tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23065613452205939852024-02-19T16:10:32.956-08:00'In praise of Human heads and Giant carrots' Stan Skinny My name is Stan Skinny I write poems, stories, articles, shopping lists, recipes, and sometimes I perform those things infront of people. Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-4161723935333980192017-02-21T03:49:00.000-08:002017-02-21T03:49:36.387-08:00Vula Viel review
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Vula
Viel </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Yellow
Arch</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">10</span><sup><span style="font-size: medium;">th</span></sup><span style="font-size: medium;">
Nov 2016 </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I
arrived at Yellow Arch with chattering knees on a bitterly cold
evening, largely wanting to stay in and hug the radiator all night.
I’d also spent the day sawing loft installations and my eyes were
red and sore. So, the gig could have happily not happened for me as I
shuffled uncomfortably in my seat in 10 layers of clothing. Not even
willing to take my bobble hat off. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Within
the first 30 seconds though, I knew I had made the right choice as I
was quickly warmed up by this rhythmic five piece from London. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Vula Viel translates as good
is good, and it’s hard to argue with that. Here was an ensemble of
talented musicians playing</span><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><span style="font-size: medium;">infectious, traditional
Ghanian music with aplomb. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Delivering
an intensive and energetic performance that even pushed the
performers physically to the edge. In particular; saxophonist George
Crowley playing to the point of pain as he let out small yelps from
squeezing every last breath out of his lungs. Which, without sounding
masochistic, is just the commitment you wish to see from a band on a
cold Thursday night. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">People
playing with real heart, soul and love, and this was evidenced no
more so than through the leader of the group, Bex. Who energetically
bounced on stage and made bashing the Gyil (a type of xylophone,
since you asked) look the most fun instrument in the world to play. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">My
only disappointment was that it was sit down gig. For, as much as the
band are at home in a jazz club, there’s no doubt with their
soulful, danceable vibe they would storm a sweaty festival tent or
club. More than capable of making anyone lose their proverbial
digestive tract.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">They
certainly raised the roof here, even with my adroit loft installation
skills.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-73917543725547723002017-02-21T03:38:00.001-08:002017-02-21T03:41:45.165-08:00Pants in my QUIZ<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7b0Ijw1TzNSx6zMLsJhUovPv-ETchRV09UJkGUZk3pbOLRlDXJ9eRmw4Wrod68feg18V8Vmax1Ma0akj2TpfnhS5S6Zia4s0PJS2YL9PNCQ_6arFvRawH8_mzvQHlRbdbQ0oqLZcmkUIc/s1600/quiz+winners.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7b0Ijw1TzNSx6zMLsJhUovPv-ETchRV09UJkGUZk3pbOLRlDXJ9eRmw4Wrod68feg18V8Vmax1Ma0akj2TpfnhS5S6Zia4s0PJS2YL9PNCQ_6arFvRawH8_mzvQHlRbdbQ0oqLZcmkUIc/s320/quiz+winners.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Quizarama-rama
</span></span>
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Every
Monday I don ladies flower print tights, a sparkly waistcoat, a Fez
and a Charlie Chaplin moustache and go into pubs across Sheffield.
This isn’t because of some fetish or mad shaman ritual (although in
many ways it is), but to host a pub quiz. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
Quiz in question is Quizarama-rama; a ramshackle evening of nonsense
questions, parlour games, crafty club endeavours and charity shop
boutique effects. It’s a sort of Crystal maze on crystal meth, Blue
Peter for excluded kids, or Robot wars without the robots. In essence
it’s a quiz for folk that don’t like quizzes. An attempt to
stretch out what can be done with the humble pub quiz. Turning it
into a spectacle that makes people take off their spectacles and rub
their eyes in disbelief. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">This
was my hope. It’s also a great excuse to wear tights. When I think
about it, the number of people over the years that have unconsciously
or consciously seen more than my full veg shop through those lycra
stretchys would make Ron Jeremy blush. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Not
that it is a blue show. If anything it’s a part of my childhood
being re-enacted to a group of strangers. The sort of pretend show
you would perform in-front of your teddies but here I perform
in-front of adults and my teddies and puppets take up prominent
supporting roles. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Some people think it take
balls to do this sort of thing but as they can see from the
silhouette of my tights this isn’t the case. It’s more that I
take a sort of impish delight in knowing that Keith, the pub regular
of 20 years is completely baffled at the sight of grown man holding
up a stuffed lion and pretending it can talk. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">This
fires me up. Although what I mainly enjoy is just seeing adults
playing. Forgetting they have serious jobs that involve emails,
photocopying, coffee runs and instead have them complete equally
absurd tasks like rolling lemons or sucking on Polos or making a
Cupid costumes from newspaper and sellotape and singing a made up
countries’ national anthems. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">It’s
a pleasure to see adults doing something silly because we don’t
often get chance to. Being silly is empowering. It turns its nose up
and sticks its tongue out to embarrassment; that most pernicious form
of state control. Where you allow another’s opinions of yourself to
creep in and take providence over your own. Sabotaging your own sense
of fun and self worth. It’s a vile and ugly thing: embarrassment. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">So,
if dressing like an idiot and putting on voices helps others to
embrace their inner idiots then all the better. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">For
me I don’t want to put on a quiz where someone can show off how smart they are and then make some people feel stupid.I want one where everyone feels stupid and then embraces it. To show
that success can be very random and that you can win a quiz like in
life by just having fun, letting go and rolling a few lemons. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Quizarama-rama
takes place on Mondays at the Cremorne 9pm </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">@quizaramarama
</span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">@stanskinny
</span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span>
</div>
<h2>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span></span></h2>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-63541491162911798762016-11-09T10:04:00.001-08:002016-11-09T10:17:03.701-08:00Spotify the dog <span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
am and forever will be an anti-establishment kind of bean even at the
expense of my own happiness and convenience. I hate chain stores, I
hate supermarkets, I hate online dating and hate large corporate
monopolies.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
hate monopolies so much that if I play monopoly I just head straight
to jail, w<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">ait</span> it out. Safe in the knowledge that I am not engaging
in a system that tries to place a monetary value on the basic human
right of housing, and where 2<sup>nd</sup> prize in a beauty contest
will only win you £10. That’s probably why no one plays with me. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Saying
that, I do love Spotify. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
get that some people hate it, ‘It’s killing music, they pay
musicians a pittance’ stick it to the man, fight the power, Corbyn
for PM’, but even with all that righteous anger brimming in my ears
I still think it’s great. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s
not that I’m opposed to buying music. I spent all my formative
years buying CDS. When others spent their money on more practical
things like driving lessons and drugs I bought CDs. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
had lots, all the greats and I very much defended the position of
buying music. Before Spotify, when folk had to download music from
the internet illegally I recoiled in horror. How very dare they. The
swines, purloining from the pockets of those poor hard working
musicians, and why when I try to do the same is my computer smothered
in a stable full of malicious trojan horses?</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
didn’t want any knock off Nigels, or Hooky henrys I wanted to real
Mccoy, the physical artefact in my hand with a coloured booklet to
peruse at my leisure.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">However,
by the age of 26 I figured that I had heard everything and owned
every CD I needed to own and I was bored of music. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Trying
to discover new music before Spotify was like looking in a wool
factory </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">for
cotton buds. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Once
you found a band you liked, mainly through happen-stance. You then
researched what bands they liked or other more tenuous links like
finding out who the bassoonist was that played on the final track of
their coveted D-side album. Then you trawled the markets and record
shops. Breadcrumbing your way in search of these hallowed new bands,
