BOSHERSTON And no mistake. Easily the best on the planet with its own piece de resistance that I've never even seen on the menu in thousands, literally thousands, of cafes worldwide.
After a day on the beach at Broadhaven, or mooching round the lily ponds trying to spot a pike, tea and cakes are called for. If you're lucky the Army will not be bombing bunnies on the tank range at Castlemartin so you can savour the occasion without the occasional boom of a gun.
Ye Olde Worlde Cafe might be a corny name these days but the 20 outdoor tables are often packed. On arrival a coach tour have hogged half the garden and several people look like they've been waiting a fair while for their tea. There's also a portable cabin if it rains, or you can squeeze inside the front room of the house which has a round table which looks like it could seat all of King Arthur's knights in one go.
They probably came here - that would explain the name.
Not only is the village beautiful but the killer cake reigns supreme. A taste of heaven - apricot sponge. Who thought of it? Who makes it? Who then puts it on the menu, instead of, say, Victoria sponge, and then keeps it there for decades allowing only iced sponge and scones with cream to rival it. Cos if you don't like apricot sponge then your choice is restricted
At 80p a slice, you have to get three. With tea and it's still only £3.60. Christ on Brighton seafront that's only two-thirds of the cost of the dessert you consider having with your mocachino.
No mocachinos here - the only 'cooking' done is egg on toast. Or beans on toast.
Finally the birds. There's a better class of scavenger here. No ratty looking pigeons or moth-eared . Finches and tits have also heard about the apricot sponge. A better class of crumb attracts a better range of birdlife.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Tidy yw'r Teifi
GLAN TEIFI Lle hyfryd glan Teifi - dwi ddim eisiau deud cyfeiriad map. Lle i gasglu wimberries am ddwy awr yn y bwrw glaw. Ond lle odidog siwr o fod. Mae'r wimberries yn tyfu'n well mewn carped o 'lichen' ar y bryn. Fel pys mae' nhw. Neu micro-blueberries. Bron dim swn o gwbl sef rhywun sy'n byw yn ymyl yr afon yn neud
ei waith amaethyddol.
Yn yr wythdegau on i'n teithio sawl waith gyda'm modryb a theulu yma i ddringo'r bryn i gasglu a mwynhau'r tawelwch a'r
Y canlyniad - tart mawr i fwyta yn y nos yn Wooden.
ei waith amaethyddol.
Yn yr wythdegau on i'n teithio sawl waith gyda'm modryb a theulu yma i ddringo'r bryn i gasglu a mwynhau'r tawelwch a'r
Y canlyniad - tart mawr i fwyta yn y nos yn Wooden.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Welsh Windy Miller
MOELFRE Some 300 feet further up the mountain where Mum was born, Moelfre now hosts three giant windmills of the controversial blot-on-the landscape/save-the-world debate. No-nonsense, noiseless turbines that dominate the landscape. Uncle Lyn hates them, says they're in the wrong place. I like them - I gasped when I turned the corner and saw them in front of me.
Guto, 40, of Blaenbowi pulls up in his motor as I look at Glynpurffaith - now Glyn y Mel - from the road above Capel Iwan.
"They went up in 2001. I went to the Royal Welsh Show in about 98 and left my details. From working on Moelfre with my dad I knew the strength of the wind - nothing like down here. So why not make some money from the field?
"Two years later a company from North Wales got back to me and they did the planning permission and all the details - I wouldn't have been able to do all of that. They create enough power for 2,500 homes for a year. In China now they're opening two coal mines a week or something so this sort of thing has to be looked at."
Guto farms 250 acres on the mountain - sheep and beef. "If it wasn't for subsidy we wouldn't make any money though. I remember your grandfather - he used to have a big American car." Lyn says it was a Humber Hawk but granddad had the shell of a Buick on the farm.
"Your granddad saved my grandfather's life. There as a water wheel down below the farm and one of the cogs caught on his clothing and dragged him into the wheel. It pierced his belly and he was stuck'
"Tom heard his cries, came down to the wheel and then was strong enough to push the wheel against the flow of the water, just enough so my granddad could free himself. Grandfather had to go back to the farm holding his intestines in and we had to ring for the doctor who cleaned him and sewed him backup. No trip to hospital for him in those days (I imagine this was in the 20s or 30s) - he had to stay in bed for a bit and then get back to work."
Guto, 40, of Blaenbowi pulls up in his motor as I look at Glynpurffaith - now Glyn y Mel - from the road above Capel Iwan.
"They went up in 2001. I went to the Royal Welsh Show in about 98 and left my details. From working on Moelfre with my dad I knew the strength of the wind - nothing like down here. So why not make some money from the field?
"Two years later a company from North Wales got back to me and they did the planning permission and all the details - I wouldn't have been able to do all of that. They create enough power for 2,500 homes for a year. In China now they're opening two coal mines a week or something so this sort of thing has to be looked at."
Guto farms 250 acres on the mountain - sheep and beef. "If it wasn't for subsidy we wouldn't make any money though. I remember your grandfather - he used to have a big American car." Lyn says it was a Humber Hawk but granddad had the shell of a Buick on the farm.
