28th February 2005
Self esteem hits localized high
Wiggin' - Up t'North - via yateswire -- It was today announced that the self-esteem of sometime maniacal depressive Yatesy-major had been given a boost. Local sources attempted to break the story citing a cocktail of champagne, a harem of virgins and a lottery windfall. Yateswire contacted Yates and asked for the Truth™.
A spokeperson for Yates refuted the claims of sex, drugs and rock'n'roll, stating that the real Yatesy could only be impressed by weak cigarettes, a good Bourgogne and wussy female artists who croon softly. The contact added "I mean, Yatesy is a Sancerre, bubble bath and Telegraph crossword kind of guy. Heaven forbid the candles are the wrong flavor; you really have to see this guy to appreciate what a prima donna he is. Elton John looks bloody macho in comparison."
Shortly after this statement, Yatesy himself appeared to announce that his spokesman had been sacked for a breach of confidence, cited as clause XXXV, 2(a), subsection iii-2-i, paragraph 5.
"The Reverand Smutt has left the employ of Yatescentral having violated a condition of his employment contract." Yatesy said, "The reason for the sudden boost in self-esteem is the advent of some metrology consultancy work that may boost the coffers to levels unseen for months."
Refusing to up his guidance for the quarter, the well known pedant and petulance personified CEO of Yatescentral added "Certain approaches have been made. I have accepted those approaches while making sure the recipients are on all fours with their arses pointed towards the heavens. The Street can wait; they're all rich enough anyway. There are tax implications that need to be worked through. I will issue guidance when I feel fit. Now please forgive me, I have no time for questions; I have a bath running and the Sancerre is getting warm."
He paused momentarily for a photo-op, the first op since his famous hair cut hit the tabloids a few weeks ago. All the mainstream media were left with was echos of demands for Silk Cut Silver.
Yateswire will update the story, once bathtime is over and the rubber duckies have been put away.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 14:39 CST
27th February 2005
Rhapsody in blue, not
I watched the Carling Cup this afternoon. So, as any fair thinking Northerner will appreciate, my blood-pressure is through the roof. Firstly, the referee was a joke. He handed out yellow cards like hookers hand out cards in a game that, with one exception, was played in good spirits. Oh, and how did he fail to notice the obvious penalty that Liverpool should have been awarded and then turn a blind eye to several Chelsea off-sides?
Mourinho makes my blood boil. He's an arrogant, pathetic school-girl. Screaming insults at opposition players is not the action of a good manager; it's the behaviour of a spoiled brat. Taunting Liverpool fans behind you is not wise either. The bloke's a characature of all that is wrong with the mainland European game.
Liverpool were robbed. They wanted it more than Chelsea did and it was written all over them. Chelsea may be 6 points clear in the league, but I defy anyone to tell me that they are the best team in Britain. Whereas they started the season playing some good football, they have looked decidedly average for a few months now, scraping single goals and looking about as hungry as a dog that has just finished a couple of pounds of prime sirloin. You can build a side with money but you can't build a club. United are the one of the world's richest clubs through organic growth, not sickeningly wealthy foreign business men. Chelsea are not the best side in the country. They're a cynically created team of drones. I hope this is not a sign of things to come. My love-affair with the beautiful game may end in tears if it is.
I'd have a rant about what Fergie was thinking on Wednesday night and yesterday with his substitutions but I'm all football fatigued out. What role exactly did he think Alan Smith should have been playing yesterday? Or Saha on Wednesday? Three strikers on the same pitch twice within a few days. Maybe he's started hitting the sauce before evening games? I don't EVER want to see that again.
Oh, and before I go, I would just like to point out that the terrestrial TV stations are showing utter shite all week. I may have to take up origami to get me through the nights.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 13:59 CST
25th February 2005
Just a Wigan coversation rattling in my head
No reason for the title other than the fact that Wigan sounds so much more cosmopolitan than New York. In fact were I to describe where I am currently located in that brash NY way, I'd say I was between Currytown and Little Pieland, just across the canal from Market Square. Choke on that one NY'ers.
As is my predisposition, I arose this morning and headed down to Ashton. Which was actually a good thing; I had a doctor's appointment, so once again my prestigious holistic guidance system served me well.
