Ice-cream for Crow

I don't know why but walking from Waterloo to Peabody's office in the sun this morning Captain Beefheart's Ice-Cream for Crow came to mind. Then kind of would not leave. Like most of my musical tastes my affection for the Captain is down to John Peel. This song was my introduction to the great man's work. It was a combination of the wonderful slide guitar (boy I am a sucker for a bit of slacker slide guitar) and the 'he's making up the words as he goes along but of course he isn't' vocal.

What cemented it in my mind was a spread in the NME that followed shortly after, not so much the article but those iconic Anton Crobijn pictures of the band. Stark black and white pictures with Captain Beefheart looking out with eyes that had seen everything. A shamen.

One of those perfect comings together happened in 1990 at the Reading Festival. John Peel was there to introduce The Fall, and to announce his own arrival gave the crowd a salvo Ice-Cream for Crow. Standing in the sun, listening to the Magic Band over the speakers, pinging with anticipation for The Fall was just a beautiful moment.

Most of the full on Beefheart fans rave about Trout Mask Replica but for me that is a work I can more easily admire than love. It's with Ice Cream for Crow that my heart lies.

Candide - Everything is for the best

‘Everything is for the best in this best of all possible worlds’ is the essence of the philosophy of Dr Pangloss. A philosophy that Voltaire lampooned in his story Candide, by passing the titular hero through a series of hideous adventures, where despite all the suffering it is all for the best. 

Candide was one of the first books I ever read. I was slow to reading and was 13 I think. Despite the archaic language it was short and didn’t hang about with the action, the two key requirements for me then. Its always had a place in my heart since.

When Voltaire wrote the book it was in reaction to the prevailing philosophy of his day having witnessed the death of many thousands following an earthquake. Mark Ravenhill picks up this thread in his adaption of the story. He equates the glib optimism of Pangloss with what he sees as a blind acceptance of the excesses of capitalism and the baseless presumptions of some new age thought. Not that this message is delivered as dry rhetoric. In this relentlessly funny, angry, provocative play one is both challenged and engaged in a thrilling way.

The play begins with Candide, in the clutches of a lascivious Countess watching a play based on his own life.  This funny playful introduction had enough ideas bouncing around for most plays. But just as one is settling in for comfortable amusing theatre there is a shattering shift of pace. We shift, with a funky disco soundtrack to a girl’s 18^th Birthday party where she unleashes her murderous despair in the human race on her family. Railing against capitalism, globalisation and most of all empty optimism she concludes self-destruction is our only positive step. After taking her own life only her mother remains.

The play then moves forward and back in time until as still youthful Candide is met by the lover he has always pursued Cunegonde. But now she is an ancient and battered woman desperate for his kiss. But s no longer the woman he loved, his reluctant compliance to provide a happy ending is underlined by a harsh but fitting finale.

The sets and the use of music powerfully underline the action on the stage. The cast are incredibly powerful  and exuberant. Some of the more overtly political speeches risk being heavy handed, though one is not always sure if that is deliberate, as most of this play is so beautifully crafted.

Ultimately people will take from it what they will. What I appreciated was that was both funny and angry. But also brave enough to try and make a point. It rails against the shoulder shrugging that pervades much of the reaction to the recession we are in. The dismissing of any ideas or philosophies that believe they can improve on what we have got. Bad luck if your job and home is gone, it is necessary part of the process.

The artistic response to the recession so far has been pretty thin, it is good to see a play that is so much fun, has so many ideas, standing up and shaking its fist. Ravenhill may be wrong but at least his Candide is brave enough to put up a fucking fight.

Duo Normand #2 – All’s well the ends well (Part 2)

Its the night before the race. By now minds were turning to the serious business of the race, and the wind ups and mind games got going in earnest. I maintained a stance that I was there to get a personal best and how others did was not a major concern. I was of course lying through my teeth. The stakes were raised when Oz suggested a sweep stake where we had to nail our colours to the mast, stating our predicted finish time. Iain and I know our objective, beat 1 hour 30, so we put down 1.29.30 and quietly digested was others expected. Bashers, playing his cards close to his chest ducked and dived to avoid having to name his price.

When the debutantes Jon and Julian said they were aiming for 1hr 50 nobody suggested they were underselling themselves.

Most of us had ridden plenty of TT’s before, but riding on this bigger occasion, with a proper pro start ramp, with following cars, with a grandstand and people cheers added just a little to the apprehension. Arriving in the village, when Jon asked the question ‘Has anyone seen my wheel?’ I guess apprehension was something of an understatement. Now it was not a fatal loss as somebody would have been able to lend them something, but not quite how you would want to start your first race.

Once again we were saved by a combination of good fortune and honesty. Jon has left his wheel in the car park the previous day and we had all been scrambling to sort things in the wet. Somebody had found it and handed it in.

Riding in the veterans category Iain and I set about warming up, wishing our team mates, and the guys from Bigfoot well. The event is such a pull for British Testers it is like going to a kind of Time Trialists Glastonbury. Well without the mud, or the music or (hopefully) the drugs (maybe). We had a game plan; I would put in an extra shift on the flat bits while Iain would pace me up the climbs and lead into the more technical bits. Having ridden with Iain a good few times in team TT’s we felt well placed to make the most of it. We got a reminder that it is not without risks after 10km when we passed the team from Welwyn. One of their riders was standing beside the road, but his teammate was down.

The weather turned out to be near perfect, with damp roads drying out. As we came pasted the Grandstand with 6 km to go we knew we would be there or there about on our objective.

Kev and Dave caught us with 2 km to go, given their form this was a decent outcome. In the final 500m’s we skipped around Northern Jon who had been driving their support van and crossed the line. My Garmin said 1.32.04 by the time we came to a halt. Knock off a minute for the start, and a few seconds at the end, we had done a long 1.30. Iain was not convinced, but I knew we had just missed it. It was a good ride, a personal best but just a few seconds shy of our goal. Good but….

I went off to get changed; the other guys came in, Paul and Steve, and Gary and Paul C putting in strong rides. Peter and Bash doing a cracking time, Bash looking like Peter’s ‘Picture of Dorian Grey’ at the finish. You could tell he had tried.

Walking back via the event HQ I picked up the Vets results sheet that had just come out. I scanned the results I Hawthorn and A Green 1.29.52!!!! Yessss! I only then remembered that I had started my clock two minutes for we went, not just one. Iain was already in the know when I came towards him beaming.

Jon and Julian despite being debutantes had by some whim of the organisors been placed in the 3rd Cat Riders, due to go off three hours after us. In France, the 3^rd Cats are young, lean superfast racings snakes on top class carbon TT bikes with all the gear.  And Jon and Julian. For both this was unbroken ground. Iain drove the support car for them, with Paul K and me on board to offer insults and encouragement. We got a grandstand view of their ride.  We had been in their shoes a few hours earlier and knew what they would be putting in. We also knew what lay in store. But the kept it together, riding strongly for each other. They looked a good combo and as we followed them into the final few KM’s we knew they were going to smash their 1.50 target to bits. By the final Km we were shouting and cheering and banging. The came through in 1.44, a time that was well inside the respectable category, and for two newbies on road bikes was absolutely cracking.

Back at the ranch we ate, drank and were merry, having about as much fun as it is possible for 14 middle aged men to have without breaking any laws or marriage vows.

Great trip – Middle Aged Men in Lycra 1-0 Dying of the light

All’s Well That Ends Well.

Duo Normand #2 – All’s well the ends well (part 1)

Having spent the weekend in Stratford upon Avon, this Shakespearian title seemed appropriate for the Old Portlians storming of the Duo Normand a week ago. That six OPCC teams completed the race, objectives were met and a good time was had by all is something of a miracle given so of what happened on route.

In the dark of a Friday morning we set off in convoy that looked somewhere between a pro cycling team and Mad Max. Six teams and two Directors Sportif. Never had so much OPCC grunt been assembled in one place. Maybe.

