The Royal Scam

There are a few things I've learned over the past few months as I've got pissed wet through sticking junk mail, glossy mags and the occasional letter through the front doors of the North West. One of the main things I have learned is that "those with the smallest letterboxes tend to subscribe to the bulkiest periodicals."

And fucking annoying it is too.

You would be surprised just how many doors from the 30s, 40s, 50s and 60s still exist out there. Letterboxes from a bygone era. An era when A4 envelopes didn't exist. An era when gossamer-thin Airmail letters were de rigueur as the post-war dash to Australia, Canada and South Africa took root throughout the bombed out cities of this Sceptered Isle.

Now try getting a Viking catalogue through that. Or a Sky magazine. Or 95% of the pointless crap that's gets shoved through front doors these days.

After folding and bending and barking your knuckles and fingers trying to force the things through - multiplied a thousand-fold as the round progresses - your arms hang like string at your side.

But at least you can bask in the warm glow you feel knowing you're providing an essential service to the good folk of the neighbourhood. I mean how else would they receive information about savings to be made from Insurance companies, mobile phone providers, satellite TV providers. private medical companies, Nationwide pub chains...etc...etc...etc?

Fulfilling I tells yer. Fulfilling.

Still not for much longer. ;-)

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Last Saturday evening the local quiz team had its annual feast. This is a tradition going back six or seven years now. Any money we win on "Play Your Cards Right" (after the quiz has finished), we put in a pool and whoever has been in the team over the previous year is entitled to a meal from the cash.

This year we decided to go Brazilian (quiet at the back). Pau Brasil is an authentic new addition to the increasingly diverse nightlife of Manchester.

It was great. Highly recommended though vegetarians should probably give it a miss. Basically, for £20 a head, you help yourself to salads, veg and a few hot dishes while waiters come round with huge skewers of beef, lamb, chicken and fish. For two hours you can eat as much as you want and the only extras are for your drinks which are priced at the usual central Manchester rates - around £3.50 for a pint of Staropramen. What was already a great night was improved even more when, at the very next table, three of City's new superstars sat down with their families. Geovanni, Nery Castillo and Elano . Don't start mithering them I instructed Dearest, they're out for a quiet night before we play Everton on Monday evening. Give them some space.

Ten minutes later I went to the loo. Apparently, while I was away, Dearest instructed the rest of our team not to tell me about what she was about to do, whereupon she immediately waved at the trio cooing "Elano, Geovanni and....errr". Nery Castillo hadn't blipped on her radar at this point. She knew he was a player but that was it. To be fair they waved and smiled back and she shook Geovanni's hand as he was the closest. At this point I reappeared unaware of what had happened. I found out later when Youngest spilled the beans but by that time Dearest was well away. C'est la vie.

Still, it's a good advert fro a Brazilian restaurant if it's full of Brazilians and apparently the City lot are in there every other week.

And I won't blame them filling their faces on the fact that Everton took all three bloody points!

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Snap time.


The 'Air Shard' at the Northern War Museum.


The 'Air Shard' from Salford Quays.


The view from the 'Air Shard' looking over Salford Quays.


The new 'Media City', soon to be home of BBC Radio FiveLive. Salford Quays.


From Manchester, Victoria towards Liverpool.


The Manchester Wheel reflected in the Urbis building.

I Think I'm Going Back (again)

Well I've waited a long, long time to see City win at Old Trafford but I have to admit, if you're going to do it, do it when the World's media are in attendance waiting for a pre-ordained scenario that should have gone something like this:-

Scuffles before the game due to inappropriate and offensive chanting from the vile and loathsome City fans.

A disgraceful and shaming disruption of the minute's silence by the vile and loathsome City fans.

A stunning display of all the best that football can offer from "The World's Greatest Football Team" as the frankly amateurish Manchester City roll over and are tonked 6-0 after a master display in footballing skills from the mighty Ronaldo.

Disgraceful scenes after the game as the vile and loathsome City fans vent their frustrations on the elderly, toddlers and disabled leaving Old Trafford.

*snigger*

I bet there was a whole host of journalists frantically retyping copy on Sunday evening. All the pre-match build up was aimed at how City fans would disrupt the silence. All the predictions were how United would stuff us. All wrong but now we're damned with faint praise as the emphasis turns to the fact that nobody should be congratulated for respecting a minute's silence and United were overawed by the "sense of occasion".