While merrily jaunting down the road, smiling at the elderly and grimacing at kids and chavs, I was transported back to medieval England. "Why?" you might ask. Was it having to duck to avoid the stream of chamber pots being emptied from the windows of upper floor thatched dwellings? No. But close. Was it the splat of horse shit on straw? No. But closer still. Was it lusty maidens in hessian frocks waving tankards of cloudy beer with shillings at the bottom? Don't be silly. That would be ridiculous. This is frickin' Wigan.
No. It was the voluminous quantities of doggy-do peppered along the pavement. Tiptoe through the tulips this was not. It was more akin to saving your limbs in a minefield. Peeps, pick up your damned dog crap.
In place of the medieval dead bodies, Ashton has subsituted broken glass. Evidently, there is some local ritual that necessetates the smashing of a vessel once the contents have been imbibed. For a moment I was conned into thinking that there must have been a Greek wedding parade in Wigan Road, or a Russian vodka-tasting stand outside the labour club. Alas no. Just dimwit yocals who apparently are so proud of their thumbs, they practice using them by throwing bottles at each other.
Even the guide dogs look for dog poo and glass as they walk. Such is evolution.
I did pop into see my distant cousin Dave Gorner on my return trip. He works at the lofted Gorner's Garage on Wigan Road. They sell all sorts of fancy schmancy cars nowadays. Mercedes, TVRs, Babus, Porsche etc. And they have a wicked coffee machine. Me? I was lusting after the totally gay purple Rover hatchback with 73,000 miles on the clock for a bargain 1900 quid. Let me think here a minute. 30,000 for a Merc or 1900 for a Rover (in GAY purple.) That Rover will be mine. And Natzoid will love me more when I pick her up from the airport in it. She'll swoon at the deep and sensuous color then tell me she always knew I was gay. Ach. You can't win 'em all.
Anyway, I'm off down the WBC (Wigan Borough Council) in a bit to see the Man about some Stuff. Stuff here is a fortnightly stipend of negligible amount which the government insist is perfectly adequate to live off. Good. Another experiment unfolds. That's if I even qualify.
If it wasn't so real, I could do a "'Tis" in a few weeks. In fact, don't tempt me. I might yet.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 08:33 CST
23rd February 2005
There's a bloke works down the Co-op swears he's Kenny
In my Herculean efforts to restore my id sense of humor, I decided last night that I would have a casual stroll down to the local Co-op today to investigate the tempting career of working the check-out. Being the kind of consumate professional that I am, I bathed, shaved etc, donned a shirt, tie and some slacks and headed off down to Bryn Cross, making sure that I checked that any personal pride had been securely stored in the overhead locker cupboard under the stairs. I locked the cupboard just in case any of the nasty stuff seeped out and followed me.
I had considered taking a copy of my CV down with me. My Northern common sense recommended otherwise, so off I trotted.
I walked in to said emporium where the vacancy was still published on the window. "Ask for a manager or a leaflet" it kindly advised. I asked for a manager. None was available. I asked for a leaflet, but the supervisor, a girl of maybe 22, could not find one so gave me a web site address.
As I shuffled around waiting for the search to be fruitless, I noticed that not one of the employees was over 25 apart from a frightening looking woman in her fifties who appeared to be incapable of communication in any language I am familiar with. This was Wigginese taken to another level; a cross between Klingon and Ferrengi.
My personal pride was apparently banging in the cupboard at roughly the same moment as I was surveying this scene. I began to debate the sense in having worn a tie. While pretending to be shopping during my wait for naught, I caught customers giving me sideways glances and worried looks of "Oh shit, it's not the health and saftey man again is it? Only he wears a tie. I wonder whatever happened to Norman?"
Once I had been furnished with the (what has since been proved to be shite) website, I thought I should take action to dispel the obvious concern I had created within the clientele.
Very overtly, and some might say dramatically, I picked up a bag of spuds, commented on how good they looked, grabbed a paper, paid for it and left with a flourescent smile.
When I arrived back, I opened the cupboard door to release my pride. It had moved during take-off and landing. It hasn't spoken to me since. Which is a good thing, as I intend to ring for an appointment with the God of the Co-op.
The rebuilding process often starts in the foundations. And a pre-requisite to doing that is to destroy some or all of what was there before. Let's take out that stupid pride and donate it to Oxfam. Then get a trowel full of humor and cover the hole that was left.