The tight timings for getting to Portsmouth quickly began to drift.  Running late Iain was thrashing his Land Rover to maintain the speed limit for us to a have any chance of making the ferry. The man on the dockside suggested we slowed down and the ferry would not leave without us. There was all round relief when the four vehicles we on board and the ferry door began to close.

To ride the Duo Normand you need six things. Two riders, two bicycles and two racing licences (ideally belonging to the two riders).

Our relief was short lived. When Kev told us ‘Gary lost his passport, he had to get off’ we had a few seconds of denial. He is having a laugh. But no, Gary was definitely not there. Opening up for Paul C, Gary’s team mate was the chasm that no Gary meant no race.

Now while it is unlucky to lose a passport, it is then very lucky when your daughter finds it in the gutter where you dropped it. So was Gary’s good fortune. All he had to do was get back the West Wickham, and find some way of getting to France. Easy.

Once in France the main group after some faffing found the farmhouse we were due to stay in, and a fine place it was. As we headed into San Lo for dinner, we knew that Gary was getting the overnight ferry so all was well. It was only on returning that Paul C began asking. ‘Has anyone seen my wallet?’ Now credit cards can be replaced, and money is money. But a racing licence lost in France the day before sign on is more of a problem. Paul was faced with the prospect of greeting Gary with the news that they would erm well hmmm, not be able to race after all. We thought, maybe we could print off his British cycling membership page from the website; find somebody at British cycling on a Saturday to vouch for Paul. Given that our French language skills amounted to saying ‘pain au raisin’ and looking hopeful, things were looking grim.

We set off to reconnoitre the circuit. The 54km route around Marigny has something for everyone, a fast downhill bias at the start, a flat section over the levels, followed by draggy climbs. As we queued for the toilet a woman emerged from the town hall. ‘Are any of you Paul C…..’? By some miracle Paul’s wallet had been found by the waiter in a bar, the bar owner had sufficient savvy to check, and when he found the racing licence he presumed the owner much be there for the Duo. I then took the trouble to call the organisers who took the trouble to reunite Paul and his licence and once again the show was on the road.

When I did this event 2 years ago it pissed down. Halfway through this warm up lap the heavens opened and grim memories started flooding back. Not so much of the ride, the hours spent trying to keep warm in the van beforehand. We dried off as best we could then set about one of the little treats the Duo offers. They lay on a fantastic lunch for entrants in the town all. Starters of cold meats fish and salad, followed by sausage, pork with chips and pasta, finished off with lovely cakes. Suitably fuelled we headed back to base.

To be continued......

Duo Normand #1

I remember when I was eleven and went on the school trip to Belgium and Holland how the excitement built in the days leading up to departure until by the night before I couldn't sleep. I'm a bit of an old lag now but the sense of anticipation the night before heading off on a cycling trip never fails to tingle. No matter how trivial riding a bike might seem, entering a race in France, and going over there with the club always has that feeling of adventure. Along with the adventure is the feeling of  being part of where you are going. Not just a tourist but an active participant.
The Duo Normand is a fantastic event, racing  a 52 km course around the village of Marigny, in teams of two. Along with the rank armatures like me there will be a good few pro's showing how it should be done. Part of the appeal is that it is the same event for everyone. Well the pain goes on a bit longer for us, but you get what I mean.
The village really  pushes the boat out with closed roads, a banquet, a grandstand all t he trappings of a top event. The town embraces the event, in a way that is hard to imagine happening in the UK.
So up early in the morning. 

Punk Footnotes #9 - Live in Yugoslavia - Anti Nowhere League

ANL are probably worthy of two footnotes. They appeared as the real fag end of Punk in about 1981/2. They were probably best described as a prototype for the likes of Blink 182 and the Macc Ladds. Straight forward Punk tunes with a bucket full of predictable offensiveness to chuck around.

Their first claim to fame was their cover of Ralph McTell's 'Streets of a London' which actually pretty good and its b side 'So What.'

So What got sort if banned. Not banned in the Frankie Goes to Hollywood BBC way,  but properly seized by the police. The song was meant to be based on a pub argument where two men try to out brag each other. In pursuit of this the lyric moved from drug taking, STD's and fellating elderly gentlemen into far more dubious waters. And hence the attentions of the police. It gave the band a few moments of notoriety before the storm in a tea cup passed.
However the song gained an unlikely second life through American Heavy Metalers Mettalica. The song became one of their live favourites. Watching on YouTube, seeing  them boast 'I've been to Brighton, I've been to Hastings, I've been to Eastbourne too' is one of the more surreal moments in Rock. Though times had moved on and they did replace the reference to 'school girl' with 'teacher' with good reason.
Onto the second footnote. The band played in Zagreb in 1983, and a well recorded live album emerged of it. Though Yugoslavia was probably the most nonconformist of the Eastern Bloc states the iron curtain was very much still down, Reagan and Thatcher glowering and a pre Gorbachev series of immobile Soviet leaders still waving at tanks. Details are sparse on how the gig came about, and what if any impact it had.  There are claims the inter song banter was edited to remove references to Tito, and ANL's suspicion that the audience were expecting the Human League. But it does beg the question, why ANL? And also what if any legacy resulted from this exchange? An internet search does not reveal much more but it is fun to think about.

There is a sad irony given what was soon to happen in that country about ANL cheerily banging through songs with titles like ' I hate people' and 'let's break the law.'

Barclays Premiership TV Ad - Go F@$£ yourselves

Have you seen it?The Barclays Bank Permiership add. The footie going montage, The elderly widower with is scarf and whistful air, the middle aged Dad fussing over his son, and the young airbrush couple on the away coach. All off to follow their teams. Stop it, its fake, its slick but its propaganda. Its a lie.

It pretends that somehow the premiership is about the grass roots fan, the local boy following his idols. This may have been the case in 1957 but todays game as sod all to do with that. Lets get some facts out there.

Father and son off to the match - At most of the top premier clubs both the availability and price of season tickets mean that this kind of image is for most a romantic ideal for all be the well connected and well healed.

The young Couple on the Away Coach- This pair of characterless 'good looking young people out of central casting' are simply on route to the next Peugeot ad.

The Old Man- Nick Hornby skewered this myth 20 years ago. He moved to Highbury, expecting that on a Saturday afternoon front doors up and down his road would all fly open and a local red and white army would descend on their local team. He was disappointed, and frankly the old man is just a bogus. Most premiership grounds are miles from their traditional support, or the support is miles from the traditional home. If the ground is not some new pleasure dome located in a out of town retail park, then it is in a neighbourhood abandoned by white flight.

But this exists to pretend that the Barclays Premiership is in some way permanent, for all time, that it is connected with the people and the people with it. In a sport that is global and bankrolled by oligarchs the fans are there to provide a back drop for the cameras, to sell the myth to the viewers around the world.

The premiership is itself and exercise in the art of forgetting. Its only been around for 20 years but it is talked up as if it has stood for all time. And to this make believe version of history and tradition, with the integrity of a hyena add those nice people at Barclays.

Tour of Britain Coming of Age - further evidence

Seeing Wiggins giving it full gas in today's TT was fantastic to see. Firstly because I am sick of the sight and sound of the mardy Wiggo. The limp Giro, my knee hurts Wiggo. Seeing him back hungry for it despite the rain was great to see. And to be fair with the likes of Alex Dowsett, his nemesis in the Giro TT in the race he did need to be. But also it is further evidence that the ToB is finding its feet, with TdF riders turning up and giving the event respect.

In the early years the likes of Tom Boonen might turn up because Quick Step were paid to be there. He would sulk his way through, with one eye on the exit and basically not giving a shit. Meanwhile we had to count on Roger Hammond to keep the flag flying with a stage win as some second string European Pro took the main prize.

It was the first race where I noticed Cav, when he was a small boy riding for T-Mobile. He took a cheeky second on a stage - that was kind of news.

While plenty of old timers would wax lyrical about the Milk Race, it was a ProAm event that never routinely pulled in the bigger continental names. Now with a good few Pro Tour Teams not only turning up but also giving it a good old bash maybe it is up and running. Hope so. While ride London was a huge success the men's Prudential Surrey Classic did not really attract the field it deserved, especially from Sky. Seems like ToB is a different matter and Wiggo came out today ready to put a few demons to the sword.

