Stone the Crows

I started this blogsite with the intention of showing what a silly old fool I'm turning into (hence the name). However, it seems to have turned into a mixture of ramblings and reviews of gigs (and the occasional walk). Just as I realised that I do some really daft things nowadays and they may be a source of amusing and entertaining blogs, they suddenly seem to have dried up. I have not locked my keys in the car again (see 24 hours) and temper tantrums on mountainsides seem to be a thing of the past.

Aah, you're thinking, she's finally managed to do something really silly and lose all her dignity and she's dying to tell us. Well, I'm not sure on this one. I sincerely believe that what I've done is actually very sensible indeed but it seems to have such an aura of silliness. I don't think I ever had any dignity to lose but if I did, I irretrievably lost every scrap of dignity still clinging precariously to me on Thursday evening when I turned up for my first ever practise...

at Morris Dancing.

Most people think of ribbons and bells and maypoles when they think of Morris Dancing. This may be the form known as Cotswold Morris, although I'm not sure about the bells. The sort I'm into is Border Morris, which is really boisterous and involves enthusiastic use of sticks and where the dancers tend to dance in black costumes decorated with tatters (rags) and/or feathers and black their faces.

My first experience of Border Morris was seeing the Flag Crackers dance on the Flag Market at Preston a few years ago. They wear clogs (if you check the link and look at the photos, you will be able to see this) and I was mesmerised. Last year, I saw another Border Morris team at Ludlow and again I was mesmerised. This was entertainment indeed and I stood and photographed them for some time. Here's one of the pictures I took. Sorry about the ice-cream van and park bench.

I have a profile on MySpace, where I've used a picture of two of these Morris Dancers as my profile pic and recently, I got some messages and add requests from bona fide Morris Dancers. One of them suggested I might like to participate. She assured me it is a great form of exercise, although the beer may be somewhat counterproductive. Well, the more I thought about it, the more I thought it a superb idea. So I went online (I was probably already online) and did a Google search and found a promising name, Stone the Crows. I rather like Crows and it seemed to be a good omen, so I e-mailed them and waited for a reply.

Which came last Monday, telling me where they practise and suggesting I go along on Thursday. I went along and it would be under-stating the case to say I was extremely nervous and almost at the point of driving away when I saw somebody walking towards the school where the practises are held. I got out of my car and shouting "Excuse me, excuse me" like the insignificant little ant in an advert for a Trades Union from a few years ago, ran after her. I caught her up and she confirmed that she was a member of the morris team and introduced herself to me. I reciprocated and we got talking. A good start.

The rest of the team were fantastic and they made me feel at home straightaway. They taught me the step first - a bit like what a boxer does when he skips. I practised during the warm up and then they taught me my first dance, Tinners, which is relatively simple. I was knackered after it but it felt soooo good! They practised various others, including one called The Black Widow and I learned 2 others, including a procession and I was really pleased because I seemed to be picking it up quite easily. Finally, we danced Tinners again and I joined in with enthusiasm. It was great!

We went to the pub afterwards and I was supposed to eat a pickled egg as a rather bizarre initiation ceremony. I jibbed and told them I'm allergic to eggs (I'm so ashamed of myself now!) but we sat there and talked and told jokes (including my favourite, what did the fish say when it swam into a wall? Dam!) and I drank diet coke until it seemed like a good idea to go home.

They're doing an extra practise for novices next week and I'm definitely going, this time with a bottle of water - it's hot work is Border Morris. Then they will be dancing out because the Morris season is now well and truly underway. I hope I'll be able to dance outside pubs with them soon until I'm up to speed and have my costume sorted and then hopefully, I'll be able to dance at festivals etc.

Yes, my costume. I need to get:

• Item: 1 pair of black trousers
• Item: 1 black jacket to be trimmed with mainly black tatters with a few blue and green. The tatters have to form wing like extensions to the sleeves and a tail like extension to the back of the jacket.
• Item: 1 top hat to be decorated with black feathers

Oh and possibly some burnt cork for my face. I'm really, really looking forward to it.

Finally, I managed to find some footage of Stone the Crows dancing at the Chippenham Folk Festival on YouTube and I really want to share it with my readers. They actually practised this dance last Thursday and watching it brought back great memories. I can assure you, Border Morris is good for the soul.

