home, with no knowledge of bicycle maintenance, was absurdly stupid, wonderfully funny and blissfully free-range. Hungary is quite beautiful, like Norfolk in the seventies, even in the rain. The two faces before me reminded me of this. Looking to the past and trapped in a short conversation with yours truly, the downhearted duo told me of better days in Poland and cycling there.
I decided I would go to Poland too, one day. I left them cycling in the rain. That evening I cycled around Lake Tata. I was wet inside out and equally enamoured.
I renewed my vows to cycle through Poland last Saturday. The photographs were outstanding.
As was the exhibition that isn't really an exhibition in the Turbine Hall at the Tate Modern. Captured on film, by William Forsythe’s 'City of Abstracts', I watched myself move in slow motion. My body dragged itself horizontally, head, then body, then legs. I found myself transfixed by the distorted memory of me, just some seconds ago.
Act Three: The London Duck
I'd visit Cromer, Bournemouth, or Linz, for little more than a ride on the tourist train. Such giant road-riding toys, dressed to look like trains, make my stomach bubble with childish, wholesome excitement. I beg to climb aboard. "Can we go? Can we go? Can we?" With as much class as a rubber band, to me the road trains are quite charming. They are what they are. I wave at those we pass, bounce up and down in my seat, and giggle at the absurdity of it all. They are ridiculous and this is what makes them great.
One-day word got to me of the Liverpool Duck. You can imagine my reaction. It might be the home of The Beatles, the 2008 European Capital of Culture and a monument to maritime days, but the amphibious tour Duck is the attraction that could really make me go. It puts Liverpool in my crosshairs. A brightly coloured tour vehicle that rides on land and water is so very, very enticing.
Part of me is a little sad that I didn’t ride on my first Duck in Liverpool, but - woo hoo - I was grinning from year to year in London last Saturday. Ducks live in London too.
Now hear this, the ducks are not the giant toys that silly old me had them pegged for, they are historical wonders. The DUKW vehicles were World War II transportation vehicles and, amongst other tasks, helped with the D-Day landings. Imagining this, whilst looking at the old instrumentation onboard, my brain filled with sights and sounds so vivid that my ears tingled.
The tour was outstandingly brilliant. There were no headphones. There was no pre-prepared speech delivered by an automaton with a tape recorder. A real Cockney stood before us. He filled my ears with facts, had me laughing at embarrassingly brave sing-alongs, told saucy jokes, made up stupid quizzes and demonstrated a genuine passion for his heritage.
I learnt that:
- The phrase ‘money for old rope’ comes from the children – mudlarks – collecting rope on the shore of the Thames to sell.
- Green Park is so named because, or so it is told, because the wife of King Charles II suggested he pick a flower from the park and give it to the lady he loved. He did pick a flower, but to his Queen it did not go. In fury, the Queen ordered that every flower in the park to be shoved up the King’s fat arse. And so it is: the Green Park is green and the King’s bum smells lovely.
- Handel’s Water Music was composed for a great water party, held on the Thames on 17 July 1717, in the days when the South Bank was undeveloped and greener than Green Park.
- The Thames used to be so busy with cargo, that people could get across by jumping from barge to barge.
- The concrete barges, still bobbing about today, were built in the World War 2 because steel was hard to buy.
- There is still a snack shop on the Thames for boatmen to use.
The best part of the tour was being on the Thames. It was really quite something. We dived in from the MI6 slipway and, from there on in, we sat so low in the water I could have had a wash. To the Houses of Parliament we went, and back again. Yes, I did say MI6.
Act Four: A Free Self-Guided Walking Tour
The London Walking Tours website is a gem, and Richard Jones deserves great praise. We opted for the the Secret City Tour, which took us through the heart of The City, on a Saturday, when all the bankers are in their mansions in other parts of the world. It was all ours.
My favourite parts of the tours were:
- The hidden alleyways and green squares.
- St Olave’s Church with its pirate like gate, or as Dicken’s said ‘It is a small churchyard, with a ferocious strong spiked iron gate, like a jail. This gate is ornamented with skulls and cross-bones, larger than life, wrought in stone; but it likewise came into the mind of Saint Ghastly Grim, that to stick iron spikes a-top of the stone skulls, as though they were impaled, would be a pleasant device. Therefore the skulls grin aloft horribly, thrust through and through with iron spears…’ They still do.