Bring on the next stage.

Tour of Britain Comes of Age

Seeing world class riders fighting for the win on a tough stage in bad weather suggested that maybe the ToB is coming of age as an event in its own right. Seeing riders of the caliber of Martin and Quintana, not just showing up out of contractual obligation but showing theselves with aggressive racing was great.

Bedroom Tax and the UN

The impact of the bedroom tax is starting to bite for tenants, and in most parts of the country the smaller properties they are meant to move to don't exist. This places families facing choices tha arn't choices over roof or food. The UN have attacked this policy, something that for a first world nation is pretty shameful. And predictably the Government has responded to the critic by branding her 'politically biased.' But it is interesting that it is Grant Shapps who is doing most of the hooting and hollering. He is the ex Housing Minister who came up with the idea. Mark Prisk, the actual Minister now implementing it is much quieter. Too much to hope that he is planning to quietly bin it I guess. 

A Year Into This Thing

I started this blog last summer, my first posting being about the demise of Lance Armstrong. About a year ago I went to my first @waterstonescroy book group to discuss Jamilla, and shared my thoughts on it here as well. I have intermittently talked about what I am reading and mean to do more of that. This was never about to be a very focussed blog, just me going on about what was on my mind normally cycling, housing, food, books and music.

Given what is happening with things such as the Bedroom Tax I kind of feel I ought to have had more to say on housing, but often in the moment it has been said better by others. I have enjoyed discovering Matthews Yard and my little go at interviewing with Croydon Radio and sharing that. I started writing about obscure things to do with band I love. Probably the best moment was Hazel O’Connor commenting on the entry about her.

Getting the chance to muse on cycling and life with Old Portlians CC has been a particular pleasure and probably the bit I will look back on. Thanks to all those who have read my stuff, and especially those who have said nice things about it. And Julian for reminding me about my dodgy proof reading.

Circuit of Kent - OPCC Club Sportive

Not sure whose idea it was. I think it was Northern Jon who suggested it one night over a beer in the Blackheath Harriers. But after a big turnout from the Old Portlians in the Castle Ride, Sunday’s Circuit of Kent was designated the ‘Club Sportive’ for 2013.

The Circuit of Kent is ideal for this kind of things. At 130kms, (with an 80km option) is challenging enough for the fast boys without being a masochists’ slog fest. It has been up and running for years and I believe has been attributed as being the inspiration for many British Sportives. Run by the Sevenoaks Rotary Club to raise money Macmillan and Hospice in the Weald they have got just about everything right.

Having well stocked feed stations in one thing, but at the Circuit of Kent you can tuck into cheese baguettes, soup and Bakewell tarts at the finish. This is a big plus in my book. I had one particular grim experience on a well know multiday sportive a few years ago. Having rained solidly all day at the finish we were soaked and frozen. All they had were some very pretty, but very small cakes made by the local WI.

Anyway, back to the Club Sportive. The idea was something that would bring the club together, on the start line at least. It was great we had riders for whom this was their first sportive through to road racers. We had guys who have been in the club far longer than they care to remember, and guys who joined this year. In no particular order it was great to see Alan, Dave T, Oz , Kev, Paul C, Say, Peter, Rosie, Iain, Julian,  and Austen there together with friendly fellow travellers Joe McRae and Alex Le Bicycle. It is just a shame that the event clashed with the SCCU 25, or there would have been and even stronger contingent.

Any talk of riding round as a club was clearly only in jest as the fast boys buggers off up the road from the gun. That my friend is the Old Ports way.

I have ridden the event half a dozen times, normally in sunshine. Yesterday did bite back with some cold autumnal rain but we were all counted in by the time it really tipped down. But still a cracking event.

Special mentions for Alan Dock. He is quite new to the sport; more accustomed to the pace of the Saturday club run, but finished the 130kms in a very respectable time. Also, mention to the Iain Hawthorn my 2 up partner. Despite having a 12 hr in his legs from Thursday he was not shirking as we worked together along the lanes. Great ride.

Punk Footnotes #8 The Homosexuals

I should have gone to the shop myself. It was probably a bit unfair making my Brother go to Virgin in Croydon in 1984 and buys an album called ‘The Homosexuals Record’ for my Christmas present.

Most footnotes deserve their status, a single great song produced on the monkey and type writer principle, or being there at a key moment or somehow for a moment capturing a mood. The closer inspection of these bands work normally explains why they remained on the margins. However exhilarating ‘Cranked up Really High’ was Slaughter and the Dogs other material tapered off pretty sharply. Few bands, with the benefit of hindsight hint at a greater talent.

One of the few that do was The Homosexuals. The arrival of iTunes has made this band's work accessible in a way it never was when they appeared in the late 70’s. They gigged infrequently, released a couple of singles on tiny labels and broke up. They did leave a body of unreleased recorded work, often rough and unfinished. These recordings flashed briefly into public view in the mid 80’s with the release of ‘The Homosexuals’ record. This is where I encountered them following John Peel playing the thrilling ‘Neutron Lover’, a song that featured the wonderful line ‘like robots falling over, in their hungry search for love.’

The line-up revolved around Bruno Wizard. His original band ‘The Rejects’ were amongst the first wave Punks that played at The Roxy. This band mutated into The Homosexuals when he felt constrained by how punk was changing. I recently read a rather convoluted explanation for why they chose the name, but I suspect that is all bollocks. Wizard was known for his confrontational approach, and I guess the name was chosen to provoke and annoy.

But unlike many of the early punk bands the provocation was backed by a genuine musical gift. If I had to categorise them they fit best alongside the arty arch punk of Wire and Magazine. But it’s not a perfect fit. Their musical palate was much broader and more adventurous. Many of the recordings feel like the unfinished rough mixes but The Homosexuals Record was packed with great songs. Hearts in Exile, Technique Street, Vociferous Slam, False Sentiments and the above mentioned Neutron Lover are strange, beautiful and exhilarating. Sometimes there is a sudden unexpected change, but you always feel they know what they are doing.

At the time The Homosexuals record came out they were dormant, and apart some staggeringly opaque liner notes there was nothing to help the listener to learn more. There is more info out there now. Wikipedia suggests that maybe Bruno wasn’t the easiest person to work with and very much at odds with the mainstream music industry.  They do appear to have enjoyed a level of rediscovery with a more widely available ‘The Homosexuals CD’ coming out in the early 2000’s. There does appear to be a version of the group that has reformed, and they seem to have an audience in the States.

What is clearly visible from the songs they recorded over thirty years ago is a band that had a musical vision way beyond the miniscule recognition they received. So, thanks Bro, I appreciate it.

 

Twerking, oh ok thats what it's called.

What does it remind me of? Yes that’s it. If they ever they remake The Office with a female David Brent, a red nose day re-enactment of Miley Cyrus’ VMA performance would be ideal.

 The world will have moved on from such things, but all the twittering about Miley’s ‘twerking’ made me a curious enough to view the performance on YouTube. I quickly realised that I do know what ‘twerking’ is, and it is nothing new. About twenty years ago MTV liked to make itself look edgy by playing lots of 2LiveCrew videos. These featured significant portions of rump shaking.

Back to Miley. She appears looking like a PG rated version on Keith Flint from The Prodigy. Horns of hair, staring eyes, teeth bared and tongue lolling from brightly painted lips. The performance clearly has big production values. But while somebody like Lady Gaga can lead such proceedings as a Master Ceremonies, Cyrus seems a bewildered child at the carnival, like Pinocchio lost.

From the anally fixated nature of the proceedings I presume it is about trying to portray Cyrus as a more edgy adult performer. It would have been nice if she had been given a song to match. I am no expert on R&B/Hip-hop but the tune seems like generic stuff, produced using a process similar to injection moulding. I have read people suggesting that Cyrus asked for ‘blacker’ style. I not going to engage with this because my toes have curled so tight I’ve got cramp in my earlobes.

