A northbeach a day via the Mancunian Way.

One more day till Halloween.

2008-10-30T13:00:00.003Z

I think I get more excited than the kids (although they are crawling up the wall) now Halloween is on our doorstep. The living room resembles a joke shop during the spooky period and I can't walk for carved pumpkins everywhere. I'm the only one to yet find my 'uniform' (I posted about by trouble finding a mask) whereas the rest of the family's was sorted out last week. I do have my eye on a pair of overalls mind: I found some 'Michael Myers-esque' ones in my local hardware store (P Walsh and Son) which I'm going to try and pick up in the late afternoon, should they have them in stock. Failing that, it's a trip out to Wickes a few miles out in South Manchester. If I adhere exactly to the required clothing I should also try and pick up some 'US Military Jungle Boots'...I don't suppose I can pick those up in the village missing, as we are, a Army and Navy shop.

The overalls (looking on P Walsh's website) suggest they only stock Navy blue: I require them in, erm, 'horror flick green' for them to be authentic. I could attempt to dye them, but is it possible to dye navy blue to green? Perhaps I should bleach them first then apply the green dye? Might I then end up with a Haight Ashbury tie-dye effect? Hardly frightening enough to scare off local trick or treaters is it?

Following the tenets of this particular costume design (sadly sans offical mask...I'll be part Jason Voorhees) I also have to 'weather' the overalls, so they look used and 'murderised'. I'll wash them a few times, pokes a few holes in them, add a dash of fake blood and scrub them up with sandpaper...all this will be done this evening...I think I'm getting a little too involved here.

For the main part however, I look forward to the feast and drink and party before settling down to a cinematic spookypiece...it's a toss up between Don't Look now; the Exorcist; the Shining; Carnival of souls (which is quite 'shiversome') and the original Halloween (which might win out).

Failing that, Halloween II is on BBC2 later in the evening. Whilst not quite in the same league as the first one, it still boasts Dean Cundey's wonderful cinematography and John Carpenters electronic primal score (essentially the same soundtrack at the first movie but created with synthesizers).

Here's to the onset of Winter...

Hurry up it's Halloween...

2008-10-30T12:04:00.004Z

It's two days to go for this rediscovered festival. A pagan ritual we'd all but forgotten about and passed off as silly American 'holiday' has, during the last couple of years, grown larger and larger a new generation (or perhaps my generation re enacting our own childhoods). Despite calls from certain pockets of the church and community for Halloween to be subdued or eradicated from whence it came (despite pre dating a certain religion or two) it looks like it's here to stay. Cable/Satellite telly has helped somewhat – with a raft of 'paranormal' channels and kids channels showing a whole host of 'spooky' outpours it's hard not to bump into the odd ghoul or two. And of course commercialism had piled in like there's no tomorrow: I'm a little unsure as to whether my local sainsburys is a supermarket or a ghostly bazaar at the moment.

Still, I have to admit to enjoying this – I did as a kid and I now I have my own (kids) they too have a smile on their face this time of year. An excuse to throw a party just as the UK hibernates under the dark and cold should be compulsory.

So therefore, I've been looking at knocking a bit of a costume together. With Michael Myers being my 'favourite' screen villains I set about organising my costume. A quick search online should surely reap a host of places I could purchase a mask from? Not so apparently. As the original mask was based on Captain Shatner's face, his 'people' have denied permission to mask manufacturers to carry on making this mask. Hence a raft of dodgy looking bunch on sale. However, during my searches I came across an American based site that discusses the specialisation of authentic Michael Myers masks: there a cottage industry based on this and it's pretty fascinating stuff. The folks on there, for the main part, make these themselves in small art studios in the states. They, of course, carry a fairly hefty charge ($300 mark - £200 or thereabouts) but the quality is pretty special. I was looking at spending a few quid on mine, certainly nothing like the prices shown in this site (have a look at this ) but it's sparked something inside my head (loved the original Halloween film as a kid and into adulthood)...a new hobby perhaps...maybe next year I'll have the mask I've always coveted and I can cast my Asda Dracula plastic one aside.

Philip Inspector

2008-10-26T21:56:00.003Z

Thanks to a ghostly reminder in a coffee shop/bar (Fuel in Withington) earlier in the week and managed to dial a memo chip in my brains and remembered to watch the Phil Spector documentary last night on BBC2 (Arena). Fascinating programme and serves to remind us that the 'beeb' can produce fine television when it wants to. Directed by Vikram Jayanti (who has won more than a few Bafta's and was behind the docu-flick Rumble in the Jungle) this was an highly entertaining insight into the life of Phil Spector. The backdrop, inevitably (given the murder charge pushed him back into the limelight) was his murder trial from last year. With no verdict reached Spector is currently awaiting a retrial.

Whatever you feel about this little wall of genius he's undoubtedly a fascinating character. He started writing and performing (with the teddy bears) when he was 18 releasing the hit record 'To know him is to love him'. The programme pounded the chops with song after song – a host of classic records were directed the eccentric Spector, with the odd surprise flashed once in a while: I'd never knew he wrote 'Spanish Harlem' for example. A text of history was placed over the court footage, reminding me of the wording they used for Top of The Pops 2. His work with the Ronettes, Tina Turner, the Beatles and John Lennon was lovingly inserted into this 90 odd minute documentary. I'm not quite sure he was much of a fan of Paul McCartney – that was made quite clear in his discussions on the ex beatle.

Less was mentioned about his more erratic (and dark) behaviour which have oiled the rumour mills for many years. Much less (apart from the court scenes) was talked about the night in question when a girlfriend of his, actress Lana Clarkson, was either murdered or committed suicide (I'm still none the wiser to be fair).

It was good to hear the music he produced for Lennon in the early seventies (including, of course, Imagine – the piano incidentally appeared behind him in the interview scenes), although it might have been nice to include a bit of Dion's 'Born to be with you' and maybe a dash of the Ramones, but I guess time was against the producers of this documentary such was, I can only guess, the amount of footage they had to constrict.

Christmas will hit us all in the face like a cold piece of gammon soon enough. Now's the time to make sure you have a copy of 'A Christmas Gift for you from Phil Spector'.

Fuel for Thought

2008-10-26T20:27:00.003Z

I popped into Fuel in Withington for a meet up and coffee (far too early in the day for a Belgian ale). It's a great little addition to my inner city village, and alongside Solomon Grundy across the road almost single handedly lift the main drag into something a little more interesting than your average village. As a village it's admittedly a little rough around the edges, but the fantastic community spirit and bohemian dens like this make up for the 'seen better days' places. Given a year or two, this will be even better...the spring clean started a couple of years back and is seemingly on hold due to the 'wall street crush'. It boasts the fantastic olde pub that is the Red Lion, so personally it would be a hard place to leave, if I ever had to...and in reality it would most likely only be a mile or two down the road.

I'm sure an old Phil Spector track was playing the background of FUEL, that or a similar sounding tune which just so happened to remind me of a Ronettes song (da do ron ron). It appeared that I'd left my ears on the kitchen table that day (I often do when making high calibre coffee). FUEL is known for it's love of Folk Music and Vegan/Vegetarian leanings (the successful Red Deer Club hold nights here). So perhaps it was a variant on a folk and 60's soul I heard, twisted 180 degrees round to sound like Ronnie Ronette/Spector. It sounded lube all the same.

A mash of coffee, discussions on business/creative ventures and life felt exciting even with the rain teeming it down onto the tarmac marble effect pavements outside. Almost...almost felt like resuscitating my decade long fixation with vegetarianism I let go of several years ago. They do good veggie food in here, but now wasn't the time to chow down gracefully on their wares. That would have to be another time.

Upstairs there is a room which you can hire out for parties. I've been to a couple here and for it's size, it's a perfect venue: much better, in my opinion than those old church halls which make my brain curl up and adopt the position of a frazzle crisp.

Yes – Phil Spector. A documentary (a very rare documentary and interview with the man) is to be aired over the weekend. I'm looking forward to it, but I'd almost forgot to note it down till the 'fragrance' of his wall of sound at least, hit me in FUEL.

Face friends from the past end.

2008-10-21T14:53:00.004+01:00

Social networking sites have been alive and kicking for some time now. For the most part the novelty has worn off just a smidgeon (the likes pokes and garish/obscene virals) and they seem to have settled into a 'warm tool' (best way I can currently describe them). Current and recent friends and colleagues populate these sites (admittedly facebook for the main) and have taken over the role of an email account with the added bonus of checking up what your cohorts have been up to of late. The odd cheeky game of scrabble and poker with random deep south Americans and you've got yourself a new 'pastime/wastetime'.

Of late however I've been virtually touched up by members of my past the frontal lobe of my brain end had forgotten all about. My school years have returned in pixelated form to the point I'm not sure where logging begins and memory ends. First it was one or two faces from my comprehensive years, a simple 'hi, remember me' line or two. Then the doors are opened for the formative years in junior school (anything up to age 11 I guess). The strange thing is, I can barely remember three quarters of the people I went to school with: names and faces have been so far mashed into the back of my cheese box that I'm totally surprised at the storage quality of our brain servers.

You see, as soon as a name or face appears several inches from my face I find myself back twenty odd years back in time – this has happened with increasing regularity of the past few weeks. Good friends, seemingly banished forever as far as my memory goes have suddenly returned (of course, there might have been reasons for forgetting some people, but time papers over many cracks).

And then the old 35mm photo's, processed at boots many years ago are slowly being digitised (and look far more evocative than the bulk of digital camera's in everyone's hands).

It's been a bit of a revelation during the past couple of weeks. I'd previously told myself I wouldn't really enter my past in such a manner – it should be perfectly happy where it lay. But I'm slowly coming round to revisiting this period. I moved away from my home town around eighteen years ago, so most of thee people I haven't seen for years. However I really don't think it's infeasible for me to consider, god help me, a reunion....

Food and Drink and Logan's Run.

2008-10-20T20:41:00.003+01:00

So, the Manchester Food and Drink festival has put down it's knives and forks for another year. Bit of a strange one this time around. Although it has grown during the last decade to become one (if not the) largest in the country, there has been criticism this time around for it's location. Spinningfields was chosen above Albert Square as the main 'HQ' for the foodie activity. This was undoubtedly down to the main sponsors being Spinningfields, hence it made complete sense (to them at least) to choose the location to up their profile. Still in it's infancy (many of the building are yet to be complete) Spinningfields is a kind of smaller, more central Canary Wharf: big banks and law firms all perched inside glass and chrome towers. It's been described as cold and sterile, amongst other tags and even the most casual bystander can't help but notice the lack of independent business's here. The likes of Giraffe, GBK, Carluccio's, Cafe Rouge, an Italian chain I can't quite remember the name of and a few good few more are all here. The restaurants are busy enough over the weekend but there's a distinct lack of footfall in the area as a whole. Sure, the buildings are spanking new, fresh and modern, but they are rather cold for the most part. But these are mainly back office banking boxes for the monolithic banking corporations. I actually like the area...very futuristic, 'European' and other clean another notch on Manchester's determination to play on a much larger stage. It also contains the CJC building, quite simply one of the best new buildings in the UK. This was designed by an Australian firm of architects, Denton Corker Marshall and they've created the largest courts building in the country since the Royal Courts of Justice were built in London over a hundred years ago. From one of Spinningfields's squares this is pretty much the first thing that takes your eye: an enormous glass curtain wall which I personally think is outstanding. It's from this square that this year's Food and Drink festival was held....and held mainly in teepee's. Given better weather of the time of the festival and had more people been aware of the location, this would've been much more of a success. I think perhaps in the future that it ought really to relocate back to Albert's Square and perhaps have a 'feeder' here in Spinningfields.

Conversely (and rather confusingly), St Anne's sqaure had it's own food and drink market and I guess most people were here rather than walking aimlessly around Spinningfields looking for wigwams.

I caught a couple of Chef demo's and sampled a bit of food (overpriced really), but thank god for the real ale tent (with the likes of the Marble Beer house) which, with the real fire going inside took you away from the corporate surrounds outside and sent you back in time to some Mongolian hunting party...albeit with PDA's and Apple Macbooks squirting their electro-magnons into the environment.

A pop around a Norwich based Village.

2008-10-20T18:31:00.002+01:00

I found myself back in Norfolk last week, stopping off my girlfriends family following a wedding in London. We usually make the trip down there a few times each year, although it's been a while since out last visit: in fact the last time I was down there was when a huge, duvet of snow covered the lands around for miles. Picturesque villages suddenly becoming those perfect Victorian/Georgian period Christmas card scenes (see photo...although bear with me, I only had a camera phone, unfortunately in which to capture the moments). Although extraordinarily quiet and not (if honest) a great deal happening in the rural villages of this county, it's still ever so pleasant.

There's a few charming pubs dotted around the area, usually coming complete with thatched roof for extra brownie points.

In the village of Attleborough (but a couple of miles from where her parents live) there is a cracking looking pub called the 'White Lodge'. We seem to drive past this on the way (or way back) from other places so I can't really comment on what it is like inside, but the reviews seem favourable so I'll pop in next time I'm down there. I've been in a couple more in that village and I can't say I had my best experiences (landlady almost growling at us because we had the audacity to enter he pub whilst she was eating!) and another that looks like the door will punch you in the face if you get within 6 feet of the place. There's a few of those in every town and village up and down the country and certainly not specific to any region. Still, there's a couple more decent looking olde style pubs I'd like to try out...I find it increasingly harder to pass a cosy, archaic but good looking gin palace without desiring to enter its warm charms.

I suspect we'll be back down there at Christmas time so I'll try and make a visit or two to these places whilst there.

1 wedding and a fun trail.

2008-10-17T17:11:00.006+01:00

Just back from a weekend traversing the South/South East/Anglia region of England.

What should have really been a straightforward trip to London for a wedding, ended up being a little more complicated via a few hundred miles of British A roadage. Happily everything went really well, a couple of directional mishaps (more of that in a moment) here and there maybe but a pleasant weekend had by all.

The wedding was on behalf of my other half's side of the family, and though originally from Norfolk they now reside in North London – Enfield to be exact. So instead of piping it back down the M6 back to Manchester post wedding we carved it into her parents house in Norfolk: a potential 4 hour journey back to Manchester compressed to just over an hour for ride back to Norfolk.

I'd never been to this part of London before, and although it was still distinctly London (London transport signs everywhere for example) I'm led to believe the place is actually in Middlesex (a comparison, for me, I guess is parts of Cheshire falling under Manchester).

Whilst perhaps not a savvy as more central parts of the city, nevertheless it seemed like a lovely place (of the most part). Large of course, I never really got to grips whilst there as to exactly which bit was the main 'high street' or if there were sub centres of the area. The traffic it has to be said was pretty dire....but then again so were the directions we were given (it took around one hour for us to reach the reception in Edmonton from the Church...and we weren't the only ones lost on the route back).

I'd like to go back and have a proper rummage in Enfield. I'd try and dig out some of the better pubs and restaurants (there was an admirable sprinkling of these).

The Robin Hood Pub looks like a good bet. Perhaps I can find a hotel near there (Edmonton looked so green...despite looking on a map of the area and not seeing any parks or countryside listed) and use it as a base to catch up on friends who live in the big smoke.

2008-10-02T20:19:00.003+01:00

Followed up my 'post GP visit' today via a trip to the local community hospital. This was the centre I attended for several months last year with a leg wound. It felt like leaving a job or school when they finally discharged me. I'd gotten used to the care I received there, and then when all was healed it was over in a flash. Without so much as a goodbye card or leaving party a la dull office job. I'll have not a bad word said against the NHS. This community hospital (Withington/West Didsbury) is a modern, clean affair with such a very fast turnaround, I barely waited more than 15 mins at it's most busy.

