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Thursday, July 24th, 2008
7:54 pm	The "Wages of Fear" sketch As I write this I have 49 weeks and 1 day to my retirement. At my age the last thing I want to do is wish anything of what I have left of my life away - but: Since the Nasty Brothers bought the shitty factory where I work some six months ago things have gone from very bad to feckin' worse. Mr Nasty, who is running the operation from his headquarters in Leicester, has been buying the cheapest, nastiest timber imaginable; it's either piss-wet through, flaky (planks with the tree bark still clinging to the underside) or full of bugs. This strategy enables him to quote the cheapest prices to potential customers, and inso has brought him a lot of work from exporters in the Greater Manchester area. Things have been so busy at the shitty factory that as well as the 9 East European workers (5 young men and 4 young women) we've now got, they also started another fully-trained casemaker. One of the lads who was working with the new guy, (Paul, who is in his late 20s), asked him how much he was getting paid an hour. Paul told him that he didn't know, as the manager had yet to see him about his hourly rate. Paul was finally called up to the manager's office on Friday and told that he would be on £7 an hour (the rest of us are on £7.40p). All the shop floor workers were pissed off about it. The guy must have been really desperate to get the job for him to do a full week's work before he found out how much an hour he was getting paid (He'll probably jump through a fiery hoop if the manager asks him to, were my first thoughts on the matter). And it hammered home the fact that even though we haven't had a pay rise for three years, Mr Nasty is trying to knock our basic wage down even further. A workmate the same age as myself said, "You've got to laugh at it Mike, we can't afford to take it serious at our age." And with that in mind, I composed a little scenario of how the manager came up with the figure of £7 for Paul's hourly rate. Hope it makes you smile: The Wages of Fear Manager: "You are no doubt aware by now that we have several East European workers here. They are paid the minimum wage, which is £5.60p per hour. But as you are a fully-trained casemaker, I will be paying you more than that. So I intend to ask you a few questions that will enable me to assess your value to the company. Is that all right with you?" Paul: "Yes, fine." Manager: "Right, I'll start by putting you on the minimum wage, and see how far we can get you towards the rest of the fully-trained casemakers' hourly rate. Are you a member of a trade union?" Paul: "No." Manager: "Good. £5.80p. Have you any intention of of becoming a member of a trade union whilst working for the company?" Paul: "No." Manager: "£6. Are you willing to work alongside and take responsibility for people who speak only a few words of English?" Paul: "Yes." Manager: "£6.20p. Are you prepared to work seven days a week whilst the workload calls for it?" Paul: "Yes, I need the money." Manager: "Good answer. £6.40p. If asked - and I can assure you that you will be on a regular basis - would you be willing to work from 7am in the morning until 8pm in the evening and sometimes beyond?" Paul: "Yes." Manager: "£6.60p. Do you masturbate?" Paul: "What?" Manager: "Do you take yourself in hand for your own sexual gratification?" Paul: "No." Manager: "£6.40p." Paul: "Why are you docking me 20p?" Manager: "Because you're a bloody liar!" Paul: "But I thought you meant during working hours." Manager: "OK, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt this time. I'll put you back on £6.60p. You most likely will have noticed that we have several young women amongst our East European workers. How many of them would you like to have a romantic interlude with? Outside working hours, of course." Paul: "All of them." Manager: "Good man. £6.80p. How many of our male East Europeans would you like to have a romantic interlude with? I don't want their names, just how many." Paul: "None of them." Manager: "Good. £7. We don't want any of that around here, do we?" Paul: "No." Manager: "That wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact! Now I must test your sporting knowledge. Using style and flair as benchmarks, who are the best footballing team in the Premiership?" Paul: (having already noticed the framed photo on the manager's office wall of Kenny Dalglish holding aloft the European Cup) "Liverpool." Manager: "Correct. £6.80p." Paul: "But if my answer was correct, how come you're docking me 20p again?" Manager: "Because of that Manchester United tattoo on your arm - keep it covered up in future son! Right, we've come to the final question. I must warn you that it is a fairly tough one, which is why I am offering you two options: You can choose to attempt to answer the question; in which case, if you give me the correct answer I'll put you on £7.40p an hour, which is the same as all our other fully-trained casemakers are getting; but if you give me the wrong answer, I'll put you on £6.60p per hour. Or you can choose to skip the question altogether and I'll put you on the £7 an hour that you have so far proved yourself worthy of." Paul: "Do I get to hear the question before I decide whether or not to answer it?" Manager: "Certainly not!" Paul: "Do I get to know on what subject the question will be before I decide?" Manager: "Yes. Your final question will be on Astrophysics." Paul: "That's not exactly my strongest subject. I think I'd better skip it and take the £7 an hour." Manager: "Fair enough. Just sign this contract, and you can return to your work. (handing Paul a form and a biro pen) Don't worry about the small print - it doesn't mean anything, but we have to put it in to comply with current health and safety legislation." Paul: (signing the form) "Can I ask what the final question would have been?" Manager: "Yes. It would have been: What stops the Universe from falling apart?" Paul: "Shit, I know that one. It's Cold Dark Matter, isn't it?" Manager: "It is indeed. Tough luck son! (taking the signed contract from him) Welcome to Nasty Brothers." Current Mood: satisfied Current Music: "Starlight" Muse (Comment on this)
Monday, December 31st, 2007