The arrival of Robin Thicke perks things up.(How do you pronounce ‘Thicke’? As in trick or as in tricky). I am unaware of his other work but he has a more interesting voice and a nice bit of swagger. His arrival also provides an opportunity to crank up the arse/crutch factor still higher. The camera pans to faces in the audience who I presume are famous people. They don’t look that impressed.

The overall impression is a little bit unsettling. I somehow come away feeling poorer for the experience.

Bedroom Tax - Shit Happens

We are now a good few months since the bedroom tax was launched. Research in my organisation was inconclusive about the impact on our residents facing cuts in housing benefit for their extra bedrooms.
Of those affected the total debt they owed has stayed steady, but there is also evidence of individuals not paying the shortfall and the debt beginning to rise. But we are a London based organisation. We have a large number of one and two bed properties and have due to massive demand consistently filled our stock to capacity over many years.
The impact of the bedroom tax was never going to even across the country. The North West is already experiencing major problems both with rising arrears debt and the political fall out of their attempts to manage this. In Liverpool some Housing Associations are seen as being party to the policy and facing considerable pressure to reduce the impact.
The problem for many Housing organisations outside London is that they do not have large amounts of small properties and they have been forced to under occupy 3 bed properties rather than leave them standing empty. It is not that the families who live in them wanted to create this situation. What we see is a vice tightening of benefits being cut without there being smaller accommodation for these families to move to.
Of all the welfare reforms this has always appeared to be the most ill considered. Yes, it seems logical over a cappuccino in London to suggest that as there is such huge demand for affordable housing those that wish to under occupy should face some kind of sanction. But it just does not work as a national policy, because the picture is not the same nationally. This has been a slow burn but I sense the mercury is rising.

A weekend at The Edge of Darkness

Over the bank holiday weekend  I enjoyed watching in full the six episodes of Edge of Darkness. It stars Bob Peck (who later played rugged raptor food in Jurassic Park) as Ronnie Craven, a widowed Police officer dealing with the murder of his daughter played by Joanne Whalley.

When broadcast in 1985 this brooding story of murder and plutonium, corruption and dirty deals fitted with the cold war paranoia and the post Falkland political landscape. For a BBC production it was very high end, staggering locations, a quality cast and a sound track from Eric Clapton. 

In the early episodes Craven faces the reality of the woman his daughter was becoming, both as a political and sexual being. His own mental health is precarious. Who the enemy is remains elusive. Characters like Harcourt and Pendleton appear like riddles. But what made it remarkable were the strong environmentalist themes. The threat wasn’t the Russians; we were the threat against the planet. These kinds of ideas are familiar now but very much less so then.

What was it like seeing it today? Overall it still stands up. Peck’s performance remains incredibly powerful. The paranoia is still a strong as ever. It is funny seeing a show made in the mid 80’s rather than an ‘Ashes to Ashes’ recreation. It is not littered with sexism and racism. Even the smoking by then was subdued. They did shift a fair bit of whiskey while on duty mind.

Also it was a world where computers we still things housed in special buildings. The scenes of offices with piled files and no screens, and of where the only phones were in buildings attached to cables looked strange now.Some bits creek. Some of the characters are two dimensional cartoons. Godbolt the corrupt Union Boss and Darius Jedburgh as the Texan CIA man are painted crudely. Zoe Wannamaker’s character is barely filled in which is a shame. These rather jar with the downbeat tone of what is going on around them. There are nice touches even with these characters. The Scottish landlady insisting on pronouncing Jedburgh as in ‘Edinburgh’ not as in ‘Pittsburgh’ to the American’s rising annoyance while he suffers from radiation poisoning.

The ending is appropriately gloomy, with so much unanswered and unresolved.  

Looking for contemporary equivalents, its spirit is closer to the Scandinavian noir of The Killing than much home grown. It certainly has little in common with the Mel Gibson big screen version. In terms of what the influences were on it, being written by Troy Kennedy Martin of Z Cars fame the police procedural was going to be there. Also though intentional or not with Peck’s melancholy internal search for his daughter, the sparse blues of the soundtrack, and the lingering pace brought to mind Paris Texas. Maybe it is the pacing that is so different from today. Six hours is a long time, much of it is spent in close up on Pecks face. It is hard to imagine an audience of millions sticking with it today. Parts are self-indulgent and it’s up to viewer whether these can be forgiven.

I am going to make some unfair comparisons. Watch this, then watch a more conventional thriller, say an early episode of Morse. Morse is cosy, slow and predictable. It does not seek to reflect the real world, even of the Oxford in which it was made. Watch Smiley’s People. Brilliantly acted and complex yes, but also about a world that had gone. It raises few questions about the future, let alone direct challenges. We know the commies are the bad guys.  Edge of Darkness does both. It is hard not to admire he courage of those who made what is generally accepted as a landmark series. It was deliberately political and provocative. It is complex and challenging for its audience. It is hard to imagine the current cowed BBC putting its resources and heart into such a project.

If you have the time do watch it.

Trivia

A couple of years before Edge of Darkness there was another psychological thriller, this time focusing on computers and the internet called Bird of Prey. It starred Richard Griffiths who plays a Civil Servant being drawn into conflict with a shadowing power. Both this and Edge of Darkness were produced by Michael Wearing. A fairly impressive CV for the man.

Kingsley Amis, Lucky Jim and Me

In my mid 20’s I read a good few Campus novels, satirical stories about academic life.  This was the late 1980’s when that campus world they described was disappearing, and they felt like nostalgia even then.

My Girlfriend’s dad was a Northern Grammar School educated academic who raged against the British class system that he believed had held him back. He longed to be free to make a career in the more meritocratic United States. Reading these books made me feel connected with the world he was talking about.  As my BTec in Building at Vauxhall College moved seamlessly into a Surveying Degree as Southbank Poly, the kind of academic world they portrayed  in these books was so much more fun than the pragmatic reality.  

The book often considered the original campus novel is Lucky Jim. But though I read Malcolm Bradbury, Tom Sharpe, Howard Jacobson and David Lodge, I never got round to Kingsley Amis’ most famous work.  A large part of the reason for this is to do with its Author.

 My views on Kingsley Amis were framed early and not very favourably. I paid a pound for a well-worn copy of Penthouse from one of my Classmates in the CSE electronics class. It was from the era when porn mags aspired to be gentlemen’s publications.  Basically they were like a British Airways inflight magazines some dirty pictures thrown in. For the 14 year old me the features on sports cars and films were the skin on the banana, there to be discarded.  My eyes fell on a cartoon of a smug looking middle-aged man in glasses holding a pen, perched at the top of his column. This column was (possibly) titled ‘Kingsley on Drink’. I read the opening couple of sentences and from then on Kingsley Amis was the bloke that wrote the unsexy bits for jazz mags.

This prejudice was reinforced by Wendy Cope’s ‘Making Cocoa for Kingsley Amis’. The opening poem was ‘Engineers Corner’, the sentiment of which, as a would be surveyor, I resented bitterly. A resentment that was  in retrospect  quite complex and multi layered, but owed nothing to Kingsley Amis himself.

But more than this, whenever I encountered Kingsley Amis he seemed to be the literary equivalent of a right wing shock jock. Making offensive comments about Jews and reaping the predictable ‘controversy’ did nothing provoke an interest in his books.

When Sebastian Faulks did his excellent series on fiction I was surprised to see ‘Jim Dixon’ amongst the ‘heroes’. By now I did appreciate that Kingsley Amis had significance beyond being a Penthouse columnist so was both curious and sceptical. So I was glad that the Waterstones Croydon Book Group chose Lucky Jim. It has forced me to get on with it and judge the book on its merits not what I might have thought about its author.

Looking back my view of Amis was so generational. The mid 20’s me saw a right wing racist old roué. He seemed much like the bitter old surveyors I was working for. The ones that bemoaned how badly they were being treated, groped the secretaries and came back pissed and abusive from lunch.  I did not see the younger man, the new exciting voice, the writer that my girlfriend’s dad had admired.

