Things May Come And Things May Go But The Art School Dance Goes On Forever…..

A rather unpleasant weekend the other week. Woken in the middle of Friday night by an agitated stomach, I ended up spending all of Saturday and most of Sunday in bed or in the bathroom. As I lay on there on Saturday morning I was fearing the worst and considering the possibility of swine flu: aching limbs? – Check!, High temperature? – Check! Upset stomach? – Check! But then……Sore Throat?…erm no! Sneezes? Ermmmm no again. Whatever it was it wasn’t swine flu but it laid me low and buggered off just in time for me to to go to work on Monday morning. I was knackered though and when I got home I had a bit of tea (dinner) and then went to bed at 7:00pm. I woke at 7:30am a different man. I wonder how many others have got it and claimed they had succumbed to the pandemic?

---

I see the body overseeing the Olympics have reneged on their 2004 promise of tickets starting at £15 with free transport thrown in. I know, I couldn’t believe it either. Us lesser folk should have understood however that the 2004 prices were ‘indicative’ and based on dollars and consequently, despite the best intentions of the lying bastards honourable men and women faced with an arduous task the price will, unfortunately have to rise. But all is not lost! Paul Deighton the Chief Executive of the London organising committee has waffled promised “the principle still applies that a very significant chunk of our tickets will be highly affordable so we can get families there.”

Hmmmm there’s a lot of variables there aren’t there? Unquantifiable variables too. Have we a definition for ‘very significant’, ‘chunk’ or ‘highly affordable’? Sounds like vagueness worthy of a gold medal to me. I know this much, if you can’t peg the ticket price at £15 now I dread to think what it will have risen to in three years time I would also imagine that the ‘cheap’ tickets will not get you within a million miles of a sexy event – track and field finals for example. Still, I expect the fencing will be nice and well worth the £100+ for the spectacle of your family watching three entertaining bouts, on top of the hundreds spent on rail travel from your northern home and the rip-off room rate in the closest hotel you could get – in Northampton.

Still, at least London’s getting some top class sporting facilities. Super.

---

So, Barcelona can acquire Ibrahimovitch for the measly sum of £40million PLUS Samuel Eto’o AND the loan of Hleb and they are not killing football with their ostentatious displays of wealth. Real Madrid can stump up £56million for Kaka and £80million for the show pony and everything’s fine. Business as usual, no need to panic, the activities of clubs with a God-given right to pay mega-bucks won’t distort the market at all. It’s only when Johnny-come-latelys like Manchester City spend a few quid that the ire of FIFA, EUFA and Sir Alex is collectively aroused. We’re a small club with a small mentality apparently, well according to Fergie that is. I guess that’s why he’s upset at us spending big, although I can’t remember him having a go at big spenders when it was him and Liverpool etc doing the big spending.

“Everything comes and goes just like lovers and styles of clothes…….

---

I’ve borrowed a sophisticated scanner off a mate of mine and have started the protracted task of scanning my negatives from the late 1970s to the dawn of the digital age. What has annoyed me though is the amount of specks of dust I have on them considering they have been filed away in a purpose-bought negative storage system. This means time-consuming cloning out of dust spots in photoshop which is tedious as you can imagine. It’s a shame because even on a medium setting quality-wise the resultant images are very good.

It’s been an education looking back at the prints though. Were Dearest and I really that slim? Was my hair once free of grey? Did I honestly wear shorts that…well…short – and revealing? Were Eldest and Youngest once so young?

My family were my models and I photographed them endlessly with my Zenith EM and, later, my beloved Pentax K1000. The spare bedroom became a darkroom and many happy hours disappeared as I lost myself in the magic of creating images in the spooky red glow.

All these years later I’m so glad I did. I now have a portfolio of a young family at work and at play, at home and elsewhere. Snaps of the ordinary days as well as the high days and holidays. On some of them the quality leaves something to be desired as I struggled to discover how to do it properly, but practically every negative is a hive of memories – places, things and people: some no longer with us.