return home, play the CD, feel disappointed, return to the shop and
swap your Clash ‘London Calling’ CD for the best of the
Cranberries. In hindsight this wasn’t a good swap but we didn’t
have hindsight back then we had the best of the Cranberries. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sometimes
this process was sped up by a compilation CD. Many new bands
discovered through the glory of the Shine Indie CDs but it was all so
time consuming and ball breaking and by my mid twenties I couldn’t
care less any more. Happy to play the same albums on a loop until
that final karaoke gig in the sky. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Spotify
rescued me from this Sisyphus drama. It really is a dream for those
that wish to devour the fruits of new music. Their weekly
compilations based on tracks you already like is a marvel. I pick
and choose my faves, usually only one or two but then by the end of
the month I’ve discovered 10 new acts without even exerting any
effort whatsoever. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There’s
also the Spotify trail where you start with a band you like, it then
suggests 20 other similar bands, you follow them and build it into
your own playlist and hey presto. Suddenly you are in a position
where you know what classical composers are not shite and you know
all their greatest hits. <br />
‘Do you like Debussey’s Clare de
lune oh you should try Christian Sindig’s Symphony no3 III movement:
Allegro’. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That’s
some solid smarty pants party repartee you’ve just learned to guff
out of your mouth. That’s the brown triangle of trivial pursuit
covered all because of Spotify. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And
it doesn’t stop me purchasing music. It’s just now, music has to
be exceptionally good. I don’t just settle for any old average
tosh. I’ve already had to listen to each track a 100 times before I
can then unequivocally say it’s the bee testicles and I need it in
several different formats including on a key ring.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
only irritating thing is the adverts but when have the Mcdonalds,
Tesco, Greggs Sports direct, adverts ever ruined anything really? </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-68592295443430411822016-11-09T09:52:00.000-08:002016-11-09T10:12:30.755-08:00It's got leather seats and a CD player player player<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsE_8d3DceVdI3Ic3T8Ygd85qEem3CbkKnY8atovDhilH4P-kg0zzMotY3vAc7refbRUlcwcgcpw6QcoWSMiV_8YXfS9Kz7lnKGq0Nh3ibcIke36O1z1-t3crkhS7fKVrg588BAvPNnELA/s1600/fish+fingers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsE_8d3DceVdI3Ic3T8Ygd85qEem3CbkKnY8atovDhilH4P-kg0zzMotY3vAc7refbRUlcwcgcpw6QcoWSMiV_8YXfS9Kz7lnKGq0Nh3ibcIke36O1z1-t3crkhS7fKVrg588BAvPNnELA/s1600/fish+fingers.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"It’s
got leather seats, and a CD player, player, player..." </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
best place to listen to music is in a car. Apart from maybe live, if
the band is good and no one is spilling beer over you, and some jerk
isn’t rubbing his sweaty gut into your back, and there’s a chair
nearby. Sod it, the best place is in the car. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Not
everything is better in the car. Sex seems like it would be fun, but
ends up with the gear stick risking becoming an unintended sex aid
and there’s nowhere to stretch either party’s legs comfortably.
Music, however, is better. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Cars
and music seem to have to grown up together, a mutual individual
experience intertwined into each other’s lives. I mean, where would
Bruce Springsteen be without an automobile and a stretch of open
road? His output would be reduced to a song about cream cheese and
being born in the USA. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">In
a car, on your own, music just sounds better. Partly because you are
the DJ, spinning the disks in a mobile disco of one, but also because
you listen more closely. You focus more on the rhythms, the words.
You sing louder, not holding back from those lung-busting numbers,
safe in the knowledge that on the motorway no one can hear your flat
F sharp. Plus no one cares, everyone wrapped up in their own little
bubble. Unless you get too close to their little bubble, at which
point they make you fully aware of their presence, and never with a
song.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
car without music is like a swimming pool without water. God knows
what people do without a radio in the car. I can’t think of a
greater horror than being stuck alone, on a motorway in an endless
traffic jam, with nothing but my own thoughts to occupy me. You can’t
sleep it away, you can’t chat on the phone, you can’t read a
book, and you can’t really engage with deep conscious thought
because half of your brain is occupied with the task of not driving
the car off the edge of the road, even though secretly you have a
twisted desire to do so. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Without
music or anything else to occupy you, you would have to acknowledge
one of the most difficult existential dilemmas: aloneness. The
haunting feeling that you are separate from other people, living out
a solipsistic existence where no one else really exists but you. No
place is this feeling more present than while driving alone.</span><span style="color: #dc2300;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">
</span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Trapped
in a metal shell, surrounded by other people in their own metal
shells, on a journey that you can’t escape from. There’s no
freedom, only the illusion of freedom. Yes, you choose the roads, but
you are tied to where those roads go, stuck on journeys that are
pre-determined. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
is a unique feeling of solo drivers. Maybe you’ve felt that
isolation at other times, sitting at home staring at Facebook
profiles of cats, or in a club surrounded by drunk people when you
are the designated dickhead. But with those scenarios there are ways
out. There are solutions. There are no such options when driving on a
motorway. You’re stuck until the torture ends, trapped in a
mechanic malaise. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Heavy
stuff to ponder when driving back from a mid-Welsh town where you
have been pretending to be a French waiter all weekend to perplexed
members of the public. The only spiritual remedy is music. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
awareness of your own separateness can be curbed through music. Music
can distract, it can lift you and help remind you of something bigger
than yourself. This is why people fill their boots with massive
stereo speakers: to block out the noise of their despair. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yet
music can also aid in the acceptance of this realisation. Cars can be
cathartic spaces, where you shut out the world around you and allow
yourself to feel, letting emotions flow out like milk across a
linoleum floor. Music helps turn on the taps. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
is why I have sympathy for Jeremy Clarkson. It’s not driving he
loves, but an opportunity to feel something, to vent emotions he
feels too twisted up to acknowledge in life outside of cars. Clarkson
is probably the world’s saddest man. All his racist and steak
dinner violent dramas are actually calls for help, a desperate plea
for someone to rescue him from his own vast melancholia. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So
if you have a car, ride out in it. Drive long into the night, until
the motorways are empty and you are alone. Let those feelings in,
those otherwise dangerous thoughts. Let yourself experience delicious
sadness and learn to be comfortable with it. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Music,
gently whispering over the sound of an engine, will never sound as
sweet. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Stan
Skinny</b></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EP4jYdfPrbs"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EP4jYdfPrbs</span></span></a></u></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
<br />
</span></span><span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jEJdfDD4dVg"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jEJdfDD4dVg</span></span></a></u></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><br />
</div>
Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-8452592792065671282016-08-25T05:42:00.005-07:002016-11-09T09:59:57.048-08:00Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-41720686934262976642016-08-25T05:42:00.003-07:002016-08-25T05:45:37.771-07:00Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-58018851302041558692016-08-25T05:42:00.002-07:002016-11-09T09:59:54.036-08:00Francis Drake's Pop Armada<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivlIwV8VV6sqCwn0iCjTZQQPiBC5Jwi2b0wY_wSmy_KgzPP4a0WSLneqs3NJ9IYCexHCv4ElncaSWFmYxzomosjK6hMoNy_UxP4hQhIUN7mWWa_cm3573Xiq827DRd1eWWfIZcToi18_iC/s1600/drake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivlIwV8VV6sqCwn0iCjTZQQPiBC5Jwi2b0wY_wSmy_KgzPP4a0WSLneqs3NJ9IYCexHCv4ElncaSWFmYxzomosjK6hMoNy_UxP4hQhIUN7mWWa_cm3573Xiq827DRd1eWWfIZcToi18_iC/s1600/drake.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Francis
Drake Pop Armada </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I have been cast adrift onto a tiny floating island made from Adidas popper
trousers, Fat willy t-shirts and Sony Walkmans. Stretching
out into unknown, uncharted, mythical waters, away from a mainland
that was once so familiar. Forced into a maritime exodus
all because of the Pop star and fellow seafarer Sir Francis Drake and his
recent seizure of the Music charts, which has now become a distant
sun to me. </span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">For
how the hell have I not heard a song that has been No1 for 16 weeks.