"Ah yes. Maris Pipers? That will be 75p luv. I wouldn't mind a Maris Piper missen'." Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 10:22 CST
22nd February 2005
Appeal for UK satellite geek advice
I am now so totally out of the loop with all things televisual in the UK, that I should declare myself a geek pensioner and apply for an old age pittance pension. I cannot even operate my dad's satellite TV controller. The myriad digital channels that have cropped up, rewinding live TV and picture in picture of multiple football matches leave me dizzy, and longing for a nice round dial I can twiddle with to get all THREE channels.
Anyway, all of that is a precursor to the actual question I want to ask. It just seems fair to let you know the level of feck-wit you are dealing with here.
The thing is that my grandmother has been very, very good to me over the years, and is being even more so now. The one thing that she wants is some German speaking channels to watch. Now, with a bit of luck, I should have some money coming in soon and I would like to be able to get her said channels in freaky-deaky Deutsche via some form of cable or satellite distribution.
So come on tech-heads...let me know your wisdom. In this day and age, where you can get frickin' Al Jahzeera on SKY, surely we can get some gut alt Kraut TV?
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 14:18 CST
21st February 2005
The road to Wigan Pier
This, quite literally, is the road to Wigan Pier. Follow this for about four miles, and there you are, the legendary nowhere that Orwell thought epitomized the futility and horror of an industrial land.
If you turn 180 degrees towards Ashton, you have Bryn Station just across the road.
A walk of less than a half mile up to Rose Hill shows the contrast of the miners' housing and what used to be a farming village. Two worlds collided here a long time ago.
This is all that is left of my grandfather's prefered watering hole, The Britannia at Bryn Cross. Walley's, as it was affectionately known, was a treat. It is the only pub I have ever been in where the floor sloped towards the door and where seats and tables were bolstered by beermats so as to keep them flat. It served a refreshingly awful pint of Greenalls. Whoever knocked it down had a fantastic sense of humor, leaving the door frame up.
Finally, a picture of El Wonder Dog, Harmony who accompanies me on little tours.
More as I venture out further afield.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 10:24 CST
EU rantings
I was going to post an update to the health factor, but before I had finished the first sentence I had lost the will to live, and my left leg had fallen off with the ennui and langour of it all.
Instead, I will rant about what a shambles the EU is. In looking for local jobs, I was surprised by the notable numbers of open vacancies for HGV drivers. I remarked upon this to my father as I explained that unless you are a HGV driver, plumber or a tele-sales professional, you're a bit stuffed for employment in this locale. He commented that the plethora of driving jobs was due to the EU's new limits on the amount of time drivers can spend at the wheel.
Now some may see this as a sensible safety measure. But the EU being the EU and all that is inefficient and self-serving, I would disagree. A cynical mind like mine would offer the postulation that it is indeed a very cunning way of ensuring the unemployment numbers stay down and that the onus of paying these near minimum wage employees is redirected firmly back onto the consumer as the cost of transportation soars.
Interestingly, I read a poll this morning that cited the UK as being the only EU member state where the number of dissenters to a EU constitution is greater than the number of supporters. And I think that is very telling. We may be geographically situated in Europe, but our ways are not those of mainland Europe. Our values and politics differ greatly from the French and the Germans.
In the same paper that I read the survey, I noticed a story about the inhabitants of Brittany demonstrating against what they term the "British colonization" of their part of the world. Tempted by cheaper housing and a more sedate pace of life, the Brits are upping and offing to Brittany in their thousands. Surely in this lovey-dovey fluffy union, where we have the right to live in any member state, this xenophobia has no place. Again, my cynical sensors were firing like the Dresden blitz as I read this article. The membership of the EU by most countries is a purely self-serving exercise. In France's case, we get to subsidize the annual strike season. In Germany's case we get to subsidize their re-unification costs. In Ireland's case, they get to absorb massive grants for high-tech industries to populate their cities (which, incidentally, will up and off to China as soon as the grants end.) Do I need to mention the Italian or Spanish economies?
Pretty soon, the UK will need to perform or get off the potty. We're either subscribers to the Federal Union of Europe or we are not. I fear that we are too far down the road to reverse the process. Criminal inefficiencies and wonderful non-altruistism will be de rigeur.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 07:00 CST
18th February 2005
Crappy joke
Given my days are remarkably similar, I thought I would share my current favorite joke. I have Yatesified it for optimal chortling. Enjoy.