2:32 pm	Thoughts on another year gone by GOOD VIBES: TLS and self becoming Great Grandparents to baby Silas. Well done Melanie! Meeting Sherrie: Sherrie: "We've met before. I seem to keep getting drawn to you." Michael: "Ah yes - Suzannah, Boston 1773, we were there for The Party." And so The Time-traveller and His Dog came into being: http://www.thetime-travellerandhisdog.blogspot.com Holiday in Prague with Ann and Marion. Visiting Franz Kafka's family home. After twenty odd years of pain, frustration and misery, Manchester City have a decent football team again. Doing the gig at the Chorlton Literary Festival. A full house, had 'em all laughing. Although I've had quite a few offers, I've not done a gig since. Tis not that I'm quitting while ahead, just not felt like doing any. Going with John Crumpton to see 6 short films of his at the Salford Film Festival, and guzzling plenty big glasses of free bucks fizz after the screening. BAD VIBES: Son Michael is still not talking to us - not even a Christmas card from him. Now that he is a Granddad one would have thought that he would have grown up a bit. Mind you, I didn't grow up myself til I was well gone 50. The shitty factory where I work being taken over by a bunch of bad hats, The Neal Brothers. At their other factories they employ east european labour on the minimum wage, and also own the houses where the workers lodge, so the Nasty Brothers get most of the workers' wages returned in rent, food and laundering services. Welcome back to the 19th century folks! The only reason Man City are a good football team again is because of the money that has been poured into the club via the ex prime minister of Thailand, who has currently exiled himself in England to avoid facing charges of corruption and murder in his own country. "I've been framed," he declares to the press. So it goes! SO-SO SOUP: Although I don't write to her anymore (cos she never replies), I have tracked down Heather via a blog of hers. She went on a tour of India, met an Indian guy, converted to Muslim and married him. Yes, I know it sounds like another of Heather's flights of fancy, but there are pics of her in her Muslim garb on her blog, and comments from worried friends and relatives at: http://www.adventuresinmeandering.blogspot.com (there are no pics of her new husband, as she says he is "a very private person") Could it be Ozzie The Bin his very self? Michael wonders. A Happy New Year to everyone. Wishing you Peace, Love, Prosperity and Adventure. Michael Current Mood: good Current Music: "Durutti Column - Best of" (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, May 26th, 2007
2:10 pm	Poet found TLS and self were at Ann's last night. Sheila was there; both her and Ann were well on the way to drunkdom by the time we arrived. Anyways, I found out the name of the 'headlining' poet from last week's gig, as Ann had bought one of his books: Mike Garry. He has some stuff on the web, he's very good, very Mancunian. Current Music: "Rumplestiltskin" John Otway (Comment on this)
Monday, May 21st, 2007
9:09 pm	Literary gig The 'literary' gig at The Lloyds on Saturday night went down very well indeed. TLS and self got there at 9.30. Steve Chadwick's jazz band The Mad Hatters were playing downstairs, the literary gig was upstairs. Both rooms were packed out. Ann and Marion made it back from Wales; Bob and his son Joe were there, as well as Joe "Pop Star" Roberts. The first half was just finishing when we got there. During the break I had a word with the guy who was running the gig, and blagged the spot before the 'headline' poet. I told him my submission piece for the anthology wasn't very long, and talked him into letting me do a short set. All the other readers were using a mic: I don't need one, as I have an attention commanding voice, due to all the mass union meetings I used to address back in the 1970s. I started off: "I'll dispense with the mic - the feedback plays havoc with my athlete's foot", and that set the tone for the rest of the set. I did "Spitting Feathers", as that one always comes as a 'wake up you at the back' shock to folk who haven't seen my act before: did a new piece "The very, very naughty time-traveller"; read my submission piece; and finished off with my new dramatic version of The Smiths' "Girlfriend in a coma". All the pieces were very well received, plenty of loud laughter throughout. It was only the second time that TLS has seen my stage act, the last time was my back in 1986. I asked her afterwards did I make her laugh: she said "Yes, you reminded me very much of your mother." My mother was a very, very funny woman; not that she would ever have dreamed of 'doing her act' outside family and friends' houses - that is obviously where I get my comedy streak from, but until TLS mentioned it I had never looked at it that way. The headlining poet, I didn't catch his name, was a tall, thirty-something with a pony-tail, and was very good; towards the end of his act he started touting his latest book, and sold a few copies afterwards - Ann bought one. I thought of maybe trying to sell a couple of my many left over copies of "Canals and Meaning" at future gigs - but then thought, Naw, that's not what it's all about. A woman approached me afterwards, telling me how much she'd enjoyed my act, and asked if I'd had anything published, or did I have a website. I directed her to Nouveau Proletarian at Writing.com - don't know what she'll make of that stuff though; folk may howl with laughter at my stage act, but very few see the humour in my stories. Bob won two tickets for yesterday's Lanceshire v. Yorkshire cricket match, so he invited me along with him. It was a perfect day for cricket; sunny with the occasional bank of puffy white clouds passing overhead. The sun didn't seem all that fierce, as there was a cool, gentle breeze all day; but when I arrived back home the family said "Look at your face!". It was as red as a tomato. Current Mood: cheerful Current Music: "After the Click" Biting Tongues (Comment on this)
Wednesday, May 16th, 2007
5:40 pm	Drink On Sunday night Bob told TLS and self that gigs are going to be very thin on the ground for him for a couple of weeks, so he won't won't have any money for going for a drink until his gig this Thursday. So, in solidarity TLS and I decided that we would stay in until Thurs; and above and beyond that, we wouldn't have any alcoholic drink. TLS does not drink at home; but I do, I love a beer when I get home from work. And I can't remember when I last went three days without a drink, must have been many, many years ago. I seem to be managing though; one day to go and I haven't suffered any discomfort yet. Current Mood: thirsty (Comment on this)
Sunday, May 13th, 2007