Whether or not I actually like Lucky Jim will be for another day.

 

Punk Footnotes #7 I, Shithead

It is probably unfair to describe Vancouver's DOA as a punk footnote. They are seen as amongst the founding fathers of Hardcore Punk in North America, along with the likes of Black Flag and Minor Threat. I first heard them in 1984 when the Bloodied but Unbowed compilation came out in the UK. Musically they bore the hallmarks of their classic punk influences more visibly then their Hardcore contemporaries. With the band members carrying names like Dimwit, Stubby Pecker and Randy Rampage they also had a sense of humour that few of their competitors could have been accused of.

But the person I am interested in here is their leader, and the only member who has seen them from 1979 to today. The wonderfully named Joey ‘Shithead’ Kiethley. He is a man who in many ways has overcome some fairly obvious limitations to keep his band alive. As a physical presence he had none of Henry Rollins’ menace or Jello Biafra’s theatrical charisma. Instead we have a man going at it like an excited Jack Russell in a sleeveless tee shirt. And boy this man has a serious long term commitment to the sleeveless tee.

Hugely committed to various causes for the start, ideologically he fits in with Biafra and the likes of Billy Bragg. But as a lyricist he is some way short of those two. Even when making a serious point he will normally reach for the obvious and literal, lacing in with ‘Smash the State’ and ‘Fucked up Ronnie.’ He also a man that gets a buzz out of belching into the microphone. Songs with titles like ‘I don’t give a shit’ and ‘Fuck You’ don’t place him obviously amongst the deep thinkers of the genre. But what always comes across has been a massive drive and energy. DOA’s slogan Talk – Action = 0 does some him up.

Maybe surprisingly he is a pretty good talker, and writer.  He is articulate and charming as a speaker, and a vivid, humorous writer.  The contradictions in the man are nice brought together in a story about a gig in San Francisco. He tells of ‘the night I pissed on the crowd’ explaining how the audience parted like the red sea before Moses. The story is delivered with such good natured self-deprecation that is defuses the extreme unpleasantness of the act itself. His autobiography ‘I, Shithead’ tells this and many other tales of his 30 odd years doing what he does. If one is going to read a punk biography this isn't a bad one to choose.

England Scotland and familiar feelings

So England win with a few shocks and bruises. Scotland get to claim an honourable defeat. It was (nearly) always thus. Jacobites 2-3 Hanovarians

Pleased for Rickie Lambert. But looking at the personnel in the Scottish defence they are the kind of outfit a player from the bottom third of the Premiership should be capable of scoring against. Harsh but fair?

The Call of the Beard - Standing by Paxo

The two hundredth posting has come round and faced with the challenge of thinking of something worthy to say I have chickened out. Instead I will engage with the Paxo beard debate 24 hours too late.

So Jeremy Paxman rocks up on Newnight with a rather fetching grey beard and lots of people say it looks shit.  The man himself implies that he is resisting a BBC led oppression of facial hair. As somebody who has recently ventured in the land of beard I feel the need to come to the mans defence.

For a man to yield to the beard is a liberating experience, but not necessarily a permanent change. Yes it makes one look old and the bristles are not always a vote winner with ones partner. And people will think that it denotes a shifty untrustworthy desire to conceal possibly linked to a desire to interfere with the young. This may all be true but getting to a stage in life when one can give the proverbial bird to the tyranny of shaving is a small victory against the crappy stuff that makes us behave.

To echo the sentiments expressed by Mr P, the beard is for me, not for you. I goes when I am ready. My choice.

Punk Footnotes #6 Osaka Ramones

While I am on the theme, here are another band that imitate both sincerely and wildly inaccurately the work of one of the Punk originators. However that is where any connection between this lot and the Bollock Brothers ends.

Osaka Ramones are the alter egos of the Japanese pop punk Shonen Knife. It is this connection that actually reassures one that they are not in fact a racist joke cooked up by some cynic in London. Even clad in leather jackets as a tribute act the Osaka Ramones do not do a vary convincing imitation of the originals. There are three of them not four, they are very obviously not men, and they are well very Japanese. And unlike the Ramones they go about their work with a cheery sense of fun, rather than the feeling  that every 1-2-3-4 is an act of vengeance against a malign world.

But while I am sure it is lots of fun live I cannot imagine why anyone would want to possess this band on record. It does not take long before the helium voiced 'bwitskweeg bop' starts to grate, and the cultural significance of 'KKK took my baby away' to a Japanese audience is boggling. It just does seem a little bit too much effort barking up a slightly inappropriate tree. That said they seem to be having lots of fun and importantly seem very much alive, which in the grand scheme of things gives them the edge.

 

Punk Footnotes #5 Never Mind the Brothers

Band names can be a tricky thing. Kurt Cobain famously once considered the name 'Poopoo Box' before opting for the more commercial 'Nirvana' for his band. Shane McGowan twice adapted his band names to secure radio acceptance, with the Nipple Erectors becoming the Nips and more famously Pogue Mahone becoming the Pogues.

Less successfully there was a band in Reading in the early 90's who did a nice line in Costello/Squeeze type new wave. But saddled with the closing time joke name of 'My Wife Drinks Pints' they were never about to escape that far. But the subject of this footnote is a band saddled with frankly the most rubbish name of all, the Bollock Brothers.   Ok, this is really about a footnote, almost a footnote to a footnote. If there are people today who are still cherishing the recorded output of the Bollock Brothers, who are not members of the bands immediate family, I will be staggered. But they are a interesting case all the same.

The name, linked to the Sex Pistols 'Never Mind the Bollocks' album nailed their reference points pretty clearly. The Pistols had John(ny Rotten)  Lydon, the BB's recruited his brother Jimmy. The Pistols got Ronnie Biggs to sing for them, the BB's tried the same trick with Michael Fagan. Michael who? Well in 1982 Mr Fagan, a man of uncertain mental health, succeeded in breaking into the Queens bedchamber where he came face to face with our monarch. The BB's sought to exploit his notoriety by letting him atonally front the band.

In 1983 they went the whole hog their own version of the 'Never Mind the Bollocks' album. An act of truly astounding pointlessness. And that maybe was the point. But what was particularly strange about the BB's was that despite their limpet like attachment to the ethos of the Pistols their favoured musical medium was electronica. So where original  Anarchy in the UK and Holidays in the Sun were driven by Steve Jones incendiary guitars and Paul Cook's thudding drums the BB's played them on what sounds now that a Casio organ. But within that remarkably faithfully.

I recall at the time nobody in the music press seemed to know what to do with them and generally they would get slagged off. Wikipedia suggest that the aforementioned 'Never Mind..' was well received but I don't recall much of that. But they do remain an engaging footnote.

In a couple of years Acid House would  take hold, and if they had been able to fuse the energy and mischief to punk to the exponential possibilities of that electronic music they could have been an awful lot more. But the didn't.

Sky Pro Cycling - We Support Our Local Team

Even in this money talks media age teams like Chelsea and Man U still go through the old ritual of the open topped bus ride through their City streets to celebrate famous wins. This showing off the spoils, the town turning out to celebrate their success feels linked to something quite ancient.

For the domestic market at least Team Sky has been at pains to stress its Britishness, not only seeking to have a Tour Winner, but a British winner. Victorious British Cycling teams on an international stage are somewhat few and far between and cycling as a massed spectator sport is still a new phenomenon here. So I was surprised the Sky passed up the opportunity presented by last Sunday's Prudential Classic. It could have been, with the presence of Froome, Porte, Kennaugh et al been the cycling equivalent of that open bus tour. a chance for a grateful nation to acknowledge their champions. Or maybe giving us another chance to remember Wiggo's golden 2012. Instead Sky sent, well not meaning to be harsh but to describe them ad the B team is probably about right. Now I know that traditionally the Tour riders go and milk their tour success in Criteriums around Europe. But Sky choosing not to acknowledge the home fans was a mistake. 