Goldblade at Manchester Academy 3

I'm hot, I'm sweaty, I'm wearing three t-shirts and my hair looks like a bush but I'm happy, very happy indeed. The reason for my happiness is that a large proportion of sweat on my arms, on my hands, on my face and in my hair originated in the sweat glands of John Robb, lead singer of Goldblade.

As you may have guessed, I have been to see Goldblade tonight. The evening started well. Although we set off rather late, we got to the venue, Manchester Academy (3), in good time. There, in the foyer, was John Robb himself. He is a real man of the people and is happy to chat to people. Even better, he is happy to admit that he does not remember your last encounter with him, which is admirable honesty on his part.

So I walked in accompanied by my older daughter, Charlie, and she went off to the toilet. John was chatting to a fan/friend (it's hard to tell the difference when it comes to John), so I loitered and waited. Charlie came out of the toilet and started to go upstairs so I went over to John and eventually spoke to him. I mentioned that I had talked to him at Wasted and he said he didn't remember me. I have no problem with that because there were a lot of people at Wasted and loads of them spoke to John.

Then Charlie came back downstairs and I introduced her to him. She was wearing a Towers of London t-shirt so he mentioned the gig and we said we had been there. We talked about the Towers: John appears to have a quite high opinion of them, which I'm glad about because I think they are a badly underrated band.

Then we went upstairs and into Academy 3 and I got drinks in. Vodka and Coke for me and Vodka and Orange for Charlie. The first band, Kamikaze Sperm came on soon after, the lead singer dressed in a rather nice halter neck dress.

They played good, loud, obnoxious punk, so how could I complain. They also had a nice touch, a girl on an alto sax. It would have been very Xray Spex had the lead singer sounded anything like Poly Styrene. He didn't but I loved the sound and bought a CD and t-shirt after the gig.

Next, rather unexpectedly for me, was a comedian, Ted Chippington. I thought he was fabulous and even chipped in (sorry) on a couple of occasions (shouting "Blackpool" when he wanted us to shout names of towns in Lancashire for instance). He also sang strange versions of "She Loves You" by the Beatles, "Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree" by Tony Orlando and Dawn (I found myself singing along to that) and finally D.I.S.C.O. by Ottawan, accompanied by a lone drummer. Bloody marvellous!


There was then a bit of a wait for the main attraction and we were fooled into believing it would come a little sooner by what must have been a light check. Someone backstage asked me what time it was (I had been right at the front since Kamikaze Sperm had started their first song) and I rather foolishly told him it was five to ten. I should have said five past and Goldblade would have started early.


Minutes before Goldblade came on, I spotted a familiar face from Wasted. The familiar face comes with a Wolverhampton accent and I stated the bleeding obvious to him - something along the lines of "you're from Wolverhampton aren't you?" He confirmed that he was. I then admitted I don't remember his name. He said he didn't remember mine but remembered that I'd been with Dave from the Straps when he first met me. I introduced myself and I'm sure he did the same but I didn't hear him so I still don't know his name. I also introduced Charlie to him.

Then Goldblade came on to a huge roar from the crowd. There was also a huge surge forward and I found myself pinned against the front of the stage. That didn't worry me because John Robb came and shook my hand and they began with probably my favourite of their songs - Fighting in the Dancehall - and I immediately began the jigging, shaking my hair everywhere (an innovation for this gig), pointing my finger at the stage (well, actually at various members of the band in strict rotation) and singing along at the top of my voice that I always do on these occasions. To my bitter disappointment, John did not hold the mic out for me to sing along into but never mind. I got over it.


Charlie took this picture of John and I really, really like it:


It's clearly very early in the gig because he still has his shirt buttoned up and his quiff is still a bit in place.

I really do not know the order in which they played their songs because I didn't nick the set list. I do know they sang Psycho and I'm pretty sure I sang into the mic for that one, also Power of Rock and Roll and I shouted "I believe!" into the mic when John Robb laid his hand on my head and shouted "Do you believe?". They sang Black Sheep Radical, Rebel Songs, ACDC, The Decline and Fall of Ancient Rome. They had girls dancing on stage and then about half the audience. They also had what I can only describe as a mad monk. The band had had placards made to help us with the songs and the monk used one to fan us in the audience.