Of course, the Nurses tapped into my mothering instinct radar and I guess that's why I enjoyed the process rather than endured it during last summer. Towards the end I'd made a few regular acquaintances so I was ever so slightly cut up (no pun intended) when they call time.

I was hoping I could pop in and say hi today, but I was 'seconded' to a different section of the hospital (the blood taking room).

Still, another set of extraordinarily jovial and friendly nurses awaited my right arm and duly slotted in a micro fine needle until blood sprang forth into the mini receptacle. Precision injecting left me wondering what all the mainly irrational fuss is over when it comes to needles. I guess a botched job would change my mind, but I hardly felt a thing...and it was over in seconds. If my blood results come back as good then I might consider donating blood (I'll be a fine purveyor of blood) – for the very minor jab you get on your arm, and perhaps slight light headedness later, it's a pretty helpful act to do.

I get the results back next week, but I'm already missing the place.

Perhaps next time I have to make a visit here, I can combine it with a wander around the restaurants in West Didsbury (there's seem to be one very few yards). But yet again, it's confirmed my faith in this great NHS we have in this country.

Sad Naps and soul machine.

2008-10-02T13:22:00.003+01:00

I keep having friends and family harp on about the new member of the family and how I should too adopt one. They sit in the front of your car and advise you of the best route to wherever you're nipping out to in the car. Bit like your partner really but this one gets it right and you don't end up screaming at each other when traversing the numerous, sinuous A roads which pepper the country.

But I think I'd prefer to do without a Sat Nav/Tom Tom/Annoying Wall-E type telling me what to do...I've enough of that in every other aspect of life. It's true we don't have to think any more. The TV tells us what to watch, the magazines what to wear, what to eat; the road signs tell us which way to go, at what speed, who's crossing the street, what amenities/attractions are nearby...sometimes they can be of help, but ultimately we're rendered daft by all this. Hence I don't need anything else to speak into my brains, certainly not in my bloody car.

Besides, the quickest and most efficient route is not always the 'best' route, whilst subjective, there's something to be said about the longer journey through the smaller arterial roads. There are some beautiful routes on the A6 as it happens, a journey I take far too few times (visiting family...they tend to visit us these days). The same journey via Bam Bam Nat Sax is admittedly quicker, but far less interesting with motorways replacing valleys, streams and gorgeous hills.

Computers make out lives easier, more informative, more social and more fun. But occasionally you have to put your foot down and put them in the place. They will probably respect you for it. In the week when a 'computer' told me I'm three stone overweight (there's not a great deal of me to be fair) I thought it was time to trust the organic voice inside my person, at least once in a while, rather than a bunch of silicon vomiting out algorithmic data at random. After all, they're known to be mischevious creatures underneath their plastic coating and DVD drive eye slots...

Musical worlds out there.

2008-10-01T20:51:00.003+01:00

With all the talk up and down the land not knowing if, ultimately, music on the net is a good or bad thing, I've been traversing the lands of myspace this week in the search for new and interesting music. Instead if having something force fed on me by friends and the sharp sword of the media, I thought I'd randomly search up on a name or two then cross reference this till I ended up with a nice wish list of CD's I may purchase over the coming weeks. I already have a healthy list (I say list, it's more bookmarks from various myspace pages). But this method of discovery is so far, so very good. I'm not having some critic (albeit probably very knowledgeable and informative one) advising me on what I may or may not like

The secret is to find a band you like and then cross reference their influences or 'like minded' bands until you unearth a diamond. This might take some time mind...it might take a few hours, it might take a few weeks. But you, in yourself, will know when you've found something which will soothe your soul no matter what weather conditions prevail inside you skull socket.

If you're lucky enough your new 'best band' will be small enough to come visit the tiny venues in your city before growing to such a size you'll be lucky to source a ticket on ebay, never mind that the venue will be hardly intimate. This is not really about discovering the new best thing, as that usually ends in tears. This is more about connecting with the smaller artists and bands that are producing some amazing, beautiful work but haven't been spoiled by overpraise, overhype and huge record companies messing with their mojo's. Of course, you may find bands that have been on th scene for some time and you're just late coming to them. No bother. It's not a race here is it?

Any road, I'm off to find some new music to help me through my current 14 hour fasting period, which ends in the morning...how will one cope.

Fast Food

2008-10-01T19:53:00.002+01:00

So, I have my blood test for my body MOT tomorrow. It's not so much the giving of blood I'm concerned about, more the fact that I have to fast this evening...and I'm pretty ravenous at the moment. Not sure what's happened to me. Several years ago, I could fast three days and indeed I did a couple of times a month. This was in the belief that I would be flushing my body of evil toxins, possibly after reading some piece about how beneficial it would be. I must admit I lost a fair bit of weight at time, but I'm not entirely sure it was doing me much good. By day three I wasn't feeling to sprightly and a light high permeated by being. This was a proper fast mind...no quickly feeding my face just before sunrise or after the News at 10 with Sir Trevor McDonalds. No, I was subsiding on pure orange juice during this period. I'm surprised I didn't end up like one of those Wonky Willy's in Charlie and the Chocolate Humpa's.

So I reckon I'll do all right tonight, despite still cooking for other members of the family, the taste buds taunted by the flavours break dancing off my non stick pan end. To be honest, since the 'GP's IBM' advised me I was several stone overweight despite weighing the same as I did 20 years ago) I could probably do with a break...I'm perhaps watching too many 'chef's on telly again' shows, and being ever so liberal with the salt, butter and lashes of olive oil. Aside from that I eat really healthily.

But I'll dine on water this evening – I'll prepare a three course meal from this marvellous substance.

I'll stick the recipe's up online once I've completed them and I'm happy with the results.

MOT on me.

2008-10-01T19:35:00.002+01:00

I had my annual asthma check up yesterday – I'd only really started getting it again last year (had it for a while as a kid). Allergies to pretty much anything below the clouds mean that unless I live atop the Himalayas it's something I'll have to live with.

I'm required to take a couple of puffs on the plastic dooby, morning and evening, I guess from now to eternity, unless it self manages and dissipates over time.

So I get a small MOT done on my body and it turns out I have high blood pressure: I'm full of anxiety and anger at the moment...mostly at daft sheep you often see behind the wheels of cars or 'sludging' down the streets, swearing their neck ends off, dropping fast food wrappers from the boot ff their face, anywhere they choose and bringing dogs up to be pugilistic pavement sharks. Perhaps I've been a little too fond of wine of late, half believing that it's actually beneficial. I always say I don't drink in the week, only at the weekends...but my 'weekends' commence on Thursday through Friday, Saturday and Sunday – so I'm necking back a bottle (to be fair I don't always finish it) more nights than I'm not. I don't really see this as the problem though, being only slightly above the recommended units allowance (but of course this is such a broad figure it's hard to take it as gospel).

It's probably a combination of the on set of Winter and this wet gloom (both in the news and in the air) making me a little anxious. Perhaps I was born to hibernate like hedgehogs, although that would mean missing the Halloween and News Eve parties which I'm sure I couldn't do without.

I'm also told (well the computer tells me after chowing down on my weight and measurements) that I'm one to three stone overweight. Odd, I might be a few pounds over – perhaps ½ stone to 1 stone overwieght but certainly not up to three – there would be nothing left of me. And that's the problem with these bits of information we are given – there are too many diversities in people to be told by a text book or a GP's IBM computer what shape and size they should be surely?

I think I'll start reading the horoscopes again, perhaps Russell Grant will make more sense than the electronic nanny...

Drainpipe Disco.

2008-10-01T13:44:00.004+01:00

With bad news and economic gloom, the onset of Autumn and the departure of Summer (for what it's worth), the nights drawing in and a temperature drop, seemingly of around 90 degrees (and I usually don't feel the cold), everyone can be forgiven for being a collection of miserable sods (forget the collective phrase – 'misery-geese' sound ok?

I aim to counteract all this, just before I myself succumb to it, by going a bit New York Disco over the next couple of weeks. Not talking nu-rave here – no: authentic New York psyche pop disco uniforms which I hope to start building up by the weekend. I'll start slowly of course, so as not to upset the neighbours or scare my children. In fact we'll probably do it as a family – a trip perhaps to Afflecks Palace in Manchester to get us started. Primark might help out here, but I'm a little concerned over the sweat shop mentality of the place so a Charity Shop afternoon might be better off.

I'll start with leg warmers – I'm looking into some lime green numbers, but shocking pink will be as good. We used to wear these back in school in the 80's, thinking we were so cool a: for actually wearing them and b: wearing an odd pair (pink and lime green together). Next up the obligatory wristbands. These are ten a penny at the moment. Being a sporting accessory (casting it's sport net wide) I'll have no trouble here picking a pair of these up, but the rule is: the more old school the better. Then onto a headband – I have one of these already. It's a classic Ivan Lendl number...the one with the faces made from cosmic swirls. Lovely. One of my favourite tennis players too, despite looking like a bit of a miserable sod.

Leg wear: not sure I'll currently (if ever again) get away in a pair of drainpipes and Lycra leggings are totally out. I'll have to research more on this one...

Hair – my hair is pretty much of it's mash anyway – spot of VO5 fudge and I'm laughing (like the local community will). Media wise, I'll indulge myself in a bit of New York pop nostalgia from the 70's right up to present day. Yeasayer and MGMT will help out here. Perhaps I could also pick up a pair of rainbow roller skates off 'the ebay'. I was once a hot roller skater if I say so myself and it's fantastic way to help me slip into my aforementioned drainpipe keks...photo's to come.

Wish me luck.

Food, ales and musical oats.

2008-10-01T12:59:00.005+01:00

I usually pop into Chorlton at least twice a week, purposely to 'pick up groceries'. Some people love Chorlton, many hate the holy than thou 'muesli knitters' brigade which are said to populate the place. I'm personally keen on the place. It's far from perfect, but in it's own way it's a mini Manchester compressed into an inner city suburb cum village. It's large enough to draw in an interesting diversity of people and amenities and close enough to the city to still retain that city vibe other places further out don't seem to have.

I tend to pop into the Unicorn, not because I'm some militant vegan (I eat and enjoy meat, although I did go 'veggie' for ten years) but because it offers something totally different to many other towns and villages up and down the country (all though certainly not unique). For me, in this village, there is an emphasis on food, drink and music...an independent cinema, though unlikely, would be the icing on the cake. The village that gave birth to Dangermouse and the Bee Gees and saw Quentin Crisp pass away within it's walls, now pushes good quality local food, real ales and good music. Pick one of the many bars dotted around the Philips screwdriver layout of Chorlton and you'd be unlucky to pick a bad one.

I wandered into Dulcimer bar the other day – one I'd missed, unfortunately for it is an excellent bar. Everything seemed to fall into place brilliantly, an instant hit with several of my senses. Great coffee, fine selection of beers (with knowledgeable bar staff willing and able to suggest a cheeky tipple you very may well appreciate). The décor is right up my street too, wonderfully exposed brickwork, with occasional paintings ping ponging my visual bits. Then some fine, contemporary folk filters through the Wharfdales and nestles gently onto my auditory ossicles.

There is a fight to keep Tesco's out of Chorlton. The campaign has been fairly successful so far, but I think it's only a matter of time before Tesco get their plot. To be honest, there is already a Morrison's in the village (which many people use) and as I pop into Tesco's on occasion (alongside the local shops) it would be a little hypocritical to have a go. I suspect they will open soon enough and Chorlton will remain pretty much as it did before, but with even further choice now.

It would however be said if some of the local stores took a hit, especially during this current economic situation.

Otherwise this village is a fine example of how a village of this size can work – it offers pretty much everything for everyone...and with a Metro line coming soon, it will offer even more.

Blackberry wheels.

2008-10-01T12:17:00.003+01:00

As part of my new keep fit regime (having knocked it on the head for far too long), I'm taking to biking (again) on the Fallowfield loop. Last year (or was it the year before...perhaps I took last year off when it came to keep fit?) I took the long route from the Withington connection all the way to Sportscity in East Manchester then back via the city streets rather than the loop. It's an interesting route, taking you through this hidden countryside within the inner city, something you never see when you're in the car or on public transport. A couple of spurs lead to you various villages along this path and also onto local parks both small and large (Debdale Park can be reached via this route). Occasionally you would catch glimpses of Manchester City centre peeking over the top of the hedges, trees and bushes which line the 15 odd mile long cycle loop. Other times you will see Police training horses saunter by, the horses making your bike look the size of a tonka toy such is their size (like Snooker tables, horses look much larger in the flesh than they do on TV). Very rarely, you might spot a few kids trying out those obnoxious off road motorbikes, tut tut. The silence of the trail momentarily broken by the sound of a giant mosquito.

Mostly, however, you'll spot other cyclists and dog walkers. In a car, most people barely give the time of day to other motorists and any form of communication is usually an aggressive blood pressure raising, violent mouth off...something is a little more rare when on foot. The protective armour of the car, almost convincing people they are Peter Weller's Robocop.

There's a sense of community along this route. Although you normally greet people via fleeting nods and your heads pass by in space at a combined speed of approximately 40mph (23 mph if they are walking, 29mph if they are using roller skis) it's usually enough to warm your cockles and keep afloat your belief in the human spirit for a few hours at least.

As the nights will inevitably drawn in and Autumn and Winter get out of bed, scratch themselves and head for their morning shower, I won't be taking this journey as often as during the summer.

It helps define myself and my family's summer (I take my younger daughter on a child seat on the back of my bike – I guess next year she will be riding a bike herself).

In the freezer I still have several tons of blackberries we picked along here in the summer...what I'll do with them is anyone's guess...blackberry gin anyone?

Barcelona Trip 4: The Gracia Festival.

2008-09-02T21:43:00.004+01:00

As our apartment was just a metro stop or a indeed a short walk from Gracia we found ourselves visiting the area on a number of occasions. We first visited in the daytime during the festival week (August 15th - 22nd) and then during the night time when it really heated up.

Gracia is a series of grid patterned streets north of Placa Catalunya and Las Ramblas. It was once a separate town to Barcelona but today it seamlessly integrates into the city to the point where you cannot see how it was indeed once a separate entity. Whilst the streets are not as tight and constricted as Barcelona's old town around Barri Gotic, it nevertheless contains numerous tiny streets where driving a car is an exercise in forgetfulness. Parking, I imagine, is out of the question but of course the Barcelonians find themselves blessed with many underground car parks thereby saving the city from the hideous 'architecture' NCP's in the UK blight us with.

Nope – if you want to peg it around this area of the city then it's a good walk or a moped (of which there are hundreds zooming around the city) to take you from your doorstep to other area's of the city. I should also mention the bicycle facilities whilst I'm on the subject: the cycle lanes are good, perhaps not the best in the world but certainly much more advanced than back in Blighty. The city now offers a system whereby you can pay a subscription over the year in order to rent a bike from pretty much anywhere in the city and merely take it to a drop off point elsewhere in Barcelona. These were much in use and a fantastic idea, although the safety off proper cycling lanes help a lot.

During the day, the festival was either asleep or drunk in the corner somewhere with wet pants. I think we chose the wrong time to traverse the festival – perhaps the siesta was in full swing as most streets were very quiet and any 'refreshment area's' (outdoor bars) were fully closed. Still, some of the streets and squares were a little busier and we managed to view one odd sounding band (Spanish Folktronica?) their sound nestling perfectly into the searing heat. There are around twenty odd streets amongst the hundred or so in Gracia that choose to deck themselves out in all manner of decorations (all recycled by the way – see the attached picture). My personal favourite was the homage to Mexican wrestling/Nacho Libre. My youngest daughter, much a fan of Jack Blacks reasonably funny comedy wrestling flick, procured a fantastic mask for a handful of Euro's. That's this years New Year's Eve party fancy dress sorted then.