"Your granddad saved my grandfather's life. There as a water wheel down below the farm and one of the cogs caught on his clothing and dragged him into the wheel. It pierced his belly and he was stuck'
"Tom heard his cries, came down to the wheel and then was strong enough to push the wheel against the flow of the water, just enough so my granddad could free himself. Grandfather had to go back to the farm holding his intestines in and we had to ring for the doctor who cleaned him and sewed him backup. No trip to hospital for him in those days (I imagine this was in the 20s or 30s) - he had to stay in bed for a bit and then get back to work."
Monday, July 16, 2007
Oystercatcher
TRESAITH Five-hour walk between Tresaith and Llangrannog. Walking at the foot of the cliffs between Tresaith and Penbryn, two oystercatchers bleat to each other. The closer I get, the higher the pitch and then they start flying around agitatedly.
Coming within four or five yards of my head, first thought they were being friendly but then realise I must be close to the pair's nest.
Still a wonderful sight though, beatiful red/pink beaks like long thin pencils. Lovely pinky webbed feet. Their trademark bleats given further resonance and intensity as they echo off the cliffs - it could have been a bit Hitchcocky but I was mesmerised.
Coming within four or five yards of my head, first thought they were being friendly but then realise I must be close to the pair's nest.
Still a wonderful sight though, beatiful red/pink beaks like long thin pencils. Lovely pinky webbed feet. Their trademark bleats given further resonance and intensity as they echo off the cliffs - it could have been a bit Hitchcocky but I was mesmerised.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Dr No revisited
WESTDALE BAY. Beach is virtually deserted. Sky is grey and likely to turn greyer. Four surfers in the sea facing Skokholm island, lying on their boards and bobbing up and down as tiny waves almost apologetically head for shore. The waves are barely ripples in the surface. The quartet look like frogs in a pond.
Only one surfer takes on the tiddlers. Jumping elegantly on to the board and effortlessly gliding down to the shore several times before deciding to call it a day. On closer inspection, the surfer has long blonde hair and turns out to be female.
Paddling through the shallows in, it has to be said, Ursula Andress-style, she sweeps up a clump of straggly seaweed, fronds six inches long and adds them to her hair. She rearranges her locks to appear dreadlocked as she heads unabashed for the only two people on the beach Ben and Eirlys who have been declaring their love to us clifftop walkers - Ben loves Eirlys. And 'To the world one might be one person, to one person you might be the world'. Someone been reading a self-help book?
Clearly she knows Ben and Eirlys and poses for pictures with them, seaweed on her scalp, neatly arranged. She then ditches the weed and they walk back to their vehicles.
Drove past one of them - animal - kirstyjones.me.uk.
Turns out I've been ogling the surfing superstar.
Only one surfer takes on the tiddlers. Jumping elegantly on to the board and effortlessly gliding down to the shore several times before deciding to call it a day. On closer inspection, the surfer has long blonde hair and turns out to be female.
Paddling through the shallows in, it has to be said, Ursula Andress-style, she sweeps up a clump of straggly seaweed, fronds six inches long and adds them to her hair. She rearranges her locks to appear dreadlocked as she heads unabashed for the only two people on the beach Ben and Eirlys who have been declaring their love to us clifftop walkers - Ben loves Eirlys. And 'To the world one might be one person, to one person you might be the world'. Someone been reading a self-help book?
Clearly she knows Ben and Eirlys and poses for pictures with them, seaweed on her scalp, neatly arranged. She then ditches the weed and they walk back to their vehicles.
Drove past one of them - animal - kirstyjones.me.uk.
Turns out I've been ogling the surfing superstar.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Puffin paradise
SKOMER - Puffins are so funny they should be given to the depressed instead of drugs.
Standing next to a burrow a yard away, one appeared to be flying right at me before screeching to a halt at the burrow. Shortly before the moment of landing it resembles
a cartoon Tom or Jerry, wings and legs akimbo, face apparently expressing panic, as if it has absolutely no control over what it's doing.
Sand eels given to the chick, it then emerges to waddle with a Charlie Chaplin gait, inspecting other burrow entrances and staring, unfazed, at the crowd of 20 adoring fans who can't believe they're only one yard away from it. The puffin meanwhile
seems to be in its element as it basks in the glare of mobiles, video cams and serious photogs with expensive lenses.
Even in the water they continue to amaze, diving for eels for up to a minute they're more elegant then when they fly. And they cluster in their dozens on the sea, looking just like rubber ducks on the bath. They fly like bats, wings
flapping furiously, banking steeply, which is why the gulls don't try to catch them in the air, and then avoiding the gulls with a scurry to the sanctuary of the burrow.
If I'd known they were this much fun I'd have visited Skomer in the puffin season way earlier.
Guillemots are quite comical too. Their plunges from the cliffs seem sure to end in a watery crack but they glide and swerve just in time. Coal grey and white, they're absolutely beautiful. Two-tone treats.