Sometimes you just can't win.

Still, an easy six points ;-)

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Wahey! I've got another interview tomorrow with Manchester City Council so everybody cross their fingers for me. Anything to get out of this back-breakingly tedious job. I may be physically a lot fitter but my mental health is suffering with each day that passes. I'M A REASONABLY INTELLIGENT PERSON. GET ME OUT OF HERE!

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Anyway it's my day off tomorrow. What shall I do (apart from my interview - which isn't until 6:00pm). Probably something photographic, followed - after the interview - with something alcoholic.

I'll sign off with pics again as this has now apparently become a quasi-photoblog.


Time passing by at the speed of light.


Pools of light in Victoria Station bar. 2 Megapixel cameraphone.


Underground car park, Manchester.


Victoria Station in the late afternoon February sunshine.


Manchester Evening News Arena steps in the afternoon February sunshine.


Is that my bus?


Spinningfields, Manchester.


High rise 19th century v high rise 21st century. The Great Northern Railway warehouse and the Beetham Tower.

Turbulent Indigo

Today was my day off and you know what? I spent most of it thinking about the fact that I have got to go back to work tomorrow. That's bad. This bloody job is beginning to take over all my waking hours. It's a PART TIME job fer Christ's sake, a mere bagatelle. It should occupy a smidgeon of my waking hours but I hate it that much it's beginning to drag me down.

On the plus side, the HR dept of my potential new employers have phoned to let me know that they will be making me a job offer when they receive my references. On the negative side, they've written to my current employers asking for a reference. So now they know I'm trying to get out of the place just what sort of crap can I expect before I finally bugger off?

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I got a mention on Manchizzle which describes this blog as a photoblog. Thanks to Tony for the heads up.) I'm happy with that for that's what it seems to be becoming. In fact most days I'm taking photographs. I seem to be driven to do little else at the moment. You could say it's becoming almost an obsession. Still, it's a good obsession, an obsession that helps me forget my bloody job.

I've inherited a decent little 2 megapixel cameraphone as well (Sony Ericsson K750i) so I now have a camera at all times. I am a camera.

Today, after spending the morning being pissed off at my employment predicament, I decided to take my camera off somewhere different and did a lurk on t'Internet and discovered the panopticons of Lancashire. But which one to head for? In the end I plumped for the Singing Ringing Tree just above Burnley. It was great. I love public art and public art like this is just exquisite. With fabulous views of Burnley (I could see right into Turf Moor Stadium), Pendle Hill and the surrounding countryside. It's a beautiful place to relax and unwind while the wind blows away the crap in your head and provides the musical drone that sets the scene for the meditation that follows. It was bloody cold up there though and soon the rain started so, after forty five minutes snapping away as I listened to the Æolian music the tree produced, I quickly legged it a damp quarter of a mile, got back in the car and had a little drive round the sodden towns of this lovely part of Lancashire. I intend to visit all of these structures over the next few months. Brilliant.

So, without further ado, some pics. (Incidentally, if you click on the pics it will take you through to my Flickr page where you can view them full size - if you want to of course.)


The Singing Ringing Tree.


The Singing Ringing Tree solarised.


And again.


A wet dry stone wall, Burnley.


Frost on my windscreen. Taken with my cameraphone. Ain't technology wonderful?


On my way to work Saturday 2nd Feb 2008. 2 megapixel cameraphone.


Library Walk, Manchester.


Door, Manchester Cathedral.


The Printworks reflected in the rain. Manchester.


Mancunian rain.


Candles in The Old Wellington pub. 2 megapixel cameraphone.

Too much information

I'm coming to the end of my first long weekend for ten weeks. Consequently I'm as depressed as depressed can be. Never let me forget just how much I hate this job. Never. And tomorrow? Rain. Heavy at times, but always there. Unremitting, soaking, dispiriting fucking rain.

Still, chin up.

"Oh mother tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Spend your lives in sin and misery
Posting junkmail as a pissed-off postman"

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I have been tentatively offered a job (that I can't do and I told them at the beginning of the interview I couldn't do), with a profoundly ploddish and dock-greened institution. After the main interviewer outlined the job on offer, I had to hold my hands up and say "I'm sorry but there's been a misunderstanding here, I may have read your advertisement wrong (I hadn't), but I don't want to waste any more of your time. I have no experience of administering Oracle databases; I thought I was here to be interviewed for a basic 2nd or 3rd line IT support role with experience of databases in general?"