It's a Friday night and a call comes into traffic control stating that there's a car on the M25 crawling down the outside lane doing no more than 30 mph. Cars are careering to avoid it as they suddenly realise the lack of speed. Dispatch calls the nearest unit and they set off to pull over the errant driver.
They quickly catch up with the slow-coach and pull them over.
PC Plod walks to the car and is surprised to see an old lady at the wheel.
"Good evening madam. Do you know what speed you were doing?"
"Yes officer, I was within the speed limit."
"Yes madam. You were. You were doing 25mph in the outside lane of the London orbital motorway."
"Yes?"
"Do you not think that is a little too slow for the M25?"
"No officer, I was doing the speed limit, just like I did 30 on the A30."
At this point the policeman looks over to the passenger seat and notices another old lady. She looks stricken, pale as death and in deep shock.
"Excuse me madam, but is your passenger OK. She looks decidely ill."
"I don't know officer. She's looked like that since we came off the A150."
Boom. Boom.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 16:51 CST
17th February 2005
Oh Lordy
OK peeps, I am now all ADSL'd up so back into the real world. As promised, here follows a couple of the more rural Bryn.
Next up, I'll be photographing the real Bryn.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 11:18 CST
16th February 2005
Attention drivers in the UK...
While walking around with a registered blind person, it has come to my attention that it appears to be uncool to indicate when driving. I casually pointed out to my mother the other day that her signalling skills leave a great deal to be desired. Her response was "there are no other cars around."
My comeback to that was "pedestrians look for signals too."
"There are no pedestrians."
"How do you know. Just because you can't see them doesn't mean they can't see you."
"Whatever."
"Don't you find it takes more effort to NOT indicate than it does to just do it? It's just best practice. It takes nothing. It's harder to start indicating again once you're out of the habit than it is to stop. By the way, it is not good practice to just randomly stop in the middle of a roundabout for no good reason. You were exiting - the other car was giving way to come onto the roundabout. You had right of way and they could have pulled out as you exited, had you signalled your intention that is. Oh, and you see how you just pulled out to get past that parked car, did you signal? No. Use your bloody indicators!"
"You sound like your father."
"Hmmm. Could it possibly be that we are right? After all, we don't agree on that much."
"Do you want to walk?"
"Don't make me answer that question."
But it's not just my mother, it's a bloody pandemic. 50% of drivers here play the game whereby they let fellow-road users guess their intentions.
As if blind people don't have enough to cope with when dealing with traffic, the fine folks at Wigan BC like to dig random holes in roads and pavements and not section them off. Were it not for the Eagle-eye Kenny and his trusty sidekick Harmony the Wonderdog this morning, die Fuhrer would have been swallowed by a nice council hole in the pavement and would probably have surfaced somewhere in Queensland.
Just think peeps.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 02:35 CST
12th February 2005
The more it rains, tiddlypom
The rain poured today like it does here. Nothing to speak about really, just rain. Comforting drizzle that permeates your bones as if you could wring them out and water your plants with the product. The snowdrops are flowering and daffodils will be blooming within a week or so. Walking the dog, the ground is heavy and full of football boot studs, horse-shoe imprints and the divots of budding golfers who have dug just a little too deep.
I visited the graveyard where my grandfather and most of his family are buried last week. The wind was vicious and my grandmother's guide dog was perfectly obedient, sat in a blissful ignorance of where she was, just pretending that I was blind and that she should chaperone me through the streets. She has got surprisingly attached to me just like guide dogs shouldn't. When I went out on Wednesday to see my old CTO, el Guido and die Fuhrer took a walk and el Guido was most dischuffed that I was not in attendance. To watch el Guido (OK, her name is Harmony) work is amazing. Every now and again she is confronted with a situation that gives her a choice; obey her training or use her nouse. After all the training, she still has common sense. She will move to your right if the handrail on the stairs is only present to the left; it's against everything she has ever been taught but she works it out within seconds. Even with me, if a curb appears, she will guide me to a stop and look for traffic before telling me it's OK to walk. And you have to let her do this. It's what makes her happy. The moment she has her harness on, her eyes light up and she's doing what she loves doing.
I've shuffled round Bryn and Ashton over the past week, sometimes with Harmony and sometimes without. It's a very mixed bag of people. The minority are what used to be the majority. Old mining families or widows still exist. You can see them ambling down the road with their plastic bags and tired faces, presumably happy to have survived as long as they have and wracked with the pain of all the people who are gone now. The contrast is the dole contingent who steadily creep around and absorb the domiciles of those that have passed on, having worked and struggled all their lives. Twenty years from now will see no more great elders, just Chavs and chippies.