Not at this stage. By this time he and the band were whipping us into a frenzy. I was certainly frenzied and when they went off after Kiss My Ass (something I will remember at work on Monday, John, I promise), I feverishly chanted Gold-blade, Gold-blade along with everybody else there.

They came out and did the encore, Home Turf. I absolutely love Home Turf but I had t-shirts to buy and a train to catch so we had to go. Charlie got a Goldblade t-shirt, I got a Goldblade t-shirt, a Goldblade badge, a Kamikaze Sperm CD and a Kamikaze Sperm t-shirt. Then we went back to Oxford Road Station and caught the last train back to Preston.

I put the extra t-shirts on along the way for extra warmth and when I got home, I put the kettle on and switched the computer on. That's why I'm hot, I'm sweaty, I'm wearing three t-shirts and my hair looks like a bush but I'm happy, very happy indeed. Oh and for ladies of a certain age, here's a picture of John Robb without his shirt on and I'm sure his sweat has magical properties.

Argy Bargy in Manchester, Punk, Skins and Mosh Pits

I went to see Argy Bargy on Friday. The first person I have to thank is my LSH (long suffering husband) because he persuaded me to leave my poor, ill little girl (okay, she's 16 and taller than me but she's still poor and ill) at home with him and go out and enjoy myself. I suppose I also ought to thank my poor ill little girl (previously blogged about under the name of Bobbie) for allowing me to leave her in the capable hands of her Dad when she was feeling so ill.

So I got a return ticket to Manchester and got on the train to Piccadilly by myself. I don't usually go to gigs on my own. I think my taste in Oi Punk is quite specialist and I could not find anybody in my immediate family or circle of friends who wanted to go. Fortunately, I did know a couple of people who were going to be there so I was reassured that I wasn't going to be completely isolated.

So I got off the train at Piccadilly and went out to where the taxi rank is. I knew the pub was opposite the train station and my older daughter had given me quite specific instructions on how to leave the station so I wouldn't be wandering around for ages asking people how to get to the pub. I checked the buildings immediately opposite the station and realised that the pub I was heading for is not quite opposite. In the distance, I could see a building that looked like the picture on the Net and I walked towards it. It was the Star and Garter, so I walked in and paid my £6 and went straight to the bar.

I got my half a Fosters and while I was being served, I looked around for familiar faces. I didn't want to stand around on my own like a complete lemon - that would have made me miserable. Fortunately, I spotted a couple of friendly faces I've seen before and I went over to talk to them. Once they realised I'd come on my own, they became knights in shiny armour (not very punk, I know, the armour should be tarnished and held together with safety pins) and took me under their wing.

We went up to see the first band, the Bullet Kings. When the gig was over and I was walking back to the station, I chatted to one of them. I'm pretty sure he was the bassist but I know I was quite pissed by then so I'm not absolutely certain. He did wear a UK Subs t-shirt, I know that. I asked him twice what the name of his band was and told him I'd blog about the gig. To my shame, I forgot almost immediately and I had to look it up before writing this blog.

Well, the Bullet Kings played good, fast, loud punk and I enjoyed the set. My KISA (Knights in Shiny Armour) bought me drinks and we chatted. If I remember rightly, I think I told one of the KISA that I love it when punks get old and fat - sorry! I was having a great time. I also went and bought myself a t-shirt (an Argy Bargy one) which has the words:

Argy Bargy
HOOLIBIRD

on it. This appealed to my inebriated self a great deal and I showed it off to all and sundry before putting it on. I hasten to add that it has continued to appeal to me since I sobered up yesterday and I will wear it with pride at every opportunity.

The next band were The Great St Louis and I can't blog about them because I didn't see them. I was too busy chatting to people in the bar and admiring their tattoos (an annoying habit I have). It's amazing how much time I can waste talking to complete strangers and admiring their tattoos once I've had a few beers.

3CR were great. I've got a picture of Boggy on my phone. I didn't know who he was when I took it. I was just admiring his mohican and decided to take a picture of it. I think I asked him first, I'm a polite sort of a person. Now I know who he is, I proudly show it off to all and sundry, interested or completely uninterested. Don't ask me to name any of their songs, I can't but I enjoyed the set and will catch them at the next opportunity.