We returned the next evening and what a difference a few hours make. Gracia was absolutely heaving. Squares after squares, streets after streets were brimful of folk partying their own necks off , but of course in well behaved manner (there were many families amongst the party folk). Bars were doing swift business as were the local street merchants supplying the street drug of choice (Estrella Damm) for around the 1 - 1.50 Euro mark (great if the local bars had closed or were simply too busy to queue). Local bands were plying their trade in festival jazz whilst folk of all ages danced liked a latin version of Strictly Come Dancing. Bionic ice creams were purchased for the kids whilst a few more tins of Estrella went down very well. But kids tire rapidly after midnight, even in Barcelona, so the we just managed to catch the last metro back to our apartment where following a view of the Beijing Olympics in Spanish we all dreamed of vivid swirls of colour and the sounds of life loving energy.

Barcelona Trip 3: Sitges

2008-09-02T14:43:00.003+01:00

Whilst Barcelona has a fine stretch of beach, the town of Sitges a few miles down the coast has a really lovely beach. Barcelona's is a city beach and as such, slightly more hectic and messy than the beaches at Sitges. If the site of Barcelona's smack heads put your off your sand castles then it might be a good idea to grab a train to Sitges.

The trains are of course (being European) reliable, efficient and fast (double decker trains to boot). They run from Barcelona to Sitges every 30 minutes, or thereabouts, and as such you never have to wait long for the next one. With the journey taking around 30 minutes and for a reasonable price, Sitges is well worth a visit or two. We caught the Metro to Barcelona's main train station (Sants) – the underground is directly connected to the train station (which is pretty large and clean although not as good looking as Barcelona airport). This also serves as an airport check in, hence the large queues dotted around the place. Fortunately there are ticket machines situated within the station and if the English pages on the screen are not working (although they usually are) you can work out the destination and ticket type fairly easily.

A quick manoeuvre down the escalators and you're on the platform. What we noticed in this city is that people are genuinely very helpful and considerate (which becomes condensed on public transport). People of all ages will give over their seats to someone they would consider more needy of the seat (usually pensioners, women and kids) and it's quite heart warming to see. The difference between here and the aggression found on UK public transport is stark. I cannot recall the last time somebody would willingly give their precious seat up over here.

Sitges soon arrived at the train (as the relative theorists would say) and off we departed into this gorgeous looking party town. The winding little back streets reminded me a little of St Ives in Cornwall, although the town and beach front were definitely of a Mediterranean mindset.

Apparently Sitges has been a bit of an alternative party town for many decades (if not ealier) and is obvious on sight that this is popular with the gay scene.

The beach front is lovely, fronted by posh looking hotels and apartments and we might liked to have stayed longer into the evening. As it happens we spent most of the day on the beach, broken up by a trip to large, pleasant restaurant. Apparently it it nigh on impossible to book a room here this time of year and I suspect it's very pricey. But in contrast to the chaotic and large city of Barcelona this made a nice respite. There was a nudist beach a little further up the strip, but on this occasion I decided to keep my 'sporty, yet casual swimming keks' firmly slung around one's buttocks...one day I'll pick up the courage, although perhaps I'm not that 'European' in outlook after all?

Barcelona Trip 2: Las Ramblas.

2008-09-02T12:29:00.003+01:00

We arrived in the city fairly late in the evening (flying from Liverpool) so didn't really get the chance to take in much of the city that night. We did however catch the metro down to Placa Catalunya (a few stops from our apartment) and have a quick wander down Las Ramblas. It was around 11 o'clock and things were just warming up there (people go out late in Barcelona), but the kids were pretty tired and hungry so we settled on the nearest restaurant to a a metro stop. Of course, on Las Ramblas most of the bars/restaurants along here are tourist traps. We seemingly stepped into an Italian/Indian/Spanish place more akin to Little Chef than El Bulli (a restaurant a few miles down the road from Barcelona often regarded as one of the best in the world...almost impossible to gain a reservation, not that we could afford to dine there anyway).

I'd normally demand we should wander deep into the back streets and find a small, homely restaurant but at this stage (having not eaten for the best part of the day) I quickly acquiesced and tucked into pretty banal pizza (in Spain I ask you!). I wouldn't been surprised if these were sourced from the frozen section of a Spar (yup...Barcelona is full of them, although they did come in very handy for us).

Washed down with a little Spanish ale and my body soon came back to life. Following our 'feed' we spent half and hour wandering down the very, very busy Las Ramblas. I'm not sure I entirely like this area if I'm honest. In fact it's quite possible best avoided (once you've 'been there, done it' at least). It's dark, it's paving design a relic from the 70's and the entertainment is best ignored completely. How many 'people statues' can one take in an evening? Such acts litter the place up and down the mile long stretch. Slotted in between these are the expensive and not particularly decent bars and cafés. A slight diversion and you would find much better streets and squares to have a drink and take the city in. Every forth shop seems to be a tourist trinket place selling the ubiquitous mug, Barcelona FC shirts and Gaudi memorabilia. During the day Las Ramblas is a little more interesting: the sight of many kiosks selling all manners of pets is pretty bizarre to our UK high street eyes. You can also see where you're going during the day – lighting really is a problem in the evening (and of course Barcelona has a reputation as a pick pocketers paradise).

By all means take a wander down this famous street but you'd be wise to spend your euro's elsewhere.

Barcelona Trip: Day One.

2008-09-02T11:50:00.004+01:00

This trip to Barcelona fortunately coincided with Barcelona's Gracia Festival which takes place during mid August of each year. We were lucky (ish...more on that later) to get a pad in the city this time of year as the majority of hotels were totally booked out (we found a 2 star type affair but this was situated nearly 20 miles from the city...hardly on the doorstep of Barcelona is it?). There were, however, one or two apartments being let and a few at reasonable prices. We captured one situated just above the Gracia area and virtually next door to an underground (Metro) stop.

The apartment itself was a fairly modern affair, although it wouldn't look out of place in the 80's bar the LCD screens in every available portion of the rooms. With a fancy walk in 'hydro-massage' shower and two bathrooms we thought we'd struck gold given the price we paid. It soon became apparent however that the place was on the rather small end of the space spectrum. The upper floors were in fact mezzanines; the two floors connected via doll house stairs (one such set of stairs were almost vertical...a practical death trap if you asked me). I felt like I was in some kind of space capsule and in fact had walked onto the set of a modern space film (I'd watched Steven Soderbergh's remake of Solaris recently...cross that with an Athena poster and you'll get the picture).

The, ahem, Kitchen comprised of a small sink and a 12” workspace (could just about peel a small tangerine on there) although to it's credit there was a 'real' espresso machine...I got to be a coffee barista for a week...and it amplified my desire to procure, one day, a genuine coffee machine).

Apparantly the apartment came complete with wi-fi access, but we couldn't for the life of us work out where and how we could potentially connect to the internet from this space capsule (although to be fair we neither had the time nor inclination to do so).

Another plus was the air conditioning in all rooms...it really is hot this time of year in Barcelona and I know we would've struggled (with children) without it.

The 'patio' consisted of a 2 foot by 6 foot 'well' in the middle of all these apartments. If you craned your neck somewhat you might just about catch a glimpse of the sky above. Suffice to say we never felt it necessary to open the door to the 'well' after the first view.

Thankfully we spent most of our time out of the apartment and really used it as a base at the end of the day. Dodgy DIY 'exhibits' a few exposed wires; dangerous stairs; huge gaps on the upper levels meaning that kids could potentially fall and seriously hurt themselves, made this place slightly less enticing than the original site photo's showed.

POST NOTE: As of writing we have yet to receive our deposits back from the landlord despite being promised this would be returned as we checked out (he didn't turn up). So that's another fight on our hands.

Mario Kraut.

2008-08-15T13:49:00.003+01:00

My eldest daughter recently purchased Mario Kart for the Wii, having loved it on other platforms (the DS being the previous version she played to death). So of course, it would be rude of me not to participate in a few evening games...who is she going to play otherwise? Her mother loves video games (are they still referred to as that?) as much as she loves selotaping offal to under her eyelids. Me though...well, the Wii was intended for my daughter as a present but it seems such a waste sat there all forlornly come the evening when she is in bed. Zelda and Super Mario Galaxy are of course sublime (though I, nay 'we' could do with completing them soon enough).

Mario Kart Wii (although hardly a major jump, if any, up from previous incarnations it is nevertheless, a flippin good journey to the centre of fun...

Last night I managed to sort the wi-fi out (some crazy looking new, superfast model router sat flashing it's face off in the corner of the living room) and jump onto the 'worldwidewii' so as to race against all types from all places dotted around the globe. So here I was, Paulo, waving on the virtual globe as Hans99 from Germany, Elsie from the UK (I imagined her to be a 'silver surfer' from Suffolk), DAZX from Korea, TonyTony from the United States (such as potential prodigy his parents named him twice), Kiki (Dee?) also from the States and a few other wordless names grinning their cheese boxes off at me from the consoles display forum (my telly).

With a good few weeks practice under my belt and with some pretty swift moves, I felt I could have these races in the bag before I knew it...how bleeding wrong I was.

To be frank, I was shafted rather unceremoniously by these onliners. I came last in all but one...and I reckon that was probably due to a loose connection on the end of one of the participants. Am I missing something here? I had what I thought was one or two tricks up my sleeve (like those cheeky speed boosts) but I was pretty much trundling along on my own at the back whilst the others (possibly arrogant little sh...eight years olds with ill manners and a lack of respect for other generation gamers) were probably downloading ultra cheat codes onto their wireless LCD pets.

Just before I called it quits and did something worthwhile with my evening (like watch another episode of the Wire) I could see that my 'driving techniques' were getting a little more savvy. A few more attempts (and a quick session googling cheats/tips) I reckon I'll have these upstarts by the scruff of their Nintendnecks.

Olympicitis.

2008-08-13T18:31:00.005+01:00

Day 5 of the Olympics in what looks like blanket coverage by the BBC (perhaps it's the time difference, perhaps they need to recoup much of the money spent advertising these games).

My daughter woke up this morning at the usual time of 6:30 (her body clock is sharper than quartz) and whilst making her breakfast I stuck beeb one on – yup the Olympics were off to an early start.

Finish an episode of the Wire late at night just before bed and voilà – the Olympics still streaming out of the tellybox. Not sure if it's bad timing on my behalf but every time I've viewed these games I seem to fall upon either equestrian events (in all honesty this has never been one of my favourites), rowing (again not one I'd go out of my way to view) and canoeing: now I'd almost written this off as a none too pleasing to the eye sport but I was ultimately hooked. The British fella, David Florence, although initially somewhat behind, soon pulled himself up a few gears and before you know it a silver was his. This looks like one of the toughest sports in the game (mind you most of them look back breaking) a lone competitor wrestling with what look like angry flash floods whilst commanding a canoe through flagged gates.

The cycling always has me hooked, there's something ferocious in the sport in which the body is almost torn apart from the nerves up during the races/grotesque feats of endurance. Cyclists seem to be the leanest and fittest looking people in the world. Great news that Nicole Cooke won us our first gold.

Swimming is always good viewing (and yes I haven't forgotten beach volleyball...neither it seems has that Dubya Bush fella). Michael Phelps (as of writing) has won a record 11 gold medals marking him down as the greatest Olympian in history (and he hasn't finished yet).

Here again Rebbeca Adlington did us proud with a gold medal.

Unsurprisingly China leads the medal tally (currently at 27 golds). The only games I saw today was the women's weight lifting. A rather strong, yet stout lady called Liu Chunhong not only won the gold medal in the 69kg division but she also hammered in three world records. All this talk over 'clean and jerk' and 'third attempt in the snatch' left me a little befuddled so I promptly called it a day.

The opening ceremony was pretty special...it will be a hard act for London to follow in four years. Everything ran like human clockwork, a giant organic German car personified. The architecture for the most part is brash and flash (the aquaitc centre and the stadium are undoubtedly gorgeous looking). Overall I can't help feeling a little confused over whether I should be watching this at all, without guilt over the goings on of such an oppressive regime. I'd hope that this will open China up to the world and in turn make the citizens of this vast country much more free...I'm just not sure if this emerging (and emerging quickly by the looks of it) superpower can be trusted to be in charge of this planets steering wheel.

Anyway...I'm now off to see if I can catch any of the table tennis – a true Olympic sport if there was one!

Canon can.

2008-08-12T17:04:00.004+01:00

During the past year I've managed to somehow be involved in the destruction of a couple of digital camera's. One of such breakages I can probably accept responsibility for: it was in a pushchair that once folded resulted in the crushing of the LCD screen of 'camera 1'.

Now this was purely accidental (I had no idea it was residing in said pushchair) so I cannot fully be at fault here surely? 'Camera 2' stopped working a few weeks back. It went from taking vivid snaps of friends and family to taking multi coloured 'murals' of images best described as abstract.

Now theses camera's 'were' (they're both unusable now) used heavily on a daily basis (my girlfriend uses them as part of her job working with children) so we certainly got out moneys worth during their brief, yet wholesome life. I'd actually pulled the first damaged camera apart in a [currently] aborted attempt to fix it like some eccentric scientist. If I could perhaps find somewhere that sells replacement screens I may in fact be able to rescue it, but so far my searches (mainly online) have proved fruitless.

Anyway, it's now sat in a salad bag on top of my microwave in around 50 pieces. God knows if I can reanimate it but should I get a replacement part then I'll certainly give it a go. I've been told that a local company (real camera company in the Northern Quarter) may be able to help so I'll take the salad bag in some time this week and see if there's anything I can do.

In the meantime we've just purchased a second hand DSLR on ebay. Now these camera's were pretty pricey (the kit came to around £1000) at the time and given that they are still a very decent camera, we were happy with the price we got it for. Compared to the point and shoot compacts this is a bit of a beast (although for a DSLR it's a handy size and weight). The camera, the Canon EOS 300D, came with a lens attached as part of a kit and it's possible to add different types of lens as you go on (although these do not come cheap the camera is more than capable of producing startling images).

My girlfriend might take a bit of convincing that this was a much better purchase than the compact digi cameras – afterall, you can fit those in your pocket/purse/handbag. Not really possible with these larger camera's...hardly stealth like. However, I'll guarantee the images they produce are worth the pay off in size and accessibility...once I get to grips with the more technical elements of it. It's possible to pick a auto program and go ahead and shoot, but for more refined and creative moments then it's worth understanding some, at least, of the fundamental elements of photography.

I sometimes use an old 35mm SLR which I love to bits. The images are much more 'filmic' and 'cinematic' than the new digital point and shoots. Whether this DSLR replaces that much loved piece of equipment, only time will tell.

Impending trip to Barcelona.

2008-08-12T13:34:00.003+01:00

In less than a weeks time we all, as a family, fly out to Barcelona. This will be the first time in a while we've been out of the UK for our summer hols: we usually traverse the two thousand odd miles (the journey down feels that long) to Cornwall come August. Looking at the prices for a place down there (especially leaving it this late) it became apparent that this year (especially considering the price of petrol) that we might be better off flying 'abroad' in 2008.

So this weekend we fly off to the Catalan capital...and I can't wait.