How? How can the most popular song in the country that has surely
been played thousands of times on the radio, that has been sung along
to on mobile phones at bus shelters, that on the evidence of a 16
week chart domination, a sizeable chunk of the population must know
and love. How have I not come into contact with it? </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Have
I been counting Acolytes in deep caverns for the past 4 months? No.
Have I spent the last four months inspecting my ears with my fingers
while humming the Coronation Street theme non stop? No. Have I been
in a coma after a foolish decision to ride a baking tray down a
flight of stairs? No</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">So
how has this happened? How could I be that much out of the loop of
popular consensus? Surely a 16 week no1 song is inescapable, unavoidable slipping
perniciously into the public consciousness like a celebrity sex
scandal. Played relentlessly in every shopping centre, television
montage and aerobics fitness class. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">How
have I missed this and isn’t Francis Drake dead? I thought he died
of dysentery, fending off the Spanish navy somewhere near Panama?
When did he launch both a thousand ships and a hit record? When? </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">It’s
not that I’m immune to historical figures having smash hits. I
remember the Robin Hood song. I remember it well. Massive it was,
everyone sang it, you couldn’t escape it. 18 weeks at No1. ‘I know
it’s true, everything I do, I do it for you’ ruining every 90’s
wedding going, but I knew it. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Also it’s
not that I’m adverse to the big hits. I was there with the Wet
Wet Wets, ‘Love was around me’ that summer. Four weddings but the
song refused to die. And I knew Rhianna’s song about selling umbrellas.
All over that like a rash, bought a ton of umbrellas that summer, and
a Parasol. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And
it’s not that I was completely out of touch with the Modern charts
even without Top of the Pop tarts I still had a foot in. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I
knew the recent Justin Bieber songs. I may have hated myself for
liking them so much, but fling enough shit at someone and eventually
they forget their own smell. So, Why am I not covered in the content
of Drake’s dysentery ridden bowels? Why? </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And
why sea shanties? How did that become the latest music trend? Maybe I
could learn, ‘Ro Ho Ho, and a bottle of Rum’ and all that, I
could try. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Oh
who am I kidding? I’m a lost dog holding his missing poster,
there’s no hope left. I’m so far off the musical map now, I
buried deep in the page crease. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">All
because of a Sailor, a dead sailor, whatever next? </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The
only option now is to drift off to find new shores. Search for a
forgotten time. Where hopefully there are people that when you ask
them do you know Timmy mallet, they don’t look at you perplexed
that there was once was a man that hit you with a foam hammer and
that was children’s entertainment at it’s finest. Somewhere
faraway where Robin hood is still No1.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-15767107720879969432016-08-25T05:40:00.000-07:002016-08-25T05:40:26.793-07:00
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKuCl4jpMMGu7TZnkNOAkPv2oYzLdU-mz06Fgha7ucSoSasZn4vcqYuF5VaF5wdv0t8p3EoipXv98bSpqe-_NJX46e3cNzVxL1HIHKxsICI7Ow7CuqhQcjPEhmB6Kq8YAnc8kMO8MXQEr5/s1600/brett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKuCl4jpMMGu7TZnkNOAkPv2oYzLdU-mz06Fgha7ucSoSasZn4vcqYuF5VaF5wdv0t8p3EoipXv98bSpqe-_NJX46e3cNzVxL1HIHKxsICI7Ow7CuqhQcjPEhmB6Kq8YAnc8kMO8MXQEr5/s1600/brett.jpg" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Look
back in Anger. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Out
they shone, like two silver bullets, irreverent and derisive. Poking
through the see through black shirt that barely covered the torso.
Two small round nipples on Brett Anderson's pasty, lithe body that
announced the arrival of Brit Pop. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Suede's
1993 Brit Awards performance was, apart from Jarvis cocker's mooning
of Michael Jackson, the defining image of Britpop. Forget Liam and
Patsy in a bed sheet. The dangerous, androgynous sexuality of Suede,
gloriously perturbed much of Middle England. Here was a new
generation, confident, sexually ambiguous, and definitely not the
Beatles. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Sadly,
Suede's beautiful revolution was overtaken by the louder, more
obnoxious Oasis, who brought with them a barrel of tedious guitar
bands all with shaggy haired, gobshite, lead singers, that flooded
the pop charts. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Lad
culture was born. Where emasculated males caught in arrested
development prolonged their eventual decline into the morose
responsibilities of adulthood. Instead opting to suck Hooch up
through a straw out of Bozzer's backside. While their mates belted
out 'Wonderwall' and tossed each other off to FHM, or other PG
pornography, claiming 'it's all banter'. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The
great dawn it was not. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I
wasn't old enough to be Mad for it. I just remember wearing a shirt
that nearly reached my ankles, purchasing a bucket hat and doing a
Jimmy Saville impression, before we knew the horror, but looking back
most of the Brit pop music was a great turd sandwich, that left
kernels between the teeth. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">So
many dodgy bands, including Dodgy who were dodgy. If you want proof
that it was all ass treacle just think of the last time you actually
pulled out an Ocean colour scene CD, or a Shed Seven, or a Cast. Your
brain knows even if you haven't caught up. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">However,
there is a saving grace, and that's the criminally overlooked female
indie groups that were the real heroes of Bripop. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">In
the 90's you were spoilt for choice for fantastic girl indie rock
groups from Elastica to Sleeper, Echobelly, PJ Harvey, Catatonia,
Bjork and so many more. All with these ballsy, grungy, punk inspired
lead singers in men's shirts. Singers that weren't made up models
doing pretty dance routines, these were real women with wit and gusto
and 'I couldn't give a fuck', air about them. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Writing
songs that challenged patriarchy with umbrageous self- assurance;
Garbarge's 'Stupid girl', Hole's 'Celebrity Skin', or even Shania
Twain's 'Man I feel like a woman', where the video inverted the
Robert Palmer 'Addicted to love' video by having all the male backing
musicians being fawned over instead. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">These
were indignant women re-defining their gender roles. Taking big
doctor martin boot strides towards equality while men cowered.