Tonto vs Little Big Man

In reviewing (more kindly than most) the new Lone Ranger film in today's Observer Phillip French evoked the memory of one of my favourite films. Simply the casting of Dustin Hoffman in a Western tells you that Little Big Man was going to be different. My Dad loved a good Western, the kind tha starred Gary Cooper, Alan Ladd or Randolphe Scott. But Little Big Man both embraced and mocked the 'mans gotta do what a mans gotta do' ethos. Hoffman plays a wide eyed innocent, Jack Crabb is kidnapped and raised by Indians before stumbling unsuspecting into the world. Crabb is more in the vein of Candide than Shane.

It's a comedy Western but one that has some punch. As French points out it names the treatment of Native Americans for what it was, Genocide. I saw it at an age when reassuring certainties were giving way to questioning doubt. I had seen plenty of films with brave Cavalry men in blue fought the savages. The scene when the troopers massacre the tribe in the snow had a huge impact. One detail that stayed with me was the image of a woman with a baby on her back is shot down. To obliterate any hope it is made clear in blood that both mother and child are dead. But the film retains an appetite for life as Crabb stumbles on through the history of the Wild West.

Punk(ish) Footnotes #4- Hazel O'Connor, burgers and Stephen

Stephen always seemed to be in trouble. I could never quite work out why the teachers found so much to object to about him. He was a bit of berk but never seemed like a bad kid. There must have been things not quite right at home. Sutton was well off enough for Stephen to standout on the first day at Senior School. He was still wearing the grey shirt and jumper we wore to Junior School. He was minus a blazer and the only piece of the new uniform he had was the blue and gold tie.

Stephen came to mind yesterday when I was browsing YouTube. I was struck by how many old bands seem be enjoying some strange afterlife. Angelic Upstarts made their one Top of the Pops appearance in I guess 1979. I had presumed they had thrown in the towel by 1984. But no, YouTube reveals a band that has put on a lot of weight but is still playing to appreciative audiences. These gigs are not just in some mate’s pub in Wallsend but locations as exotic as Sao Paulo, Bologna and Lodz. How these guys music found an audience in these places, and how they wound up playing there is profoundly odd.

But Stephen came to mind because of a more commercial New Wavish artist. The last time I gave Hazel O’Connor a thought was in Burgermeister, opposite Sutton Station, late one Tuesday night in 1985. There bouncing around behind the counter in an apron holding a big burger flipper was Stephen.

‘I don’t work here, I am hiding from somebody.’ Was his explanation. Unless he was fleeing a group of enraged vegans I could not think of a less effective hiding place. Burgermeister was a grim spot strategically located near The Whistle Stop Pub and the cab shop. A good place to be if you wanted to be involved in a fight.

We started chatting about music. ‘I still like a lot of punk stuff.’ My ears pricked up. He pointed toward s a battered cassette player. ‘I was listening to Hazel O’Connor earlier.’ I stifled the urge to make a sour remark. O’Connor appeared in that space when New Wave gave way to synth pop. I was a bit snooty about her; she broke through starring in the film ‘Breaking Glass’ which was not very 4 Real in my book.  But when I got home I dug out the cassette, and a couple of nights later enjoyed listening to ‘Will You’ with my girlfriend.

Browsing YouTube that evening came to mind and l did a search. But what appeared was not the face of a spikey haired young singer but a rather formidable looking woman in her 50’s belting out the tune. And there was more from 2010, 11, 12. Loads of footage of O’Connor performing at all manner of events. In fact it proved a struggle to find the stuff from what I imagine even she would describe as her heyday. There was stuff from a Punk festival a couple of years ago, and footage from a 30^th anniversary gig. I did not realise that the film ‘Breaking Glass’ was remembered with that kind of fondness.

It is kind of appealing that below the surface of public consciousness there are a whole batch of bands long presumed dead still playing to those that love them. And what they play is sealed in amber, the songs from when the love affair began. The fans are loyal and in return the artists don’t shatter the mirror of nostalgia.

Strava Virus

In +The Guardian today an article highlights a case from San Fransico where the family of a dead cyclist tried to sue Strava. Basically the case was the using the app made him ride recklessly. They lost but their argue ent has a superficial allure. You create urban courses (segments) where people can  compete to set a record time. People may then risk life and limb to break these records QED Strava is a menace.
The Court, accepted Strava's case the each rider takes responsibility for their own safety. But there is another dimension. Strava is simply providing a fun platform to do something I would guess every rider has done. Since the moment a victorian decided to bring together the pocket watch and the bicycle riders have tried to beat their best times. It is what we as human animals do. If somebody falls off in the process it is wrong headed to blame the watch.

Photo op lunches

There is a pic bouncing round of Obama and Hilary Clinton enjoying a 'relaxed' lunch together. Never have two people tried so hard to look relaxed. Also the table is set for two, therefore whoever took thr pic has been brought along specially. Who brings a photographer or invites one to a relaxed lunch between two friends.
Also the food must have been lousy, as neither seem to be showing any inclination to tuck in. 

Punk Footnotes #3 Stiff Little Fingers -Johnny Was

'This is a song written by Bob Marley
About a guy getting shot
For being in the wrong place
At the wrong time
This is
Johnny Was'

So Jake Burn's introduced  the song on Hanx over the sound of a snare drum thrumming like in a marching band. Turning this 3 minute Marley album track into this sprawling 10 min howl of pain against the cheapness of life in Belfast was their finest achievement.

Though most famous for the more straight forward hardcore of Suspect Device, Alternative Ulster and Wasted Life, it is in Johnny Was that one can see the scale of the potential they had at the start. On there later albums there was always a workman like Reggae cover, Roots Radcials and Love of the Common People. But these were at best worthy. Johnny Was is much more, it takes the original but completely reinterprets it, placing it in a setting so vivid that when Burns sings 'a shot rings out, in a Belfast night' he could be singing about nowhere else.

Though they enjoyed a few hits and good commercial success, they always seemed trapped by the brilliant first album Inflammable Material. That explosion of rage was always going to be hard to follow. They lacked the musical and stylistic agility of The Clash. Deciding to stop writing about Ulster once in London got them accused of being dishonest, and the quality of the material drifted gradually away. They still exist in some incarnation with the bespectacled square head of Burns leading the line.

There are numerous versions of Johnny Was out there. For me the version recorded at The Rainbow for Hanx! is probably the finest.

Odd thoughts #1- The Moth

The Moth! An austerity superhero. Lives in the sock draw and renders villains ridiculous by making holes in their underwear.

Not sure the movie pitch will make me enough to retire on.

Not entirely sure why I wrote this down, probably something to with having shellfish for dinner. Or not.

For the avoidance of doubt

For those confused in this complex world here is a handy guide to wearing our nations flag and shouting.
Standing around on Mt Ventoux during the TdF wrapped in the Union Jack and Shouting = Being British Cycling Fan= Ok (mostly)
Standing around in Croydon on a Saturday afternoon wrapped in the Union Jack and Shouting= Being an EVF Nazi= Not ok (under any circumstances)

Tweet of Shame

As far as feminist campaigns go, Caroline Criado-Perez pushing for Jane Austen to appear on our banknotes was a pretty modest one. The fallout has been astonishing. Criado-Perez has been subjected to a sustained barrage of threats and abuse via social media. I find it completely incomprehensible why because of what she has  said any man would threaten  rape. I cannot begin to guess what is going on in these guys heads, the poison and hate that must live there. But maybe I now have a better insight into  what misogyny looks like. Nasty stuff. 

A Women's Tour de France

I hope that Brian Cookson's public support for a Women's Tour is not just part of his campaign to be President of the UCI. Somebody of his stature throwing their weight behind it after the Tour's rather sniffy response could be a breakthrough. On the track, representing their countries Women riders have made huge leaps in recent years, and when given equal billing on the road, like at the Olympics deliver the goods. In Bejing Nicole Cooke delivered a win in a thrilling race, while in London Armisted only came up short to Vos, a true great.

But when it comes to professional road racing Women riders are getting a lousy deal, and as a result the fans are missing out. The shameful disparity in the incomes of riders was revealed when Cooke highlighted that as Olympic and World Champion she was earning £50k a year.