- Finding out that the home of the G20 protests once housed ‘Father Ignatius’ a great anti-capitalist. In 1868, during a sermon, the father called the traders on Lombard Street worse than Jericho. The riot back then was somewhat different. A week later, thousands of people armed with apples pelted Father Ignatius and his congregation. Apparently, the police saved the day, instead of making matters worse.
- The Temple of Mithras, a relic of the first city of London and home to an intriguing religion. Christianity stole a certain festival from Mithras. Does 25th December ring any bells?
- The National Memorial to Heroic Men and Women in Postman’s Park. Touching plaques included: "Richard Farris, Labourer, who drowned in attempting to save a poor girl who had thrown herself into the canal at Globe Bridge Peckham, May 2, 1878", "John Cranmer, Cambridge, Aged 23, a clerk in London County Council who was drowned near Ostend whilst saving the life of a stranger and a foreigner, August 8, 1901", "Henry James Bristow, aged eight, at Walthamstow on December 30 1890, saved his sisters life by tearing off her flaming clothes but caught fire himself and died of shock and burns." There are lots of empty spots for new plaques, so I think there should be an internet campaign to add a new plaque each year, as voted for by the public.
- Learning about the Scratching Fanny of Cock Lane, just for the name.
If you find a recently drowned fly, lay it carefully on salt. It will come back to life.
Fabpants Recommends: Sam Isaac has put two pals and moi on his guest list for tonight. Kyte are headlining. It should be fun. So listen to Sam. Listen to Sideways if you can. I can’t find it to stream here, but it's on a brilliant CD I own called 'Sticker Star And Tape'.
These tracks are good too:
Download MP3: Sam Isaac – Sticker Star And Tape (indierocker.net)
Download MP3: Sam Isaac – Come Back Home Tonight (sorry, this link has died)
Sam is very good live. I saw him at Truck 2007 and at Komedia 2008.
Monday, 4 May 2009
A Shabby Interior
"The people I know who used to sit in the bathroom with pornography, now they sit in the bathroom with their IKEA furniture catalogue." Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club (1996)
I've been to Ikea before. It was over ten years ago. Perhaps it was fourteen. We went as tourists.
A group of us visited Brent Park Ikea and the Neasden Temple. Some friends lived nearby and this was our excursion. We didn't buy anything, nor did we intend to. Herded like cattle, we felt out of our depth, unable to browse and unable to detour. It was as though we were part of some kind of postmodernist line of Fordist consumers. Follow the arrows or evil shall befall you.
We were poor back then. Expenditure was for Christmas, and none of us believed.
We cooked on a Baby Belling and walked on painted floorboards. We had no carpets and our sofa cost £40. We wanted for little. I used to jump the train to work. Every little helps.
Consumerism was something to watch with intrigued eyes. It was not part of our everyday lives. To us, Ikea was an emporium for the settled and the staid. The aggressive nature of the Ikea shopping experience was really quite shocking.
Shoppers travelled miles. The turgid air of dank middle-aged competition filled our lungs. It felt tight, depleted of life's great staples: goodwill and oxygen.
Like rats in a storm drain we went with the flow and the flow was fast. Forcibly pushed through every floor of the store, we weren't too sure of what we'd passed by. "I think I just saw something there. Oh no, it's gone". Somehow, people gathered furniture to complete their homes.
Yesterday, with friends in Coventry, I visited Ikea for a second time.
The furniture that fills the homes of my friends and family was all about me. It was like being in the giant home of someone I love. Oh how things change.
We bought cushion covers and tablecloths. We are part of the Ikea set now.
We still have a plastic garden table in our living room.
It might be cheap. And, yes, it was designed for outside eating. But, it's the perfect size and cannot be faulted in functionality.
We considered buying an Ikea oak table. We got home, looked at our table, and changed our minds.
Once we upgrade tables, we'll have to get precious. "Use a tablemat". "Don't put your plate there". "Oh no, you’ve spilt your drink and now I'll have to kill you".
Green plastic legs poke out from beneath our new Ikea tablecloth. The old table remains.
It might wobble when we cut bread, but we like it. It's kind of homely and it's kind of us.
Fabpants Recommends: There are some things that I mean to tell you about, but don't. I forget or never get round to it. You know how it is.