Trapped in a Lost boys escapism. Looking to Liam Gallacher for
inarticulate yob, guidance. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Unfortunately,
like all subversive movements that look to unsettle the apple cart,
the initial angst driven energy is soon subsumed and mollified by the
mainstream. Just like when they started selling ripped safety pin
t-shirts in BHS and you knew that punk was officially dead; it was
inevitable that this movement would meet a similar end. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">So
it was that this new empowerment was cast off as 'Girl power', and
the Spice girls were born, a sugared down form of protest that was
easier to market and less incendiary than the female indie bands. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">'Girl
Power', which proudly declared that women could be whatever they
wanted as long as they fitted into a tight British flag dress and an
easily recognisable category that succinctly wrapped up their entire
personalities. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The
rightfully angry female voice became infantilised in the form of Baby
spice, or made a parody of with Scary spice. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">All
fitting in line with male fantasies, and we all too quickly returned
back to standard gender roles; Christina Aguilera ass chaps and boys
in leather jackets chugging their guitars, a distant world apart and
utterly dull. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Now
watching X-factor and seeing the lengths that women have to go, or
the items of clothing they have to loose still to have a hit records
you can't help but wonder what could have been. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">When
Oasis return to the Brit awards wearing see through tops and
g-strings then I'll no longer look back in anger. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-33321978171697706382016-03-09T06:57:00.001-08:002016-03-10T06:51:17.569-08:00Libraries gave us power<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-DNCnNlnbbsXTxkfVWaOuovie3o-4KvLaCHYqor-GBMaQZnlU54Rem_I8UZKUsOC77n4tThUaQELeJlGHVuzN4wmJk77iWh9umzcS7UYckpCZbsxuNjmTfbjgHW3qu_WHz-ArfF1VhDn/s1600/bakewell+tart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-DNCnNlnbbsXTxkfVWaOuovie3o-4KvLaCHYqor-GBMaQZnlU54Rem_I8UZKUsOC77n4tThUaQELeJlGHVuzN4wmJk77iWh9umzcS7UYckpCZbsxuNjmTfbjgHW3qu_WHz-ArfF1VhDn/s320/bakewell+tart.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: large;">They are trying to sell my old local library and probably turn it into a Netto or an office for Nettos. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: large;">The same Library that in my youth was our sanctuary. A happy Shelter from bullies, a forcefield of learning keeping them out. Misfits like me would sit in them pretending to read books, or do 'research' on the computers. As long as we kept our voices hushed we could happily while away the hours, in the warmth. As rain lashed the windows. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: large;">After school, I`d often meet up with Dave in this library and we'd rummage the music hire section. Long before Spotify, this was the only option for frugal pockets. Then we'd stuff rucksacks full of books that would take our fancy; self help books, Norwegian dramas, big novels with fancy titles, instruction pamphlet for blinds. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: large;">We'd never read any of them, but we liked to think we would. The promise of improvement enough, and when you could borrow up to 8 books for a month for nothing, what was the risk? Invariably, the slim volume of Icelandic poetry or such, would conveniently get lost between the cracks, and like weeds in the guttering the fines just grew and grew. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If they became too high to hack away with paper round wages we'd get new cards, never too young to learn the arts of gentle fraud. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">At one point in our lives Libraries were our everything. We'd make plans there, dream dreams, and oddly make tentative steps into the adult world of romance. My brother being a champion of this. His precocious boldness and lack of fear led him to many a date with strangers he'd charm between glances of biology revision guides. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I never had such success. Too shy, I never really tried. Apart from one tragic episode.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I had spotted a girl that had made my face flush, bookish but sexy, just my type. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She was busy revising, nose deep in a psychology text book. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I was stuck on a rather lengthy, arduous passage about Shakespeare's use of farmyard animals or something and naturally my attention was a little divided. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Inspired by my brother's lead in the matters of romance, I inwardly declared that I would ask this girl out, affirming that this was the moment I asserted myself, but inexperience and nerves made this a troublesome sandwich to swallow. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm sure most sensible mortals wouldn't agonise over such trivialities, mainly Americans, but I was at a complete loss as to how to even begin the conversation. How the hell did you just go up to a stranger, in a public environment, without the aid of alcohol and invite them to potentially love you? </span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: large;">In a library it felt almost sordid to ask someone out, you could read about such things but you must keep it quietly to yourself. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I looked up and down the room, trying to engage eye contact with her but the awkward chair and table arrangements made this a difficult task, and added a risk of a potential neck injury. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I was stuck, desperate and incompetent, a winning combination. I was about to concede defeat when my eyes fell upon a six pack of cherry bakewells I had in my backpack. These were intended as sugary treats to aid and encourage me in my revision, but staring at them an idea crept in my mind that maybe these iced pastry treats could be the key to unlocking my potential love's interest, or at least break the ice. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The idea was that I would casually walk up to her and say 'hey would you like a bakewell tart?' Then let the romance flourish. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: large;">It seemed simple enough and from that, I hoped, innocent, and inauspicious beginning I could initiate further conversation and from there I wasn't entirely sure, but I was hoping my brain would take over and come up with something.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: large;">Very simple in theory, harder in practice. I toyed with the foil wrapping of a bakewell, eat one for the energy boost, and stared over at her with a mouth full of munched up icing and pastry. Sexy. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I ruminated, pondered, eat another bakewell, tried to motivate myself to go over and just do it, but I was held back, reluctant and not fully behind the plan. Like a soldier asked to jump over the trench line. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: large;">This delaying didn't help matters and eventually my procrastinating had gone on so long she was now setting off to leave. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I had missed my chance and chided myself for my failures but as she packed her items into her satchel I roused myself for one final push. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I quickly packed up my items apart from one solitary bakewell tart that I kept in my hand and began to hover over to her. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately she had turned the other way and began making her way around the library. I duly followed, quickly improvising a new plan where I would simply tap her on the shoulder and say 'I think you dropped this?' Then present her with the tart, Ingenious. I had seen a film scene of something similar with jewellery, and that had worked perfectly. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Fate had other plans and had also decided to bless her with rather a pacy walk. I followed swiftly after her, bakewell held aloft in my outstretched hand. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Blissfully, I ignored the fact that I was now following a girl around a library with baked goods, and this was definitely not a normal thing to be doing, and certainly not your standard or desired romantic gesture. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Her pace quickend, as I'm sure her subconscious picked up on the potential threat of diabetes that was ambling to be thrust in her face. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I continued to follow for a good 5 to 10 minutes, until we reached a pelican crossing and my better sense and a ford KA stopped me. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: large;">From this moment on, the town of bakewell always sends a shiver up the spine but I will always be fond of Libraries. For where would us weirdos go? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-38040291490753985812016-03-04T05:38:00.003-08:002016-03-04T05:41:40.983-08:00The campaign against Loneliness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWTX1atf2prLyQgpgEB4wS4q0WfpWCiecagpRle2TWR_CzkbVms4Ua5sg4yXzqQgNOCyF0knvjQOu7H__4_XT7lhGMD0cUlMBcf-UU0HnqKlWKUoQMlWl4oLBFFSUEI8PTI5FQRrKZcM6/s1600/lonely+man.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWTX1atf2prLyQgpgEB4wS4q0WfpWCiecagpRle2TWR_CzkbVms4Ua5sg4yXzqQgNOCyF0knvjQOu7H__4_XT7lhGMD0cUlMBcf-UU0HnqKlWKUoQMlWl4oLBFFSUEI8PTI5FQRrKZcM6/s1600/lonely+man.png" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<u><b><br /></b></u></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large; text-decoration: none;">So
you're lonely, probably why you've got time to read this, but don't
let your isolation bring you down into oceans of tear</span><span style="font-size: large; text-decoration: none;">s.