If you want to watch Women's road racing on TV well fat chance. Oddly because of ITV's coverage of the Johnson Healthtec series you have a better chance of seeing women riders in this slightly low rent domestic races than competing in the big World Cup events. ITV4 and Eurosport show little interest in covering these races, but at least there is a Women's Tour of Flanders. When it comes to the most famous and most prestigious cycling event in the world, nothing.

It was probably a bit rude door stepping Christian Prudomme on this issue when he came here to promote next years Grand Depart in Yorkshire. But his response, basically its all to hard, was weak. The sport has a duty to tackle this inequality, a duty most have shirked so far.  

Our Tour de France - Away with the OPCC

I have recently come back from an Old Ports trip to France to follow the tour. It is events like this that remind me about the benefit of being part of a cycling club. Now there a plenty who don’t like the club thing for whatever reason, but for me it has opened up worlds that there is no way I would have accessed otherwise. There are places I have been and things I have experienced in the last seven years that I will enjoy forever, which I would never have experienced if I had not rocked up to a Saturday club run one January morning.

The kind of trip we have just enjoyed would have cost a fortune if one had tried to book it commercially. But Iain did the bulk of the organising for the love of the sport and Cloudie and Kev backed up on the driving. Ok we were subject to Iain’s frugal hotel choices and rooming arrangements. (Lesson, bring your own partner otherwise you never know who will be in the bed next to you.)

There are a couple of things that always leap out at me when I go back to France. Firstly, though clichéd there are parts of Provence that are a Garden of Eden, some of the most beautiful landscapes one could ever hope to ride through. Secondly, how accessible and friendly France can be. Sitting by the river in Ile en de Sorgue on Bastille Day enjoying a lovely meal in the company of friends, absolutely brilliant. Some of the food was mind blowing, even a day’s climbing could not give Julian the appetite to finish one of his steaks, lovely has it was. Three of us had a go and there was still meat on the bone.

I love riding the road the tour goes over. It just builds ones admiration for the riders. Anyone who a descended Col de Sarenne knows just what a tricky bugger that is. To ride it eyeball out as the pros did – full on respect. The return to the world of work was not easy.

National Pride - Oh no not here as well

I am no stranger to national allegiance in sport. In my teens I would even troop off to Wembley to watch Ron Greenwood or Bobby Robson’s England Teams draw or lose to the likes of Greece and Denmark. I would watch in wrapped agony on TV as Viv Richards humbled the English Bowling before the Windies bowlers put our batsmen to the sword. I sat through every Olympics since Brendan Foster fell short in 1976 rooting for our girls and boys. With tear filled eyes turning and asking that question 'Father, is there a sport we aren't completely crap at?'

It was the Tour de France when Lance was set to break the record number of wins that I got interested in cycle sport.  I had just bought a Ridgeback Hybrid and was congratulating myself on completing a 16 mile ride to Bromley and back. Feeling like a proper cyclist I bought a copy of Cycling Weekly. It was the pre Tour Edition full of the stories of the previous riders who had managed five wins, and a review of the teams.

With the help of ITV2’s coverage, always nicely aimed at the uninitiated, for the first time I started to understand how the race worked. How the teams worked, that is was not just a mob of blokes hammering up the road seeing who could get to the end first. Well it is and it isn’t.  I started to understand the difference between the GC contenders and the Sprinters. Lance was an easy pantomime villain, Tommy Voeckler battling away, Jan Ullrich sliding away. All wonderfully free from any national pride issues. There were no British riders. Not even a humble domestique. There was no British hope, I was completely free to get behind the riders I liked and wish ill up those I did not.

It was Cav who started spoiling this, but it was easy enough, Cav is the kind of rider I would have enjoyed even if he was Belgian, Spanish or French. The flamboyance in Victory and defeat. Still there was no threat to the GC, Millar and Wiggo were visible but not contenders, the sharp end of the race was in the hands of others. Then it wasn’t. Wiggo came 4^th. Then Sky appear, planning to win with a Brit. It started to feel like every other fucking sport again. My ability to enjoy the simple beauty of the racing being undermined by national sympathies.  Then Wiggo wins, then Froome is the favourite and I’m standing on Mount Ventoux holding a flag.

I had always found the throng of nationalities on the mountains part of the thrill, those strange Basque flags, the Lion of Flanders. While I suspect those regional flags probably have some political significance I am not required to acknowledge this. Its just part of the spectacle.

But standing on Alp d’Huez I found myself opposite a man wearing a bikini because he had lost a bet. Wearing in a Union Jack like a Sarong he wiggled his arse around while his girlfriend, in a Ginger Spice dress asked the men in Orange where they were from.  Their friends enthusiastically engaged with (harassed, annoyed, intimidated) anyone passing while tackling bottles of beer and red wine. A club mate suggested we should have pretended to be German.  I concluded that national allegiance is much more appealing in a language one does not understand.

Lukewarm response to Froome's TdF win

With the dust settling on both the Tour de France and the Old Portlians own mini tour this is a good chance to share some thoughts.

I would say that despite a fair bit of coverage last weekend by today the Chris Froome’s Tour win has safely sunk below the surface of media attention. Even in the immediate aftermath of his win a good few commentators were asking why in comparison to Wiggo last year, Froome had not captured the public imagination.

On one level this does seem odd; the manner of Froome’s win was at least as deserving. This was a far tougher parcour. Wiggo’s make time in the TT’s and defend in the mountains tactic would have been wretchedly exposed this time. And in 2012 the Sky team worked like clockwork throughout while this time they often looked brittle, Froome on several occasions is left to fend for himself. Beyond this Froome rode an attacking race, making time in the TT’s but also taking his opponent on in the high mountains in the process claiming some fantastic stage wins. To win a stage at the top of the Ventoux while in yellow in itself a huge achievement.

But then why the slightly downbeat reception.  Well, being the second to win is never quite the same as being the first, but it was the 100^th edition so special in other ways. Some have pointed to Froome’s ‘Britishness.’ Born in Kenya and educated in South Africa he doesn’t sound like he comes from Kilburn. While Wiggo was born abroad, he did grow up here and cut his teeth racing in Kent.  But to be fair we have learnt to love plenty of ‘English’ Cricketers who have more than a hint of somewhere else in their accent.

Others have suggested it is because he lacks Wiggo’s charisma. Now, I have to say I am something of an agnostic when it comes to Wiggo’s charm. A taste for Dadrock, Britpop swearing and sideburns does not maketh a personality. While some seem to appreciate his geezerish banter, it often seems crass to me.  Froome’s measured poignant and humble victory speech was appropriate to the occasion, when Wiggo’s raffle ticket ramblings fell a long way short. That said cool headed professionalism is not always a short cut to the nations hearts. David Beckham could become golden balls not just because he took descent free kicks. Disgrace, allowed him to seek redemption. A far more fetching story.

But for me another factor is surround success. For those old enough to remember, it was amazing how the British public could learn to care about ice skating when Robin Cousins or Torvill and Dean were our only medal prospect in the winter Olympics. On the Ventoux and Alp d’Huez there was no shortage of British fans, and cycling is a sport on the rise. But that is from a tiny niche base. We have few if any ancient grudges in cycling, there are no old rivalries that make defeat sting and victory sing. It is important to remember that last summer the Tour finished before the Olympics but after yet another disappointing England performance in football and yet another Wimbledon where our guy did not quite make it. This year it has arrive like the small chocolate with the bill in a curry house. Massive wins for the Lions, some dominant showings in the Ashes and that so long yearned for victory in Tennis has given the wider sporting public plenty to fear on. No need to dwell too long on something a little bit foreign. If the Aussies has sent the Lions packing, and England were following on in the Test, and Murray was once again rueing what might have been maybe we would have clung more passionately to this victory.