There’s Dearest’s mother chatting in the street to her lifelong friend Stella. There’s my Dad playing football with his grandchildren. My granddad and grandmother and various uncles, cousins and acquaintances. I came across a few of Shughie and Ronald that have acquired an added poignancy knowing now what we didn’t know then.

What a bloody brilliant thing a camera is.

Here's a few.......

Here Comes the Rain Again.....

St Swithin’s day I awoke to incessant rain. That’s us bollixed for the next 40 days then. It’s going to be wet if the old fairy story adage is to be believed. I don’t believe it though. It was one of those bits of information you’re given as a kid that you quickly realise is pish. In fact in my particular case I would probably go so far as to say it it helped sow the atheist seed. We were told the tale by Mr Hadfield on the very day and, on the very day, it rained. The day after that it rained also. The entire junior school was resigned to washed out summer holidays.

On the third day the clouds evaporated and the sun scorched the earth – as it did for most of the next 38 days.

Mr Hadfield never managed a satisfactory explanation and the kernel of doubt took purchase. A Saint was fallible. No ifs, no buts. By the time I went to Grammar School I had no belief.

It makes me wonder what would’ve happened if Mr Hadfield hadn’t told the story or it had rained for 40 days during that sixties summer? Would I be a regular at Evensong? A happy clapper at the church of the groovy Father? A man of the cloth even? Who knows, but isn’t it funny how little episodes in life have such an influence whereas others that, at the time, you would’ve thought more portentous, come to nothing?

By ‘eck He moves in mysterious ways dun’t ‘e?

---

I watched a crackin’ drama/doc type thing on iPlayer the other night. It was about the French Revolution and specifically Robespierre. Intermingling dramatised scenes, snatches of an early silent movie, documentary footage from wherever dictators lurked and talking heads, the programme advanced the idea that Robespierre was the father of state terror and that Stalin, Mao and the rest were his natural heirs. I love the whole period and I especially love the way ‘enlightened’ Maximilien hangs on to the notion of a ‘Supreme Being’ and treats Rousseau’s ‘Social Contract’ as his Bible. I love the way he gradually becomes more despotic as his logic effectively creates the notion of ‘thought crime’, denunciation and the extermination of the ‘enemies of the Revolution’.

Erstwhile colleagues like Danton were eventually dispatched. Camille Desmoulins – Robespierre’s friend since childhood – also. Eventually the ‘People’ have their fill of the man who loved them so much he had to kill so many and he was shot during arrest. One of the shots smashed his jaw and he could no longer use his most powerful weapon…speech. “Who would have thought it? He's outlived his mouth?” commented Carnot.

His near-dead body was dragged to the Guillotine where he embraced the Supreme Being forever.

Watch it while it’s available but if you miss it I can thoroughly recommend a fabulous novelisation of the period: ‘A Place of Greater Safety’ by Hilary Mantel. It’s so good I bought it twice!

---

All the latest comings and comings at Eastlands have me dizzy. It seems like the Tevez signing could be the catalyst…a tipping point may have been reached. I certainly think the likes of Carlos, Adebeyor (maybe) and Barry have been good signings and are likely to attract others. Just watch us lose the first four five games now. It wouldn’t be City if we didn’t.


Local School


And again....

(S)he's Out of my Life...

So, Neil Young's still rockin' in the free world and still sounding good. We had a great day, the sun shone on Nottingham – a place I can’t recall ever visiting before – and the hotel we chose was clean, cheap and central. First off, after a quick shower, we crossed the road and sauntered around the Arboretum in the summer sunshine. It was beautiful: fountains, bandstands, families….did I mention the sunshine? Oh yes that lucky ol’ Sun can certainly make a difference.

After a while we ambled through the town centre before settling on a canal side pub that sold real ale and had a decent menu. We were fairly close to the venue and we soon spotted Neil’s audience. Rock tribes, each with their own idiosyncrasies are funny. In this case there was a lot of overly long hair wreathing wrinkled faces, tour t-shirts (mostly black) and an above average sprinkling of hats. I guess it’s better to fade out than to burn away – eh Neil?.