Loneliness is a gift </span><span style="font-size: large; text-decoration: none;">that
frees you from </span><span style="font-size: large; text-decoration: none;">the</span><span style="font-size: large; text-decoration: none;">
</span><span style="font-size: large; text-decoration: none;">shitty</span><span style="font-size: large; text-decoration: none;">
demands of other people. </span><span style="font-size: large; text-decoration: none;">Embrace
it, for there will be times when you desperately crave it and it will
be denied you, like if you get married, or end up in prison, (a
similar fate).</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large; text-decoration: none;"> If
there are, though, occasions when you do long for the company of
another oxygen stealing life form, here's some things to consider. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Firstly, </span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">are you </span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">really
</span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">lonely?</span></b><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">You may think you have no friends, and
yet you have over 1000 facebook friends, and 100's of telephone
numbers. Well, don't be stubborn bunny, waiting for them to pop their
head down your
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">warren. Ring them, visit them, arrange
things.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As we get older, people's lives get
busier and they get lazier, content to sit inside their houses and
vegetate, exhausted by the capitalist, cogged machine. Social
occasions may have to be arranged weeks in advance, just to schedule
in with the new series of Game of Thrones.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Also, people's interests change, pubs
and clubs are not for everyone. Some are quite pleased that adulthood
means they no longer feel forced into social occasions just to
supplicate the ferocious group mentality.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Try being more creative in your social
activities. If you are inviting them out to the same pub they've been
to a thousand times, they are more likely to politely decline, or lie
and say their mother is visiting, so they can spend the evening
watching the female volleyball finals. Sex will motivate a great many
choices.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Instead pitch to them something more
exciting; a monster truck rally, a football match, rolling skating or
things they may enjoy like an all male sauna.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">You can't complain that you feel lonely
if you're unwilling to put in effort with your friends.
Relationships, like house plants require nurturing, and water, and
plant food, and the occasional trimming of their leaves.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">W</span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">hy you are lonely?</span></b><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The reasons for this could be varied.
You could be absolute cunt and not be aware of it. Try and take time
to look at yourself in the mirror, not to much though if you're a
narcissist, for this won't help matters.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Do you irritate people? Is your sense
of humour at odds with people around you? Are you prone to
pontificating your opinions on the government, dismissing opinions of
others with a waft of your hand, like a complete bell end?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Things like these won't do you much
favours. While you want to be yourself around your friends, there are
probably occasions when a bit of diplomacy wouldn't be a bad thing.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">This can include moaning. Of course you
want to be able to share things with your friends, your concerns,
your worries, but no one wants to be stuck with a constant moaning
Myrtle.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">If a friend feels like a therapist all
the time, as you unburden your constant dramas upon them, they will
soon feel emotionally drained, and no one wants to feel that. People
want to feel uplifted by their friends, and people want to be around
happy people because it makes them feel better.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Try and have a positive mental outlook,
and before meeting people force yourself to think positively. Try
writing a list of why a person would enjoy spending time with you,
your best qualities and try and emphasize and re-affirm them to
yourself. You'll feel more confident and more at ease and people will
respond more encouragingly towards you.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Gratitude is also a proven way to help
you feel happier, being thankful, you can also send messages of
thanks to friends and as long as it doesn't come across as creepy, it
can help them feel appreciated, valued and can solidify the
relationship.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I'm nice, friendly and good fun why
am I lonely?</span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">You think you are a good friend, you're
fun to be around, you're a good listener, you're outgoing but still
you feel lonelier than a lighthouse keeper on lonely island.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Well it could be because you are
surrounded by boring fuckers, a much worse fate.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The fault may fall very much at their
feet. They may have settled and are quite content seeing out their
days watching Netflix. Or they are always busy, visiting his inlaws,
or her in laws, or her grandma or his half cousin twice removed's
dog.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Cut them loose. Don't let your social
life be left to the mercy of Captain Boring and his wife Tilda
Tedious. If you spend the week arranging something and then they
cancel on the Friday night, because their Iguana's got a cold, and
you're then left wallowing in your house all evening because you
can't face going on your own, don't.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Go out anyway, do not be afraid to go
out on your own. You never know who you might meet, or what might
happen, it's exciting and liberating. You can go where you like,
leave when you like, You have the freedom to shape the evening
however you want.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">If you are feeling in a rut with your
social circles find new ones. Join a sport's club, or hobbies club,
meet new people and learn new skills, bonus.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Go to a poetry or music night, and if
you are brave enough get up on a stage and perform something, because
you are advertising yourself to potential new friends and
connections.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And if you meet people you like, try
and encourage to meet again, casually invite them to another similar
event or attend one and you may bump into them again. You will
already have similar interests and that's a good basis for any future
friendship.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">If you feel like you don't have any
interests, get some. Try new things, don't be trapped by confirmed
ideas about yourself, the mind is a malleable thing, it may turn out
you love to Salsa dance.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Just don't accept loneliness there are
always options.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Quick tips</span></b><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">If you work on your own, try and find a
shared office space, it's much better for your health and happiness
to be surrounded by people, you don't even have to be friends just
feeling like you're with a group of people will make you feel better.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Offer to cook for people, everyone
eats, so you're already on to a winner. Cook someone a meal and they
are likely to return the favour. Plus it will make you feel good, and
you'll put in extra effort to make yourself a tasty meal.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Don't despair at being lonely,
embrace it</span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Go on weekend breaks alone,
You'll have more exciting adventures meet new
people. If you go with others, it's unlikely you will talk to anyone
else, and will be led by what they want to do. and holidaying on your own is a great time to reflect on your life and think, so embrace it.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></div>
Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-21116739762078494162016-02-19T05:39:00.001-08:002016-02-19T05:39:36.206-08:00Charity Ship ahoy
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVwpLV_1DHllSsPox0asyfk4f9BLvme7egd_MYFy3qwf58weCKQlJN1goRfO3xamn7hOCpPRzy_rfOyCBG3wvsb8NK_pqjTly2bC5S8kKcBLTTg2H8a8sVUno7Eq8ZKzshFP49e_LxIlW/s1600/chaRITY.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVwpLV_1DHllSsPox0asyfk4f9BLvme7egd_MYFy3qwf58weCKQlJN1goRfO3xamn7hOCpPRzy_rfOyCBG3wvsb8NK_pqjTly2bC5S8kKcBLTTg2H8a8sVUno7Eq8ZKzshFP49e_LxIlW/s1600/chaRITY.png" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">From my dishevelled, worn
out, baggy exterior you probably guess that the majority of my
clothing is bought from charity shops and you wouldn't be wrong, you
bloody big clever bastard you. Apart from it also represents my
vulnerable state of mind, so there. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I love a good rummage in
a potential bio hazard that is a charity shop. A charity shop to me,
is an enchanted wonder kingdom where you never know what you might
find. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Often it's a pair of
trousers, that would be just perfect work trousers if only it didn't
have that darn cigarette burn and exposed just a little bit too much
ankle. As a man who has been threateningly shouted at across the
street by hooded youths and my own parents with the bon mot, 'your
trousers are short mate'. It's a fashion choice I tend to avoid. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Still, I do love second
hand clothes. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">It's never bothered me
wearing someone else's clobber, I like that something has history and
once had relevance to someone. I make up stories, like this floral
shirt was purchased for a date, that never arrived, or this bobble
hat was knocked off the head of a cyclist. Cheerful stuff to keep my
spirits up.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">When I was younger I
always had my older Brother's cast offs; (saying that, I'm still
receiving his cast offs) that were always 2 sizes too big and two
years out of style. It didn't matter. For a short time I thought I
was pretty cool. In my head my brother was the epitome of cool and by
wearing his former garments some of that coolness was vicariously
passed onto me. This theory was cruelly knocked out of me by Katie
Chapwick in year 8, who said my shirt was too big, and I was a tramp
or words to that effect. In hindsight it was probably flirtatious,
and I shouldn't have 'accidentally' set fire to her hair with a
bunsen burner. (this never happened) </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">From that moment on I
ventured to try and buy my own clothes and be a dedicated follower of
fashion. Which, at the time, invariably meant beads, spikey hair and
rather a gregarious use of the British flag. I was like a camp
National Front member that lived by the sea. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">On a paper round wage, I
never had the money to quite pull it off with any aplomb. The turning
point was when I saved for 4 weeks to purchase a jacket, that I
thought would help stake my claim as the most fashionable boy in
school only to arrive in school and depressingly see 3 other boys
also in the same jacket. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I gave up soon after,
deciding that my money and time was better spent on something else.