Finally, Argy Bargy, the band I'd come to see. I largely ignored the Oi bands when I was a teenager. I knew a couple of Sham 69 songs and I like the UK Subs but much of the movement passed me by. I think it was a bit too hardcore for my young ears. Now, I love Oi. My taste in music has moved more to the extreme and the louder and harder it is, the better. I don't own any CDs by Argy Bargy so I can't mention individual songs (although I picked up the set list from the stage at the end of the gig and I will get some stuff on CD now) but I can say that I enjoyed myself enough to dance in the rather weird way I do dance to punk and stand on the edge of the mosh pit. I love the violence of the mosh pit too (that's a word I've had to import). It's a friendly sort of violence, people get knocked down but everybody helps them back to their feet, and I got soaked by someone's drink when he was pushed into me. Something quite sweet but not cider. Not good because my hair goes wavy when it gets wet. I moved right to the front at the end of the gig and that's when I picked up the set list.

Oi is credited with bringing punks and skinheads together. I remember an incident many years ago when my sister, one of our friends (a lad whose name escapes me now) and I were walking through Churchill Park in Bromley. We were all punks. Some skinheads attacked our friend and were really putting the boot in. Me and my sister shouted at them and pulled some of them off him. I was very scared at the time and I was pretty shocked too. It was the first time I saw anybody beaten up.

Later, I became good friends with a few skinheads, very good friends with one in particular, who used to walk me home late at night after gigs. I've never really been scared of skinheads, well not since my friend was beaten up, and nowadays I find the look very attractive indeed! I texted my good friend from the gig. The message said and I think this is word for word:

"I'm a bisexual. I like punx and skins."

Now, because I like doing it, here's a nice video of Argy Bargy singing "Read all about it".

All Hard and Sharp Places

I've just got back from a weekend away with my long suffering husband. We were actually away for two nights and one full day only but it did me good. We went to Keswick, which I now believe is the best place in England. We stayed in a nice B & B and I was able to get myself re-habilitated from my humiliating and traumatic experience on the Pap of Glencoe.

Right, lets start with our journey up to Keswick. It was only remarkable because we were overtaken on the M6 by a Ford Focus ST or, as Jeremy Clarkson would have it, a Ford ASBO. Okay, that's not remarkable, we get overtaken by all sorts, including bicycles, but this Ford ASBO owner has a registration plate that reads ASBO from a distance. We were debating whether this is owned by somebody who works for Ford or if somebody had seen the chance early on and had got the car and registration plate of his dreams. We were probably debating it until we got our first view of Windermere.

When we drove through Ambleside, my LSH (long suffering husband) pointed out The Glasshouse Restaurant. I have to admit, I'm only interested because I watched the episode on Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares and I still cringe at the Chef saying "Sex on a spoon!" - yeuch, horrible!!!

Some more magnificent scenery later and we drove into Keswick. After a little farting about and a brief visit to Castlerigg Stone Circle (see below), we checked into the B & B.



After that we went to see the Bowderstone. I really like the Bowderstone. It's like a bumble bee (follow the link); it doesn't know it should not be able to stand on an edge so it does it anyway.



I had to take the picture from the "B-side" because there was a lunatic climber trying to claim up the overhang and I didn't want him in the picture. I did get a rather nice Border Collie in though - he's on the left about halfway up, by the way. Completely by accident but I think it makes the picture more charming.

Then we went into Keswick and got me a hat (absolutely necessary to stop my hair blowing in my face all the time) and a new rucsac (not absolutely necessary but we wanted it).

Well, after that, we went back to the B & B and later we walked into Keswick and had tea and a few drinks. We ate in the Bank Tavern, which I can recommend heartily. It has a good selection of Jennings ales; I had Cocker Hoop - 4.6%, light ale and absolutely brilliant (Sex in a glass?), LSH had Sneck Lifter - 5.2%, dark and delicious (drunkenness in a glass). I had Cumberland Pie with a huge salad and he had Cumberland Sausages and Hickory Smoked Sausages with mash and veg. The food was very, very good; the beer was magnificent. At the end of the evening, we walked back to the B & B, me giggling inanely and telling him rubbish jokes and him not laughing at them. What Larks!