Aside from the abundance of cultural offerings and the beautiful, almost organic looking architecture (courtesy of Antoni Gaudi) I think my body is about due some sun rays. I half expect to awake from this poor UK summer we're enduring as a gollum type creature, cursing the rain god for all it's worth.

I might jump onto one of those shopping channels and buy myself a set of UV lights and place them on every ceiling in the house. It's been warm enough (but that clammy, humid warmth rather than the sharp energy giving heat donated, occasionally, by 'sun ra'. Whatever have we done to upset her?

Anyhow...the cases are out and ready to be packed, although to be fair I usually pass this job over to the missus: I really have little idea when it comes to packing for trips away. I just can't get my head around the concept. Pair of shorts (which will I'll be wearing on the trip anyhow); sandals; a few t shirts; a 'nice evening shirt'; pair of jeans (possibly); underwear; pair of 'denim keks'; toiletries – and that's it – I can fit all that in an American 'fanny pack'.

Oops...forgot about the kids. There you go see...awful at this packing game. I'd have them pack a bathing costume each, a weeks worth of clothes and have done. Travelling with kids on budget airlines it makes sense (financially and physically) to take less luggage – extra weight and luggage incurs what can be a fairly substantial fee (which is how most of these airlines make up for the initial cheap cost of the ticket).

I've planned a bit of an itinerary for our visit, certainly wishing to revisit Girona and hit the town of Sitges (and it's beaches) fitting this in with the myriad attractions within the city itself.

I'll report back with pictures on my return.

Say adios for now.

More film preparations...

2008-07-30T14:52:00.005+01:00

Over the next two weeks I hope to have found a couple of actors/actresses for a short (medium sized as it happens) film myself and a friend are making. It looks like we now have a director and between us we should have enough crew. The script (I am told) is nearing completion and hopefully within a month it should be a lot closer to the finished article (scripts can be torturous to get spot on and it's imperative that it is polished and polished until it's ready).

Meanwhile I'm working on a short synopsis and trailer, or in this case 'teaser' as nothing as yet has been shot. This short 30 second (or thereabouts) spot will then be incorporated within a website to drum up interests both from those to be involved in the film and hopefully investors and distributors.

In the meantime I shall be out and about camera in tow shooting a few segments for this 'flick'. Fortunately we have a few 'Gothic' buildings in Manchester (I'm following a brief here) so I should

get some decent footage to splice together over a short, teasing edit. We are also on the look out for a 'small' actress to play the role of a 'mysterious' creature seen throughout the movie – for some of the web footage (for the teaser) I'll ask my daughter if she wouldn't mind playing the role for a few shots. I wish I had a costume department in house...sadly it will be left to me and a some dodgy needlework. For a mask (the face is hidden under a hood – for that 'neither man nor creature' look) I'm thinking of a pair of black tights over the head: not that unlike the old version of armed robbers. Hopefully it will not take too much bargaining for my daughter to agree to this – I'll bribe her with a trip to see the new Batman film at the imax cinema.

Of course I'll need to somehow procure the tights in question: I'll rummage through my girlfriends lingerie draw later on today (not unheard of) otherwise it's a trip to the local Asian market stall for good priced clothes wear.

I'll be posting pics on updates...

The other element of this I'm involved in is the music. As it's origins of the story are from the middle east I'll be looking to emulate (but not entirely plagiarise) the spirit of the regions music.

I'm settling around the old Persian/Iranian region a music mainly made up of monophonic instruments and using micro tones/quarter tones...I'm slowly getting my head around this. It would be good to find a local singer who is familiar or even specialises in vocals for this country. I may have a good contact on that front. Would certainly lend a little authenticity to the soundtrack.

So things are hotting up – I'll try my best to get something online over the next month and will of course provide a link here.

Thinking of Seattle.

2008-07-30T13:13:00.003+01:00

I'm assuming it's an over indulgence of episodes of 'Frasier' (set in Seattle but filmed in LA) and the over subscribed Starbucks coffee shops sat on every street in my own city, but of late I've a desire to go and visit Seattle. It's even over taken my wish to visit New York (which I still haven't got round to). I've visited San Francisco a number of times and absolutely loved the place, so perhaps I could combine a visit there with a trip to Seattle? They're not that far away from each other in US terms at least.

It's also, like Manchester, set in the North West of the country, perhaps has a similar level precipitation (or at least perceived precipitation) and share a love of music.

The setting looks perfect for me: a large city scape (despite certain cities in the UK building high we don't have any skylines to write home about); surrounded by beautiful looking mountain ranges; perched on the pacific ocean and a large lake; close to wonderful countryside (and hence attractive for the outdoor pursuits); only 96 miles from Canada (more on Canada another time).

It's one of the most educated cities in the States and akin to San Francisco, a little more European looking than other large US cities. Being so close to the sea also means they have a thriving 'fish scene' within the city (Pike Place Market in this case) – having fresh fish on tap and all the drama which goes on with fish markets ticks one of the boxes for a perfect city. I'd also like the fact that within a short while I can be out of the city and into the great outdoors proper, with mountain bike pursuits, hiking, boating and at certain times of the year, snowboarding and skiing – not something you can pull off in our own Lake District. Within the city limits is a huge park called Discovery Park where you can walk for miles along the shore over beaches and come into contact with marine mammals and birds before hitting a large forest area.

With a decent enough transport system (although like most US cities still reliant on the car) and a not too large area (unlike the sprawling LA) and a good restaurant scene (including a decent sized Chinatown although this is also known as International District and contains many different cultures from all around the world) I could see myself enjoying Seattle...living there permanently is a whole different kettle of fish given the States tough immigration laws.

Still a visit has to be on the cards during the next couple of years in which case I'll report back.

City too hot...

2008-07-29T17:21:00.004+01:00

I've a feeling my previous dalliance with a sun dance has gone a little too far: a victim of it's own success if you will.

It's absolutely tilted in the wrong direction now – the heat is stifling and I'd guess sales of fans have hit the roof? In fact I mosied on by a couple of local electrical stores at the weekend and guess which implement dominated the window displays? Correct – the 'Fern Cotton' free range sowing machine...but in second place (and by some considerable distance over the runners up) were the selection of fans.

I attempted to turn on a cheap heater/fan we purchased in the winter when the boiler broke down – works ok heating up a cold house but is almost useless as a fan. It blows a fine stream of cool breeze much like a six month old baby would blow a raspberry. Not sure I trust it anyway- it cost less than a decent takeaway for two in some far flung land I've never heard of. We had a decent fan but I can't for the life of me locate it. It wasn't need at all last year but summer has returned with a vengeance and we just aren't (as usual) prepared for it. I've half thought about knocking some window shutters into the bricks outside to recreate that Mediterranean villa look (but in inner city Manchester). As I work for the most part from home I don't have the luxury of 'air con' and it's probably a ridiculous apparatus for anyone to place in their home in the UK anyway...but at the moment I covet one like nothing else. The blinds are shut, the curtains drawn but still I cannot shake off the heat – the sweat occasionally dripping onto my keyboard forcing grammatical errors (yes more so than usual).

Perhaps I can fill the kids paddling pool up later and dive into that (should I be able to fit). I'm sure that will be a sight for the neighbours, sore eyes?

Shame it isn't the weekend then the only thing to do under these circumstances is fire up the bbq, grab some ale and stick on some classic Studio One reggae sounds...well that's my plan for the weekend sorted should I not perish in the heat before then. Ironic really as I was only recently bemoaning the fact that our summer was a complete and utter washout.

Sack Mask Kid

2008-07-29T14:51:00.004+01:00

Finally got round to seeing the Orphanage last night following it's release on DVD (having children it's difficult to get to see films at the cinema). Billed as a horror/thriller it does indeed cause the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up and your spine chilled by some invisible force. This is far removed from the Eli Roth new wave horror currently saturating the horror market and more akin to 'The Others' and 'The Sixth Sense' although I felt this was superior to both of those.

This is one of those 'gets under your skin' type horrors: not so much blood and gore but psychological terror running most of the way through the film.

A decent horror for me is when it's finished and your senses are heightened by what you've just seen, therefore you don't want to hang around in the dark room downstairs you just want to climb inside the sack and dream of 'nice things' like fairy cakes, posh salad and, erm, the chuckle brothers.

Directed by first timer Juan Antonio Bayona, this is an intelligent stab at the scare movie genre. It's no surprise that Guillermo del Toro was involved in this movie (Executive producing) as the style is similar to his Pans Labyrinthine film. The Japanese have made great strides in horror cinema of late but the Spanish are coming up with gems like this (and the aforementioned Pans...).

Without giving too much of the plot away, the film revolves round an old Orphanage revisited (after the opening scenes) a few decades later when one of the children returns as a grown women to live there (and take in disadvantaged children). Shortly afterwards her own child (who 'plays' with imaginary/dead children) goes missing, whilst the mother is being terrorised by a child wearing frankly disturbing mask wear.

It's a good enough film to stay with you long after it has finished: part of the reason for me was a parent I now tend to pick up on the relationship aspects more than I used to (I felt a similar, sickly unease with the Japanese film 'Dark Water'). Best watched in an old Victorian school/orphanage/hospital for maximum effect.

Certainly recommended but I'll also be keeping an eye out for future films from Juan Antonio Bayona and of course Guillermo del Toro (soon to be working on the two Hobbit films).

Sun Dance

2008-07-29T13:25:00.003+01:00

I've recently viewed a healthy portion of Sun Dance festival endorsed films – for the most part cracking independents: the Irish film 'Once' was the last such Sun Dance endorsed (actually winning the World Cinema Audience award) film I viewed – I really enjoyed it, the music and the naturalistic acting made it quite a moving experience.

But it's another type of sun dance I'm talking about today...during our p*** poor summer I think most of us were getting to the end of our tether with the weather (did I mention my poetry skills?)...so I decided to do something about it. I researched then performed a native American Sun Dance in my back garden one evening last week (in the rain I'll add). I set to work on a repetitive drum loop (using logic pro) and set this to over 30 minutes downloading it onto an iPod so as to not scare the neighbours with 'crazy, incessant rhythmic beats'. A genuine sun dance (still performed in the United States and Canada) goes on for hours, but as we had a film to watch later in the evening I performed an abridged version. Again a true Native American Sun Dance could involved the piercing of my breast area tied to a tree the culmination of which would see the skewered flesh torn off. I just wasn't in the mood to be honest so instead pierced those blister bits you get on the bottom of your fingers, palm side with needles and a bit of string. A good 30 minutes later (and worn out from the non stop dancing) the needles were broken free from my hands and I called it a day.

I always wanted a life on the plains of America pre Columbus – I guess I was influence by Kevin Costner's 'Dances With Wolves'. Like the aborigines of Australia, these seemed to me a people very connected to the earth and the spiritual side of life. Pre modern world (industrial & digital) they could probably have lived on as they were for many millenniums, without any sign of technology (which of course makes our own lives ultimately slaves to the machines...).

And by god did that dance work? We've had a heatwave ever since then – friends have congratulated me on my good work, although if I'm honest, I could do with a spot of rain and cool breeze...it's almost stifling now isn't it?

Urban Moves

2008-07-28T18:01:00.004+01:00

The Urban Moves festival came to Manchester this weekend (which happened to coincide with a dozen or so other festivals taking in or around the city) and I made a point of seeing at least two performances. I'm not sure whether this was that well advertised (which might be a budget problem rather than anything else) because aside from a couple of web links and the odd newspaper article it hadn't settled in my conscience like other events taking place (certainly the Jazz Festival and the Mela festival in Rusholme)...which was a shame really as the events I saw were fantastic: first off was Liz Lea performing a singular dance routine in the large expense of Albert Square. With the music system piped up somewhat and a small crowd gathering, the audience soon swelled to a pretty healthy size given the time (8:00 in the evening). The weather was fantastic, all blue skies and magic hour with the beautiful back drop of the Town Hall and the European looking Albert Square doing what it does best. So Liz (makes her sound quite anglified, but she looked quite Spanish to me) set about with her routine. Her routine revolved pretty much solely around a 40 odd metre blue dress which she arranged and took off occasionally (much to the delight of the males in the crowd) – flowing around Albert Square like an amalgam of a peacock and flamenco dancer, with such an assertive and, it has to be said, sexy manner I felt that little bit smaller sat gawping in the audience. My daughters certainly enjoyed this dance – I guess they were inspired somehow to perhaps one day take dancing up - something I'd encourage – what better way to express your freedom and confidence in yourself?

Next up were Provisional Danza – a group from Madrid I've seen perform before in Manchester.

Now if the the previous routine was mildly flirting with the erotic then this bunch were leaving little for the imagination to run off with and have fun (they occasionally peform naked, although on this occasion they kept they're clothes on – it was, after all outdoors...and we aren't very 'Holland' over here are we?). They looked like they were having fun – this is the more artistic side of dance rather than the established waltz et al moves you see on the likes of 'Strictly Come Dancing'.

Again I really enjoyed this...perhaps I've missed my muse all these years...?

The, ahem, climax of this show was the letting off of 4 huge hose pipes (and not your garden variety but as used by the local Fire Service – in this case Stockport Fire Department). I'm sure you can guess what they were meant to represent...suffice to say a drenched set of dancing 'girls' (I'm sure one was pushing into her fifties – still she was a fit as a fiddle) on a balmy evening in a glorious public space made my weekend.

Right...now off to perform some funky Spanish moves on my kitchen floor downstairs...

Flower Festivals?

2008-07-28T17:22:00.006+01:00

My Mother came to stay with us this weekend and as her visit coincided with the RHS Tatton Flower show we thought we'd all peg it down to Knutsford on Sunday.

Having never been to any type of flower show before in my life I can't say I was bursting with anticipation: I've done a spot of green fingered business in my time (and we're currently growing veg in the back lawn) but as yet I've not been hooked. Perhaps one day in later life when current pastimes fall off my radar (or I end up becoming sick to the back teeth of them) I'll take to this sport with much more enthusiasm...or perhaps I'll end up living on a boat and take Tai Chi to it's ultimate conclusion.

However, despite my less than keen motivations to attending this popular flower show I ended up rather liking the whole affair. For one I was amazed at the scale of the event: I've been to a few local festivals recently and those combined could barely fill one of the numerous show tends dotted around here. I've read that an estimated 300,000 folk turned up over the last few days which is pretty remarkable. I can why it's popular mind. I was astounded at many of the hundreds (thousands?) of varieties of plants and flowers on show: some of whom I'd never seen before in my life. From beautifully delicate lilies (again - so many sub varieties it befuddled me) to quite odd looking grasses to giant fruit and veg and a shrine to one of my favourite

'vegetables' (part of the Capsicum family) the chilli. A bonsai stand containing hundred year old trees (pictured) almost blew my Birkenstock footwear off my feet – incredible. And so I was beginning to enjoy this event I initially thought might be a bit of a struggle.

We took the kids along, although in hindsight this is probably not the best day out, certainly for the younger children: there's simply not that much for them to do. It also didn't help that it was one of the hottest days of the year (and the heatwave in Manchester continues) – there's only so many 'magnums' and 'citrus infused water' you can give a child which is hot and not entirely convinced by the attractions.

Another bonus was the bar (strangely only one serving ales, although there were plenty more 'Pimms stations' dotted around). A couple of jars in and the vibrancy of the plants and flowers take on a much more exuberant appeal...I was fighting with my maestro card not to pick up a couple of sublime Japanese Acer plants (they have a sell off at the end of the event which soon enough evolves into a mass scramble for the offers).

