I genuinely wasn't that bothered with the wedding yesterday so went for a long walk mainly to try a snap the blue bells before they die back.
On my walk I passed through an ex mining village,a big slightly down at heel council estate , a large estate of newish executive private homes (the sort with new cars and caravanettes on the drive and double carriages etc) and an older rural village with a 17cth church flying the union flag and Geoff Boycott's old house and finally a very well to do hamlet full of gated homes through the gates of which you could peek Aston-Martin's and those bespoke kid's tree houses that cost several grand. The only evidence of a national celebration in this fairly broad cross section of our countries people was one house with a few strings of buntin. I saw nor heard any street parties or any garden parties, I wasn't stopped in the street by people wearing stupid hats I didn't even see any of those pull out and keep "gawd bless the Queen" posters the Mirror etc print up in people's front windows. The odd shop had a few strings of buntin in their windows apart from that it seemed like another day. Especially if you compare it to say the world cup or Halloween etc.
So I'm sure the media especially the BBC will tell us it was a big coming together and a national celebration but it all seemed a bit muted. I'd expected the odd peel of bells and a hog roast outside a country pub, the people in the shops I went into didn't mention it and the talk in the woods was mainly of bluebells and the daftness of lurchers.
It's surprising how these narrative get set up so easily and are often contrary to our own experience of events.
Saturday, 30 April 2011
Thursday, 28 April 2011
Interesting that Gregg's that reliable weather cock of public opinion and taste only starting having these in last few days(it's been easter in Greggs since Valentines day).
So maybe they were unsure how republican we're all feeling.
It's usual to add a caveat that you wish the happy couple well at the end of this sort of thing but frankly couldn't care less what happens to them that's unless William resigns and hands in his crown.... now that would be a happy ending.
Long live the republic!
Monday, 18 April 2011
Friday, 15 April 2011
well any way it makes a change from the tv news with its grimness, hyperbole and hourly updates on the royal wedding. Tales of stolen tins of stella, school prizes, Jam covers bands playing trade clubs and of course young women wrestling with large brass instruments while covering their modesty.
Tuesday, 12 April 2011
Friday, 8 April 2011
In he walks a shortish bloke with a large thick brush of spiky brown hair, a small caterpillar of a tash and an impressive collection of rings and necklaces. Tagging along with him is his plainer sheepish looking mate; they both may have had slight learning difficulties. They greet the staff loudly and their jokes are treated in the friendly manner cafe staff often manage.
They order and sit at a table near mine, after a minute or so the chap with the rings starts joking with chef /owner that he looks like Mr Kipling. This goes on for a while until he catches my eye and drags me into the banter.
“He duz dunt ‘e, 'e looks like Mr Kiplin’?”
Feeling more honest than usual I scrabble around for an answer before offering that I wasn’t sure you ever saw Mr Kipling and that “wasn’t that the point of the Ad? He pauses and thinks
“blimey tha might be reet there, well who am I thinkin’ of?”
“Hang on I’m thinking of ‘im off of KFC”
His mate chips in “tha means Colonel Sanders!!wi ya blumin' Mr Kiplin!!” they both laugh loudly .
“That's it Colonel Sanders”
we all turn and look at the owner who doesn’t look like anyone much let alone the grinning fried chicken salesmen. There’s perhaps a hint of Harry Gration from Look North about him, at a push.
“Where’s our fishcakes Colonel Sanders?” is the new cry. Half listening the waitress brings out their food. I turn back to my tea and my phone before I’m baptised “Simon Bates” or ”Colin Montgomery”.
The pair tuck into the food which holds their attention for a while until.
“what the chuff a tha goin’ on abart now” the quiet one, slight exasperatedly
“the other one, he looks like Jim Robinson” says ring man pointing with a red sauce covered knife to another staff member. “and I should know he use to live near us”
“what?....Jim Robinson from Neighbours use to live near thee?”
“Yes, I think he was doing panto in Sheff”
“WHAT! Jim Robinson was living in Kendray?!”
“ay he was livin in them new houses up t’road”
This seems to settle it.
“alreet I think tha should finish thee chips na ”.
And so it went on every new person who came in was “Christened” with some arcane showbiz name, “Mrs Doubtfire” or “ken Barlow” and most bizarrely “Pat Roach” “Tha, nos the one who use to be a wrestler”. This is all good natured and often raising a smile from the “Christened” and looks of puzzlement from others .They still were doing it as they finished up and left for the bus station, probably spotting “Richard Whiteley” and “Una Stubbs” outside Fulton foods and being driven home by “im off of Knightrider”
“ What David Hasselhoff?”
“ nah the one wit’ white ‘air tha nos.... Kit”
Thursday, 7 April 2011
“fella int shop said it were based on a shark god”
his beau nods her understanding.
After perusal of some letters on his hands he turns slightly away from her and pulls down the neck of his shirt to expose “DADA” written in florid letters on his neck.
“DADA?” she quizzically reads out (said with short “A’s)
“Nah” he says with laugh. “That’s funny that coz everyone allus thinks it sez that”
“It rilly sez D.A.D. 4” he spells out
“ya, see it’s “D.A.D.” for me Dad and a “four” coz I'm ‘is forth kid” she nods again less sure this time.
“but it looks like DADA?” she replies with a weak smile.
“I knows that but it’s a four!” he continues this time a bit annoyed
“of course I had it done afor we knew about his wife and kids in Derby”.