When l was around at my sisters yesterday, she showed me a wedding album from our parents marriage day in sunny Bootle that she had dug out. Someone is doing our family tree, so l wanted some pictures of our grandparents mainly, but while l was scanning them, l thought l might as well do copies of the ones from the wedding as well.
It's hard to believe our parents were ever that young, and l don't recall seeing my father that skinny ever.
Both are dead now, so l am officially an orphan, and therefore demand sympathy!!
Many moons ago when l was out and about in New York, l often used to wear a green hat that looked a bit like a tea cosy. l was mocked by some of the people l was with for wearing it, but what can l say - l had style.
This has recently been confirmed when watching a Don Letts programme on the BBC about Skinhead culture. It was interesting and well presented by Don, but the main thing that stood out for me was that he was wearing exactly the same kind of green hat l was wearing back in the day.
A man of good taste obviously.
Also, l've often argued about the original skinheads love of reggae and their openness towards blacks at the time. This obviously changed for later skinheads, but here's some top reggae tunes that the skinheads used to like that l used to play constantly when driving my sister and her daughters about (and no - l'm not a skinhead or racist).
Another night, another night out. This time with my sister, niece and Rocker to see Beans on Toast and Skinny Lister at Leeds University. My niece arranged it all, got the tickets, and drove there and back, so the rest of us just enjoyed ourselves (the odd lager may have been consumed).
Beans on Toast were first on, and superb. Both funny, political, and now and again, even romantic. I particularly enjoyed the addition of a fiddle player (amongst others), as l'm a sucker for that kind of Bob Dylan 'Hurricane' sound, and Mr Beans (as l call him) certainly has a lot of charisma and a huge likeability factor. If he wasn't a musician, he could take up a new career in comedy.
As for Skinny Lister, they were really good, and are certainly lively and exiting to watch, but the vocals were lost in the mix and unless you already knew the songs, you had no idea what they were singing about, apart from the odd chorus or phrases, which spoilt it for us. Still, we all shared of their ale, and are probably just old fogeys (apart from my niece), so what the hell.
An excellent farewell to my niece who has since headed down south again.
My sister and niece can be seen in this, myself and Rocker watched this bit from the balcony
We drank from this mighty jug of ale (rum l seem to remember)
More merchandise, this time signed by Beans on Toast
And here's Mr Beans himself, drawing me a picture on the back of it
My entry stamp, surrounded by scratches off Mr parrot's sharp claws, from when he sits on my hand
To demonstrate how time is flying by, one of my sisters girls (Kelly) has just given birth to her first baby, who her and her partner Jamie have named Luna.
Bloody hippies.
It only seems like yesterday since Kelly herself was this size.
Coincidentally, Luna (La Lune) was also one of the first words l spoke when l was a baby, as l grew up listening to French (it's the moon) as well as English.
There are patterns everywhere if you look long enough. Just don't get started on Dendritic flow systems, Hexagons, Earthquake aftershocks related to crime etc, or you will never leave the internet, as l have found to my cost.
Thinking of Patterns - Here's Simon and Garfunkel, with their take on them.
For a change - three videos by one artist. Jay McAllister, AKA Beans On Toast, someone who's well worth getting into if you haven't heard of him. I must be getting old though, as l was originally introduced to him by Hayley, my young niece. She obviously knows the sort of stuff l like, and hopefully, l'm off to see him in October. He's funny and political. What's not to like?
Had a rather excellent time with Robbo at the weekend, down in that there dirty Leeds. We drove and parked at my brothers house in Beeston, then walked to The Tommy Wass around the corner, where we met and chatted with a couple of characters (Rob and Cat), had a couple of games of pool, and quaffed a couple of throthing ales. Taxi ordered afterwards into town, where more pints were consumed in various alehouses of ill repute, a cool looking old man was asked his age (he was nearly 65), and l asked to be served by a different barman when l entered one of the pubs and went to the counter to be served (as he was wearing a Liverpool football shirt). Oh what fun we had. Another taxi to Roundhay park, with Robbo arguing about battered husbands with the taxi driver all the way there, and then a miserable attempt at getting in for free, before we crumbled and reluctantly coughed up the dosh. Lots more rounds (but of a more expensive nature) were purchased, in between watching the bands and chatting to various other fans. We managed to get really close to the front, and both thought Primal Scream were a lot better than James, but some others disagreed with us after it had finished (however - we were obviously right). On the way out, we got befriended by a bunch of lads from Dewsbury and Selby who wanted to buy us drinks in the nearest pub, but by the time we got there (stopping for the odd sing song on the way) the pub had just stopped serving, so they buggered off to phone for their lift home, and we, as seasoned alcoholics, walked to the next nearest pub. On the way, we were befriended by some other lads from Leeds, and drinks were purchased for us on arrival, with more songs and chatter continued outside it while drinking. Taxi afterwards back to Beeston for Robbo's customary late night takeaway (dropping off one of the lads on the way), then another taxi to my brothers to eat it. A quick chat with my brother while eating, then off to bed we went. If you're wondering, we managed (as usual) to share a double bed, due to my brothers daughter staying at her boyfriends that evening. I'm amazed she agreed to let us use her room, but it was much appreciated, despite Robbo's snoring.