Honey Bane, There's a story in here somewhere

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Honey_Bane

If you are aged between 45 and 50 there is a small, actually tiny chance that you might remember Honey Bane. The high point, at least in commercial terms was her single 'Turn me on turn me off' that made 37 in the charts in 1980 and earned her a Top of the Pops appearance. It stuck in my memory because when Peter Powell introduced her he told us she was 16, which to the 14 year old me was pretty impressive. I was not taken by the tune, a bit of sub X-Ray Spex new wave, and her star did not linger long.

I was not sorry the song did not progress, but was surprised a couple of years later seeing she had credits for backing vocals on the Angelic Upstarts album. Seemed an odd connection, though as the album was produced by Jimmy Pursey the reason may become clear.  But what pricked my interest recently was seeing that she had released a song on Crass Records, 'You can be You' a couple of years before her moment in the sun on TotP. Now whatever Crass were up to it wasn't trying to promote teeny pop. It nudged me look a bit further and what emerges is quite a story.

The 14 year old Donna Boylan forms a punk band in 1978, Fatal Microbes. Ok there were probably a few thousand similar bands at the time but this mob had sufficient wherewithal to release a joint single was anarcho punks Poison Girls. Now we are already someway off the beaten track for the average 14 year old. But things seemed to take a sharp turn for the worse when she spent time in a youth detention centre. It was following this that she linked up with Crass, and released the single under the awful name of 'Donna and the Kebabs' while allegedly on the run from Social Services. That she found some kind of refuge at Dial House in the company of people like Penny Rimbaud and Gee Vaucher is kind of amazing in itself. But stardom was yet to beckon, she followed her time with Crass with had another stint in youth detention.

After singing with Killing Joke  she was picked up by Jimmy Pursey of Sham 69 who became her manager. This led to a deal with EMI and the hit single as Honey Bane. 

Once safely dropped by her label an acting career followed. The highlight of this was, by a horrible irony, a major role in the film Scrubbers. Alongside the likes of Kathy Burke she was part of a story about life in girls Borstal.  I guess there must have been only so much acting involved.

From what Wikipedia has to share the acting career was not lasting and rather cryptically states that 'Bane spent the remainder of the 1980s as a pin-up model for erotic magazines.'

On one level  she seems to have been kicking out at a world, that to quote the Libertines 'kicked back an awful lot harder'. At the same time there must have been something pretty remarkable about this girl to have enjoyed that patronage of Crass, Poison Girls, Sham 69 and Killing Joke before her 17th birthday.http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Honey_Bane

Newtown Neurotics - Footnote to a Punk Footnote

Browsing iTunes I stumbled across a half forgotten band from my teens. The Newtown Neurotics were never that big a name, even in their heyday. They dished out a kind of punk that sat somewhere between the Ramones and Billy Bragg and they hung around with the ranting poet Attila the Stockbroker. I saw them at a tiny festival in Bermondsey in the early 80's. They seemed a likable bunch and got the modest crowd bouncing around. Their most lasting legacy was the tub thumping anthem 'Lets Kick out the Tories'  a  song that  is as enthusiastic and naïve as the title suggests.

But listening to their stuff again, away from the rather obvious sloganeering there is something more interesting at work. The lyrics of  'Agony' and' Mind of Valerie' explore domestic violence, depression and compromised masculinity in a way that was pretty unusual for the early 80's. Lines like 'I know I am wrong, but the fury drives me on, cry is all I want to do, cry instead of bruising you' and 'whenever I get a bee in my bonnet its always you who gets stung' move the band into considerably more emotionally complex territory than most of their piers. Which kind of begs the question why would a band capable of this be satisfied with releasing a straight cover of Blitzkrieg Bop? Can't answer that one, but I am glad that this odd little footnote exists and hope that wherever they are today good things have come to them.

Reg Barnett - Nicest Cycling Story You Hear This Week

The smiling man in the Photo is one Reg Barnett. For those who are not big on their cycling history Reg was a Pro racer in the late 60's and 70's excelling in the track sprint. Nowadays he enjoys a slower pace of life, taking in  the odd pint at his local in Shoreham. As well as a bike racer he also built his own bikes and happened to mention this to one of his friends.
A few days ago he arrived at the pub to see something strange standing in the fire place. There in all its glory was one of the bikes that carried his name. Inspired by his story his friends had scoured E-bay and tracked down one of his creations and bought it as a surprise. The smile on his face will tell you what it meant to him.

Schools In -Forever

So Mr Gove wants schools to be free to set term dates, doing away with the 6 week summer break. I am so glad I am not a child right now. I still remember how wonderful those long breaks were, the kind of windows of freedom one only gets to enjoy as a child. The main benefit of this act of scroogery, according to those asked seems to be - 'a shorter break makes it easier for parents who struggle with child care.' So is that the reason children go to school, massed childminding to help their parents work longer  more easily?
I find it odd that Mr Gove seems determined to wrench education away from the tyranny of local government, (which is what this is really about) while enjoying playing with it himself like a huge version of The Sims.

Rapha and the Mamils

Enjoyed the article in today's Observer about Rapha and 'middle aged men in Lycra' (Mamils).
With a small cringe I acknowledge that I spend more time, thought and money on what I am going to wear riding to work than on what I wear once I get there. That probably makes me a bad person but hey.....

Cycling - You might as well join us

In the last 15 miles of the Wiggle Long One chap drew up next to me and started chatting. He was obviously in far better shape than me, as I was at a level where primitive grunting was as good as it got. This worked for both of us as he was happy to talk about himself, and I grunted occasionally.
He shared his own cycling creation myth. All of us who discover the sport in middle age kind of have one. However its not often that they start 'I got banned from driving, best thing that ever happened to me.' At the time I was quickly fatigued by his tale of jumped red lights and mobile phone abuse behind the wheel. As the road rose I took the opportunity to let him drop me.
Though part of his story did resonate. I remember it being a fiercely hot day about 8 years ago. I was driving between Bromley and Woolwich for work. It is one of those stretches with lots if lights and even more cars. I noticed a cyclist a a junction, I over took then at the next set he was back again. This kept repeating itself. At some point my thoughts moved from 'begone you impudent cur' to 'he's going as fast as me, he's not burning petrol, he's in the fresh air with the sun in his back, he's not stressed and flustered, I used to ride a bike, I quite liked riding a bike, I could get a bike.'

Time Trialing, Ladies and Lipstick

Having made the bold stride of allowing online entry to some events, if the organisers feel like it, I was looking forward to further progress now that a modernising wind of change is blowing through the CTT. Then a friend told me yesterday of her experience at a 25 last season. There was a small but strong group of women riders including one Jo Rowsell. The organisers had put them together on the start sheet to create a race within the race. All very encouraging.
One shouldn't get to carried away. The riders were talking amongst themselves before being called forward. When my friend clipped in for her start one of the organisers asked 'what were you ladies chatting about? Lipstick?'
It's hard to poke somebody in the eye when you are being held up on a TT bike. We speculated whether he would have said the same to Jo Rowsell. We agreed, probably.


 

Kenny Rogers - Darkness in the Lite

Seeing that Kenny Rogers is playing Glastonbury tickled me. This is because of his song Coward of The County. When it was doing the rounds in the early 80's it was the kind of thing I would walk out of the room to get away from. Dreadful country schmaltz sung by Father Christmas in his civvies. Much later, during one of the periodic outcrys about Rap lyrics, I think it was Ice T's Cop Killer, this song came back to me.

 I don't recall any demands that CotC be banned for its content, and this was a era when you could get banned for just about anything. So it proved that if  the singer is an old bloke with  a beard and  the tune is Nashville syrup you can get away with writing an approving reflection on a man's violent revenge  against the brothers who gang raped his girlfriend. 

This song was a huge international hit, but in the country cannon it is not alone in its dark subject matter. Violence, often sexually motivated is a presence in many old country songs. In the early 50's Molly O'Day sung of Ellen Smith being found murdered 'clothes scattered all around.' Nic Cave has enjoyed excavating this murky side of country. It can be heard in the Louvin Brothers and even in the clean cut Everley's. Listen past the staid performance and the plaintive harmony and one can hear the voice of an older darker world.