Aside from the flower and plant tents were the collection of show gardens (a la Chelsea Flower Show) – surprisingly some of these were for sale...and I'm talking about gardens with small lakes and ancient olive trees, artistic furniture being transported and transplanted in your back garden. Possibly a reality for many of the Cheshire set but not so us. I procured a couple of lilly bulbs which happened to share the name of one of our daughters. Perhaps next year I'll upgrade to a water feature?

Aside from all the flowers/plants/furniture/show gardens et al was a huge marquee filled with shops selling anything from posh pyjamas, beds, champagne and local produce. As we were pretty starving by this stage of the day we grabbed a load of posh sausages and breads and called it quits – a barbecue would be struck into action on our return home.

I think I'll probably return again next year, it's made me look at gardens in a whole new light...whether I find the time and inclination to set about mocking up a 'show garden' is another matter...maybe in a few years we'll move on down to Cheshire and recreate that mini lake and Japanese bridge we saw at Tatton...

Performances Complete

2008-07-28T15:35:00.003+01:00

Bit of a delay since my last blog...the run of schools I was filming took over everything for a couple of weeks. One of the dates got mixed up (no hands held up on this one...) and meant the final date of the plays I was to film was put back a week. This also meant that the delivery date would be a lot tighter – instead of having a week or so to edit and create the DVD's I now had around 2 days (and two days over which we had guests coming to stay).

One of the schools had ordered 30 odd copies and luckily I found a local DVD duplication company who also produced good quality print inserts (based in Heaton Mersey) and who could turn them around within a day. So finally with but a day spare I managed to get them all completed and delivered within the deadline (not adhering to this would've meant we wouldn't have got paid...and all that hard work down the drain).

Quite pleased with the results and although we weren't given a huge amount of time (and budget) to get these completed I think the viewers (really the parents of the kids) will be pleased.

The Manchester Arts Council grouo behind these productions has sadly been disbanded after around fifteen years, but it's highly possible they will reform under another guise: here's hoping because i bet they did the kids involved in these plays a whole world of good.

Theatre time again.

2008-06-25T15:08:00.004+01:00

Last year I was invited to film a series of schools plays at the Central Library Theatre in Manchester as part of the Manchester Arts Education Initiative. I really enjoyed carrying these jobs out and gained a lot of experience from them. Not only that I thought the plays were put together really well and on the whole, the kids performances were fantastic. Many of these schools were situated in inner city locations and most probably the kids (from 11 to 16) get a whole load of unwarranted flak in these times of 'danger kids' (there are admittedly a minority of unsavoury bunch out there mind). It's a fairly large theatre (it is used for many larger theatre productions throughout the year) and I felt a little intimidated by the whole process myself – and I wasn't the one up there in front of a large audience and lit to high heaven. But the kids handled any pressure really well, any shyness buried deep in their junior period costumes. I was there to do a job but it was hard not to get drawn into the performances rather than concentrating on the camera and sound (I was a one man band on these occasions). If you've ever written the majority of kids off as 'this', 'that' and 'the other' then you should stop by events like this. I bet it does wonders for their confidence for there are few constraints holding people back as strong as a lack of self belief. Of course, I joined in the rapturous applause at the end of the performances and felt a whole lot better about the world then before I went in. Not only were there really good, young actors and actresses but also the 'orchestra' were a bunch of kids too.

By the final performance and even though I'd watched some of the same plays several times over ('The Weaver's Tale' and 'Marie Antoinette') I was perhaps a little sad it had to come to an end. I'd filmed quite a few performances and it felt like a routine: I'd go there every other night over the space of a couple of weeks and got to know the crew at the theatre as well as some of the directors and production staff.

I sometimes wished that a few parents who turned up late and in the middle of the performances, perhaps should have realised that I was filming and maybe it was best not to walk in front of my camera...that's what editing is for I guess?!

When all was said and done, the final stage was to edit all the performances and create DVD's for the schools and families (the brochure artwork/DVD covers created by a friend of mine. I hope they were all pleased with what they saw. I felt we did a good job creating a lasting archive for the parents and children to view for many years.

This years dates have just been released and I'm back doing them again. My first one is this Friday evening and I must say I'm rather looking forward to it.

Our Cabbage Patch Tales

2008-06-25T13:05:00.003+01:00

I say 'our' but it's not really mine in any way, I've just been drafted in by the missus to build the darned thing. Don't get me wrong I quite enjoy a spot of gardening, especially in the warm (well, occasionally) summer months. This is right up there with the getting back to nature activities one can carry out when it suits (mud wrestling with traffic wardens is another suitable organic past time). Yes – I'm building and 'designing' (it's a small, square patch of land with a mini Vic Reeves'esque picket fence as it's boundary for crying out loud!) the thing but will hand over responsibility following the 'topping out' ceremony sometime this week. Luckily we've had one of those compost bins for the past couple of years and as such, a healthy amount of good looking soil (if soil can ever be considered good looking).

It's almost complete as of writing. I just need to rake and level the ground, pick out a few remaining sods of grass and then add the funny picket fence. Then I guess the fun starts. Staple vegetables will be the main clientèle for 'Good Life Island' as I've just this second named it...actually perhaps I can create a 'Welcome to....' sign as the icing on the cake. I like that idea. Thanks.

I'm personally up for a bit of Mediterranean veg growing: hot chilli's; peppers; courgettes; tomatoes etc. I guess that requires some kind of greenhouse activity however. I have spotted some mini tent like greenhouses in the local hardware/garden centres, so I may (even though I've vowed not to get involved bar the building of the thing) look into this. Sat next to my herb patch (coriander, oregano, olive, bay and kiwi plants) I'd hope to reap some fine ingredients for a healthy, tasty and cost effective 'mealstyle'.

Can't guarantee this will work as we hope, but plenty of friends run successful plots on nearby allotments, something we could perhaps 'upgrade' to soon enough.

It's a long process so I'll be reporting back here on how it's going, hopefully providing tips, titbits, pit stops and pots and organic pips.

Tennisbledon.

2008-06-24T17:03:00.003+01:00

The sport of tennis has been thwacked into the middle of our eyes and ears from a 160mph racket shot. Yes...it's Wimbletelly time again. Now don't get me wrong, I love tennis – always have done hitting my first junior balls all those years ago. We were quite luck where I grew up as we had local tennis courts which didn't cost an arm and a leg to play. So I used to play a heck of a lot, getting to the stage where I had county coaching – my summer memories are part filled with running ragged around a tarmac tennis court till my little legs felt like rubber jam jars. Not a bad way to spend the occasional bored evening in the week, much better than dog fighting or setting fire to buses whilst clubbing the local police force with umbrellas. Just writing about it evokes such a strong feeling of time and setting I can feel the thudded twang of the tennis balls hitting my stringed sport instrument.

If I wasn't playing on courts with mates I'd be belting ten shades out of my outside wall at home, with a chalked line signifying the net. My hero back then was firstly Bjorn Borg then later Ivan Lendl (a serene, robot like figure who it has to be noted never won Wimbledon). I'm not sure why I took to Lendl – on the hard court he was virtually unstoppable but grass dominance ultimately eluded him. He had the best adidas kits (I still own the headband – see pic) and an Eastern European austerity...perhaps I felt he was sad. I think nowadays he plays golf but is pretty much out of the public eye (not so popular with the population it transpires).

A young Boris Becker came along, another who I greatly admired but by this stage I suspect I'd grown out of that adulation and worship you have for your heroes at a certain time of your life.

By the time Stephen Edberg quietly hit the scene, I'd all but given up enjoying tennis. After nearly 8 years of playing I finally put the racket down around the same time I was leaving school. I then left home for collage and didn't play again for about 10 years. I gave it up again. And then, late last year I dug up an old racket and found a friend in Manchester who enjoyed playing. We found really good indoor courts (it was winter after all) at the National Tennis Centre at Sportscity (next to the City of Manchester stadium). It's a wonderful way to keep fit and a really enjoyable game to play, requiring the usual skill, fitness and strategy like all great sports.

I'll get a game over the next week or so, although with the Tennis tournament playing out across our telly screen you can be sure of a few difficulties when attempting to book a court with an inspired nation rushing to attempt an Andy Roddick flash serve or a Venus Williams grunt shot.

My money's on Rafael Nadal this year (I feel he will just nudge out Federer)...a breath of fresh air in the game which has been sadly empty of characters for so long.

Front Lawn HIghway

2008-06-24T16:06:00.003+01:00

I have accrued a huge 'to do' list (in scale of job and quantity) of the front end of my fridge. These jobs (should I get round to tackling all of them) will fill out spare Sundays for the remainder of the summer. In the main they are the a*se numbing, laborious type of 'To Do': for example, this summer I have to varnish/stain the fence which separates our garden from the neighbour's. In fact this is the fence I fitted in nearly two years ago, a job of which I'm still rather proud of (although trying to manoeuvre 8 foot high concrete poles might be more efficient with someone along to help you). I know this is one of those I'm bets to get up early one weekend morning and spend the best part of a day carrying out. It might be an idea to stick my iPod over my brain and take out a days worth of Irish Coffee in a flask – actually come to think of it, that might not be such a bad thing. Actually, I've come to realise that such tasks do wonders for you mental well being: they're almost cathartic and meditative once you get cracking. Your mind starts a little journey, sings to itself, creates parallel universes and at 'close of play' generally much better off that we you started: all the cobwebs and knots have been 'down-dumped' and sent to perma-trash. Not unlike when you're body is tired from lack of harsh exercise and once you take it back into this environment and nearly cough your viscera through your tear ducts it soon enough becomes re-energised and tingly from it's brush with reality (you can't fool your lungs or lactic acid).

Anyway...the weekend just passed I ticked another box on the to do list titled : 'Kerb the drive'. Sounds like a new HBO series, but rather mundanely it meant I have to fit kerb stones around the driveway which were ripped out when I put the fence in. Thing is I enjoyed this job. It entailed me using a whole gamut of tools: spirit level; plumb line; rubber mallet; Timmy mallet (who happened to be in Manchester at the time); wheelbarrow; concrete ingredients (1 part cement – 2 parts sand – 3 parts gravel!) and other bits and bobs. To complete the 'builders' look I took the belt from my faded jeans and proudly displayed by 'builders derrière' to all and sundry.

Surprisingly, I managed to get a straight line (vertically and horizontally) down one side of the garden and god forbid it looks quite professional. The concrete set solidly and the kerb was as firm as something really firm - I'd created a mini Berlin Wall on my drive.

This has inspired me...following on from this I'm looking into building a small highway in my garden – an American highway or Thelwall viaduct right up to my front door. It will be a tourist attraction one day, rather like the Watts towers in Los Angeles.

Demons on Celluloid Street

2008-06-24T14:47:00.003+01:00

A few days back I finally got round to attending a meeting for a short film (*well, more high tech video) project I'm hoping to start in September. Initially I thought this to be a short 10 minute project but it now turns out it will run for at least one hour. This has been in the pipeline for a year or so but since I've been asked on board, it's grown legs and is itching to dance one off.

I think at the very least this will be a great experience, whatever obstacles and cul de sacs fate throws in it's general direction.

I'll personally be involved in the technical side on this occasion: camera work, 'cinematography' (by no means am I an expert, but I'm surfing them learning curves); editing (which I rather enjoy); and the Music, like the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, I like you best of all.

A bit to take on admittedly but I reckon it'll be a whole load of fun. We had a meeting last week to discuss, with a friend of mine, to discuss actors/actresses we will need. My friend is a writer and has started directing small theatre plays and as such as whole host of talent for us to tap into. He may also direct for us which would be a bonus – he's good to get along with and a talented fella.

The story is based on an Middle Eastern demon known as a Jinn, what we know as Genie (I had to Google it to be fair having not know the story and history behind it). The writer and the guy behind it has expressed his views that this should be a dark psychological horror, with intent rather than full on 'fangoria' (cheaper props then). Think Dark Water & Grudge rather than SAW et al.

I'm really hoping we can get our act together and get this rolling. These type of projects (i.e. making any kind of film) are notoriously difficult to pull off successfully. The more it's talked about (rather than acted upon) then the more diluted it becomes, to the point where it remains a pipe dream. We're a few meetings in now however so there's a chance this may take off. Between us all we should have the kit to make it work (lights, cameras, post prod gear) so all that stands in our way is a lack of determination and inspiration. If we can get it looking absolutely 'mint' then it's a plan of the producer to take it around distributors and hopefully local independent cinema/film nights in the city.

I'll be updating this blog with news (and I'm hoping there is some and this doesn't fall back to the earth from whence it came...) and hopefully pictures.

Barca ahoy.

2008-06-16T15:04:00.003+01:00

So...the Cornwall visit isn't happening and we've finally hit all the correct buttons in order to facilitate our holiday this summer. And the winner is...Barcelona.

Now I last visited the city around 8 years a go sans family (visiting a friend who moved to the Catalan area to teach English to kids). But now it's time to show the rest of my clan the wonderful delights of the Catalan Capital. I'm sure they're going to love it.

My only concern is the heat – I don't personally mind it but I can guarantee at least one of the kids will be mithered by the sun (which hits a peak round about the time we go...hmm).

We got an ok deal with a budget airline (Easyjet) and although we won't depart from Manchester (instead we fly from Liverpool) the flight actually lands in Barcelona rather than a tenuously linked 'Barcelona' airport like Milan or Tunisia...

Best of all we found a site advertising apartments ('ownersdirect' – worth checking out folks) that people rent out during the summer months (some in fact are all year). After a very minor piece of haggling (read: asking politely if any discounts were available) we secured this rather nice apartment for the week at a very good price. In fact the next cheapest option would've been to choose a 2 star budget hotel situated around 20miles from the city itself.

As you're literally dealing with 'owners directly' there is always room for manouvre when it comes to the price...I couldn't quite see the same thing happening at a major hotel chain (last minute, expedia et al couldn't get anywhere near the price we paid).

The apartment is located in the 'Zona Alta' or 'High Zone' district of Barcelona: I'm led to believe this is where all the really posh flats and mansions are based (well look at us!). I may have to scrub up a little before I go. In reality this is probably a quieter area then the more vibrant areas you would associate with the city. No bother – it's literally five minutes from the Gracia district and an area renown for it's party like atmosphere and bohemian sensibilities (again I'm going off what I've read and been advised).

Luckily we've chosen the week the Gracia festival commences (mid August for one week).

Apparently this is one of Barcelona's largest street party festival and looking at previous years photographs is looks like a whole load of riotous fun.

We started to learn Spanish a few years back (for about a year) until our teacher fell pregnant. This led us to drop it, sadly, after that. However I'm hoping a quick scan of our old notes will bring me up to scratch just that little. I think it's important to at least make the effort when visiting foreign climbs, although I've had the most trouble being understood in America:

Me to a lady selling deli products near San Francisco Bay: “Are you open on Tuesdays”

Her: “Cheese days?”

Me: “Erm, no – Tuesdays.”

Her: “Cheese....days?”

Me: “NO....are you open on Tuesdays!”

Her: “Sorry....I don't understand – Tues-days”....which went on a while longer before we gently sauntered off none the wiser.

Any road...we're all paid up and set to go. Might step up the exercise routines over the next couple of months just in case I venture out in my post modern speedos. The travel itinerary is all sorted in my head (via underground Metro online maps), the time out and rough guides are in hand and the next few weeks we'll have to curb our spending whilst we fill the holiday piggy bank read for Euro exchange.

No sublime Cornland this year.

2008-06-16T13:19:00.003+01:00

We've almost booked our summer holiday for 2008. Surprising for us we've managed to pretty much sort this out several weeks before we plan to go...it's usually last minute for us and it's generally a cottage in Cornwall we find via ebay.