The next morning, I was hungover but still game for a bit of fell walking. We had a hearty breakfast, courtesy of our hosts at the B & B, and off we went. He had decided to go up Castle Crag and, in view of my bad head, this did not seem a bad idea.

It was a great walk.

First there was the river Derwent, which feeds Derwentwater.

Then after some climbing, we came to a part of the walk where the landscape almost looked alien. It was all jagged and inspired me to come out with the phrase that gave rise to the title of this blog: "I love this bit, it's all hard and sharp places".

We had already had a view of Castle Crag earlier on in the walk but I managed to get a picture of it just a bit further up the hill. Now, I apologise if it looks wonky (it does to me and I've done a bit of editing and rotating but I can't get it to look right) but I suspect that Castle Crag is just that - wonky. But then, you wouldn't want it to look all straight and uniform. That wouldn't be natural now, would it?

The views from the top were spectacular. I just wish my photos were but it was windy and most of them are blurred or plain camera shook, which is a real shame. I did manage to find this amongst them:




The views at the top were not spectacular. This one is of me and I've made it very small because I am pulling the most ridiculous face imaginable. I'd like to pretend it was the wind and the cold that made me look like that... It was the wind and the cold that made me look like that. I had my new hat on so you can't see the blue streaks in my hair, the new rucsac on my back and my trusty walking stick in my right hand. It was very cold indeed but I was happy.

You will all be pleased to know that I made it down again in one piece and I did not once sit down and refuse to move until I was rescued by Mountain Rescue. My left knee hurt a bit (it always does) and I noticed that I have a left hip and left elbow - that side of my body is wearing out faster than the right side - but otherwise I reached the bottom in full health.

One thing I did notice is when I'm going uphill - especially scrambling (a mild form of climbing), I'm very much left-legged - I lead with my left. Coming downhill and doing the reverse of scrambling, I'm right-legged. I'm not sure if this is because my left knee can't take too much jolting and I've made allowances for this since my fell-walking career began or if I've always done that but not noticed. Hmmm, interesting.

Well, after that, we went back to the B & B and then went into Keswick for our tea and another drink. This time I drove so I stayed on the fruit based drinks. We ate in another pub, The Oddfellow's Arms, which also sells Jennings (but not my favourite, Cocker Hoop - I had Mountain Man instead) and the food there is very good too. I stayed sober, my LSH did not and he fell asleep in front of Match of the Day later.

So, I'm glad to say that the weekend went very well indeed and I'm not longer a wimp when it comes to fell walking. Sharp Edge, here I come!

The Towers of London

Last night I went to see The Towers of London at Academy 3 in Manchester. This is not going to be a standard review with a list of songs because I won't be able to remember them in detail and I'm absolutely rubbish at "musical criticism". First, here's a picture of them. As you can see, they're all nice clean cut boys.








Now let me tell you about the mix of people there. Well, I was there and I'm an ageing punk and my older daughter was there and she's a complete emo. There were the obligatory Towers Clones but fewer than last time. I really do not understand people who feel the need to dress and wear their hair like their musical heroes. There were some youngsters with Mohicans, so I'll class them as punks and some who I could have sworn were skinheads, although they were not wearing the usual skin clobber. There were more emo-types and long haired gentlemen. I'm not sure what I would call the latter but I do like the term metal head. Then, there were assorted unclassifiable types who have the individuality not to wear a uniform and good for them I say! Oh yes and John Robb from Goldblade was there. Now I'm not usually particularly observant but I spotted him. I just hope one of the Towers reciprocates at the Goldblade gig I'm going to next month.



A quick word about the support band. They were called the Courteenas and they played enjoyable loud pop and they have a small but loyal following (have I said that before?) The lead singer was to my ageing eye total eye candy and I feasted my eyes for the full 45 minute set. He could sing too and they had one of those drummers I particularly admire. He can drum and sing backing vocals as well. One of the hard men of rock say I!



The Towers started off with I'm a Rat and, well I couldn't help myself, I went into full ageing punk mode, throwing myself around, pointing at the stage and screaming along to the lyrics at full blast. I kept this up through the second song and in to the third and then my dodgy back and knees told me they'd had enough and I moved over to the side away from the shoving of the mosh pit (a particularly frenzied and violent one) and danced slightly more sedately. I should emphasise the word slightly. Some songs evoked a more passionate response from me than others but there was only one I didn't know, a new one called The Bible. The songs I jigged about to, sang along to and pointed at the stage with most energy were How Rude She was, Air Guitar, Fuck it Up, Good Times and what must now be my personal favourite, Kill the Pop Scene. I love the sentiments of that song.