Anyway, after the grub we found ourselves in a cracking real ale pub that I sadly can’t remember the name of. I had a pint of something local, dark and nutty. I could’ve handled a few more of them, it was just a shame that we couldn’t stay for more but time was passing and Shakey was calling…

Here’s the setlist:

Hey Hey My My (Into The Black)
Mansion On The Hill
Are You Ready For The Country
Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere
Pocahontas
Words
Cinnamon Girl
Mother Earth
Don't Let It Bring You Down
Comes A Time
On The Way Home
Burned
Heart Of Gold
Old Man
Down By The River
Get Behind The Wheel
Rockin' In The Free World
Encore

A Day In The Life

Now by any standards that’s a pretty good selection of his best work but, having seen some of his other sets that fans have posted I was slightly miffed that I hadn’t heard The Needle and the Damage Done, Like a Hurricane, Cortez the Killer and a few others. Silly, given what he did perform, but I was left with that old ‘grass is greener’ feeling as we repaired to a nearby boozer to discuss the finer points of the show.

He can still do it though – as you may have seen if you caught him on the BBC’s Glastonbury coverage – and it is good to see that he is treating his back catalogue with the respect it deserves.

A Day in the Life’s a bit pointless though.

---

And then one of the World’s best professional weirdos breathed his last. Wacko Jacko’s heart must have had enough, because it stopped. And when it stopped the schmaltz fest began. Sheesh but there are some strange people in the world. There were reports of fans committing suicide to be with him in heaven, although I’ve not actually seen any corroborated so they could apocryphal but…..well it wouldn’t surprise you would it? Even the more grounded were out in the streets crying their eyes out for a man they had never met. What’s to do with people? I can honestly say that I don’t know anyone who has ever sobbed uncontrollably in public after hearing of the death of a celebrity (or even, on one memorable occasion, a princess.) I doubt if they’ve even shed a small tear in the privacy of their own homes. Sure I’ve been touched by the deaths of folk I admire – Lennon, Zappa, Sinatra etc., but I’ve never run outside screaming with anguish and giving snot-filled interviews to any camera crew I can find.

Then came the ‘close friends’ who eulogised with such buttock-clenchingly embarrasing displays of grief that you couldn’t help but laugh. Third rate R’n’Bers, washed up movie stars and the industry’s rentaquotes all eager to prove they were more ‘devastated than the rest. All trying to boost their careers in the reflected ‘glory’ of the so-called ‘King of Pop’. Unedifying.

The following week saw the inevitable tabloid frenzy as headline after headline proclaimed shady doings or no shady doings. ‘Experts’ were consulted, ‘close friends’ questioned and facts invented to feed the mighty media machine as the Michael Jackson Memorial drew closer.

The BBC felt it had to cover it – why? I’ll never know. Pop star dies. Is buried. End. Of. But no, Auntie wheeled out the increasingly bizarre Paul Gambacinni to cover the whole spectacle as we were ‘treated’ to the sight of a junior Jacko breaking down in tears. The fact that the poor kid loved and missed her father was on the front of newspapers and broadcast on TV and radio the next day. In what way was that ‘news’?

But what of the artistic legacy? Undoubtedly MJ produced three fine albums in the late 70s early 80s that contain some great music but the ‘King of Pop’? I must’ve missed something. Since his death I’ve beeen told he wrote great songs like Thriller - he didn’t, although he did write others like Billie Jean and Beat it. I reckon he earned more from his ownership of the Beatles’ back catalogue than he did from his own stuff. Since his death I’m told he made the greatest pop video of all time – he didn’t, he danced in it and lip synced. Jon Landis made the video. Since his death I’ve been told he invented the Moonwalk – he didn’t and here’s the proof about 1 minute 30 seconds in.

All told he was a great singer and dancer who, throughout a 40 year career, had a hand in writing a small number of hits that coincided with the video age and, to my mind, that makes him more of a song and dance man than the King of pop. RIP Mr Jackson.