Theh other highlight of Wales's Galapagos island threw up its endemic treat - a Skomer vole scuttled across the path.
Standing next to a burrow a yard away, one appeared to be flying right at me before screeching to a halt at the burrow. Shortly before the moment of landing it resembles
a cartoon Tom or Jerry, wings and legs akimbo, face apparently expressing panic, as if it has absolutely no control over what it's doing.
Sand eels given to the chick, it then emerges to waddle with a Charlie Chaplin gait, inspecting other burrow entrances and staring, unfazed, at the crowd of 20 adoring fans who can't believe they're only one yard away from it. The puffin meanwhile
seems to be in its element as it basks in the glare of mobiles, video cams and serious photogs with expensive lenses.
Even in the water they continue to amaze, diving for eels for up to a minute they're more elegant then when they fly. And they cluster in their dozens on the sea, looking just like rubber ducks on the bath. They fly like bats, wings
flapping furiously, banking steeply, which is why the gulls don't try to catch them in the air, and then avoiding the gulls with a scurry to the sanctuary of the burrow.
If I'd known they were this much fun I'd have visited Skomer in the puffin season way earlier.
Guillemots are quite comical too. Their plunges from the cliffs seem sure to end in a watery crack but they glide and swerve just in time. Coal grey and white, they're absolutely beautiful. Two-tone treats.
Theh other highlight of Wales's Galapagos island threw up its endemic treat - a Skomer vole scuttled across the path.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Loritz
TENBY Alec's stories - too many to recite. One stuck. A Dane, Loritz one of 11 children, sent to Kew Gardens, from Denmark to learn
a trade in, I would imagine, about 1925. It was felt, given the difficulties of growing up in a big family, that he would have a better life
if sent abroad. Gets a job in Tenby after a posting from Kew and gets to know granddad. Settles in Tenby and knows granddad so well that Uncle Tommy's middle name is Loritz. Now we know.
Some time before World War Two Loritz returns to Denmark, married, and settles. Only for war to break out and of course, as someone fluent in English, is regarded with suspicion. For the entire war, the Germans posted a sentry outside his home.
There was always someone present. The stress, immense, was too much. Loritz's wife died of a heart attack.
The Germans banned everyone from attending the funeral, apart from Loritz. The whole town, however, followed the funeral procession to the churchyard. The Germans sat on the coffin in the back of the hearse and puffed on cigarettes.
The coffin was taken into the cemetery. Loritz was allowed in. The Germans prevented anyone else entering.
In response, everyone threw their flowers over the Germans, over the wall, into the cemetery.
a trade in, I would imagine, about 1925. It was felt, given the difficulties of growing up in a big family, that he would have a better life
if sent abroad. Gets a job in Tenby after a posting from Kew and gets to know granddad. Settles in Tenby and knows granddad so well that Uncle Tommy's middle name is Loritz. Now we know.
Some time before World War Two Loritz returns to Denmark, married, and settles. Only for war to break out and of course, as someone fluent in English, is regarded with suspicion. For the entire war, the Germans posted a sentry outside his home.
There was always someone present. The stress, immense, was too much. Loritz's wife died of a heart attack.
The Germans banned everyone from attending the funeral, apart from Loritz. The whole town, however, followed the funeral procession to the churchyard. The Germans sat on the coffin in the back of the hearse and puffed on cigarettes.
The coffin was taken into the cemetery. Loritz was allowed in. The Germans prevented anyone else entering.
In response, everyone threw their flowers over the Germans, over the wall, into the cemetery.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Marlon moolah
DINAS POWYS ATHLETIC CLUB On the wall is a sheet of paper bearing a list of 33 famous people. Shirley Bassey, Adam Ant, Tom Jones, Sir Norman Wisdom, Ginger Spice etc etc.
Next to them 33 drinkers - they gotta be drinkers, they nearly chucked me out when I said I'd stopped - up the club. VWC, Geraint, Compo (Geoff) etc. All allocated a famous person each.
Above that, a heading - Dead Man's Pool. It's a sweepstake! If your famous person dies in the seven days from one Sunday to the next you get all the money in the pot. And the pot is well worth having.
VWC explains: "I won £1,300 on Marlon Brando I did. I remember seeing the news on telly and thinking, 'I might have him'. I knew I'd won as soon as I walked in here and everyone told me I was a lucky bastard. It's pot luck - they chuck
some youngsters in - Adam Ant's not young is he, but he is Radio Rentals so who knows."
As if to prove life's lottery, the barman pipes up: "My brother won £1,900 on Paula Yates."
Next to them 33 drinkers - they gotta be drinkers, they nearly chucked me out when I said I'd stopped - up the club. VWC, Geraint, Compo (Geoff) etc. All allocated a famous person each.
Above that, a heading - Dead Man's Pool. It's a sweepstake! If your famous person dies in the seven days from one Sunday to the next you get all the money in the pot. And the pot is well worth having.
VWC explains: "I won £1,300 on Marlon Brando I did. I remember seeing the news on telly and thinking, 'I might have him'. I knew I'd won as soon as I walked in here and everyone told me I was a lucky bastard. It's pot luck - they chuck
some youngsters in - Adam Ant's not young is he, but he is Radio Rentals so who knows."