I meant to provide a full report of the three fantastic plays that I saw last year. The Norman Conquests is a trilogy written in 1973 by Alan Ayckbourn. The original cast included Penelope Keith, Felicity Kendal and Michael Gambon. How fucking cool is that? The cast for us included Stephen Mangan from The Green Wing and Jessica Hynes from Spaced. I loved the trilogy, but in deciding not to write about it until I'd seen all three plays (which took months), I never got round to it. Ho hum.
I never completed my Barcelona diary way back when. I still intend to tell you about Rome. There is much, much more. Life is for living and relaxing. Time is an abstract.
A few weeks ago, when we were cosy with colds, we spent a weekend on the sofa. We watched the entire first season of The Life and Times of Tim. Before it’s too late, I have to recommend this programme and YOU have to watch it.
Having found myself delighted by King Creosote at Bestival last year, I looked forward to their new album, Flick the Vs. I have it now. Here is a wonderful taster:
On a Scottish note, I've also been listening to God Help the Girl, Stuart Murdoch's new project. There's a Belle and Sebastian revival at Flat 1a.
Here's a freebie from the God Help the Girl website. Enjoy.
Download MP3: God Help the Girl – Come Monday Night
I've been to Ikea before. It was over ten years ago. Perhaps it was fourteen. We went as tourists.
A group of us visited Brent Park Ikea and the Neasden Temple. Some friends lived nearby and this was our excursion. We didn't buy anything, nor did we intend to. Herded like cattle, we felt out of our depth, unable to browse and unable to detour. It was as though we were part of some kind of postmodernist line of Fordist consumers. Follow the arrows or evil shall befall you.
We were poor back then. Expenditure was for Christmas, and none of us believed.
We cooked on a Baby Belling and walked on painted floorboards. We had no carpets and our sofa cost £40. We wanted for little. I used to jump the train to work. Every little helps.
Consumerism was something to watch with intrigued eyes. It was not part of our everyday lives. To us, Ikea was an emporium for the settled and the staid. The aggressive nature of the Ikea shopping experience was really quite shocking.
Shoppers travelled miles. The turgid air of dank middle-aged competition filled our lungs. It felt tight, depleted of life's great staples: goodwill and oxygen.
Like rats in a storm drain we went with the flow and the flow was fast. Forcibly pushed through every floor of the store, we weren't too sure of what we'd passed by. "I think I just saw something there. Oh no, it's gone". Somehow, people gathered furniture to complete their homes.
Yesterday, with friends in Coventry, I visited Ikea for a second time.
The furniture that fills the homes of my friends and family was all about me. It was like being in the giant home of someone I love. Oh how things change.
We bought cushion covers and tablecloths. We are part of the Ikea set now.
We still have a plastic garden table in our living room.
It might be cheap. And, yes, it was designed for outside eating. But, it's the perfect size and cannot be faulted in functionality.
We considered buying an Ikea oak table. We got home, looked at our table, and changed our minds.
Once we upgrade tables, we'll have to get precious. "Use a tablemat". "Don't put your plate there". "Oh no, you’ve spilt your drink and now I'll have to kill you".
Green plastic legs poke out from beneath our new Ikea tablecloth. The old table remains.
It might wobble when we cut bread, but we like it. It's kind of homely and it's kind of us.
Fabpants Recommends: There are some things that I mean to tell you about, but don't. I forget or never get round to it. You know how it is.
I meant to provide a full report of the three fantastic plays that I saw last year. The Norman Conquests is a trilogy written in 1973 by Alan Ayckbourn. The original cast included Penelope Keith, Felicity Kendal and Michael Gambon. How fucking cool is that? The cast for us included Stephen Mangan from The Green Wing and Jessica Hynes from Spaced. I loved the trilogy, but in deciding not to write about it until I'd seen all three plays (which took months), I never got round to it. Ho hum.
I never completed my Barcelona diary way back when. I still intend to tell you about Rome. There is much, much more. Life is for living and relaxing. Time is an abstract.
A few weeks ago, when we were cosy with colds, we spent a weekend on the sofa. We watched the entire first season of The Life and Times of Tim. Before it’s too late, I have to recommend this programme and YOU have to watch it.
Having found myself delighted by King Creosote at Bestival last year, I looked forward to their new album, Flick the Vs. I have it now. Here is a wonderful taster:
On a Scottish note, I've also been listening to God Help the Girl, Stuart Murdoch's new project. There's a Belle and Sebastian revival at Flat 1a.
Here's a freebie from the God Help the Girl website. Enjoy.
Download MP3: God Help the Girl – Come Monday Night