---

Dearest’s shoulder is healing nicely although, according to her physio, it will never be 100% again. She’s still unable to drive and iron, but she can rub along with everything else. The only snag now is she goes in hospital next week for a long awaited operation on her foot that will see her on crutches for a while. So it’ll be back to me doing everything again.

---

I had some Amazon gift vouchers so I bought a flat bed scanner with a facility for scanning slides and negatives as well. Crap it is too. It scanned one negative then all the following scans were black even though the backlight was on. I indicated I would be returning it so Amazon quickly sent a replacement and that was crap too although for a different reason. I tried them both on more than one PC with the same faults so I don’t want another replacement. I think I’ll go for a dedicated film scanner. In the meantime I’ve two scanners boxed and ready for pick up by TNT or somebody. Grrrrrrrr! As well as the scanner I got a little wind-up radio for whenever I’m doing something out of earshot of the ones I already have. It’s brilliant! A solar panel on top, a USB port and a wind handle can all be used to charge the battery. It’s only FM/AM so, sooner or later it will be obsolete but in the meantime it’s more than adequate for talk-based radio – which is why I bought it. On top of that I’m doing my bit for the planet by not having to buy batteries for it. Yay!

---

I had the misfortune of listening to Talksport radio a few days ago. What a pointless, vacuous exercise that was. Contentious statements for the sake of it. Over-inflated egos and a lack of insight or self-awareness that beggars belief. At one point I was listening to somebody knocking City for trying to buy a team who can challenge whilst opining that Chelsea needed to ‘spend big’ if they want to be serious contenders. I give up. The other day I was reading an article about City’s pursuit of Samuel Eto’o in which the reporter said that because Eto’o had an ‘o’ after his name he’d feel at home at City because they normally have an ‘0’ after their name too. For the record City were the highest scorers in the Premiership outside the top 4 last season but let’s not let a simple fact get in the way of a bile-filled cheap shot eh?

When we were first taken over by the ADUG group I had serious doubts about MY team. I felt as though the local team for local people was being wrenched out of the community and were being dragged towards a star-studded but ultimately empty future of razzamatazzed franchise branding. I foresaw a managerial swinging door through which gaffers would pass each other as the results didn’t live up to the Sheik’s expectations. I saw an empty Academy and plastic, glory-hunter fans who knew feck all about the roots of the club. We may still end up with that; who knows? But the signs are that Sheik Mansour is in this for the long haul, backing the manager, declaring himself delighted with the progress so far and developing Academies overseas based on the City model.

I can live with that.

What I wasn’t prepared for was the downright hostilty in the Press towards us. Admitted we weren’t helped by the buffoon spokesman declaring we would buy Ronaldo, Kaka, Messi etc., but even so it really wasn’t necessary. And it won’t only be City either. Other clubs will be snapped up by multi-billionaires and the poisonous rants against them will start appearing also. If you’re not ‘big four’ you should know your place. As a result I just hope we can start ramming the the words they’ve written and spouted back down their jealous throats as we play sublimely entertaining, attacking football that wins us accolades as well as trophies.

In the meantime the ‘will-they’ ‘won’t-they’ speculation continues as we are linked with Terry (no thank you), Eto’o (if he comes he comes if not fine), Tevez (ditto), Lescott (yes please) and God knows who else. Strange times indeed.

We were in the pub the other week trying to remember who made up the City team that faced Gillingham in the old Third Division play off final in May 1999. A mere 10 years ago. After much argument and racking of brains, we cracked it.

GK Nicky Weaver
RB Richard Edgehill
CB Andy Morrison
CB Gerard Weikens
LB Tony Vaughan
RW Terry Cooke
M Ian Bishop
M Jeff Whitley
LW Kevin Horlock
St Shaun Goater
St Paul Dickov

I seem to remember Gareth Taylor and Lee Crooks playing their bit as well.

10 years? What a difference a decade makes!