As if to prove life's lottery, the barman pipes up: "My brother won £1,900 on Paula Yates."
Monday, June 11, 2007
Chaos Cup 2007 report
Cast – Richard Shand (capt), his butty Martin, Darren Tandy, his butty Russ, Adrian Colley, Stu Ropke and Paul Shore.
Sick notes - Marc Thomas, Huw Thomas. All the other 150 27 Club members who didn't want to play. At least Marc and Huw nearly turned up.
Location: Douglas Eyre sports ground, wonderful Walthamstow.
Weather: we boiled lobsters on the centre spot
Trophy gained: wooden spoon
All I can say is – we must be the best team ever to win the wooden spoon because no bloody way were we the worst team in the tournament. One more time for emphasis, no bloody way. NO BLOODY WAY. And that’s not just cos I happened to miss both penalties in the crucial penalty shootout. As Oscar Wilde said: To lose one penalty may be regarded as a misfortune, to lose two looks like carelessness. OK maybe it was carelessness, especially the second one which went exactly the same place as my first – I think the keeper caught it with his knees. Show-off. Anyway I bled for this club on Saturday. Not copiously but I have been putting lots of Savlon on my legs as they hurt. Question – where do you put Savlon on a sore psyche?
Yes, boys, it still bloody hurts.
Act 1 – 1927 Club 1 Birmingham 1. The holders were well on the way to a humiliating defeat when, with 30 seconds left, your correspondent confidently let a long ball over his head knowing that keeper Shandy would collect it with an exaggerated roll, like a snared eel, on the floor wasting another 10 seconds in the process. Mistake. Next time head the fucking thing to fucking Andromeda. A Brummie had a different idea, picked up the ball and slammed it home for the equaliser. However I earned the right to a mistake cos I scored our only goal of the tournament with a fearsome lunge between their keeper and last defender from two yards out to win not a 50/50 but a 98/2 ball (the 2 being my theoretical chance of winning the challenge). Please remind me of this goal next time you see me and I’ll buy you a drink and talk about it for 10 minutes. I later heard the defender sadly telling the keeper: “Sorry about that. I didn’t know he was allowed in our box!” Heh, heh, stop polishing your trophies and read the rules next time, suckers!
Act 2 – 1927 Club 0 Stratford Stompers 1. It was disappointing to find out our opponents were locals rather than some hobbledehoy itinerant band of devil-may-care Shakespearean hooligans. Their name has a bit of ring to it, no? Fie on these guys. We should have won this one too. Why? I dunno, I can’t remember anything about the game. Ask someone else.
Act 3 – 1927 Club 0 Celtic 0. Jocks have a deserved reputation for fearsome violence delivered with relish, as anyone who was at Anfield in 1977 will tell you. Having once walked up Gallowgate (top tip: DON’T! Hire a tank) to watch the Bhoys play Tel Aviv, their name on the fixture list commanded instant respect and I wore seven shinpads on each leg. Maybe that was why I felt a bit tired. However, it’s only fair to point out that our opponents were not at all inclined to behave in line with their reputation and were remarkably fair-minded. Russ played very well and so did Tandy. It’s official – Glaswegians are cuddly.
Act 4 – Plate semi-final: 1927 Club 0 Sarfend 1. Cor blimey we wuz well up for this rumble but one of their geezers burst through second ‘arf, larged it towards Shandy. Wallop, 1-0. Sweet. Fancy losing to Sarfend eh? Gutted!
Act 5 – Wooden spoon play-off 1927 Club 0 Orientear 0. Another glorious 0-0 draw. Christ how did we not win this one? Suppose it helps to have a shot from within 10 yards but bloody hell the gathered crowd of 50 rabid Orienteers were begging the ref to blow for full-time more or less from the start. I swear I heard them trying to persuade blackbirds to mimic the ref’s whistle so they could proceed to their cunning plan of penalties which they had obviously been practising for months, if not decades. Anyway it went to penalties. Ask me about the penalties and I’ll thump you.
The ref was Scottish, maybe we can blame him. And as the guilty penalty-taker I’m blaming just about bloody everybody.
Torquay won the cup, beating lucky Birmingham in the final. Full marks to our skipper for trudging round to Number 29 Edward Road and saying in a high-pitched voice: “Can we have our ball back please?” after it was booted into No 29’s pond (did we murder any guppies lads?) and also for some classy goalkeeping. Scott Thomas may have played his last game for the 27 Club. It has to be said we were extremely hard to score against but lacked punch up front. We are all absolutely adamant that we played far better than our final rating.
Best quote: Tandy, recalling the day we were showered with all sorts of unspeakable Italian effluent in Milan at Wales v Pisschuckers in 2003, all of it emanating from within the heartless Italian hoolies’ own bodies: “It was just like an episode of Tiswas.”