2:29 pm	Comic Cuts Very busy week again: my don't the days fly when you're a great grandparent! TLS and self were out every night bar Monday. Tuesday met Bob in The Whalley for the last hour. Wednesday was Ann's birthday;she invited us to her gaff, where we participated in a lovely chinese banquet that she ordered from restaurant in Chinatown. Plenty beer was imbibed by self. Thursday we went to The Lloyds to see Bob's band Bourbon Street Preachers. Was so wet on Friday and Sat, we ventured no further than local late-night club,Alis. Last night we watched Euro Song Contest in there: it was followed by TOTP2 doing an hour of old Euro hits: The Delectable Sandie Shaw, Mary Hopkins, Clodagh Rogers, Abba, et al - far more interesting than today's pap. We invited Ann and Marion to breakfast at a Chorlton cafe bar this morn, as a thank-you for the last two meals they invited us to. Had a lovely time, but it set me back £27 - fer feck's sake I paid less than that for my last suit! I'll have to get my horses running extra fast this afternoon to lessen the damage to my wallet. A couple of weeks ago I came to the conclusion that it's near to impossible to get my fictions published RealWorldside these days: so, as I still get many requests to do my stand-up act, I decided to forget the fiction for a while and concentrate on writing 'comedy' stuff. Have got a couple of new short pieces worked out, plus my own dramatic version of The Smiths' "Girlfriend in a coma". And things have suddenly started coming on a-pace. Whilst at The Lloyds on Thursday night, I picked up a brochure about Chorlton Arts Festival, which starts this week. Now usually when Michael sees the words 'Chorlton' and 'Arts' in the same sentence, he automatically thinks 'Yups' and 'Yogurt Weavers'. But on Friday evening I gave the brochure a once over, and noticed that the festival organisers are asking for submissions to an anthology they are publishing on the theme of "Chorlton - a sense of place" Now, it justs so happens that I have been working on a piece which would fit that job description to a tee. I also read that the closing date for entries is this coming Monday. When we got home from Ali's on Friday night, I gave the piece a final polish, and submitted it to the Festival's e-mail address. Saturday morn I received a return e-mail from Fiona Stuart, literary organiser of the Fest. I don't want to be too presumptive, but I think they are taking the piece, as Ms Stuart invited me to read it at a Festival Literary gig at The Lloyds next Saturday night. I'm hoping that I'll get the chance to do a try-out of some of my new stuff too. Tonight I'm meeting Bob at the Hillary Step jazz night. There is a woman singer on, who Bob says is very good. Will only stay for the first set though, then return home to take Sandy out to Ali's, as our lottery-winning friends, Red Tony and Kathy, are coming over from Droylsden. Current Mood: creative Current Music: "Lawyers, guns and money" Warren Zevon (Comment on this)
Monday, April 30th, 2007
7:07 pm	Great gig Went to The Hillary Step jazz night last. My mate Bob books the musicians: on Thursday he'd told me that Ed Barnwell was playing. Ed is a brilliant composer/pianist, always has a top class musician playing alongside him, so I put it down as a must go. The Lovely Sandra wasn't up for going out; so I decided to have the full night there instead of heading back to Ali's for late-night drinking session. The guy who was playing with Ed turned out to be a Romanian, (he pronounced his homeland 'Rumania', much to Michael's delight - it was Rumania when I was at school, and it'll be that to me for ever!), Mikhail Cheetu on double bass. They started by playing smooth stuff; then after a couple of numbers Mikhail started to play his bass with a bow, and produced some of the most beautiful music that I've ever heard. Regular punters were used to the genius of Ed Barnwell, but this new guy had everyone mesmerised. Taking nothing away from Ed, who started their second set with a couple of his own compositions with Mikhail fingering the double base, you could sense that everyone was waiting for him to get his bow out again. He didn't disappoint us; playing a number of hauting melodies with Ed improvising around them. Audience called for more a couple of times afore the bar owner pulled the plug at 11 o'clock. Talking to Mr Cheetu over a couple of pints afterwards, he told us that he drew his inspiration from Transalvanian Jewish music. Bob said: "I've got a CD of Transalvanian music. It's very sad and sombre." To which Mr Cheetu replied with a broad smile on his face: "Transalvanian Jews - you want happy? Are you mad?" And we all fell about laughing. Current Mood: happy Current Music: "Beware of the flowers" John Otway (Comment on this)
Saturday, April 28th, 2007
11:18 am	New baby Melanie and new baby Silas came out of hospital on Tues. We all went round to see them on Wednesday evening. He is so small, and beautiful. Alas, there was a very scary ending to our visit. When we were going out to the car, we heard gunshots, and three black lads came running out of an alleyway up the street towards us. Needless to say, we all rushed back into the house. Next day we read in the papers that a young black lad had been shot in the face. Sadly, this is a regular occurance in the area where Melanie lives, Moss Side. (Comment on this)
Monday, April 23rd, 2007
8:03 pm	Great Grandparents Our Granddaughter Melanie's baby was not due until 9th May; but on Saturday afternoon she started having contractions; so her mum took her to hospital, where they said she was not yet ready, but kept her in overnight. Then Sunday evening it was rush to the hospital again, where Mel went into slow labour. Today at work I got a phone call to say that Melanie had had a baby boy at 10.15: 6lb 1oz birth weight - she is going to call him Silas, although her boyfriend Ashley does not like that name. Mel sent us a photo on her the mobile phone - he is smiling, looks lovely. So, The Lovely Sandra and self are now Great Grandparents, should be feeling really ancient, but feel just the opposite. Current Mood: happy Current Music: "Dub Housing" Pere Ubu (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, April 5th, 2007