Sausage sandwich in the morning (Ooeeerrr!), a chat and a drink with my brother and his wife, then back home to watch my recording of the Manchester United v Watford game. A rather damp squib to finish with. But that's another story.
My one and only picture inside the venue, just as we arrived
The dodgy looking dark woods we headed through with Leeds scallies afterwards, towards the nearest boozer. We thought we may well be robbed and buggered by them, but sadly, nothing happened.
Damn!!! Had to pay!!
The only taxi firm we used all day - an excellent and prompt service, despite the hassle the taxi drivers had to suffer from us
Beer mat from the pub as a momento (because l'm a sad bastard)
Suppliers of our takeaway at the end of the night
Given one of these and photographed by Lumineers promotional people on the way out. On their website maybe?
And a song by James that l haven't heard for ages till they played it, but love. 'Come Home', with the splendid and bitter lyric "After all these years, l've become my peers, l've become the kind of man l've always hated".
Which reminds me of this song. Del Amitri's 'Don't I Look Like The Kind Of Guy You Used To Hate'. Not just for the similar sentiment in the title, but also the lyric "And these tiny symbols of success, like my black chauffeurs forced friendliness, are less the spoils of spiritual wealth, then symptoms of distress".
Another reflective and bitter song, hidden away on one of their 'b' sides (in old money).
By jingo - l know my music!
My evil master plan seems to be taking effect. Mr C wears this Spider-man outfit l bought him on a more than regular basis, while wandering around asking for me, and chanting 'Jamie is great' when l am not there.
Well worth the time, effort and money involved, just to annoy his father.
Next up - The Jungle Book and Manchester United.
Three of about 30 comics l purchased this Saturday at the comic fair held in Leeds Town Hall.
Robbo and my good self travelled were there for the fair (once he eventually arrived), but we also met my brother as it was his birthday (and he conveniently lives in Leeds), so l could give him some money for his upcoming holiday. We all only had a couple of drinks after the comic hunting, as Robbo needed to get back, and my brother was under strict instructions not to drink too much, as he and his wife were going out for a meal that evening. Robbo then dropped me off at White shops for a few ales, as Jisum were playing at JT's, and l couldn't be bothered going to Richmond to see the other band at The Ship.
Pretty much stayed in bed and the bath all day today, reading and then watching TV. Thankfully l have only got Monday at work before l am off for another couple of days, so no doubt lots more reading (and comic sorting) will be done.
I'm a mixture of a rock and roll idiot hellraiser, and a nerdy stay at home geek, depending on how the days off take me.
I was around at my sisters house a couple of evenings ago, dropping of the usual money and books for Christmas, and ended up staying there for about six hours, drinking plenty of spirits, eating cheese, and chatting with Linda, Shane and the youngsters above. I even came away with some book recommendations from them ('I am Pilgrim' and 'Soldaten'), although it's hard to believe that Hayley will be 21 and finishing University next year, and Kelly will be 18 and starting.
They both still look about 12 to me, and the time has flown on by (in the blink of an eye!) since they were both young sprogs.
My sister lives in a council house in Colburn, Catterick (the lucky woman), and Richmond council have recently been tarting them up a bit. However, their plan for the outside wiring was to leave it exposed, as in the photographs above (the brown bits). Of course nobody is happy with this, and the tenants have protested.
Who on earth thought it would be a good idea to leave the houses in that state? I'm sure they wouldn't want their own houses to look that way, so why should the council tenants have to put up with it?
The last l heard, talks were ongoing.
A photograph of Richmond Live 2013 (not taken by me) that features my brother wandering around with his pint, as we all lost each other within a short time of arrival, due to chatting to people and getting sidetracked (drink may also have played its part).
I bumped into him again shortly afterwards, despite hiding behind some bushes for half an hour or so.