Best player: our ringer Russ. Turned up in specs and wearing a Man U shirt and baseball cap. Played the whole of the five games wearing specs, Man U shirt and a baseball cap and, blow me, always a tricky customer and barely a trace of sweat on the cap at the end of the day.
Next year – I’m playing cricket instead.
Sick notes - Marc Thomas, Huw Thomas. All the other 150 27 Club members who didn't want to play. At least Marc and Huw nearly turned up.
Location: Douglas Eyre sports ground, wonderful Walthamstow.
Weather: we boiled lobsters on the centre spot
Trophy gained: wooden spoon
All I can say is – we must be the best team ever to win the wooden spoon because no bloody way were we the worst team in the tournament. One more time for emphasis, no bloody way. NO BLOODY WAY. And that’s not just cos I happened to miss both penalties in the crucial penalty shootout. As Oscar Wilde said: To lose one penalty may be regarded as a misfortune, to lose two looks like carelessness. OK maybe it was carelessness, especially the second one which went exactly the same place as my first – I think the keeper caught it with his knees. Show-off. Anyway I bled for this club on Saturday. Not copiously but I have been putting lots of Savlon on my legs as they hurt. Question – where do you put Savlon on a sore psyche?
Yes, boys, it still bloody hurts.
Act 1 – 1927 Club 1 Birmingham 1. The holders were well on the way to a humiliating defeat when, with 30 seconds left, your correspondent confidently let a long ball over his head knowing that keeper Shandy would collect it with an exaggerated roll, like a snared eel, on the floor wasting another 10 seconds in the process. Mistake. Next time head the fucking thing to fucking Andromeda. A Brummie had a different idea, picked up the ball and slammed it home for the equaliser. However I earned the right to a mistake cos I scored our only goal of the tournament with a fearsome lunge between their keeper and last defender from two yards out to win not a 50/50 but a 98/2 ball (the 2 being my theoretical chance of winning the challenge). Please remind me of this goal next time you see me and I’ll buy you a drink and talk about it for 10 minutes. I later heard the defender sadly telling the keeper: “Sorry about that. I didn’t know he was allowed in our box!” Heh, heh, stop polishing your trophies and read the rules next time, suckers!
Act 2 – 1927 Club 0 Stratford Stompers 1. It was disappointing to find out our opponents were locals rather than some hobbledehoy itinerant band of devil-may-care Shakespearean hooligans. Their name has a bit of ring to it, no? Fie on these guys. We should have won this one too. Why? I dunno, I can’t remember anything about the game. Ask someone else.
Act 3 – 1927 Club 0 Celtic 0. Jocks have a deserved reputation for fearsome violence delivered with relish, as anyone who was at Anfield in 1977 will tell you. Having once walked up Gallowgate (top tip: DON’T! Hire a tank) to watch the Bhoys play Tel Aviv, their name on the fixture list commanded instant respect and I wore seven shinpads on each leg. Maybe that was why I felt a bit tired. However, it’s only fair to point out that our opponents were not at all inclined to behave in line with their reputation and were remarkably fair-minded. Russ played very well and so did Tandy. It’s official – Glaswegians are cuddly.
Act 4 – Plate semi-final: 1927 Club 0 Sarfend 1. Cor blimey we wuz well up for this rumble but one of their geezers burst through second ‘arf, larged it towards Shandy. Wallop, 1-0. Sweet. Fancy losing to Sarfend eh? Gutted!
Act 5 – Wooden spoon play-off 1927 Club 0 Orientear 0. Another glorious 0-0 draw. Christ how did we not win this one? Suppose it helps to have a shot from within 10 yards but bloody hell the gathered crowd of 50 rabid Orienteers were begging the ref to blow for full-time more or less from the start. I swear I heard them trying to persuade blackbirds to mimic the ref’s whistle so they could proceed to their cunning plan of penalties which they had obviously been practising for months, if not decades. Anyway it went to penalties. Ask me about the penalties and I’ll thump you.
The ref was Scottish, maybe we can blame him. And as the guilty penalty-taker I’m blaming just about bloody everybody.
Torquay won the cup, beating lucky Birmingham in the final. Full marks to our skipper for trudging round to Number 29 Edward Road and saying in a high-pitched voice: “Can we have our ball back please?” after it was booted into No 29’s pond (did we murder any guppies lads?) and also for some classy goalkeeping. Scott Thomas may have played his last game for the 27 Club. It has to be said we were extremely hard to score against but lacked punch up front. We are all absolutely adamant that we played far better than our final rating.
Best quote: Tandy, recalling the day we were showered with all sorts of unspeakable Italian effluent in Milan at Wales v Pisschuckers in 2003, all of it emanating from within the heartless Italian hoolies’ own bodies: “It was just like an episode of Tiswas.”
Best player: our ringer Russ. Turned up in specs and wearing a Man U shirt and baseball cap. Played the whole of the five games wearing specs, Man U shirt and a baseball cap and, blow me, always a tricky customer and barely a trace of sweat on the cap at the end of the day.