5:11 pm	Easter, eh? Started Easter hols early. Finished work yesterday until Tuesday. The intrigue at work is moving, slowly. The owners have sold the factory, split the proceeds and the two sleeping partners have taken the money and run. The business is still chugging along, been very busy over last couple of months, but managing director who is left holding the baby is itching to pull the plug, leaving us all to claim redundancy from the state as he'll be claiming there's no money left in the business. Our Union is on the case; Union Rep has got a member of parliament (Labour) involved, but MP wants names of businesses that sleeping partners have already pulled the same stroke with afore he can get his teeth fully into the matter. Union wrote to managing director for said information; but he refused to name them. Will take a lot of research to pursue such. I've trawled the net looking for clues, but only come up with two companies they are/were involved with, and they still seem to be trading. Meanwhile - back on the shop floor: the Neanderthal foreman fired a gun nail into his finger a couple of Fridays ago. Like the 'hard bastard' he thinks he is, he pulled out the nail with a pair of pliers and strapped up his finger with masking tape, so that he could still work the following Saturday and Sunday overtime. By Sunday afternoon his finger had gone stiff and his hand had swollen up to three times its normal size, so he decided to go to hospital to have it 'seen to'. It turned out that the nail had entered his finger bone and done untold damage; they kept him in hospital overnight, and next morn the doc told him that his finger might remain permenantly stiff (no penis jokes please - that particular gag has been done to death), or he might even have to have it surgically removed - he's already had one finger amputated on the same hand through a similar mishap (Michael cannot resist plagarizing Oscar Wilde: "To lose a finger is tragic, but to lose two is downright carelessness." - but whatever, the Neanderthal be off work for some time. Shop floor opinion is that it serves him right for watching other people instead of watching what he was doing. The delicious irony of it all is that he is the company First Aid man. My pal Bob is playing with the Bourbon Street Preachers at The Lloyds in Chorlton tonight, TLS and self will be in attendance. Tomorrow Man City are on tv, playing Charlton Athletic in a relegation dogfight; Michael will watch the game at the pub. And after that there's still three days holiday left - deep joy! Current Mood: happy Current Music: "Badger Boys" The Dancing Did (Comment on this)
Friday, March 2nd, 2007
8:10 pm	Last night's gig The Lovely Sandra and self were late getting out, due to us both falling asleep on return from work. Got down to The Lloyds at 9.30, just after Bourbon Street Preachers had finished their first set. The place was quite full, but spotted Bob straight away: he reckoned they had gone down well. Ann and Marion arrived just as I was getting the drinks in. The only table vacant table left was in an alcove at the back, to where the four of us repaired. I decided to sack my Folk Club gig when the landlady announced that there would be FREE Cajun food for all at 10.30: spicy chicken, chilly con carne with tortilla and clam chowder. The band's second set went well, playing standard New Orleans R&B numbers, Bob outstanding on lead guitar, the singer belting it out in impressive gruff voice. When they'd finished, Bob came over and told us that the band had been rebooked for the next two Thursdays; but said he didn't fancy playing the same stuff again week after week - he would rather play calypso, reggae or jazz. Ann and Marion told us that they had found cheap air flights to Prague, where the four of us are planning to go for 4 days in August. TLS and self said that as the flights were so cheap we should spend a bit more on the hotel, and try to book one in the old part of the city. Oooh, Michael cannot wait to traispe the very streets that Franz Kafka walked while he composed another a short story out of last night's dream. Current Mood: thirsty Current Music: "Free Falling" Tom Petty (Comment on this)
Sunday, February 25th, 2007
1:45 pm	Everything happening at once Haven't had much time to brood on my return to work tomorrow after two rather lazy weeks on the sick. Last Sunday night Joe Roberts called in Ali's, trying to pursuade Bob and self to do a spot at the Chorlton Folk Club "Beatles" theme night on March 1st. Bob wasn't really up for it, as he ain't a Beatles fan; but he said he'd be willing to do reggae versions of a couple of their songs, 'but I won't be doing "Oh, bla, di", that's for sure!' Seeing as I haven't done any performance stuff this year, I told Joe I'd do a short set, thinking that I'd a few jokes on the lines of: "Matron has given me special dispensation to attend tonight's prestigious event. Like they say: If you can remember the 60's, you should have had your cocoa by now, and be tucked-up in bed. Here's some stuff that John Lennon nicked out of my dustbin" - and then read a couple of poems from Lennon's "A Spaniard in the Works". Yesterday afternoon I got an e-mail from Bob saying he was going to sack the Beatles night, as he had been offered a gig, guesting with Cajun band Bourbon Street Preachers, on the same evening. At 7 o'clock my friend Ann phones: she's back from her holiday home in Morroco, and is inviting TLS and self out for a drink at the Lloyds in Chorlton. TLS and I went out early, to catch the Irish band's first set in the Royal Oak, which turned out to be a lone singer/guitarist with backing tapes; so we just had one pint and left. As we were approaching the Lloyds I saw a big notice on the wall outside: "Thurs: Live Music: Bourbon Street Preachers". With Bob not mentioning the venue in his e-mail, I had automatically assumed that they were playing at one of the Hulme pubs. Knowing that TLS doesn't like Hulme, as you have to walk down Cobra Alley to get to most of the pubs from the nearest bus stop, I hadn't told her about Bob's gig. But when I see the notice I tell her. "Oh, we'll have to come to that." she says. And when Ann arrives and we start chatting, she too says she'll come to the gig. So I's left with a problem. Chorlton Folk Club is about a mile down the road from the Lloyds. I'm currently pondering on whether I should get a taxi down to the Folk Club about 10.30, do my 15 minute set, and then get another taxi back to the Lloyds - and meanwhile tomorrow's return to shitty factory has started to loom large in my consciousness. Current Mood: frustrated Current Music: "I don't wanna go home" The Ramones (Comment on this)
Saturday, February 24th, 2007