Needing to find some solution to the old nudity problem I thought
through my options, which were few. I lived in a small city, there
were not many clothes shops and Primarks and vintage stores were yet
to be a ubiquitous menace. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Unsure if the annual
Christmas supply of wollens would see me through the year at some
point I was going to find myself a bit stuck. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">It was a chance wandering
into a charity shop during one of our weekend town jollies, where we
largely just rode the elevators up and down in TJ Hughes, (this was a
definite thing at one point in my life) that changed everything. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">At the time, there was a
fierce stigma attached to entering charity shops, possibly mainly in
working class schools, where no one wanted to be branded as poor.
Materialism bites hardest on the young. Lord have mercy on the child
that wears non-branded trainers in school. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">But goaded by youthful
curiosity, my friends and I entered together giggling, it was a
similar process to the first time I entered a sex shop and just as
illuminating. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">That rush of old damp coat
smell, the shelves of random junk, porcelain figurines of old men
with sheep, books, so many books, paintings of dogs playing pool,
tape decks in the shape of of submarines; it was wonderful. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">What I loved most and
still do is the utter randomness, no charity shop is alike. Certainly
you have to trawl through 20 racks of striped office shirts to find
an orange jump suit with fur shoulder pads, but nothing beats that
feeling of finding something truly unique that could only be found at
this shop and this fixed moment in time. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Vintage shops will
always lack that, because they are a formalised style, I know what
I'm getting there, flannel shirts, Hawaian shirts, leather jackets,
denim jackets, barbour jackets, and they charge four times as much. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">From our first encounter
we were hooked and would raid the charity shops for items to decorate
our bodies with. This meant a lot of cardigans, colourful floral
shirts, velvet smoking jackets, and deer stalker hats.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Essentially we started
dressing like flamboyant pensioners, but it was never a conscious
choice, just one made from necessity and availability. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Fashion was finally fun.
You could buy something ridiculous for a couple of pounds, and laugh
off any ridicule because it wasn't like you'd invested so much of
yourself in it. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Occasionally it would
provoke some people. Once we went to a party, an infrequent event in
our lives, and we were hassled by some local punks, who found us at
odds with them because we were wearing our 'Grandad's cardigans',
which in many ways was far more subversive than their Atticus
t-shirts, and more in keeping with a punk ethos. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Eventually most of my
friends grew out of this stage, it was only a means to an end. As
they got older and had more disposable income they discovered new
music, art and films, which shaped their future clothing choices.
Some became Mods, some existentialists, some rockabilly and I flirted
with all these, but I have remained most content in a charity shop
jumper and a bright colourful floral shirt that was once treasured by
someone else. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I could say this is
because, as I grow older, there is a presiding ethical fair trade
concern, or that I like to wear unique items of clothing, or I like
supporting charitable organisations but as my friend sagaciously put
best it's because you're a tight bastard Stan. </span>
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-87537603231651205722016-02-16T08:44:00.001-08:002016-02-18T08:39:24.382-08:00Igloohost<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxOZ5oRZwww2187Vlce7FFIwhFmLDCRkOeTzpE3KyoWL0GXSWuqLfCh64dgJKpvFKzuPQLCTmj-VxFOjN6z8lru9Icj6edAOJP_K1kKVOet_AAU-18kn7reMJN6F-Q8MJHWCH5RKElcGSb/s1600/stool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxOZ5oRZwww2187Vlce7FFIwhFmLDCRkOeTzpE3KyoWL0GXSWuqLfCh64dgJKpvFKzuPQLCTmj-VxFOjN6z8lru9Icj6edAOJP_K1kKVOet_AAU-18kn7reMJN6F-Q8MJHWCH5RKElcGSb/s1600/stool.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Igloohost </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Dina is a
new arts space in what was the Stardust bar on Cambridge street. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The
Stardust bar used to have a revolving dance floor upstairs but the
only revolving I was doing was on the bar swivel chair. It's a rare
to sit at a bar at a club, but one I greatly revelled in. Usually,
the music is too loud but shielded by a big red curtain I could hear
quite comfortably. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Happily
tipping back a can of Red stripe; which I'll never understand its
position as the subversive art</span><span style="font-size: medium;">'</span><span style="font-size: medium;">s
event drink of choice, I chatted to various attendees of the night
largely from University music society, who were a very agreeable
bunch. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I even
bumped into a Latvian guy, that worked at the climbing centre next
door to the Circus I worked at in London (they are very cramped for
space down there). He </span><span style="font-size: medium;">i</span><span style="font-size: medium;">s now
studying robotics, and </span><span style="font-size: medium;">i</span><span style="font-size: medium;">s
heavily into his electronic dance music, made sense really. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">It </span><span style="font-size: medium;">all
</span><span style="font-size: medium;">felt like an episode of Cheers, albeit without
any of the cast there, but I was joyfully entertained by Sheffield's
eminent artist and all round genius, lunatic Stuart Faulkner. </span><span style="font-size: medium;">W</span><span style="font-size: medium;">ho
unleashed, on the uninitiated music students, a chorus of spontaneous
hits from the Poddington's Peas theme tune to songs from his new
musical about Hen do gone wrong. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">When I did
enter the arena of dance, I was impressed. The music was good, a
heady mix of electronica, garage, even finding time to squeeze in
some Van Morrison. Everyone was dancing wildly, not a hint of ego or
pretence just a real good sense of fun. I honestly haven't enjoyed a
night more in ages, It had a fine house party vibe, where everyone is
loosing their shit on the dance floor rather smoke boxing a bedroom
or being passed out on Beaver paracetamol. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I tottered
home about 4 in the morning with tired feet happily reciting 'down at
the bottom of the garden....</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
</div>
Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-52512263101705569472016-02-05T04:03:00.001-08:002016-02-16T08:45:40.091-08:00Throwing a Dart in a Bull's eye. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHFjtvQlCBJ9TOCENC0_A1n-gMi1BBMO2xjpf1CuCJzDsQDwPKuJWvOqkN78e587HuoImhWvTxzxjsZ0TyWMawQgp5aKwtn69k8ca1pikNpywAtJ43oblYPad4Uxp4oMo_b9b6dfAsxZtZ/s1600/andy+forenam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHFjtvQlCBJ9TOCENC0_A1n-gMi1BBMO2xjpf1CuCJzDsQDwPKuJWvOqkN78e587HuoImhWvTxzxjsZ0TyWMawQgp5aKwtn69k8ca1pikNpywAtJ43oblYPad4Uxp4oMo_b9b6dfAsxZtZ/s1600/andy+forenam.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
couple of years ago I found myself back living at home, feeling like a
turd in a washing machine, making a mess of everything. I had no
fixed job, a failed relationship, no prospects, athletes foot but not
an athlete's body and a really bad Kim yeong sun hair cut. I was a