Next year – I’m playing cricket instead.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
OO2
Shepherds Bush Empire
Accompanied this time by a musicianly ear - Mike - who played sax with Wasted Youth in the 80s. This band toured with the Only Ones in the early 80s and they turned him on to the OOs, who had by then split.
Mike wasn't as smitten as I am by what he saw. He's not a fan of bands past their heyday re-forming, though he makes an exception for Dexys. He reckons some of the playing was loose - The Beast a 'mess', though I enjoyed it. He figured support band - Perrett's kids - were tighter. Have to say that the Nottingham gig was much more intimate and satisfying.
Good turnout by the London crowd - standing area was jam-packed to the point where you remembered that it was a good thing that you stopped going to gigs (happened to me when I was about 26). All those big bastards, too big to chin or pick an argument with, standing in front of you blocking your view or jostling you.
Set list more or less the same as Wednesday, with the addition of As My Wife Says and Someone Who Cares. Missing were Why Don't You Kill Yourself and No Solution. Lovers of Today was the last encore. Me and My Shadow became first encore, which worked nicely I thought, as it allowed for Kellie to get some deserved acclaim as the band joined him one by one to perform the song.
The better bits were a blistering Another Girl, Another Planet which sounded ten times better than on Wednesday and, for me at any rate, The Beast. Amess perhaps but a deeply satisfying one.
Roll on the Hyde Park show on Thursday where, I understand, Air, Queens of the Stone Age and the White Stripes are on the supporting bill.
Accompanied this time by a musicianly ear - Mike - who played sax with Wasted Youth in the 80s. This band toured with the Only Ones in the early 80s and they turned him on to the OOs, who had by then split.
Mike wasn't as smitten as I am by what he saw. He's not a fan of bands past their heyday re-forming, though he makes an exception for Dexys. He reckons some of the playing was loose - The Beast a 'mess', though I enjoyed it. He figured support band - Perrett's kids - were tighter. Have to say that the Nottingham gig was much more intimate and satisfying.
Good turnout by the London crowd - standing area was jam-packed to the point where you remembered that it was a good thing that you stopped going to gigs (happened to me when I was about 26). All those big bastards, too big to chin or pick an argument with, standing in front of you blocking your view or jostling you.
Set list more or less the same as Wednesday, with the addition of As My Wife Says and Someone Who Cares. Missing were Why Don't You Kill Yourself and No Solution. Lovers of Today was the last encore. Me and My Shadow became first encore, which worked nicely I thought, as it allowed for Kellie to get some deserved acclaim as the band joined him one by one to perform the song.
The better bits were a blistering Another Girl, Another Planet which sounded ten times better than on Wednesday and, for me at any rate, The Beast. Amess perhaps but a deeply satisfying one.
Roll on the Hyde Park show on Thursday where, I understand, Air, Queens of the Stone Age and the White Stripes are on the supporting bill.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Warney's big toe
Arundel: Sussex v Hants.
'Cricket is better than sex', I tell people when they wonder why you play. Watching cricket is no substitute but at least it's a great day out in the country, when you go to Arundel, anyway.
Final chance perhaps to see one of the world's greatest sportsmen. A zillion Test wickets and a million front and back pages. One of the best players ever. Shane Warne spent much of the day on the field, as Hampshire skipper, slowing down play in a bid to induce a declaration from Sussex who set a target of 500. His histrionics - pretty mild really - irritated the crowd but what else could do? Good to see he still cares passionately about his cricket enough to be an awkward opponent - and that he's not treating Hampshire as a post-Test career sinecure. Sussex looked well on the way to setting a fourth-innings target of 800.
He didn't bowl well - arrived to watch him being twatted to all corners. Replacement Shaun Udal immediately soon claimed Goodwin on 99 and the Pakistani bowler Rana then slogged an interesting 20 or so before Adams hit 103 and declared.
But Warney still holds the attention, even when off the pitch. As Hampshire started their reply he sauntered barefoot outside the pavilion, entering the picket-fenced players' pen underneath a huge tree. An idyllic scene, we could have been in the 1930s. The alpha male at all times.
Sat next to, I think, Mascarenhas. All the other players on his right but all seemed to cock half an ear in his direction as he and Mascarenhas spoke for maybe 10 minutes, Warney put a silverback gorilla-like paw round Mascarenhas and even apparently stroking the back of his head at one point (I was only five yards away).
What struck me was the size of his feet. Warney has huge toes and his big toe is even bigger than my thumb, which is a bit of a tiddler cos I've got very small hands.
Once again though - struck by how nearly everyone seems to be over 40. Same feeling as when you play local league stuff - not many guys under 35, though this just may be a reflection on the standard our team plays at. Cricket - an analogue sport in a digital age. Once Warney retires, where will the next star come from?
'Cricket is better than sex', I tell people when they wonder why you play. Watching cricket is no substitute but at least it's a great day out in the country, when you go to Arundel, anyway.