"Errrrr....O.....Kayyyyy.......Hmmmmmm, well, let's do the interview anyway and see how we both feel at the end. What is your understanding of 'diversity'?"

An hour and half later I walked out into the beautiful Mancunian incessant rain and thought "well, no chance."

A week later I get a letter saying I was successful - subject to the vetting of my ENTIRE family - including my dead father and my feckless, criminal-record-as-long-as-your-arm brother.

So, we'll see. In the meantime......"Postman Pat, Postman Pat, Postman Pat and his black and white cat............."

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In the meantime, that pic of books to read above shows just what I need to do to get back up to speed with the technological malarkey required to shuffle through a typical day in IT support - wherever that support is required.

Ho hum!

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Balloons. Manchester City. Cock ups. What can you say? The urge for City fans is to say "typical City" - that's almost become Mantra over the years. Whatever can go wrong WILL go wrong. Roll on the "minute's silence".

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A few more pics. Thanks for all your kind comments.


Old bridge at a local beauty spot.


I have been dreaming a lot about trees just recently. Why? I haven't goat a clue. Any dream-analysts out there?


Fast car.


Shop window, Manchester January 2008.


As a kid I used to love reading these at junior school. Exotic, full colour photographs that took your breath away. As well as the superb photography there was also the opportunity to view bare breasted women from around the Empire. A fabulous combination of education and voyeurism. I was only 11.

Just Walkin' in the Rain

I'm getting very angry about the "predicted" disruption of the minute's silence at the Manchester Derby next month. The media are discussing it like it's already happened. It hasn't. Perhaps it will happen. Perhaps not, But can we stop reporting it as though it already has? Furthermore, can we stop the pious nonsense coming from every commentator, journalist and "spokesman" about the "need" to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Munich disaster.

It could be remembered with dignity in a reserved way without all the brouhaha and media circus. It could be something other than the commercial money spinner that it has evolved into.

I was four when the tragedy occurred so it didn't really affect me at the time but, as I grew and morphed into a City fan, I often used to try to imagine how I would have felt if my beloved team of the late 60s had met a similar fate? Colin Bell, Mike Summerbee, Neil Young, Tony Book, Glyn Pardoe, Alan Oakes, Joe Corrigan gone. Cut down in their prime. As it happens we did lose a great City player in that plane crash. Frank Swift was a giant of a man who was City's goalkeeper for 17 years or so. He also represented England. By 1958 he was sports journalist for the News of the World and was with United as they boarded on that fateful day. We also almost lost another ex-City player in Matt Busby. The sad thing is IF the silence is broken, it'll be broken by somebody who wasn't even alive during the event being remembered. I'll tell you this much; if some chavved-up dickhead started disrupting the minute's silence if it was for Bell, Summerbee et al I think I'd quite cheerfully kill him or her.

Just like if I was a Leeds United fan and Manchester United or Liverpool "supporters" started singing about Turks with knives. Just like I would if I was a Liverpool fan and Manchester United "supporters" started singing about Hillsborough. Hypocrisy.

Death transcends football. Always has and always will. Shankly was wrong.

Sadly commerce transcends football as well and that's what leaves the sour taste in my mouth regarding this whole sorry business. For there can be no doubt that Big Business is rubbing its hands together as the Glazer machine ups the ante on the Munich disaster. There's quite a lot of anger in Manchester about the fact that United's sponsors AIG have their logo spattered all over anything to do with the 50th anniversary celebration remembrance. A United spokesman called it "entirely appropriate" that the logo should be there. And quite right too. A brilliant marketing tie in there. I mean plane crashes and insurance companies. A match made in Heaven?

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In other news part of me was gobsmacked that this could be even considered in the early 21st century, but on the other hand it is religion so perhaps I shouldn't be too shocked.

"Plans to exhume Padre Pio - one of Italy's most popular saints - on the 40th anniversary of his death have been attacked by relatives and followers. Church authorities say they want to display the body for veneration by the faithful for several months from April."

I ask yer. The man's only been dead forty years or so - would you go and see him? Morbid, God-botherin' arseholes.