10:43 am	Good gig, very Last night Bob, John and I went to a new music venue, Islington Mill, over the river in the city of Salford (Manchester's ugly sister, as my pal Red Tony calls the place) The purpose of our visit was to attend an evening of 'avant-garde' music. Bob and John know several members of The Biting Tongues, who were the headline band, as they had videoed a couple of their gigs in the early 1980s when they were working at the Manchester Film and Video Workshop. The Biting Tongues were formed back in the 1970s during the heady days of the Manchester Punk/New Wave scene, but only do the occasional gig nowadays. Although I do know indie filmmaker Howard Warmsley,who plays sax in the band, until last night I had never seen them play, nor heard any of their recorded stuff, so I had no idea of what I was in for. Islington Mill is an old cotton mill that is in the process of being converted into artists' studios, performance art spaces, etc. When we arrived at the place we found that the entrance was a small wooden door in the middle of a long brick wall, with a big, friendly doorman on guard outside. T'was £5 entrance fee, which seemed very good value indeed, seeing as there were 3 bands on the menu. After walking down a slight incline that turned a couple of corners on the way, we found ourselves in what would have been the basement/cellar of the old mill. The time being 9.30 when we arrived, there weren't many folk there. What turned out to be the only disappointment of the night was that they didn't have any draught beer at the bar, only bottles of lager at £2 a throw. We begrudgingly bought bottles of Carlsberg,(40p at Captain Peacock's Quality Saver in Chorlton) and had a look around the place. It looked quite an impressive venue: size of a small club, bare brick walls, lots of iron pillars, with the stage at the far end of the room - you could sense that the place had a good vibe about it. First band on were Space Heads: a bloke blowing a soprano sax into a mic, whilst two other guys huddled over what looked to be a mixing desk from which a series of weird, though not unmelodic, noises were eminating. Silly Michael thought the two guys were trying to sort out the sound for the guy playing sax afore the rest of the band came on stage - but after ten minutes or so, when Bob suggested that we retire to the nearest pub for while, the penny finally dropped that this was their actual set. We went to the Crescent Inn, a 'real ale' pub on Salford Crescent. On the way to the pub we passed the Victorian facade of Salford Hospital. Much to my surprise, John informed me that the hospital had been turned into 'luxury' flats many years ago. We had a few pints and a good natter in the pub, Bob insisting that we had a large Jamesons afore we left. We got back to the gig at 11.30, just as the second band, Triclops were finishing their set: they were loud and forceful, I was a little sorry that we had missed their set. The place was getting packed by this time, a strange mix of beautiful young persons and old timers like ourselves (apologies to John and Bob, who both are 5 years younger than self). The Biting Tongues appeared on stage shortly after we had purchased further bottles of Carlsberg at the bar. I went down to the front, next to the wall of speakers, along with John who was taking photos of the band with his digital camera. When they began their set I was pleasantly surprised,very: sax, base, drums, a multi-instumentalist playing sax, guitar and violin (though not at the same time), and a vocalist in a dirty old anoraky coat like the one I wear at work on cold days - with the vocalist and sax player taking turns at a synthesizer during their set. They played a terrific set of what I can only describe as avant-garde/psychodelic/funk with chunks of modern jazz, Captain Beefheart, Talking Heads type stuff thrown into their melting pot. Their music was loud, fast and very danceable; many young folk dancing at the front, and even Michael's feet were cutting the imaginary rug as they played. "I don't know how you can put up with the loudness this close up," John said, afore retiring to the back of the room. It seemed a waste of time trying to tell him over the noise that 40 years of working in noisey shitty factory has done-in my hearing to a large extent - their are certain pitches of sound that I cannot hear at all nowadays. Towards the end of the set someone passed me a half-smoked joint, which was mighty welcome as the band cranked it up a notch for their final two numbers. Lots of cheering - and 'Yo, yo, yoes' from self - coaxed them into an encore, and ten minutes later the gig was over. When I went to rejoin Bob, he was talking with Howard's partner Christine; and John was talking with the band's lead singer. It seems the band had been a little apprehensive aforehand, as they hadn't played together for 3 years or so, but all seemed happy with the way the gig had gone. We had another bottle of overpriced lager and then made our way home. Arrived home just afore 1.30 - excellent gig, cracking evening, very! Current Mood: thirsty Current Music: "Dub Housing" Pere Ubu (Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 13th, 2007
1:25 pm	free falling Last Saturday evening I was standing on the toilet in the bathroom (like you do) in an attempt to change the lightbulb. Whilst unscrewing the dead bulb, I lost my footing and fell, scraping a lump of skin off my shin and banging my ribs on the side of the bath. Luckily, nothing was broken; but my ribs are still sore now (Tuesday), which has caused me to take another week off work - I'd only been back a week since my last sick leave. Happily my injuries have not affected my social life. Bob Jones is now running the sunday night jazz club at The Hillary Step: on Sunday he had booked Ed Kenyak (sax) and Ed Barnwell (piano). I have met Ed Kenyak many times socially, but until Sunday had never heard him play. The place was packed out; and once the two Eds started their first set it became obvious why there were so many punters in attendance. They were absolutely brilliant, real virtuoso stuff from both guys. Unfortunately I had to leave after the first set, as TLS and I had arranged to meet our lottery millionaire friends Red Tony and Kathy at the local community club. Yes, they are back together again, after falling out not long after winning the money. They do not appear to be spending much of their winnings. Kathy was wearing a new dress, "from George of Asda" she proudly declared. Red Tony was wearing a Ben Sherman shirt, a definite upmarket move on his part. Kathy is still driving her old shed of a car. "Aren't you going to buy a new one?" TLS asked. "Yes, I might get another car," Kathy replied, "but I'm not buying a new one". Kathy went on to say that they were having their first holiday together - taking Kathy's two daughters on a day trip to London. On the way home TLS told me that she was most disappointed that Kathy and Tony weren't spending their winnings like sailors on shore leave. TLS's philosophy is: it's a waste of time doing the lottery if your not going to go on a full-time spending binge should you win it. But I think it's great that Red Tony and Kathy have won all that money and, other than that they won't ever have to worry about paying bills anymore, it hasn't changed them one bit. Current Mood: thirsty Current Music: "Girlfriend in a coma" The Smiths (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, January 29th, 2007