Final chance perhaps to see one of the world's greatest sportsmen. A zillion Test wickets and a million front and back pages. One of the best players ever. Shane Warne spent much of the day on the field, as Hampshire skipper, slowing down play in a bid to induce a declaration from Sussex who set a target of 500. His histrionics - pretty mild really - irritated the crowd but what else could do? Good to see he still cares passionately about his cricket enough to be an awkward opponent - and that he's not treating Hampshire as a post-Test career sinecure. Sussex looked well on the way to setting a fourth-innings target of 800.
He didn't bowl well - arrived to watch him being twatted to all corners. Replacement Shaun Udal immediately soon claimed Goodwin on 99 and the Pakistani bowler Rana then slogged an interesting 20 or so before Adams hit 103 and declared.
But Warney still holds the attention, even when off the pitch. As Hampshire started their reply he sauntered barefoot outside the pavilion, entering the picket-fenced players' pen underneath a huge tree. An idyllic scene, we could have been in the 1930s. The alpha male at all times.
Sat next to, I think, Mascarenhas. All the other players on his right but all seemed to cock half an ear in his direction as he and Mascarenhas spoke for maybe 10 minutes, Warney put a silverback gorilla-like paw round Mascarenhas and even apparently stroking the back of his head at one point (I was only five yards away).
What struck me was the size of his feet. Warney has huge toes and his big toe is even bigger than my thumb, which is a bit of a tiddler cos I've got very small hands.
Once again though - struck by how nearly everyone seems to be over 40. Same feeling as when you play local league stuff - not many guys under 35, though this just may be a reflection on the standard our team plays at. Cricket - an analogue sport in a digital age. Once Warney retires, where will the next star come from?
Thursday, June 7, 2007
The Only Ones
There was one band in the world I wished would re-form - The Only Ones.
The feeling first came maybe 20 years ago during the post-Smiths slump when bands lacked lustre. Why wouldn't they want to do it? What was stopping them?
They weren't even my favourite act but the question became, why, when they were all alive, - albeit only just perhaps - did they not do it when every ratty, rickety rocker was? And most of them were far less talented.
For me this is the great existential band. A songwriter, Perrett, who is needy and nihilistic who cuts straight to the chase with arresting opening lines "Why do I go through these deep emotional traumas?" He should have been a journo.
Not only that they recorded the best single ever. Which was largely ignored at the time. Been covered since though I can't see why people try to emulate this - despite Paul Westerberg doing a reasonable acoustic version in London a coupla years back. At least that's a sign of good taste
This band have unfinished business perhaps more than any other. As a sixth former I'd seen them only on the tour to promote the third album Baby's Got A Gun, at a quarter-full Top Rank in Cardiff in 1981. Despite being a favourite band the gig was barely memorable. Support band Wasted Youth, all in black, stayed in the memory longer - not because they were better but because a pal later played sax in the group.
Anyway, cut to the scene: Nottingham Rescue Rooms. About 250 people in the club - the average age well over 40. The gig was switched from Rock City. Beyonce and plodding clunkers INXS were also in town. But had they recorded the best single ever?
Support band Hellset were a 20something trio of bass, drums and keyboards - the piano-pummmelling leader boasting an enormous and likeable self-belief as he thrashed out some proggy stuff. The second song was introduced as: "About whores and wankers in union on wagon." Still trying to work that one out. Back in the early 80s they might have ended up being canned off for being hippie-esque and they weren't my cup of tea but they were warm, engaging and well-received.
Come 9.30pm they were only two questions - do ex-punks still pogo in their 40s? And do The Only Ones still have the sacred fire?
On they came:
Alan Mair - the group godfather perhaps - the man apparently most responsible for the long-awaited reunion. Kept a fairly low profile.
Mike Kellie - a man who seems to epitomise the word 'loom'. He seemed huge in the 70s, especially in a nation of shortarses like Wales. He's still huge. Or rather he 'looms' large even in these days.
John Perry - dark-shirted, milky complexion topped with a natty trilby (must get one). Due to regular gigging seemed the most comfortable musician on stage. Played as if in his own world and with pillbox slits for eyes. The driving force of the music this evening.
Perrett - sporting sunglasses. Slightly stooped, shockingly thin, even though you were aware this would be the case. Don't think I've ever seen a front man/vocalist so meek. Singing and playing guitar looked a real effort. He exuded a lamb-like, girlish innocence and frequently used his left hand to scratch a healthy mop of brown hair in apparent puzzlement.
The set list:
Lovers of Today
Miles from Nowhere
From Here to Eternity
In Betweens
Why Don't You Kill Yourself?
Dreamt She Could Fly
It's the Truth
Programme
Whole of the Law
Flowers Die
Big Sleep
No Peace for the Wicked
Another Girl, Another Planet
The Beast
Encores
Flaming Torch
Me and My Shadow
No Solutions
Don't want to analyse each song separately as that would have got in the way of enjoying the whole night. But there was no fluff here, not much said between songs. I got suckered by: "This is a new one." It took several seconds to realised they were playing AGAP. Perrett's voice isn't the strongest, but it never cracked and he mastered some of the trickier phrasings.