real Debby Downer. I had lost my way and wasn't sure in what
direction I was heading. I'd just mope about the town like Morrissey
after being forced to club a seal to death. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
could have quite easily thrown in the town, given up on life, ended
it all and become a teacher but I was saved from my certain PGCE fate
by discovering a love of darts. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yes
darts, the sport of champions or pork scratching munching, beer
swilling, diabetic demi gods. A sport that would change my life. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
had never been particularly fond of darts, occasionally I would chuck
a few arrows and they would dangerously wobble in the air bounce off
the board and strike a passer bys fleshy parts, but apart from the
potential maiming of others it had limited appeal. It lacked the
aerobic rush, the physical contact, the close body wrestles of other
sports, but then a weekly encounter with the Ockey, arranged by my
enthusiastic dart playing friends slowly began to change all that. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
wasn't long before I was hooked. Wednesday's darts night became the
zenith of my week, my sole salvation in the melancholy theatre of
life. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
mastering of throwing 3 small metal spears at a coloured numbered
board became a glorious regression to a former tribal self. Like the
irrepressible urge to drum on tables or toddlers heads; the act of
throwing sharpened sticks tapped into a genealogical memory. Where a
mono-browed, heavily built me, in a sheep's carcass, battled against
a woolly mammoth armed with a bit of old twig.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
time when glory was an arm thrust away. And yes on occasions I'd get
a woolly tusk in the guts, but it was a simpler time where purpose
and meaning in life didn't involve spread sheets, or deodorants, or
haircuts, or blogs, or selfies, or social media, a time </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">before
shoes, carpets, mortgages, furniture, I phones, vegetarianism, gluten
free, Netflix, toilet paper and Ocado. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Throwing
darts stripped away all that modern nonsense to the simple joys of
enacting force on the powers of gravity. Like popping your head out
of your mother's womb for the first time and feeling life. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It's
also a great excuse to get pissed with your friends midweek. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Friends
that shout at you to stop blathering on about being a hunter
gatherer, and throw the pissing dart, you prick. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
throw a double twenty, and in my head I've hit a bear between the
ribs, raaaaah. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-23381573042893297822016-01-21T03:36:00.002-08:002016-01-21T03:57:47.343-08:00Homes under the Hammer Horror <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpcB8QD7Q9KEwT2-e08mCMs1NgHxoqVMms23l3BLBvrFSJo0UAD0fgkCpEJ8QlKuTdMqPEIb-b1IaGBL4Zz4p8-hJ1Qint_kC1DvuPt4T6zxlXe-CHRlTpLbq6iTG2uZJcDGgLTAtnOUxB/s1600/hammer+horror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpcB8QD7Q9KEwT2-e08mCMs1NgHxoqVMms23l3BLBvrFSJo0UAD0fgkCpEJ8QlKuTdMqPEIb-b1IaGBL4Zz4p8-hJ1Qint_kC1DvuPt4T6zxlXe-CHRlTpLbq6iTG2uZJcDGgLTAtnOUxB/s320/hammer+horror.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If you've ever been
unemployed and faced a day of dull nothingness. Where the only useful
thing you've done is change a loo roll, and nearly messed that up. As
you creep into the dark ether of hopelessness. You are probably
familiar with Homes under the Hammer, an eerie programme where
presenters that look like ex members of Buck Fizz and footballer, and
Dube inventor, Dion Dublin, </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://www.thedube.com/">http://www.thedube.com/</a> take you around creepy abandoned houses
and show you harrowing scenes of pink baths and un-pointed roofs.
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The fat medium one,
then contacts poltergeist property developers on a plaster Ouji
board, with the haunting chant of 'have you checked the legal pack'
and 'it's got a lot of potential', as Dion bangs loudly on his
percussive instrument.
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This stirs the un-dead
to rise from out of their crypts and transform characterful
properties into generic, ghostly white hotel rooms in exchange for
the fresh blood of housing tenants that grey skinned estate agents
happily provide.
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's sadly missing
Christopher Lee, but it is certainly one of the most frightening of
the Hammer series. A real psychological, sleep wrecker. What's most
disturbing is that the flesh eating poltergeists are never defeated
or stopped in their incessant rampage of blood sucking terror.
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Instead they are
mawkishly paraded by the possessed presenters, cheered in their
onslaught of knocking down walls and building large patio areas, that
they will subsequently barbecue their unsuspecting victims on.
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It is quite gruesome
and completes a day time schedule from the BBC of horror flicks such
as
</div>
'Escape to the
country', where quiet country villages are seized upon by alien life
forms that want to build <span style="color: black;">out of period</span>
extensions, and holiday cottages for their retirement invasion.
<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
To the graphic,
sadistic, possession porn of programmes like Cash in the attic and
Bargain hunt, where an evil, moustached devil, in a bright coloured
waistcoat, forces people to sell materialist, misery manacles to
unsuspecting victims, while competing against other unfortunate
slaves, for the chance to free their souls.
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
By the end of a day
watching these programmes I feel queasy, unsettled, physically shaken
by what I've seen. I turn the TV off and stare at the walls of my one
bedroom flat, with the extortionate rent that has no antiques in it,
just a big flat screen telly. And I close my eyes, try to dream of a
world that has beauty in it, that has hope, that has love, but I
find I've run out of toilet roll.
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-61219565037555260862016-01-21T02:47:00.001-08:002016-01-21T02:47:17.650-08:00Pop eat itself and got a dicky tummy
<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTHYyhqBqLgCUkbz7_P-3tjo_SZYxGsMSO73qReNK9icgHjHrjqZnsqW5noFiXevdCuIxdFtKkeRCmm1KSXXVTeJ-BgvXjnwnCqLgbs-i1MeWkq6pCKBYJEw416s5yR35QavdsAUZ7PlIZ/s1600/Phil-Collins_A-Drummer_HQ_698.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTHYyhqBqLgCUkbz7_P-3tjo_SZYxGsMSO73qReNK9icgHjHrjqZnsqW5noFiXevdCuIxdFtKkeRCmm1KSXXVTeJ-BgvXjnwnCqLgbs-i1MeWkq6pCKBYJEw416s5yR35QavdsAUZ7PlIZ/s320/Phil-Collins_A-Drummer_HQ_698.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><u><br /></u></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Loathe
him or loathe him, part time lover and paint can power pop balladeer
Phil Collins is a revelation. Yes, Phil Collins, the ferret faced
uncle of pop, with his vocal sack of heartache from his Su Su studio
of emotional longing is a living breathing revelation. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Before
you start choking on your biscuit shaped prejudice. Yes, I understand
that Phil Collins is probably an anathema to everything you believe
music should be; soul blah integrity, blah blah, artistic vision
blah, but we are talking about pop here, and pop music is a genre
that will always be the giant turd on the dance floor of life because
the general public are an inordinate bunch of yapping dogs, and you
know that you are miles better than them simply by owning a Clash
album that isn't London calling. You win, but in the genre of pop
music Phil Collins is a revelation, worthy of our respect and
admiration. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Why?
