Day 263, Never forget a face, Bryan Ferry

Honestly, while walking down the road the other day, minding my own business, would you believe it but who should appear but Bryan Ferry.

You know there are those faces you can never forget.  It wasn't the hair, it wasn't the misshapen ears, but there it was, the enormous conk shaped exactly like a pear.

What a give away, it was absolutely 100% him.

It was quite clear that he was obviously a little the worse for wear, his eyes appeared to be pointing in different directions and he was wearing what appeared to be some sort of military hat in a plastic bag.

All the while though he had an enormous banana shaped grin on his face.

Really, he was doing an incredible impression of someone that was in the rudest of health.

Well, health in the sense that he was alive, and rude in that he told me to "fuck the fork fuck yer fucken forker yer" - at least that's what it sounded like.

Here, for your surprise and delectation I've recreated the scene.

And you are most welcome.

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Day 262, War memories, or not, your go

Let me tell you my war memories and about when I was in the SAS.

...

Oh, there aren't any.

Just not old enough I'm afraid.  Not unless it's anything since The Falklands which of course means there are plenty of memories of having seen it first hand on the TV.  And I was never in the SAS.

This though is something of a load of old padding before we get into the real meat of the matter.

What we have below is a 100% accurate representation of what it was like to be a prisoner in Colditz.

The guards could only move one space at a time, there were handily marked escape routes, and the location of tools and other items to be utilised in any escaper were obviously labelled.  All very efficiently organised and true to life.

As it says on the box the game was devised by Major P.R.Reid, M.B.E., M.C.  Or, Pat Reid as he was also known.  He was one of the few prisoners to escape from Colditz Castle, and the excellent story is told in his book The Colditz Story.

I love this game, though rarely play it.  It has forged papers, wooden pieces, Do or Die cards, lots of stuff that makes it ideal to become an iconic or even fetish item.  And look, it has a type of map too, lovely.

I've escaped from Colditz more times than Pat Reid, though not really that many as it's difficult to get a chance to play.

Anyway, this game is much better than my non-existent war memories.  And better than pretending to be a member of the SAS, which is what some people do.

What?

You've never met one of those people?  Well let me tell you which pubs to go into...

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Day 261, Piccadilly, Radio 261

Piccadilly Radio started broadcasting in Manchester in 1974 on 261 medium wave and "stereo 97" on FM.  It was not something that occurred to me at the time that the radio station was relatively new, we'd moved across the Pennines not long after that.  It must have been a pretty big deal, a commercial radio station with a very large reach.

Everyone at school listened to it.

At Christmas each year there would be a selection of DJs that would turn up to our school Christmas fair.  One year it was Gary Davies and Andy Peebles, even then in the 1970s Gary Davies affected a mid-atlantic accent and sported an eery orange glow.

Mike Shaft took over from Peebles presenting the soul music programme.  On one occasion Shaft told his listeners of a visit to a commercial radio station in Sheffield called "Sheffield Harlam".  Shaft must have been taking the piss, perhaps he found it too hard to resist while mimicking US DJs accents.  It was Hallam he was referring to.

For some reason Punk rarely featured on Piccadilly, they were sensitive to anything that would cause controversy.  Due to their dependency on advertising revenue they were generally very conservative in their output, but even so they were massively popular and were recognised as one of the best independents of the time.  Independent radio stations always struggle and there's the danger of pissing off advertisers who would be concerned about their products being associated with anything too far out.

We weren't concerned by the lack of punk on the wireless, we got our induction into the snotty new world from Tony Wilson on his Granada TV show, So It Goes.

An example of the sensitive nature of the time comes from a programme featuring one of their less two dimensional presenters.  James H. Reeve was always a little more lively, possibly even unruly (relatively speaking), and his Saturday night show was a must-listen.

Reeve had been in bother a few times but was an anarchic talent, a little like Kenny Everett except not quite at the same end of the political spectrum.  On June 13 1981 a 16 year old named Marcus Sarjeant fired six shots from a starting pistol quite close to the queen during the trooping of the colour.  Obviously this was a bad thing, but the Queen didn't bat an eyelid and got on with it.

Reeve on his show that night said something along the lines of "As I've been in trouble a few times I've been warned not to say anything, so here's Queen with Killer Queen".  It was hilarious.  That was his last show for Piccadilly Radio as he was immediately suspended then sacked.  They were touchy back then.

Reeve did various jobs after his dismissal and briefly in the 1990s became a presenter on Hallam FM, he may well have been sacked from there too.  Many of the other DJs of the day later went from Piccadilly to the BBC, taking their hilarious accents with them.  

The station broadcast from Piccadilly Plaza, that's the tallest of the buildings seen here in the middle.