At one point Donny said something along the lines of "I'm glad you're all here, some people fucking hate us". Really sad that; I know there are plenty of people who do hate them. I think part of the problem is the lads' youth and they are rebelling big time so when they come out with things like the Sex Pistols aren't fit to suck their cocks (daft buggers) they are bound to rattle a few cages. I think the comment about the Sex Pistols was ill-advised. Without punk and therefore by extension, the Sex Pistols, The Towers of London would be at best a very different band and at worst they would not exist at all. Still, I don't expect humility and I like a bit of rebellion. It makes me feel young again.



Well, I've tried to keep this short. I really enjoyed the gig and I mean really. I think the Towers are under-rated and too frequently written off as either talentless yobs or jumpers-on of bandwagons. That's not really fair. They have masses of energy, they can play their instruments, they all have stage presence and Donny is a born entertainer. I love the mixture of the Ramones dress sense and the Rod Stewart hairstyles. Musically, the Rev is reminiscent of Steve Jones (I hope I don't offend either of the two gentlemen by saying that) and Donny has a bit of a Johnny Rotten snarl (ditto to those two gentlemen). I tend to watch them with an indulgent "that's my boy" kind of look in my eye but I'm pretty certain they know what they're doing on the whole and I take my hat off to them. Seeing as I like to finish off with a video, here's one I found on You Tube and I think it's rather charming.

I don't wanna be someone like you

I've been thinking a bit recently. I know thinking is very dangerous especially in the political climate we have at the moment (ooh! Rennies being all political) so I try to keep my thinking to nice superficial and unimportant subjects. Well, here's one such.

I've been wondering recently why it is I have such a negative reaction to people who drive cars like Beamers, Mercs, Audis, Jags. You know the sort I mean. I would call it resentment rather than envy. Envy suggests I want to be like them and yet the over-riding feeling I get is best summed up by the chorus from a fantastic Cockney Rejects song:

I don't wanna be
I can't stand to be
I don't wanna be
SOMEONE LIKE YOU!

You see, I don't want bleached blonde hair, sunglasses (probably very expensive ones), long talons, I mean nails (probably acrylic ones) et cetera, et-bloody-cetera. I really don't want to be someone like that. Those cars and looks are what I would call ostentatious displays of wealth or their husbands' wealth. So I resent them. No idea why, I just do. I would say that I'm the opposite of them. I can't pretend to poverty. I'm not poor, I'm comfortably off and I can afford the necessities of life plus a few luxuries, like my computer and the Internet. I like to show off my moderate means and my 2004 Hyundai Getz is a nice way to do it. It was the second cheapest new car available when I got it. The cheapest felt horrible to drive so I went for the second cheapest. It is pretty no frills, although it boasts electric windows and a CD player. However, when it's raining, you can hear how thin the roof is. The raindrops make a plonking noise on it.

So I don't aspire to big cars, holidays abroad (not even in Cambodia), designer handbags, shoes or clothes. I aspire to more tattoos (two just don't seem enough), more piercings, blue hair, lots and lots of punk gigs and a thoroughly Rebellious weekend in Blackpool this August.

Oh and I suppose I wouldn't mind a Honda Civic Type R, preferably about 7 years old but in MINT condition. I know I could have so much fun in one of those. I already do in Gran Turismo.

I can't get a video of the song I quoted above so here's another little clip which should amuse all like-minded people. Enjoy:

Read and Weep

I was just adding a few more interesting blogs to my Blogs of Note box and I have just read three of the most depressing blogs ever. All on the same subject. They can be found in Police Inspector Blog, The Policeman's Blog and Mr Chalk. Here are the links to them:

Police Inspector Blog
The Policeman's Blog
Mr Chalk

I am married to a policeman myself and I know what a dangerous job it can be. I'm lucky because in nearly 21 years in the job he has sustained no more than a couple of bruises. This young man's life is over at 21 years of age and the thugs who put him in this state will be out of prison in a few years' time. It sickens me. Read and Weep.