Because there is something glorious and hopeful that at one point in
musical history Phil Collins was the world's biggest pop star. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Phil
Collins couldn't dance, couldn't talk, the only thing about him was
the way he walked, Ellie Golding or Rhianna he ain't and yet it was
probably his song your Auntie Margaret danced to at her wedding to
Uncle Peter while wearing that big orange pom pom toilet roll cover
dress. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Phil
Collins, was hugely popular even though he looked more like a
plumber than a pop star. He wasn't cool, he wasn't sexy, he didn't
have elaborate dance routines with a harem of scantily clad women,
but he did have no1 hits and that was a wonderful thing that seems
sadly lost in our current pop climate.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">There
will never again be room in the pop sphere for another like him, or
his ilk, Daryl Hall and John Oates, Midge Ure, Nick Heysaw, Feargul
Sharkey, Michael Mcdonald, Billy Ocean and loads more that all looked
like depressed Geography teachers. Pop is a too well oiled machine
churning out ever younger repackaged models of the same sexually
explicit, high tempo music of the beautiful, toned bodied, made up,
glamour model kings and queens. I just can't see how the ordinary
looking Phil Collins's of the world would ever compete against these
Zeus like creatures? </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">If
you think I'm talking nonsense, I have done the maths, poorly
remembered GCSE maths, but nonetheless I have worked out that the
average age of a singer with a no1 hit single in 1985 was 31, in 2015
it is 25. At least 5 artists were 21. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">This
is why whenever I look now into the shining bald head of Phil I'm
filled with deep despair because a bald head in pop music now, is as
likely as a Dodo for Christmas dinner. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It's
a sad indictment of our culture that with the onset of the music
video and the proliferation of the photograph that we are becoming
more obsessed with image, and youth and this trend is only set to
continue. Today there are very few music acts that work beyond 30, or
have exposure in the Pop realm past that age because we simply don't
want to look at them, and their crusty ageing faces. There's just no
room for wonderful naffness, everything has to be so edgy, and cool,
it's tiring. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Back
in the 80's there was at least some hope that if you wrote a catchy
song with a pleasant melody you could have a hit record, I just can't
see that happening now unless it's a novelty push a pineapple up you
arse kind of record. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The
worse thing is, it's a great loss. For anyone who has ever had a
conversation with a 21 year old that isn't 21, will tell you, they're
all idiots. Obsessed with drinkin in the Klub, and having fun, and
enjoying life, Yuck. What the hell can a 21 year old tell me about
the vicissitudes of life and the pitfalls of love? Phil suffered a
divorce after his wife had an affair with the painter and decorator,
that's real pain. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So,
thank your lucky stars that Phil is out of retirement. He is a
walking relic of a different age, soon to disappear into the air
tonight, and we'll be left with toddlers shouting their
incomprehensible nonsense.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2306561345220593985.post-52262639394642001282016-01-16T08:59:00.001-08:002016-01-16T08:59:40.252-08:00In praise of Human heads and giant carrots
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">There are
many wonderful parts and places of Sheffield. I love how many parks
there are and how nearly every bit of grassy mound will be home to
someone's appreciative posterior. I love Sheffield's thriving poetry
and music scene, and it's DIY and independent attitude to Art and
commerce like the Forum shops or Access space or new Roco building,
or how the old Woolworths is now an art centre.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I could
have written in length about the glorious and inspiring views from
Norfolk park, or the elegance of Western park or the splendour of Dam
house but instead I've decided to write about the carrot sculpture
near Firth park. </span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Before
I get to that I wanted to mention a sculpture in Sheffield that for a
long time stood at the bottom of my street. For many years I have
lived on Ellesmere road in Pitsmoor and one Autumn I gleefully
discovered on my journey to work at the bottom of our street that a
tree stump had been carved into a Human head. This certainly beat the
usual street art offerings of abandoned Sofas and mattresses that
aspiring Tracey Emmins left.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">This was a
skilfully crafted head and it had apparently sprung up from no where,
with no warning or big reveal just appearing one day out of the blue.
Every day I would walk past it and it would make me smile a big
Chesire cat smile, and it really caught the imagination of the street
to. He became the street's central figure for festive celebrations.
For Halloween they placed pumpkins around him and at Christmas they
attached a Santa's hat and beard. It was great. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Unfortunately
the council came along one day and had it removed, maybe thinking
that we couldn't be trusted with art as it might lead to some anti
social watching of the culture show. I was sad to see it go. Not only
because it was a beautifully made head but also because I found it so
strange to find it at the end of my street and not in some art
gallery that no one visits. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">But then I
discovered the big carrot in Firth park. Or at least I think it's a
carrot, it could very well be a tomato. I have never been entirely
sure. It's a sort of mutated vegetable that has been tunnelled into
by large hungry worms. However, it's not so much the carrot I like
but its location. It's just lumped right in the middle of a slab of
pavement on the street and seems completely at odds with its
environment, as you're left wondering why is it there? Is it a relic
from an old park that they now have built houses on, or is it an arts
installation by a well meaning local artist or was it health campaign
to remind you to eat your five a day? </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Yet, it
is its incongruity that makes it so great. If it was in a playground
or a park it would be insignificant. It would simply be another play
apparatus that would be overshadowed by a slide or a roundabout. But
here just in the middle of the street it occupies a place majestic
wonder. It turns the street into a playground, into an unusual world
of giant vegetables, the grey and dull into something fun.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I think
it's a fantastic quirky sculpture and in many ways I don't really
want to know why it is there. I'm happy for it to be forever shrouded
in mystery. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Some might
find me flippant for choosing a carrot sculpture as my favourite
place in Sheffield but it's this and other quirky things that make
Sheffield for me, such a fantastic place to live. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">There are
so many wonderfully odd sights that so often go under the radar.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Places
like the amphitheatre behind the train station, which you can't look
at it with anything but complete disbelief that it really exists. As
you question why you have never found yourself there before and why
when you tell anyone about it they look you up and down like you've
snorted Horlicks and reply 'An amphitheatre in Sheffield, behind a
train station, yeah right, good one'. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The City
is full of strange buildings and curious anomalies in bizarre places;
like the huge coloured brick, half moustached, Minor opposite the
COOP in castle market, or Sheffield's own Arc di triumph in the
Whicker, or the fact that our Morrissons is a castle. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">This to
me, makes the city what it is. Beautiful and intriguing but always
humble to the point of being afraid of showing of it's own brilliance
incase it risks turning into Leeds or Manchester, a fate worse than
many deaths. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">So, I
suggest we all continue to find more giant carrots and tree stump
heads, they are the treasured gems of the city just don't expect to
find them in the likeliest of places. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Stan Skinny is a poet, comedian and
writer that has lived in Sheffield for 10 years. His new spoken word
show 'Tell me the lies about Love' (part of the Off the Shelf
festival) is on the 2</span><sup><span style="font-size: medium;">nd</span></sup><span style="font-size: medium;">
of Nov at the Sheffield University Union building. Alongside this he
runs the Shipping forecast a nautical themed poetry and comedy night
at the Riverside on the last Thursday of the month and a weekly
comedy quiz Quizarama-rama also at the Riverside every Monday. You
can visit his website </span><span style="color: navy;"><span lang="zxx"><u><a href="http://www.stanskinny.co.uk/"><span style="font-size: medium;">www.stanskinny.co.uk</span></a></u></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">
to find out more or follow him on twitter @stanskinny</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkw5AS48WGW4e-uAdGe7uKkUodj0KsjNLwXd3ZngPrt24hyphenhyphena1cfg9EL-NO6ZlTOC3lAUgwgPi7YARoNnCKOoPquNmaGcfYqgh6apnQTN0KE-3n37rMofwWfSzP8LAOl7Hr1G5kgi4R9LR/s1600/DSCF0887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkw5AS48WGW4e-uAdGe7uKkUodj0KsjNLwXd3ZngPrt24hyphenhyphena1cfg9EL-NO6ZlTOC3lAUgwgPi7YARoNnCKOoPquNmaGcfYqgh6apnQTN0KE-3n37rMofwWfSzP8LAOl7Hr1G5kgi4R9LR/s320/DSCF0887.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Stan Skinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03865461904148585161noreply@blogger.com0