His bleak lyricism slowly came to the fore and by the end of the gig his skeletal appearance had been forgotten. For the encore, off came the sunglasses and he no longer seemed to be hiding from us - there was even time for a couple of shy smiles. He seemed a man of 55 going on 17. Ordeal finally over, he allowed himself to enjoy it.
The Only Ones are not a great live band as a spectacle but they are very good and the songs speak for themselves - some of the subtlety and delicacy's lost live. Bu this was an intimate, compelling and necessary reunion. Not just for them - for us too. And to my unmusicianly ear, more or less note perfect.
By the end you got a strong sense of what the first two albums provide - that you'd been spoken to personally. And for the last half hour the intensity and the context of a 'dream come true' made you feel that the performance had been for your rapture alone and that 249 audience members has somehow melted away.
It was a privilege to spend four hours on a train to get there and four hours coming home. On Saturday, it will be repeated with a trip to Shepherds Bush.
The feeling first came maybe 20 years ago during the post-Smiths slump when bands lacked lustre. Why wouldn't they want to do it? What was stopping them?
They weren't even my favourite act but the question became, why, when they were all alive, - albeit only just perhaps - did they not do it when every ratty, rickety rocker was? And most of them were far less talented.
For me this is the great existential band. A songwriter, Perrett, who is needy and nihilistic who cuts straight to the chase with arresting opening lines "Why do I go through these deep emotional traumas?" He should have been a journo.
Not only that they recorded the best single ever. Which was largely ignored at the time. Been covered since though I can't see why people try to emulate this - despite Paul Westerberg doing a reasonable acoustic version in London a coupla years back. At least that's a sign of good taste
This band have unfinished business perhaps more than any other. As a sixth former I'd seen them only on the tour to promote the third album Baby's Got A Gun, at a quarter-full Top Rank in Cardiff in 1981. Despite being a favourite band the gig was barely memorable. Support band Wasted Youth, all in black, stayed in the memory longer - not because they were better but because a pal later played sax in the group.
Anyway, cut to the scene: Nottingham Rescue Rooms. About 250 people in the club - the average age well over 40. The gig was switched from Rock City. Beyonce and plodding clunkers INXS were also in town. But had they recorded the best single ever?
Support band Hellset were a 20something trio of bass, drums and keyboards - the piano-pummmelling leader boasting an enormous and likeable self-belief as he thrashed out some proggy stuff. The second song was introduced as: "About whores and wankers in union on wagon." Still trying to work that one out. Back in the early 80s they might have ended up being canned off for being hippie-esque and they weren't my cup of tea but they were warm, engaging and well-received.
Come 9.30pm they were only two questions - do ex-punks still pogo in their 40s? And do The Only Ones still have the sacred fire?
On they came:
Alan Mair - the group godfather perhaps - the man apparently most responsible for the long-awaited reunion. Kept a fairly low profile.
Mike Kellie - a man who seems to epitomise the word 'loom'. He seemed huge in the 70s, especially in a nation of shortarses like Wales. He's still huge. Or rather he 'looms' large even in these days.
John Perry - dark-shirted, milky complexion topped with a natty trilby (must get one). Due to regular gigging seemed the most comfortable musician on stage. Played as if in his own world and with pillbox slits for eyes. The driving force of the music this evening.
Perrett - sporting sunglasses. Slightly stooped, shockingly thin, even though you were aware this would be the case. Don't think I've ever seen a front man/vocalist so meek. Singing and playing guitar looked a real effort. He exuded a lamb-like, girlish innocence and frequently used his left hand to scratch a healthy mop of brown hair in apparent puzzlement.
The set list:
Lovers of Today
Miles from Nowhere
From Here to Eternity
In Betweens
Why Don't You Kill Yourself?
Dreamt She Could Fly
It's the Truth
Programme
Whole of the Law
Flowers Die
Big Sleep
No Peace for the Wicked
Another Girl, Another Planet
The Beast
Encores
Flaming Torch
Me and My Shadow
No Solutions
Don't want to analyse each song separately as that would have got in the way of enjoying the whole night. But there was no fluff here, not much said between songs. I got suckered by: "This is a new one." It took several seconds to realised they were playing AGAP. Perrett's voice isn't the strongest, but it never cracked and he mastered some of the trickier phrasings.
His bleak lyricism slowly came to the fore and by the end of the gig his skeletal appearance had been forgotten. For the encore, off came the sunglasses and he no longer seemed to be hiding from us - there was even time for a couple of shy smiles. He seemed a man of 55 going on 17. Ordeal finally over, he allowed himself to enjoy it.
The Only Ones are not a great live band as a spectacle but they are very good and the songs speak for themselves - some of the subtlety and delicacy's lost live. Bu this was an intimate, compelling and necessary reunion. Not just for them - for us too. And to my unmusicianly ear, more or less note perfect.
By the end you got a strong sense of what the first two albums provide - that you'd been spoken to personally. And for the last half hour the intensity and the context of a 'dream come true' made you feel that the performance had been for your rapture alone and that 249 audience members has somehow melted away.
It was a privilege to spend four hours on a train to get there and four hours coming home. On Saturday, it will be repeated with a trip to Shepherds Bush.
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