And what’s more it comes in poetic form!
Header image (cropped from original) showing the Rolling Stones on stage by Jim Pietryga, 2015, licensing. Continue reading
short story
Great Expectations; a modern take of little resemblance
The following is founded in truth. If it were not, there’d be no basis or reason for its potentially offensive nature. Many aspects, though, have been changed to protect the guilty. As for the guilty, well, it’s all a matter of perspective.
With thanks to Asad Photo Maldives for use of the header image. Continue reading
White Hills: Mitosis; an interpretation
Mitosis is an album that swings from completely submerging the listener within its own narrative realms to the rhythms synching the mind with any task at hand like an internal soundtrack of one’s own making so seamless it almost isn’t there because it feels like it always is.
The ability of Mitosis to detach the listener from itself while simultaneously never leaving their side is all the more incredible when knowing the meaning of the album’s name and song titles (something I didn’t on first listen).
To quote from the album’s bandcamp page:
‘MITOSIS (/mai’toUsis/) is a part of a cell cycle in white replicated chromosomes are separated into two nuclei. Cell division by mitosis gives rise to genetically identical cells in which the total number of chromosomes are maintained.’
The Frog in the Throat of the Bloke on Speaker’s Corner
Elements of the following short story are based on true events. My dad took me so Speaker’s Corner when I was circa eight-years-old (1978-ish), and there I heard a man give a speech exactly along the lines of that described below.
In the unlikely event I ever end up with a pub or bar of some sort, ‘The Frog in the Throat of the Bloke on Speaker’s Corner’ is what I’ll name it; which reminds that I did used to frequent a place called ‘The Frog and Nightgown’ on the Old Kent Road, while sometimes before Chelsea games I’d pop in ‘The Ferret & Firkin in a Balloon Up The Creek Without a Paddle’ (said to be the longest pub name in the world at the time) on Lots Road.
Indeed, two Firkin franchise pubs were called the ‘Frog and Firkin’ (no relationship to the Nightgown).
My local was the ‘Phoenix and Firkin’, the old ticket office at Denmark Hill train station that had burned down before being turned into a pub. I quaffed many a pint of Dogbolter (brewed on the premises) there before the favoured drinking haunts of many got bought-out by a of corporate entity that wrecked them with arrogance and stupidity (such as no longer brewing Dogbolter) to the point of the franchise ceasing to exist bar (excuse the pun) a few names still being used, and even then only in part; such as ‘The Fleece’, Bristol–the first Firkin out of London and currently an integral part of Bristol’s live music scene–that today no longer uses the Firkin part on its name/branding.
While the below has nothing to do with pubs Firkin or otherwise, it does abound aplenty with corporate arrogance, greed and inanity.
With thanks to D. D. Buck^ for use of the header image. Continue reading
Plans, Trains and Lovers in Turmoil: the story of two
Two lovers part on bad terms with an agreement to meet in a year to see if they have a future. Both travel to the meeting on the London Underground, but one is delayed without any way of letting the other know.
Failing to arrive in time could be plenty enough to seal their fate. Do they make it and what caused the rift to begin is told in a sequence of poems from the two perspectives.
The poems originally formed the main body of a review for Ian Arkley’s album ‘two’, the music inspiring a poetic narration rooted in my experience of using the Underground before leaving London at the end of the last century; the tracks remain available in this post, also providing the name for each verse. Continue reading
Return to Southern Avenue
I used the net to test fond memories and found they came up wanting. With thanks to Daniel Frank for use of the header image. Continue reading
Southern Avenue
A short story about a real place. With thanks to Daniel Frank for use of the header image (not of the actual location). Continue reading
Meeting Edgar Broughton
The following is an account of true events: the names of those involved have been changed (including the dog’s).
My introduction to the Great Edgar Broughton started in a pub said to have once been frequented by highwayman Dick Turpin.
Aged fourteen, me and a couple of mates found we could get served in the Schooner, located—though no longer there—where Streatham High Road meets Hermitage Lane.
Geezers and Goldfish Bowls
In the early 90s I worked London’s markets; the following is an account of true events (continued from: Songs T Taught Me and the Mystery of Charlie Chaplin):
Spaces always look smaller when empty; something in this case helped big time by the stage being hidden behind a curtain. The area once full of merry drinkers now occupied by a solitary pool table, five ‘chaps‘ drinking and smoking round it.
It’d become one of those pubs where unless you knew someone already there, everyone there would assume you undercover plod worthy of a good stabbing–up. The fact one of us was a loud Aussie doing nothing to allay suspicions; on the contrary, what better way for a rozzer to hide than appearing to be from a different country.
Last thing to do: turn tail and leave.
Continue reading
Songs T Taught Me and the Mystery of Charlie Chaplin
In the early 90s I worked London’s markets; the following is an account of true events (continued from: Horses for Courses):
In Croydon my attempts to give socks away were met with outright resistance:
‘He don’t like the ones with elastic at the top’
‘Too thick; will make his feet sweat’
Replying, ‘how about for another much loved and cared for family member, such as a cherished grandchild?’ did nothing to entice the taking of free socks.
N. P. Ryan 