It probably broadcasts from a former corner shop in Chorlton now.

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Day 260, Too much beer causes aliens

The concept of 'too much beer' is alien to some.  However, that's not the point.

In this case the alien has arrived to steal the beer.

Using special scanning techniques and mind-bending psychological rays the being from another place  arrived.

It had discovered that there was a superabundance of IPA in the vicinity of galactic sector ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha.

As the spacecraft approached the beer mountain it caused an enormous amount of atmospheric disruption.

A couple of Lake Superiors worth of water came down with the craft, and an enormous electrical discharge took place throughout the descent.

The alien then started to approach the location of the superior beer product.  Matter transference and stealth brought the alien into the premises.  But the alien met an unexpected challenge.

It's not bloody having my Bloody 'ell Blood Orange IPA I can tell you.

It'll have to fight me for it.

I'm not scared, no way, even though the alien is almost 7cm tall and might possibly give me a nasty graze.

Normally I'd be quite prepared to fight an alien which was almost a full 10cm in height.  But not today.  I had too much beer last night.

The alien surveying the area

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Day 259, You are being watched

The sensation that eyes are on you.

The flicker of movement at the periphery of vision.

Was that a sound of footsteps?

What's that unpleasant smell?  Oh, sorry, that was me.


Those early mornings on the journey into work.  Walking down familiar, and if you like to spice life up and have some adventure, the sometimes not so familiar streets.  Admittedly here this definition of adventure might not quite meet with yours, yes I know the idea that walking down unfamiliar streets can be quite daunting, but push those limits.

What strange things might be waiting to leap out?  What terrors lurk behind that sensation of eyes, that flicker of movement?

Well here I am to reveal the astounding detail and pull the rug from under the establishment.  Who would have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes and taken a picture of it with my own phone while standing on my own legs.  Who? Who? etc.

Amazing as it seems those silent watchers hidden behind the shrubbery, lurking in the alleyways, and standing brazenly behind some flimsy curtains, are a pair of royals who are directly in line to the throne after that Pass The Duchy biscuit fella.

Yes.  It's her and him.

I'm sorry I can't reveal anymore as being an ignorant republican I have no idea who these people are.  Well, other than that they are privileged parasites given the position of being able to scrounge off the state without being called such delightful things as:

shirkers not workers

skivers not strivers

wedded to welfare


And here they are blatantly wanking away their free time, when not collecting flowers and poncing about, by staring out of random windows at their subjects.  Well this citizen repudiates the term 'subject', they can stuff it up their Balmoral.

That's told them.

Ok, they aren't actually wanking.

A few weeks later they appeared to have folded themselves in half, that's probably the only time a royal has bent over backwards.  It turned out they were completely made of cardboard, and so had significantly more dimensions than the real thing.

Is that too mean?  After all they are people, barring the privilege no different from the rest of us.

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Day 258, Stay sharp, stay keen

Get plenty of sleep.

Eat a plenty of fruit and veg.

Get exercise, lots of it, but not too strenuous.

Watch out for coughs and sneezes, if anyone within 50 metres of you displays any symptoms immediately get some exercise by moving away from them at moderate to high speed.

Don't fall into a routine, do different things, walk a different route to work.

Walk to work.  Don't let living in a different town or city stop you, it'll just take you longer to get there but your employer won't mind, in fact they'll be impressed that you're keeping mind and body in good fettle.

Walk to work.

Don't be repetitive, have I said that?

And always keep a set of Japanese water stones available if you actually want to keep a steel implement sharp and keen.

That was laboured wasn't it.

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Day 257, Bike rehab, it's come to this

As a cyclist for many years it has been my unfortunate experience to have known some right old tearaways of bicycles.

Some of them would stop out all night chained to railings, some of them would appear to be doing a good job and then one end or the other would suddenly let you down, and some while gearing up or down would leave you stuck after a cable snap.

Perhaps it's the nature of their upbringing, maybe poverty, or neglect, mistreatment, abuse, who knows what has had the effect of disrupting what could have been a satisfactory life.  These poor devices may sometimes turn to drinking light oils, or prescription lubricants or even the abuse of substances in the puncture repair kit, after that it is a bumpy ride downhill.

But there are avenues of escape - yes it's true that the formerly shiny mode of transport has to reach a point of recognition, of willingness to change course - therapy (wheel-truing), counselling (neuro-linguistic pedalling), and other forms of rehabilitation, repainting and re-chroming, are all available to those that are willing to change and have the requisite support and funding.

These things are much more visible than they used to be, no longer a sign of weakness or cause for shame.  So it should be no surprise to see this new bold initiative to advertise the bike rehab services available in a city centre near you.

And what delightful surroundings too.

Just behind the bins.

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