Oh, and get this:-

"The hands of the saint, who lived to the age of 81, often bled copiously. His followers said he bore the wounds of the crucified Christ."

How did he manage that then? Did he go to the doctors? "Doc my hands keep bleeding copiously what the hell do you think it could be?"

"I think you are either a)regularly sticking nails in them when no one is looking or b)God is attempting to communicate with mankind via the obvious portal of your paws."

On a similar theme. Can you believe this.

(via Alastair's Heart Monitor)

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Right, I'll sign off with a few pics again.


Going home. Manchester January 2008


The Manchester Wheel. January 2008


Beneath the Wheel in the rain. Manchester 2008.


Manchester January 2008


The library back entrance with selective colour. Manchester January 2008.


Never pontificate with a pigeon on your pate.


By the Cathedral in the rain. Manchester January 2008

That's all folks!

Happiness is Easy

Howdy doody everybody. Am I back? Who knows. I am today at least. So we'll see how it goes. It's been a hard few months with brief moments of optimism so I've not really been in a mood for spouting nonsense on t'Internet.

I'm just glad the "festive season" has finally fucked off. This year has been particularly difficult but I've done it now and hopefully I can move on. I've been worried sick about my Mam's ability to cope with her first Xmas without my Dad but, fortunately/unfortunately, her disintegrating mind has allowed most of it to wash over her. Today she's had a call from her brother in South Africa to go and stay with him for a few weeks so she's perked up a bit at that.

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I'm still a part time postman and I still fucking hate it. What an institutionalised management style they have in the Royal Mail Group. Here's an example:-

"I will be needing a day off sometime in January, what's the procedure?"

"You come and see me and I'll tell you if you can have the day off or not."

I made a mental note to phone in sick as I stared into the power-mad face of the managerial - and indeed social - inadequate. The man's a fucking buffoon. What do you think he thought he'd achieved with that reply? It was the first time I'd ever spoken to him. It was a basic, general query about a basic necessity of ALL employees. Why did he feel the need to demonstrate his "power"? Why the aggressive response? Why the flicker of a smirk playing around the corners of his lips?

Because he's what happens when you promote some fucker beyond his abilities. Believe me The Royal Mail Group is full of 'em. Self-important "overseers" who bellow orders at those at the bottom of the ladder and then stand there watching the work being done without pitching in themselves. Fred Engels would've recognised the working environment I now find myself in. Honestly.

But I can't leave until I get something else. I can't just walk out or I'll be picking up bad references and the stigma that attaches itself to those who just stick up two fingers and bugger off. I have a few irons in the fire but it'll be a few weeks before any of them become potential get outs. Here's hoping.

Once I've sorted my mail and got out of the sorting office though, life isn't so bad. Some days I walk round with the iPod on, set to "shuffle" and an instruction to listen to everything - regardless of what it is. Some days I just get pissed wet through. Other days freezing cold. Most days knackered.

On the plus side I'm a hell of a lot fitter - walking 6 to 8 miles a day and having a two week break from drink - I've lost nearly 2 stone in 6 weeks. It's costing me a fortune in new clothes though. But on the whole it's still better than sitting at home all day doing fuck all.

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I'm enjoying my music again and have seen a few good bands over the past few weeks. Tunng I especially enjoyed. Sigur Ross's new "LP" is a constant on t'iPod and I'm discovering a band from my hometown who are massive on the continent - Puressence. Youngest was at school with the lead singer and was at the local, small and intimate gig they did just before New Year at a local dive. Lead singer James Mudrickzi has invited to sing along side Leonard Cohen and Rufus Wainwright in the spring Judy Collins tribute in the US. He's got a fabulous voice and he is extremely honoured and blown away by the invite.

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And finally......it's photography time again. Eeeeee I love this Pentax K100D DSLR. I'm thinking of setting up a proper photoblog but until or if I do I'll stick the ones I like best on here. So, here you go:-



Manchester at sunset. December 2007.



A street of "social housing", 5 minutes walk from the centre of Manchester.



Table lamps on one of the European stalls in St Ann's Square, Manchester.



Billy Bragg at the Manchester Central. December 2007.



In Manchester the streets are paved with gold.



Salford Quays Dali-style.



The Theatre of overpaid Tossers from across the Manchester Ship Canal.



Stop.



Hotel room.

Have a great New Year everyone.