This year however our options for Cornwall have run dry. Cottages are very expensive down there, although for the most part worth it – I absolutely adore Cornwall. It seems like a far flung land removed from England (the arduous journey down qualifies that). There is a magical quality to the place, perhaps due to be situated on magnetic ley lines or something, although it's virtually an island with the sea surrounding it's 'three' sides.

Devon of course is lovely but doesn't quite hit the bulls eye like it's Cornish cousin.

With petrol prices so enormously pumped up at the moment (and there unlikely to reduce now if not permanently), so it's with disappointment that we we'll be heading elsewhere this year. How I'll miss the sun falling down on beautiful St. Ives, quite possibly the only British seaside resort not in decline (and quite the opposite). I've found a stunning fisherman's 'cottage' overlooking St Ives, a place I covet as my pad for my 'silver' years. It resembles a wooden sea shanty cabin built on stilts, the kind of thing Steven Spielberg would set one of his characters in should he have made a film set in St Ives.

From there I could wander down to one of St Ives three beaches and attempt 'surfing procedures' whatever my age (there's a fella in his 80's who surfs regularly in Newquay). Although I haven't as yet tried full on surfing, myself and my elder daughter hired body boards last year – and what joy!

The hand of nature wilfully toying with you in return for a little respect. God knows what speed I was doing when I 'caught a wave' but I bet it would be illegal on some residential streets. At one stage I nearly careered into the full body of a rather large, hirsute but congenial looking gentleman...I finished this dazzling move off with my face almost buried in the front end of the beach.

Enough of this frivolity I thought...the Tate Gallery St Ives beckoned me, it's architecturally pleasing strucutre placed perfectly above Porthmeor Beach.

I remember this being a blazingly hot day (especially for Britain) and the gallery was currently showing a Brian Wilson inspired exhibition. With pieces by various artists dedicated to the spirit of the beach boys founder or pieces inspired by 60's Californian summers everything in my environment melted into perfect harmony. To complete this vivid sensation I had a local beer on the outdoor beer garden on the roof of the Tate. With the wide-screen open sea (which St Ives is famous for) in front of me and Beach Boys piped over the sound system I can barely register many more magical moments in my time.

Right...onto completing the booking for this years holiday...

Garden Chefery.

2008-06-16T12:15:00.003+01:00

We organised our first barbecue of the year last weekend, a practice run a day before ensured all would run smoothly. Not wishing to buy a trolley load of stuff from Iceland (I can't be the only one who sees those adverts and feels immediately nauseous?) we instead hit the local butchers, bakers and fishmongers: money saved and quality more so guaranteed.

I think we planned to have one a week last summer but in the end, we ended up having ½ of one.

What usually happens is that you get a run of good weather during the week so you mark a BBQ spot in your diary for the weekend. Of course cometh Saturday/Sunday the heavens open up...I think we can safely say God was an Aussie.

This time around everything fell into places nicely: the weather was spot on; we and guests get on (it helps when all parties have kids); fridge was rotund with wine and ale and food.

The 'barbie' was soon firing up but the we realised we didn't have enough coals/briquettes and with guests over within the next 15 minutes there was only one thing we could do....why – ask the guests to stop off at a garage and pick you some up! So that's the 'gone wrong part 1' out of the way.

Next, given a few beers (and I was driving the BBQ from B&Q) you tend to gab whilst wuth your eyes are off the ball, or in the this case off the lamb steaks and sausages. I certainly looked like I knew what I was doing – occasionally turning the meats, poking it, shifting it around etc but without really concentrating on the sizzling morsels. When the ladies voiced expressions over where the bloody 'ell the food was, I realised that Cusquena had somewhat taken over my faculties and had sufficiently neglected the cooking food to warrant burial.

I tried to rescue the crispy slabs of charcoal (their burnt demeanour long giving up on the chance of guessing which animal they originated from) with some nice bread and salad (I wasn't in charge of that 'section' thankfully).

For the boys drinking and gabbing I'm not so sure there was much concern in the air. To the ladies just gabbing, hunger pangs not all satiated by the embers of sausages past isn't conducive to being in their good books.

The chicken I had put on in the meanwhile wasn't at all bad however. A dash of lemon, seasoning and extra virgin olive oil created such smoke at one stage the back garden resembled an old Black Sabbath video.

Perhaps next time I'll drink less before being seconded to the cooking duties, although this has never been a problem when cooking indoors. I like tapping into that primal space lodged in between iPodery and scratching untethered parts of the anatomy.

Kung Fu and NCP Penthouses.

2008-05-31T16:36:00.003+01:00

So early tomorrow morning I'm setting out to do some 'guerilla' filming in the Manchester. It's for a set of martial arts sequences with an 'urban' twist: Crouching High Street Hidden Dry Bar perhaps.

Now I've filmed many locations in the city (and other cities) for certain jobs that get thrown my way occasionally, usually sequences of buildings and cityscapes and busy bee workforce. This is slightly different however. I'll have a couple of martial artists (I myself like to partake in a dash of Kung Fu when my backs feeling supple and generous) and will attempt to film a few fight sequences within the city. My best bet is to find a couple of NCP car parks and head to the top, open deck floors. These usually guarantee an excellent 'surround view' of the city and it's rapid changes and it's ever increasing large buildings.

To be fair to NCP as long as I politely ask if it's OK to take a camera up on their premises (I'm usually paying the exorbitant parking fees as it happens) they'll leave me to my own devices. Mid winter on a cold and dark Sunday evening isn't my best notion of fun but sometimes needs must.

A short while ago (for the same project) we filmed in a city subway at night. The fella's (one a black belt master) were dressed in 'urban street gear' i.e. hoodies and elastic 'kekage'. Once rolling they'd go for it big time, and every once in a while a passer by on their way home from work would freeze at the ensuing rumbles in front of them (not at all allaying their fears that subways are edgy places at best). It essentially resembled professional happy slapping episode destined for Youtube, so I'm not surprised people were a little taken aback. I'm sure they were intelligent to understand what we were doing and no authorities were to be dispatched our way that evening.

Still, a quick glance at these choreographed scraps would allude to something a little sinister. Part of the training in martial arts is the ability to take 'hits' and because we are striving for authenticity the fights have to look fairly realistic. Of course I'd said it's extraordinarily rare for two trained martial artists to happen to meet in the street and start a shindig and street fights don't look anything like this quite beautiful art form. Perhaps instead I should just get them blind drunk on Special Brew and tell one the other deeply insulted a respected member of their family...

So, if you see some fancy fighting taking place tomorrow morning, you'll know not to be too concerned...actually, I believe Lee 'Scratch' Perry is in town and he's a big fan of the 'Fu' perhaps I can get him to come along and join the fun? Dub and scrapes atop a multi storey NCP.

Found: One lost tribe.

2008-05-31T16:33:00.003+01:00

I was using my eyes yesterday to view one off on the internet news conduits.

What startled my very senses was the images beamed from an aeroplane over the Amazonian Jungle. Here, we were told, was evidence of an Amazonian tribe who have remained out of contact with the outside world i.e they have no inkling of the outside, modern world. Whether it was due to falsely uprezzzed images or a combination of that and their rather garish 'war make up' I felt unnerved, even sat thousands of miles away on the end of a cyberpipe. It was almost as if we've managed to send a visual recording device back in time (perhaps one day that may be possible) and sent images of past civilisations in 'real time'. I could've sworn I'd seen that tribe on an old episode of the original Star Trek TV series...they look remarkably familiar. Of course signs of aggression where shown by them: the 'female' (as it was claimed) sent shivers hurtling down to my coccyx. But I'm not surprised if this is the first time they've seen outside contact – they're flying above them is a gigantic metal parrot making a noise like a five hundred metre long hunting horn (incidentally they now sell these in Asda/Walmart).

So what happens to them next? I can understand the reasoning behind 'exposing' these tribes: it's proof (so they say) that such tribes exist and showing the authorities they exist may in fact help prevent further destruction of their habitat (Terence Conrad had very ambitious expansion plans).

Now however, this lost tribe is aware of ulterior influence – whether they had any knowledge of outside peoples and technology I'm not sure: if they had then perhaps they understood that the large object in the sky was indeed man made and a possible threat (hence spears at the ready). If they hadn't they it's quite possibly a huge talking point around the fires come night time. They essentially have to rewrite the history books overnight. Alongside the sun god, they now have a giant silver parrot to contend with. Children will have a story nightcap of the day the king parrot came to the village; art will take on this twist of fate and perhaps even their behaviour (appeasing gods) will alter accordingly.

Unless the snaps were taken by a remote, motorised helicopter in which case they may have confused it with a giant bee and dreams of lakes of honey about round the camp.

We need Bruce Parry in a situation like this. I imagine there can't be that many spots on earth which house such tribes, It's quite startling that in this global, connected village with millions upon millions of tracking devices such peoples exist - can you squeeze your brains hard enough to think of that occurring in the UK?

Slots and Roses

2008-05-30T19:57:00.002+01:00

I can't say I ever visited an amusement arcade in my own city or any other city I've ever visited.

They don't really suit modern day cities at all and besides 'Casinos' are really the grown up, city version of the 'slots'.

I've never in fact entered a casino (and it's far easier these days to do so), but every time I watch a Bond flick I'm inspired to don my Sunday best and waste a bit of money...I feel it's probably time I visit one, so I'll put this down on my ever expanding 'things to do in 2008' list.

In seaside towns I visit (unless it's Cornwall) I'm suddenly impelled to walk towards the flashing lights, the arrhythmic sirens and the uncouth post rave fairground music and spend a small sum mindlessly emptying bags of 2ps into the thin mouths of the slot monsters.

Of course it's all very much of a scam, but it's a whole load of fun. I love the 2p slots where you try and 'nudge' piles of teetering coppers off the edge and into your grubby little hands below. To add to the game several cheapy toys are placed amongst the coppers and your brain (of which you lose control...it's a bit like Derron Brown in machine form) then locks onto the blighters until they eventually cascade to the descent below (and to be honest often get wedged in the contraption flap below). What fun – you've just paid a mark up off 500% on a character key ring and left your eyes looking like a crack head who's just run the London marathon with a game of kerplunk tied to his ankles. Like Fagan all those years before us, at the end of the 'session' we collate all our swag together in a pile - a shrine in fact to 5p toys our hands radiating the wrong stench of money.

I try the over 18 machines very rarely...I just do not understand them at all. You see experts whistle up to them and flick their palms over nudge buttons and flashing chunks of electronics before, it they're lucky, causing the machine to ejaculate large amounts of money into the trough below.

I'll stick 10p in watch the wheels turn, wonder what the fuss is about then play the post 'Out Run' driving game.

In their true environment of the seaside, amusement arcades are palaces to cheap fun: the romance of the neon jamborees and the space jazz of the colliding musical messes, fire me into a corner of my brain I rather like. As it stands, many of these places are closing down – forces beyond their control have dampened their spirit – the smoking ban has cleared a few but it's often cheaper to fly to other countries for your hols rather than stay at home. Maybe these vivid towns can one day re invent themselves, but keeping their heart intact...stranger things have happened...now if I can only find a virtual 2p slots of my iPod I'll rest a lot easier.

Carry on up the Caravan.

2008-05-30T19:17:00.002+01:00

I'd recently talked about my holidays as a kid, specifically our caravan park holidays.

Nothing but good memories from these times.

Over the past two years I've started to return to the place I visited as a kid but this time with my own 'tin bids' in tow. My mother, on a whim, decided to purchase a static caravan after seeing one for sale in the area we went to in the early eighties (when The 'Duran of Seagulls' and 'Howard Shaft's magnetic Keyboard band' ruled the charts with an iron lisp.

So each year we spend a long weekend there (usually over those 'sunny' bank holidays) which to be fair is probably enough for a holiday. If the weather isn't too great then you've got a choice over the hypnotic 'slots' or a quick traverse around the kinky pound shops.

We've just returned from a break last weekend: it was indeed not so great weather wise (a walk on the beach front was akin to Phil Mitchell from Eastenders Street rubbing your eyes with a floor sander. We effectively went to the seaside without seeing the sea. I wasn't too concerned to be honest. I was floored by a back injury and the combination of super strong pain killers and the local Co-Op wine rendered me Martian. Plus I'm rather keen on a once a year flutter in the 'junior gambling dens', more of which in another tale...

The site my mother has her 'static-carahome' on is much smaller and quieter than the ones we stayed at years ago. I think it might be owned by the WA, or perhaps the Daily Mail. It's a pleasant affair with lovely, Sunday-esque landscaping. No games with your balls are allowed and cars have to be pushed around with your fingers in neutral.

I also find it very serene and relaxing. Come dusk when the site lights become pert and lively, a beautiful hue descends on the surrounds. It's a perfect photograph opportunity and has a cinematic quality about it. I should have really taken my own camera down and caught these moments...perhaps a short film could be set here, a Lincolnshire coast trailer park flick or a post Eldorado soap opera – 'Golden Spades'...yes...that's it....Golden Spades a celluloid paean to faded seaside glamour.

Come darkness and the greyness of the earlier day becomes transformed immediately (and fairly dramatically) by the neon lights. Slightly tacky as they are, they still manage to evoke something deep inside me every time I see the lights and hear the chaotic aural bursts of sound of the amusement arcade.

To round the night off we played old school electronic card bingo (hey – we're talking four sheets here...you need a mind as sharp as Gore Vidal to control your winning destiny here).

Talking of winning...our swag for the evening included a child's Swatch watch, a jubilant picture frame and a green 'Swiss' vase. You don't get that kind of entertainment on Las Ramblas!

We headed back to the caravan and the wind and rain battered it's thin shell but I cooked us up a treat in the 'open plan kitchen and dining room' and opened another bottle of French red and retired to the boudoir a happy caravanner.

Apparently caravanning is back in vogue and it's not too difficult to see why (some of the posher places have en suite DVD's and wireless kitchen taps in High Def)...so go on - give it a whirl one year.

Holidays Fast and Present.

2008-05-30T18:30:00.002+01:00

I used to go caravanning as a kid quite a few years ago now; we'd drive up from home to the Lincolnshire coast and I'd be as excited as Larry Hagman on ice. We'd stay in a huge caravan complex in one of those static caravans, which at the time I guess, was fairly glamorous.

On the site lay a huge entertainment building (the building itself wasn't entertaining as such but often it's contents were) which sprouted talents such as local comedians (who always resembled members of the pop combo 'Black Lace' for some reason); cabaret acts (the boom of the waltz I could hear from my bedroom in the caravan whilst I tried to sleep) and once or twice a week they'd show British wrestling bouts (unfortunately the likes of 'Big Puff Daddy' and 'Giant 50cents' never made it to this neck of the woods.

I remember they had a lilo in the grounds; bloody cold and concretey...I can't actually remember swimming in it rather just playing around the edges.

We went here quite a few times over the years, and so I visited at different stages of my life. Clearly one year I wasn't so interested in the Butlins style talent shows and magic performances and progressed to shyly looking at girls in the disco. I distinctly recall one particular girl I 'fancied' and she said 'Hi' to me – it was the first time I'd heard somebody say 'Hi' outside of US telly...it was one of the best moments of my life up to that point. Being a particularly shy young lad I, of course, never followed it up. I wonder what became of her.

The year before I hooked up with some cooler older kids (they, gasp, smoked for gods sake) and felt like the bee knees, until one female slot machine attendant thought I was a girl.

