One more day till Halloween.

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...

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

 

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!