7:50 pm	'orrible dream Last night I dreamed I put men's colouring lotion on my hair, and it turned out jet black, and I looked a real feckin' idiot. Much relieved to wake up to find my hair was still dirty-grey. Mi thinks the dream was due to me contracting a heavy cold over the weekend, which has caused me to go on the sick for a week. Meanwhile, back at the shitty factory: My colleague on the negotiating committee was in touch with the union rep last Friday, and the rep told him that he was asking the union's legal department to apply for a court injunction to freeze the company's assets. If it comes off, it will very much focus the owner's mind on his social responsibilities. Whether what the owner is doing is legal or not, it is still morally reprehensible for him to run off with his millions and leave the taxpayer to foot the bill for his employees' redundancy payments, holiday pay, etc. I went out to a couple of films last week. Last Wed John and I went to the Cuthbert Club to see 1942 comedy "Happidrome", which was sooo wanky it put me into a light stupor. Am now convinced that the Cuthbert Club is just an excuse for media folk to talk business amongst themselves in between the films. I mean, if Cuthbert is putting on black and white 40s/50s comedy films, you'd think he'd show a Will Hay film now and again, wouldn't yer? On Sunday, TLS and self went to see "Da Je Vu" (No, there won't be any jokes about us having the feeling that we'd already seen it). It wasn't too bad: Denzil Washington was excellent, and there was plenty of good cinematography. On the down side, a lot of the dialog was contrived to blind the audience with science, but this time-travel buff noticed several gaping black holes in their theorising. I dunno, it's a life, innit? 'tis enough to drive one into cyberspace. Current Mood: cheerful Current Music: "Black holes and revelations" Muse (Comment on this)
Saturday, January 20th, 2007
4:32 pm	Bad news on my doorstep It was bad vibes at the wage negotiations. On Wednesday, when he finally returned from Spain, the owner of the shitty factory told us that he and his sleeping partners have sold the factory building to land developers, and are going to lease it back from them until they can sell the business itself as a going concern. Hearing this we told him: "Now you have lots of cash in hand, you can afford to give us a decent pay rise." To which he replied: "The money has gone", and he went on to tell us that if the worst comes to the worst we won't get any redundancy money - and at that he would say no more on the matter. (We are of the opinion that one of the sleeping partners has pissed off with the money; we have heard that the main shareholder has recently moved to Switzerland. Rumours from middle management are that the owner has not yet signed the lease-back agreement with the land developers. The union rep told us that we would have to claim redundancy money from the government should the owner suddenly declare bankruptcy, which will only be basic licks and will take months to come through.) The owner finished up offering us a 2.5% increase, which is well below the rate of inflation. The lads are voting on Monday as to whether to accept his offer. Alas, we can't do much about it in the way of strike action, as there is now a lot of non-union labour in the factory who would relish the extra overtime it would bring them should we strike or ban overtime. It has been bad news week all round. The stewardess at Ali's, our local community club, told us that they would be closing the place as a pub at Easter, and just opening for function bookings thereafter. They say they cannot afford the license and insurance for late-night drinking now the new "24 hour drinking" regulations have come into force; yet, paradoxically, it is the late-night drinking crowd that keeps the place running, as for years it has been a watering hole for thisty musicians returning from their gigs. Other than the bingo crowd on Thurs and Sun, they get no customers in afore 10.30. The regulars will have to try to get something sorted, as we know from experience that once a community centre closes, it's gone for good. Yet, all is not ill news: Manchester City managed to win through to the next round of the F. A. Cup - gotta have your priorities right, ain't yer? Current Mood: chipper Current Music: later (Comment on this)
Monday, January 8th, 2007
7:56 pm	Beggars DO ride Well, I finally got around to writing the piece on the record John and I made in the late 70s Here we go 2, 3, 4 John Cooper Clarke: my part in his downfall Although John Cooper Clarke is five years younger than myself, at the time John Crumpton were making plans for putting out the “Cult Figure” record it seemed that he had always been two years or so ahead of me. I joined the Manchester Anarchists in 1972, two years after Clarkie had left them; I started writing for “Voices” lit mag in 1977, two years after he stopped sending in his contributions; and by the time "I married a cult figure from Salford" was released, Clarkie had been putting records out for two years or more. Although Clarkie and I had never been friends, or acquaintances even, our paths had crossed several times and we'd passed a few words at various gigs and social gatherings around Manchester. I had attended a lot of his performances in the early 70s at the Black Lion on Chapel Street and many other jazz / folk venues around the city. He was good, very good: wrote humorous poems, overflowing with intellect and imagination, which his Salfordian nasal-toned delivery did full justice to - and he looked as cool as fuck. Regular punters at his gigs knew that he would eventually find a wider audience for his stuff; and even when his poetry began to lose its political bite, we still remained enthralled by his humorous word-play and snappy delivery. In the mid 70s Clarkie went off the radar for a while; and when he re-appeared his new-found manager Tosh Ryan, co-founder of Rabid Records, had him pointed in the direction of the then burgeoning Punk market. Clarkie's first record, put out by