I often became lost in the world of the flight simulator arcade game 'Star Wars'. I was Luke Skywalker, albeit living in a caravan with the face of a girl. It's around this time I was 'taught' how to wet a 1p piece and spin it so some of the older arcade machines thought it to be 10p. That, thankfully, was about the time me and 'life of crime' said our goodbyes...aside from perhaps one or two things later in life...nothing bad mind.

Jumping a few years into the future I started 'tarting' myself up a little - the girl face slowly morphing into a more appropriate masculine appearance – and I armed myself with a bottle of Denim. This is the year that 'White Lines' appeared on the scene and instead of learning break dancing and 'Body Wapping' in the streets of the inner city, I was taught it in the foyer of a caravan park disco. Passing bingo traffic must have thought they'd supped one too many pipes of advocat on sight of the crazy gymnastics going on under their 'legs eleven'.

It was many years (15 as a hunch) before I revisited this place – but I've taken my own children there to share my memories whilst forging their own. There is a touch of faded seaside glamour about the place now, things have moved on in the world but it still has it's moments of joy.

Cine Wide Shut

2008-05-23T16:54:00.002+01:00

And so this week the carcass that was Withington's Cine City has all but entered the earth from whence it came, and 'history heaven' awaits here.

The last film I saw here was also Stanley Kubrick's last film – Eye's Wide Shut.

It's been mentioned before that the place was an absolute eyesore during it's last few years. It perhaps could've been demolished a few years back but that's not how these things work. They're sat on until a time when words such as 'profit' 'maximum' and 'timing' squeeze themselves free from somebody's vocal system.

Sadly this would never again show images progressed at 25 frames per second into our cranial illusory systems. But times change. I can confirm that already this part of Withington has been lifted somewhat. It's as though the dirty, rude and outdated elephant sat in the room turned out to be a helium balloon purporting to be real and some kid with the vitality of a summer salad has popped it with his mini Swiss army knife.

Poof – its gone for ever. Yes, already the street scape and indeed skyline (such was the size of the old cinema in comparison at least to the rest of the village) has altered dramatically.

An apartment block is set to land on the footprint of Cine City, although given the fact there's a lack of agreement on what exactly the final design should be and given the slightly salty economic environment, it might be a while before some rises from the flames of the film reels.

I must admit I was taken aback a little when I saw it's current, shorn of life state. Others where to seemingly, all stopping to look at and photograph the last remaining piece of the building.

I hope that whatever eventually takes its place is worthy of inclusion in the village. A fancy piece of well concieved architecture wouldn't go amiss....here's hoping for the village's new dawn.

2008-05-13T13:29:00.004+01:00

I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm prone to receiving splinters on a weekly basis for the rest of my life. Whether it's haphazardly opening a door, slightly missing the intended knob and careering my digits towards microscopic sword like shards of timber; sun-blindly reaching for a tool in my shed and thwacking my tom thumb into a rusty Jimmy nail; searching for the play dough hairdressers set under the kitchen sink and instead jamming an under sink spike into and under my finger nails...I guarantee I'll have some minor domestic war wound come the end of the week.

This week I managed to embed a few slices of metal underneath the nail on my middle finger (left hand) whilst routinely reaching the tap to fill the kettle. I let out a subdued scream into the bit of flesh where the thumb and index finger, milliseconds before the tom and jerry-esque throb began.

This type of splinter I'd categorise as level II: I mostly involuntarily procure level III types such as general finger (non under nail), flesh splinters. Last year I had a lucky strike with a level I type – an eye splinter. This required a more professional surgical solution (rather than home surgery which I'll come to it in a moment). I'm not entirely sure how I obtained this one, but it was probably during a bit of brick chipping, drilling or electrical sanding. I kept blinking (as it dust were to have gravitated upon the balls of your eye) but it wouldn't budge; I washed my eye out with various bird baths of water and solutions, sadly all to no avail.

So this, inevitably, led me to take a trip to the A & E (the one in the city where you meet some of the more colourful characters welded into the city's fabric).

My name soon got called out of the ward speaker phone and in, admittedly, slight trepidation (my 'BP' always rises the moment I enter the vicinity of hospital wards) I blinkingly walked into the eye surgery. My face and indeed head was placed in this 'Dune' (David Lynch's version) type contraption, with a mini Jodrell bank scope hovering centimetres from my affected eye.

I very soon saw the delicate hand of the 'eye nurse' bring some professional tweezers up to my viewing tunnel and within a minute the offending shard had been deftly emancipated from the gooey sac which gives my brains an illusion of reality. A genius of minor eye surgery I thought to myself before vocally offering a large 'thank you' for her time and effort.

But back to my Level II. With a lack of pro kit at my disposal, I rummaged through the 'haberdashery' section of my kitchen draw and picked out a packet of sowing needles. I dropped one into a cup of boiling water and then cleansed it a travel bottle of Dettol (I'm sure that's how they do it on 'ER' right?). Under the bright glare of halogens in my bathroom I set to work.

Poking and prising I eventually, under a few twangs of pain, managed to carve a path towards the shiny little blighter. After around of 30 mins of self surgery (and a mini gash on the end of my pointer) and with a little help from the missus's tweezers I managed to pull free this alien who had the audacity to invade my body.

A few days later I have a few throbs and and odd shaped finger nail but all is good...until the next splinter arrives sometime next week...

The screen is greener on the other side.

2008-05-13T13:25:00.003+01:00

So this weekend I've found myself building a green screen for some upcoming Chroma key work.

If you didn't know this already, then chroma key utilised either a green or blue background on which you can film (or photograph) subjects and then digitally add a different background over the top. For example, if done well, you can transpose your own face and associated paraphernalia to anywhere in the world you may have never visited: Taj Mahal; Peak of Everest; The top of Sears Tower; the underpass used in the Clockwork Orange movie.

The equipment is pretty expensive to buy; like most 'pro' kit you end up paying extortionate amounts for what turn out to be simple objects. The green screen material itself is pricey, but essentially (and if you get the colour right) you can pick this up from a local fabric store – I did (Abakhan in the Northern Quarter). Unfortunately it wasn't quite wide enough so I found myself discussing the more rudimentary aspects of dress making with the staff in that fantastic store. I needed hemming web apparently (over sowing...I can barely sow cress seeds). So I purchased a packet of this magic stuff – you basically overlap the fabric, place the hemming web inside and then iron it for a permanent fix. I now had my required 5 foot width of material for my first green screen productions.

I'd then require a dash of velcro (again purchased from Abakhan) which I would sow onto the fabric and then attach to a pole – the pole which is attached to the frame, again made on the cheap from local hardware stores (my 'model' made from conduit).

It worked a treat.

Off to Wickes next to pick up some 'Hollywood style Kinoflo Light Rig'...in actual fact a set of kitchen/shop fluorescent tubes with 'diffusers' set on their side.

I'm overall impressed. I picked up another light from set on a tripod as my fill/key and as far as I was concerned I was good to go.

I still have to muck around with the footage on the 'puter but if I don't get it like George Spielberg did in Jaw Wars V I'll be as cross as Dee Snyder.

Leotard Cohen.

2008-04-30T22:06:00.003+01:00

The day after the Italians arrival we planned to take a trip to 'Europe's newest and best' circus – Cirque Surreal. I don't actually remember ever going to a circus, instead having memories of circuses downloaded into my brain via off-line books. I certainly recall Mr Ben's visit to the circus, my nebulous memory suggests he may have been a strong man or a clown...I can't quite recall? They also had various jungle animals parading around and elephants performing degrading acts on the tightrope...

But this Cirque Surreal was an all together different affair.

As you enter the big top (put up in one of the many car parks in the huge city of 'Trafford Centre) you're led to your seats by a set of bowler hatted wearing mime artists, after you've left the bar area (I felt like it was 12pm in a 'chill out' tent at Glastonbury – the library ambient music fanning the illusion).

Gone were the 'jungle animals' of course and the clown isn't one of those slightly, untrustworthy characters but a cross between Marcel Marceau and Mr Bean. I actually found him funny (as did the kids) and felt he kept the show together. It's seemingly based on a rather vague concept of the nations of the world uniting, but I found this a little misplaced. In fact it was more akin to the members of the village people leading the dragon on Chinese New Year. We really wanted to see the acrobats (the adults hoping for tight spandex keks and suggestive leotards, the kids for humans being lobbed into the roof of the big top with not a safety harness in sight...which is what we all got).

A Ronaldo-a-like 'football juggler' was interesting, at one stage juggling five footballs and balancing, spinning the rest on his nostrils. He had perfected the cheesy post trick smile almost to the point of post parody. Still, he was impressive.

We also saw the 'Chinese' couple (the performers are sourced from all around the world) show off some frankly unbelievable bodily contortions. The act where the guy turned his partner into a giant human polo mint just had to be seen. I think she performed a spot of ballet on his forehead at one stage, although perhaps a mixture of bafflement and befuddlement (courtesy of Stella from the circus bar) created an illusion for me.

The 'African Prince' at one stage almost caused a spot of fisticuffs, quite amusing really...I think he 'pretend nutted' a fella in the audience who didn't take too kindly to this. A barrage of 'swearing words' and a face harsh enough to crack a nut must've been his very own version of circus behaviour. I personally think he was rudely woken up, as by this stage the 'concept' and silly dancing taunted the eyelids.

However, the ending was pretty spectacular. In what's best described as a pair of giant, metal hamster wheels, two of the performers (the 'modern city worker' in the village people troupe) spun round inside then outside the cage spinning heart stoppingly around the big top. They then started using skipping ropes almost slipping up (20 odd metres high) which would've cascaded their bodies directly into the ground below (again unharnessed).

The kids all loved it and I guess most of the adults too.

One of my highlights mind was seeing Sooty's 'dad' Matthew Corbert in the audience. I can confirm Sue was elsewhere, perhaps over in Selfridge's purchasing handbags or a new brush.

Goodwellies.

2008-04-30T21:58:00.004+01:00

So yes...the Italian relatives came over...after picking them up at Manchester Airport on Thursday and seeing they were slightly tired and hungry we rushed back up the M56 (we're literally 12 minutes away) and headed back to our pad. I'd recently bedded in a new pizza stone, a piece of cookware I'd been after for some time and thought I'd test my 'authentic Italian' pizza's out on them. Perhaps not entirely wise given the craftsmanship that goes into them in Italy. But earlier on in the evening I began the preparation. Jamming my hands into a bowl of grade 'OO' flour, honey, olive oil, salt and yeast I began to manipulate this amorphous, breast like piece of dough.

After a good ten minutes of bashing and twisting I'm left with this spherical quasi marble dough ball. This I then place in a larger, oil lined bowl so the yeast can have it's end away inside this tasty fun bag. Ninety minutes later I see this sub Dr Who character in the bowl where I felt damn sure I'd left the dough. It's risen out of all proportion and this makes a small tear appear in my left eye duct.

The next small process is precision blissfulness: you enter you hands into this large, softness and the air departs into the heavens, gently caressing your mittens as it does so. It's probably worth the whole process just for this, never mind the baked dough you'll soon be creating.

After another quick arm wrestle with the dough it's time to flatten and stretch to your liking.

I always think it best to spread it with both a rolling pin and your hands...and if you've guest over why not try spinning it in the air (although last time I tried that it ended up in the dirty dish water...still, I rescued it ok). When it's thin enough so it's almost translucent and has the look of cow hide it's good to go. It will nearly split when you carry it so be quick – and make sure you add it onto a well floured (or even better, sprinkled with semolina) tray/pizza paddle.

Slap on your passata (I add a dash of honey and occasionally if I'm feeling Cornish and controversial a spot of Jam) and then your toppings...best not getting funkadelic here, the more simple the better. I once tried adding a DVD copy of the Wire as a topping and whilst edible it was nothing like the time I added the Scorsese biography with sun dried tomatoes, razor shaved garlic and 'chased around the garden with flip flops' basil.

Every couple of minutes I'd open the door of the (extremely) hot oven and lift it's bottom up (this I'm told releases the steam from under the base and thus obtaining a crispy base post release from oven. That pizza stone was the business. They were perfect and the Italians had the same impressed look that Keith Chegwin has when he pulls a wheelie on his neighbours mobility scooter.

And I was proud, albeit covered in tomatoes and sieved pasta flour.

If you're ever over at mine I'll be sure to make you one. Since then I've created a new recipe (all secret like Ronald McKentucky Fried Don) and named it the 'Don Draper' - cool, creative and suave and knocking up a female beatnik behind the wife's back.

Smoked Banjo.

2008-04-30T21:54:00.004+01:00

We had relatives over from Italy last week – the missus's brother and his 3 daughters. They've enjoyed coming over a couple of times over the past year or two and always find something to do.

Whether it's in the Greater Manchester area or beyond we have a whole host of wonderful locations right on our eye steps. Unfortunately they were only here for a couple of days this time, so we couldn't plan for trips further afield. York's always worth a trip to and with them living in Italy a fine place to discover England's heritage and history. I'd bet they'd love the ghost walks they do in this tiny city, either that or they'd be scarred to life what with being staunch Catholics...perhaps best not go there.

About the same amount of travel would get us up to the Lake District. Little more than 90 mins away from Central Manchester, the Lakes are an absolutely stunning pocket of England. Genuinely breathtaking scenery and extraordinarily well kept countryside: I much prefer the hilly topography of the lakes to the dull insipid regions of the South & East (and indeed the Cheshire Plain).

We occasionally stick an oversized dome tent in the motor and take a trip up there for the weekend. There's plenty of well managed sites up there and we've found a corker just outside Windermere (the lake of which you can see from parts of the site). Waking up in the fresh air and letting your eyes feast upon such glorious views is really charming and life affirming.

It all feels a bit like those American films from the 70's and 80's where they head out with their 'buddies' and 'buds' for a spot of fishing and male bonding before being targeted by a local half breed....except I've got my family with me and if I'm lucky I might grab a bottle of local raspberry wine and pretend to be Burt Reynolds when I head off to collect some water for the stove.

I did manage a bit of fishing though. It was at the local trout farm and it is more akin to pretend fishing. You'd drop your line in a netted area practically littered with trout. I somehow managed to get my line caught in the boundary net several times; crossed with other fishing lines and didn't get one bite. I looked like a bent hammock at the end of the session but purchased some 'pre-dead and gutted' trout from the fishing shop. A spun yarn later and the whole family is impressed with my manly skills (apart from the the elder daughter in on the act).

We'll no doubt be back up there again this summer.

I'll watch my copy of Deliverance just before I go.

Panic at the Cisco.

2008-04-30T21:52:00.004+01:00

So, the summer might as well have stayed indoors this year. I haven't really seen him in full, just the odd facsimile of an old friend I shared times with as a kid. A bit like Mike Yarwood's version of famous people (of the time at least)...almost there, but you forgave any hitches as he seemed like quite a nice fella. And so with these initial hints that the summer might turn up after all: sending the assistants out rather than the master behind the curtain, not quite what we have been promised. As with politicians proclaiming we are in their best interests it appears that nature has taken a similar route – a handful of ok'ish days this year rather than full on, unbridled hazy days. Sporadic weather bursts (the aforementioned hint of a fine summer to come, followed by 5 inch diameter hale stones crunching you in the eye bones) have ever so slightly dented my well being. I'm convinced it's playing havoc with the environment around us, some melancholic electromagnetic mist sheaving our 'good' synapses in miniature 'bad' sleeping bags.

Even kids who should be out partying their faces off are otherwise engaged in junior introspection or constant waves of yawn fever.

You see it's these negative ions floating around the world at the moment...or at least in the uk (I can't comment on places such as Serbia, Argentina or South Western Australia). I have a few friends and close family who also can't seem to step it up a gear this year.