He's hard to shake off.
Part of the mayhem and carnage from Monday night in The Wine Bar with Paul and Linda. This was still early doors, and we ended up being the last ones to leave JT's with Eleanor and Billy (who had been hilarious earlier on, sellotaping some tampons to his ears to drown out Jimmy's swearing). There should be a photograph up of it in the pub now, as Stella Steve snapped one, and said he's arrange it.
A fun night for all the family.
It's been non stop madness since last Wednesday, as my brother has been up from Leeds for Richmond Live, but decided to come up early and didn't set off back until today.
My ears are now getting used to the quiet again as he never stops talking, and the house is emptier without all his stuff spread about. We have had a good time over the last few days, but there certainly has been a lot of ale taken on board.
As for Richmond Live itself, we went through for Friday and Saturday, but stayed in town for a bit on Saturday with other lads, but lost everyone pretty much straight away when we got into Richmond live. Dazzer ended up heading to the Holly, and Robbo must have gone home early (or he's still walking home now) as he disappeared as well. Then again, everyone was pretty drunk by then.
Yo El Rey were my favourite band of the weekend, but From The Jam were pretty good as well. It's a shame my Flip video camera gets distorted sound if stuff is too loud, but there's few videos from it below.
Now it's back to normality (or what passes for normality in my life).
People that know me, will know that l will avoid all hard manual labour at all costs. Sadly, our washing machine has given up the ghost, and the verdict of the expert l called out was - "It's fucked" (said within 5 seconds of him examining it, at a cost of £10 for callout).
Luckily Dazzer and Louise (brother and sister in law) had a spare machine in their garage, but this meant giving Dazzer a hand getting the old one out, bringing the new one in , and then taking the old one to the tip. Much lifting and shifting ensured, accompanied by my moaning and complaining.
However, when we arrived at the tip, it was closed on Wednesdays. Seeing as this happened on Wednesday, it meant the old washing machine had to come back on the trailer, but much to my gratitude, Dazzer said he would take it to the tip himself the next day, as l was at work. Hurrah!!
Unfortunately, the bastard fates conspired against me (as they usually do), because when l was driving home from work the next day, l changed my mind about the journey home, and decided to go through Tunstall. Disastrous error on my part, as l had to pause to let a car through traffic, and it was only Dazzer heading to the tip, so l felt obliged to turn around, follow him, and give him a hand there. Which l did. Only now the trailer had lumps of turf in it as well, which resulted in me assisting in unloading it, and working much harder than l intended..
I feel faint just thinking about dirt and the labour involved. Time for another soak in the bath to wash away the bad memories.
Manual work....Certainly overrated in my book.
Well, l've finally got around to posting again, and not before time. Christmas and New Year have long gone, and it's back to the grim reality of life.
While l've been away l haven't read much, but have been watching plenty of TV, going out, and working way too hard. Trying to sort out repairs to our house and life in general, and l also banged and split my head open, resulting in a new and improved man (who still has a cab from the cut).
I have just returned from Leeds, where Robbo and myself went to the comic fair at the Town Hall on Saturday, met my brother Paul (as it was his birthday), and pratted about all day and evening, ending up in the Stone Roses bar, dancing with some Leeds fans, before heading for some samosas and bhajis. Then it was a taxi home for Paul, and back to the hotel for me and Robbo. The hotel room was nothing special (we shared a room), but the hotel itself (Bewleys) was pretty good as far as the bar, stag and hen nights, and lounging around chatting in large leather chairs went, so that suited us down to the ground. They were only messing about (I hope) but I still haven't recovered from seeing Paul and Robbo kissing in one of the gay bars. A more hideous sight l can't imagine, and l'm sure l will be traumatised and scared for life (even more that l already am).
We returned to meet the girls in Middlesbrough the next day, then went to Cross Keys for a couple of pints and some food, before heading back to sunny Catterick, JT's, then wine, chocolate and food at home, followed by a disturbed night due to somebody snoring (I won't say who). Back to reality now and work again this afternoon, but at least there's the Manchester United against Real Madrid game to look forward to this evening. It's going to be close, and it sure is squeaky bum time.
Life goes on, and it least it is nearly summer.
Posters for the original 1960 film of Oceans 11, from when stars were stars. I still think Dean Martin was the coolest out of them, and l will hear no argument otherwise. My dad used to love him, and l grew up listening to the records, whether l liked it or not, but it was a fine education for any drunken scouse chancer (of which l am one).
toodle pip
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