Rabid, “Psycle Sluts”, was set to a fast jazzy background, and was in itself a little gem. Rumour in the music press had it that Bob Dylan had heard the record and thought it “Very interesting”. But from then on, despite the broadsheet press showering him with critical acclaim and him signing to a major record label, to my mind the quality of the records he put out went steadily downhill. I went to see him at a couple of punk venues before he upped roots and moved south to Stevenage; and although he still looked the same - except that he was now wearing a tight-fitting suit - and his voice sounded the same, he was delivering his back catalog of poems at 90 miles per hour; gone were all the subtle nuances and post-ironic humour that he had crafted into his earlier stage performances, putting across to this punter that he didn't give a fuck about his poems any more. (It is easy in hindsight to understand why he was rapidly becoming nothing more than a hollow characature of his former self; but at that time I wasn't privy to what was happening amongst the insiders on the music scene, and little was I to know that Clarkie had recently acquired an addiction to hard drugs) So, raging at the thought of such a wasted talent, I considered it fair game to have a pop at Clarkie and the perils of getting oneself lost in showbiz. I probably got the idea for “Cult Figure” after hearing Mancunian railway poet Joe Smythe reading his poem “A pop poet is never alone” - at least that's what Joe himself always reckoned, and never ceased to remind me. I remember performing the poem for the first time at the Manchester Film and Video Workshop's 1978 Christmas party. There were a lot of folk there who were to work on the “The Tea Machine” film that John was hoping to get into production in the New Year. Tosh Ryan also was in attendance; he introduced himself to me after my set, and told me he thought my Clarkie poem, and impersonation, was quite good. John had been hoping to put out a record of “The Tea Machine” music soundtrack, composed and performed by Steve Hopkins, the mastermind behind the "Jilted John" record that had got into the top 5 the previous year, to co-incide with the film's release; and we had talked about putting “Cult Figure” on the flip-side - so when John struck up a deal with Rocksteady Records, it was all systems go. I had seen Cathy La Creme and her backing band, the Rhum Ba-Bas, at the Russell Club, and told John that she would be ideal for the lead vocal. Luckily, Steve Hopkins knew Cathy, and was able to get her interested in the project. We went to the Graveyard Studio in Prestwich on a Sunday afternoon to do the “Cult Figure” track. Steve Hopkins, who was producing the music part of the record, laid down the musicians' tracks first, which seemed to take hours and hours. I had only a few lines to record, interjections in my Clarkie impersonation voice; so I kept myself busy rehearsing them in my head, along with putting away a few cans of lager. Around about 6 o'clock Steve announced that he needed another synthesiser; someone said we could pick one up from a house out in Rawtenstall. To get away from the tedium of take - after - take, John and I drove over to Rawtenstall to fetch it. During the drive John said he thought we could do with having a bit more of the Clarkie impersonation on the record; and it was during the drive back that I composed the line “Like a sack of old potatoes, the night has a thousand eyes” - it probably came about through me staring at the lights on the Lanceshire hillsides as we sped back to Manchester with the synthesiser and a fresh supply of lager. When we got back to the studio, Cathy and I started laying down the vocal tracks. Around about midnight we both were hoping we'd finally got the vocals down to everyone's satisfaction, but on listening to the latest playback John said he thought we ought to have one more Clarkie interjection. I went back in the studio without any idea whatsoever as to what I was going to throw in; but when I got my cue, I recited Clarkie's own “As I was walking down Oxford Road” line, and the following “Two hundred quid for an old commode!” came out spontaneously - and that was a wrap! One other thing I remember about the recording session: during the evening Alan Wise, Manchester's own entrepreneur of the New Wave, popped in and started asking questions as to what we were up to; but happily to say, John and I blinded him with science - and not a lot of folk can say that. Current Mood: cheerful Current Music: "I am the resurrection" Stone Roses (Comment on this)
Sunday, January 7th, 2007
12:16 pm	Money, it's a gas Had a couple of pints with Nigel the Taxi last night. He told me he'd had Red Tony in his cab that afternoon, driving him from one pub to another. Tony had said he was "sorry I ever won the fucking money". Apparently a lot of folk have been tapping him. Although he has a front as hard as nails, behind the facade Tony is as soft as putty, and was always a sucker for a sob story - he's just a guy who can't say NO. It's our annual wage claim negotiations at shitty factory tomorrow. A lot of shop floor folk think that as the owner has made his intentions clear about selling the place, he won't offer us a wage rise; but the majority think we'll get a cost of living increase. I expect I'll be on the negotiating team again, due to no one else wanting to do it. It'll give me the chance to gee-up the owner about selling the place, and I'll be able to run a few "taking the piss out of the management" routines on him - even the owner laughs at my jokes nowadays, can't work out whether that's a good or bad thing. Current Mood: curious Current Music: "Beware of the flowers" John Otway (Comment on this)
Friday, December 29th, 2006