Perhaps it's a governmental top secret service colluding with the networking giants (Cisco as an example) to pump subduing agents into the Wi-Fi network hence to nullify and quieten down the nation.

Yup, I'm running with that. I'm starting a task force later this week, sometime...perhaps next week, I'm running an apathetic fever at the moment. Join me when you're up and fit and full of adzuki beans once again.

Green Digits.

2008-04-30T21:50:00.004+01:00

When the government turns the sky top off for that one week in May we get each year, I'm going to make up with my garden. It's not so much that I've been treating her badly, more (like her human counterparts) I haven't quite shown her quite enough love. I managed to cut her hair last week (remember last week when the sky, bizarrely, turned blue?) and gave her bikini line/hedges a nice trim. Unfortunately, her herb area has become a somewhat 'trampy'. Flourishing though it is, fashion dictates a certain way of wearing your herb sections down below. I personally love the 70's look, she unfortunately doesn't (top 'fash' mag Gardeners World telling her how to run her life, how to manage her shaded area's, who to allow in to her life etc).

So I'll set aside a weekend to really get my hands dirty and spruce her up something special.

I've already procured some fancy plants to insert on her beds: a fine photinia to crown the north eastern section; a couple of native Mediterranean studs to fizz her up a little (I'm talking Kiwi, Olive and Bay Trees here). I'd had these in mind over the past months as a surprise and I'd plant them at night whilst she slept, so in the morning as the squirrels bounced across her brows she would awaken to several new bed fellows.

I've realised it takes years and persistent tinkering and nurturing to really make a beauty, but usually you're paid back in kind with the fruits of your labour.

I'm nearly there with her: not quite the finished masterpiece as yet, but give it time and she'll be the bell of the ball. I have to pull out a few herbal jewellery items and sparkle up it's aforementioned bed (the Oregano is breeding like a CGI rabbit) but I hope to send to her for auditions on 'Living TV 2's Britain's Next Top Garden' come June this year.

Will by your self.

2008-04-30T21:46:00.003+01:00

I've recently attended an evening with Will Self at Waterstone's impressive (size and interior architectural design wise at least) Deansgate store. I've secretly harboured a desire to attend a book signing for many years but never quite got round to it. Perhaps it was fear...what if Armistead Maupin singled me out and asked where I'd purchased my nifty slacks from? Or if Ian Rankin asked me how I would deal with feral street kids? Or, god forbid, Des Lynam superciliously looked down on my attempts at growing a suave tache?

Fortunately a friend asked me along as a sidekick, so I bounced off a text from a satellite orb stating 'count me in'.

I've always liked a perusal in this large Waterstones on Deansgate, the seemingly endless rooms and floors and rainforest worth of reading material (some good some not so good, but then that's down to personal taste). The floors creak in parts just like proper book shops should. Despite the emergence of wi-fi flat tops and book headed but cyber hearted members of the public ruminating over ebooks, the physical book remains stronger than ever. It simply cannot be replaced by anything from silicon valley, Sau Paulo or Steve Jobs at is most bonkers. You lose a virtual 'iPaperback' on the 42 bus after a one cherry beer too many you've lost a substantial amount of money. Drop it in the bath and not only will you destroy the machine instantly (and the latest Murakami prose) you'll also undoubtedly kill your legs off.

Nope...the books here to stay for some time yet, unless of course we have a tree drought or in fact starve our lungs of oxygen during our 'tw*ting' of the planet.

Will came in like a middleweight boxer minutes before an important bout (a good approach to most things in life). Perhaps slightly apprehensive, nervous almost of giving public speeches (even though Will is a media savvy guy). He soon launched into a a good 30 minutes reading of his latest book entitled 'Butt'. His accents crossed continents with the ease of Judith Chalmers rifling through a tourist pamphlet. Wonderful to listen to (and look at – not at all like the stick thin, ominous chap he comes across as on the telly screens) he's a natual orator.

Following the reading he hosted a 'Q & A' for some time, fielding questions about his work, his views and George Bush (interesting tale about the man...can't say it would make you love Mr Bush Jr any more).

He seemed to have grips on the Mancunian history and geography (he's been up here a few times and appears to genuinely like the city) and is extremely generous in his answers – all round top bloke.

I never got a question in...perhaps it was because it was my first 'book signing/reading' and I wanted to test the water (I didn't even bring a book for him to sign at the end (my friend brought along around 25 novels).

Next time however I'll have a couple in my bag for the man.

A Bird in the hand is worth two in the Rooibos.

2008-04-17T16:31:00.010+01:00

I kicked caffeine out of my house and home a couple of weeks back. It simply got too much for me in the end. I'd become addicted to increasingly stronger and stronger coffee (espresso's especially).

It started a few years back with the 'junior coffee' that is Nescafe Mellow Birds (which my mum still drinks and loves to this day...) - an exceptionally mild high, akin to a warm twix bar and a run downstairs to answer a cold call. From here I progressed onto the larger granules (Mellow Birds appear to be mere dust gatherings from a coffee factory to me) then onto, what I considered sophisticated at the time, Douwe Egberts. An exaggerated heaped teaspoon of this stuff (dark blend) then I'd feel like Zippy at a Klaxons gig. I then veered my Java'd up liberal brain palette towards the Fair Trade numbers (like café direct). My daily cup of highs felt oh so pleased with themselves now.

Of course during these times I'd also insert the odd cup of tea into the mix. Strong with a rumour of milk squirted into it's dark canyon and I'd be happy. Vegan Electro person Moby has a nice range of tea's you can grab from one or two cafés in Manchester which I'd often sip whilst an AAC file was downsharing into my ears.

Not so long ago, some Italian friends of ours gave us a Bialetti stove top coffee machine as a gift.

This is where the addiction took on a more pronounced edge. The ceremony itself got my visceral synapses flicking like a rained on, half hearted neon sign on the outskirts of a city. A normal morning would see me orally receiving 4 shots of the stuff, often with a dash of the cow juice, occasionally with a small gift of hazelnut syrup (I became friends with that stuff when I stayed in San Francisco in the US states of American USA).

However, during the past couple of months I noticed that my ticker was seemingly independent of any form of rhythm during one or two periods in the day. It was though it had been aurally studying free form jazz via the Braindance movement...mashed up drill and bass narrated by Christopher Walken. I think at this stage it was time to knock this trip on the head...so I gave up caffeine.

The first week or so felt like I'd been left out on top of a Ferris wheel during mid winter in Glasgow (I know this because I once was left out on top of a Ferris wheel mid winder in Glasgow...). I'd have aches, shivers a general unwell being permeating my limbs and various sacks. But, eventually I began to feel better than ever – the palpitations have somewhat subsided and I'm no longer wearing the junior smack head costume so noticeable in my full on caffeine addiction.

I'm looking around for herbal coffee's (which allow you the coffee making ceremonys via the stove top Bialetti et al) but they're hard to come by at the moment. I'll take a trip this week to somewhere like Chorlton...I'm sure I'll find such beverage there.

In the meantime I've discovered Rooibos (speaked proper it leaves your mouth as 'Roy-Bos' which translates as 'Red Bush') - a naturally caffeine free tea from South Africa. It is actually rather nice (you have to experiment with a couple of brands mind) and since I've been 'using' this tea I've had some pretty vivid dreams (some quite frankly, are a few shades darker than blue). It's beneficial properties must be snaking their way into my mind bits.

Fantastic.

Marked Squirrel

2008-04-17T16:24:00.007+01:00

Over the past year or two, for some unknown reason, I've become mildly obsessed with encouraging birds into my back garden (and I'm not alluding to the Sheila and Mandy from 'Oh My Cod' chippie in Bournemouth during that unfortunate incident...). I'd purchased the necessary starter paraphernalia, a selection of fine nuts and precision seeds and set them up in safe yet viewable location.

It took a while but soon enough out came the chaffs; the tits; sparrows; red robin Gibbs; feral pigeons; starlings; the Geeks; sportos, motorheads, dweebs, dorks, sluts, buttheads...I adored them all. The highlight was a woody, woody woodpecker....fascinating creatures.

I swear I also saw the ghost of Rod Hull and Emu straddling the branch of my Doyenne De Comerce Pear Tree, although this viewing was, admittedly, after my mother in law had laced my Rooibos tea with PCP, LSD and an old Texas Instruments LCD for a laugh.

However, of late we've had an influx of Machiavellian 'urban street squirrels' playing havoc with the natural eco system of our back yard. Initially these pesky little things were held in high esteem within the extended family: often a display of their antics (involving Shaolin aerobics upon fences and around silver birch trees) was a cause of much mirth and balsamic gaiety. It was remarked that watching this display was not unlike an episode of 'Jim: The Bergerac' crossed with a manga version of Channel 4's 'Skins'.

The 'fun' soon enough twitched it's ominous eye, flipped onto all fours and became 'unfun'.

They've part destroyed my bird feeding equipment (squirrel safe according to quite frankly false disclaimers) and mouth pocketed a large supply of the food intended for my British Birds.

And so this week I read about Captain Mark E Smiths from the band 'the Falls' admittance of Squirrel Murder somewhere in the Greater Manchester conurbation. Sadly, belying my own pacifistic outlook, I'm coming round to the fact that this route may be the way forward in order to save the bird party back stage, lawn left. Perhaps there's an old British recipe for cooking squirrels in a garlic and walnut roux? Or maybe I'll search the world wide wap for a humane squirrel trap and let them out in some other region. As it happens, I've seen reports today, via the television system, that there are prominent squirrel culls happening up and down the country and that the not so aerobic carcasses are now being offered as deluxe game.

I'll keep you posted.

The Thursday Night Steps

2008-03-14T11:06:00.009Z

I'm typing this between raucous bouts of coughing fits. I think since the 2nd January I've had a series of 'tag team' colds, one after a-blinking-nother.
It appears that most other people are falling like giant, shaven flies with the flu period (which has a government sponsored extension this year...perhaps down to a leap year, or the fact that the country has run out of money and everyone's on a downer). North, East, South and West I hear whoops of coughs cascading down the wind-stream. At least if helps alleviate my one eared tinnitus for a bit, but it's an environment akin to Brian Wilson throwing sledges at the Wu-Tang Clan.

I had a wander around Withington the other day, which on a good day is good place to live. I've been here long enough to just about bump into someone I know on each trip outside my front door. Whether it's the lollipop lady, the eastern European Big Issue seller, the local head-teacher at my daughters school, parents of my daughters friends, the colourful smack heads - I now have a whole host of them residing inside my memory brain. In occasional dreams, these characters bump into each other in the same space but different situations and roles.For example 'Crab' (name changed to protect and all that) the 'user-man' with regulation beard and limp has been transposed to head of my daughters school. Instead of prayer and clap hand songs in the morning, the school kids are instead asked to design bong wear made from old shoes and school dinner pans. Afterwards, instead of mouth piping 'We've got the whole world in our hands' they instead get to replicate Captain Beefheart's 'Trout Mask Replica' on modern, vertical radiators and discarded monitors and the works of Kraut rock band Can on spare post modern guttering. Inside and outside of dreams this is a fine primary school run really well (a recent Ofsted 'outstanding' report confirms this). A wide collection of cultures colliding and bouncing idea's off their absorbent craniums.
The lollipop lady becomes the butcher and instead of a giant traffic lollipop he has an enormous lamb shank to facilitate his new occupation.
The Bukowskiesque barfly/drunk finds himself flown from his gin perch and placed behind the desk in the library. In place of the silence common in libraries 'Bookowski Man' instead pipes Tom Waits long players through the audio system (an old version of iTunes on an archaic PC via flapjack sized speakers). He'll recommend books till he is blue in the face...it's quite hard to get away but you leave with a sense 'Bookowski Man' really loves his subject.

You can do all this to pretty much any town/village/city in the country although some towns in England are so paranoid about life these days that all shutters are permanently down and folk are intravenously linked to sky images and Morrison's ale and ultra refined cheese breads...I don't wish to name them. It'll help on those bored moments or insomnia driven headaches. Try it.

Back in the real world (although it's increasingly difficult for me to discern between dream world and 'real world') I stood on the corner of the entrance to Withington from Didsbury. To say this part has seen better days is like suggesting crack is bouncy. I dunno - I've never flung the product against a brick wall. It's a little run down doggy with ears made from two-tone vinyl records. However, at the other end of Withington High Street (as you head towards central Manchester) is being 'refurbished' then so is this. Pleasure Bar (which I always enjoyed in visits) is now closed due to demolition and a rebuild by local architects MBLA (who are superb as it happens - they created the Siemens building on Princess Parkway) has planning permission; a six storey apartment building with ground floor retail. Directly across the street is the large Victorian boozer 'White Lion'. This resembled a dodgy youth club/crack den towards the end...whether is was run into the ground for spurious reasons I cannot comment. I hoped this would be refurbed and turned into a decent gastro pub/restaurant akin to the Metropolitan in West Didsbury. Unfortunately instead, this will be turned into an apartment building (it's listed so it ain't going anywhere thankfully). Hopefully (and I believe this is part of the plans) there will be room on the ground floor for a couple of bars/cafes.
Completing this triangle will be the demolition and rebuild of CineCity. The oldest cinema in Manchester and third oldest in the country, this is being knocked down as we speak. A real shame it couldn't have been rescued and remain a small cinema (sister to the cornerhouse), although I'm extremely grateful a 'large UK pub chain' haven't got their mitts on it...that would've been a disaster for the village. I can imagine Withington resident and future Hollywood star Robert Donat (he of Goodbye Mr Chips and the original Hitchcock version of 'the 39 steps) becoming inspired by the movie world in this place and perhaps the same with John Mahoney (who played Frasier's dad Martin Crane in....Frasier!) amongst others.
This too is set to become a new apartment block with 'A4' retail opportunities. It would be great to see an independent coffee shop cum deli in this end of the village. I've only seen a small jpeg of the intended apartment block, but I can't say I'm overly impressed. Perhaps MBLA could've masterminded this 'triangle' of redevelopment?
Still, exciting times (despite the reservations from certain residents - perhaps content to see the place fold in on itself towards the marshland from whence it came).

On the way back I spotted the Vicar of Didsbury hurling abuse at the pavement as she waved a family sized bottle of white lightening at passing faces, although this could've been a dream...

wham

2008-01-08T18:25:00.000Z

For a ‘do’ this New Years Eve I self crafted a costume made from the remnants of pop stars past…I churned myself into Nirvana’s lead person Kurt Cobain.

I couldn’t quite manage the slightly smack addled, under nourished look having placed several stone on my person over the Christmas bits. The result was more a physiological amalgam of Curtis Steiger and Rod Steiger rather than Mr Cobain.

‘Are you Andrew Ridgeley’? I was asked by one patron of the said party.

‘Nope…I’m Burt Cocaine from Nahvanna’ I slurred out from a ‘Polish vodka with a blade of grass in it for some reason’ ridden tongue…

I then sat down with a lady who resembled Roy Kinnear in a Barry Gibb wig wondering if I should finish off the giant Onion Bhaji I’d started several hours ago.

I haven't, as yet, met anybody in the year of 2008 who was overblown with joyfulness over the Christmas celebrations. It appears that each year near the end of decembershire a whole host of people give themselves over to the 'porridge' experience. Force fed enjoyment tablets down a 'Foie tube'...a few rows and Morrison's whiskey later it's time to headbut walnuts till gone midnight. I'm thinking cheap log cabin/cottage/tent/large sized kinder egg in the lakes with the kids next year.

Good morning 2008…mind if I park up beside you?

Peter Costaferrata.