4:27 pm	And they all presumed that he was dead One Thursday lunch-time in October a violent thunderstorm passed directly above Old Trafford. A lightening bolt crashed down from the sky and blew out folks' broadband and cable tv throughout our neighbourhood. I had a devil of a time trying to get re-connected; but finally got another service provider; so now I'm back with a resume of the year past: Good vibes: Granddaughter Melanie is pregnant, The Lovely Sandra and I are going to be Great Grandparents in the New Year - deep joy! Holiday in the sun in Tenerife, with nephew Barry and neice Monica. Much enjoyed the evening entertainments, having a good laugh at the 'tribute' bands. (the Abba tribute band turned out to be ONE woman, but she was very good; the Freddie Mercury bloke was excellent; but the Rod Stewart impersonator was shite) Barry and self put away copious amount of beer, while TLS and Monica must have sampled every cocktail in every bar in Los Christianos. The employment laws concerning older workers have been changed, and now I will be entitled to a full redundancy pay-out when the owner of the shitty factory where I work manages to sell the place. (The owner is 70, and his wife has been nagging at him to retire and go to live at their holiday home in Spain. Trouble is though, he's had the place on the market for 6 months and nobody has shown any interest so far, and I can't blame them as the place is a feckin' rat-hole) Bob Jones and self firing political and literary questions at Johnathan Coe at Manchester University in November. Bob and I have read most of his books this year, after John Crumpton bought me "Like a fiery elephant" for my birthday; I believe Mr Coe to be one of the best British contempory writers around at the moment. And he seems a genuine nice guy too; like his novels, he himself is an odd mixture of square and cool. Listening to The Arctic Monkeys' cd: A true Nouveau Proletarian album, good tunes, great lyrics. Reading Magnus Mills' "All quiet on the Orient Express" A cracking Nouveau Proletarian novel; not for nothing is Mr Mills known as the Kafka of the banal. My friend Red Tony winning £670,000 on the national lottery, and his partner Kathy winning the same amount too, with a group of postmen where he works winning £18,000,000 in total. Tony and Kathy live in Droylsdon now, but they came over to our local community club one Sunday night and bought the drinks all night for all their old drinking buddies. Bad vibes: The disgusting, under-cooked food at the hotel in Tenerife; and Thomas Cook ballsing up our flight tickets. Other than the rejected radio playscript, I've written nothing of significance this year, just lamely struggling to keep my hand in. Red Tony and Kathy splitting up six weeks after their lottery win - Money ain't everything, eh? So-so soup: Being a Man City supporter - same as it ever was! New Year's Resolutions: To write a piece about the making of "I married a cult figure from Salford" for John Crumpton's website, which will be going on-line in February. And then hopefully start on some new exciting fiction. (If wishes were horses then beggars would ride, eh?) The Lovely Sandra and I to boldly go to Prague at Spring Holiday weekend with Ann and Marion. Love to All, and the very best wishes for the New Year. 7:30 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove Current Mood: bouncy Current Music: "The Devil's haircut" Beck (Comment on this)
Monday, January 2nd, 2006
1:11 pm	Some Writerly Thoughts for the New Year One of the most onerous things a writer can do is to project their thoughts beyond the completion of their current work in progress. I would estimate that as many as 99.9% of aspiring writers beginning their first poem, story, etc, will already be thinking of publication and how much they are going to get paid for it. The steady stream of rejection slips soon brings would-be writers back into the real world. If they continue writing after that, for many of them it is in the knowledge that they are writing purely for the challenge of transforming their ideas into written words, or the pleasure of being totally engrossed in the creative act of writing. I didn't do any work on the radio play-script during the last two days of the old year. ( I was stuck on a particular sentence that needed a great deal of thinking about.) Instead I had a wander about some of my favourite writers and writing sites on the Internet. I was reading the transcript of a recent Writers' Forum in New York, where Stephen King and Martin Amis were members of the panel. At one point Mr King quoted Henry James' "Write about a dream, lose a reader". And my heart sank. Most of my stories , novellas. etc, have been instigated by dreams. The title of the story on which I have based my radio play, "The Northern Lights (a dreamscape)", reiterates that fact. When I set out to write the radio play, the main objective in my mind was to get it broadcast on the radio - being in England that would have to be BBC radio. I considered the original story to be most accomplished from a technical point of view, and the storyline to be strong enough to maintain the reader's interest throughout. All I had to do was transform it from a writerly to an audio script. But, I began to ponder, what if the script-readers at the BBC didn't look at it that way? What if they cut their cloth by H James dictum: "Broadcast a dream, lose a listener"? Is my attempt at turning the story into a play going to be a complete waste of time, wondered Michael. I carried these thoughts around in my head for a day or so; until waking up on New Years Day, when I decided to have a good think about what I know of Henry James. Henry James was, and still is, a well-respected writer of international acclaim; considered by many to be a master of modernist prose. He is perhaps best known to the world at large for his story "The Turn of the Screw", which I have not read, so cannot comment on However. I have read one of his novels: "The Ambassadors", a novel set in Paris at the beginning of the 20th century, concerning a bunch of rich Americans who were residing there - at least that is what I took it to be about. Mr James himself was of the opinion "The Ambassadors" was his most accomplished 'work of art'. I thought the novel was total bollox, written in a codified language that was impossible to fully follow without having an advanced degree in Language and Literature Theory. In Nouveau Proletarian terms, the man was a bourgeois elitist, his works being used mainly for the purpose of justifying the existence of musty, crusty academics in their dusty, fusty rooms of university residence. I then had a good think about literature and dreams: The three books I deem necessary to keep within arms reach of my writing desk are: Dictionary, Thesaurus, and Sigmund Freud’s “The Interpretation of Dreams” - a new paperback copy of which TLS bought me for Xmas. One of my favourite writers is Franz Kafka. Much of Kafka’s work is dreamscape stuff, especially his short stories, “A Country Doctor” and “Description of a Struggle” being two obvious examples. And I never hear of Mr Kafka getting any bad press, or losing readers by the daily dozen. Armed with such comforting thoughts, I was more than ready to re-start working on my play-script. And I did. Current Mood: creative Current Music: "I know what I like in your wardrobe" Genesis (2 Comments |Comment on this)