It's all a bit strange really. I'm sleeping in my grandfather's bed that he used to tumble into each morning having worked God knows how many hours down the mine. My Kenny-senses are on hyper-alert. The first night I slept in this bed when I got back, the wardrobe door flew open in the night with an almighty wheeze. I awoke instantly. Having got over the shock, I went back to sleep, safe in the knowledge that if there is an afterlife, that was my Grandad giving me a "hey you!"
I have another trip down to Ashton in my immediate future. Market day you know. And then it's off to the parental unit's abode and thence to a Chinese. I'm not sure how I feel about Chinese food since I came back from China. This will be the acid test I suppose. Think I'll take a bag with me just in case.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 03:13 CST
8th February 2005
Checking in
Just a quickie to observe that I have no idea how the economics of this town work. There are over 10 (TEN) pie-shops that all make a good living. How does that work in a community this size?
Again, not done much apart from walk the dog.
I'm off to talk to my old CTO tomorrow about what he has been up to. We might put the band back together after all. I've also applied for support jobs that are not my ideal but would get some cash short-term. We'll see.
DSL is imminent but I have no idea when.
Smoke me a kipper. I'll give it the dog and stick with the Weetabix and bananas.
Kirk out.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 12:41 CST
6th February 2005
Back to the future
I've been back here for over a week now. While Natzoid sorts out the house and logistics, I've been in semi-voluntary isolation, going out just to walk the dog and to get the doctor's etc.
The more things change, the more they stay the same. I haven't spent any real amount of time here since I was a teenager and yet I remember the road names, what days are market days and where the fish and cricket bat stalls on the market are.
Natzoid will be horrified to find that my accent returned within miliseconds of arriving back. The first conversation I had that involved interaction with a terminal native pointed me in the direction I knew I had to go. Back to Wigginese I'm afraid. Within twenty-four hours, I had uttered "Ta love." Within forty-eight, I had said "Up Wigan Road and then take a right on to t'Old Road - Low Bank's on t'right."
Luxury.
It's strange being back here. It's a time capsule. The little girl I used to play with when I was four or five runs the local hairdressers and recognised me. How weird is that? I had no idea who she was. Awkward conversation for sure. "Give me my action man back you bitch" didn't seem appropriate. Hell, I speak to people on the phone and have trouble thinking what to say. Give me someone I haven't even thought about in 30 years and you can guess the look on my face. Polite smile. "Oh, how are you?"
Now give me back my action man bitch. Yes, the one with the parachute.
I had my first real fist fight on this street with some oik I can't remember. Were I less tolerant, I would be having a few more now. The move from suburban Minneapolis to wannabe American gangsta thugs in Wigan is a shock to the system. Chavs prevail on every corner. In every car. In every shop. The girl who cut my hair had more gold about her person than Mr T. Can we say Chavette? I think we can.
I've taken some pictures of the joy that is Bryn. Some deny its industrial roots by being taken from a piece of Green Belt looking over towards Rivington Pike. Others give the true picture. As soon as I have DSL and some decent photo editing software, I'll post them. Talking of Rivie, I am reminded of the local folklore around here in all its wisdom; "If you can't see Rivington Pike, it's raining. If you can see it, it is going to rain." Wiser words...
Die fuhrer habst been particularly fuhrertanical. She's a funny old bugger. On the one hand, it will be hurling buckets of water down outside and blowing a gale, aber das hund must be taken for a 3 mile walk. Not a single grumble. On the other, upon return, she can spot a draught at 100 yards. Und der Andrew must essen at least 3 times a day. And I'm not talking essen, I think I should be talking ESSEN!
She insisted that I go down to the dole office last week. I haven't been in one of those places for years. I doubt I'll get anything, not having paid any NI stamps in forever. To my surprise, rather than be patronised to hell, they were very helpful. One thing I did notice though is that the woman didn't ask me what I did or had been doing. She must have taken one look at my unshaven chin, corrective lens shades and wooly hat and thought "Poor dear, his last album must have flopped." I intend to elude the dole office by finding a job prior to my appointment there on Thursday. There's a network/web consultancy firm about a mile away from here; I intend heading down there first thing tomorrow armed with my CV. There's also a few PC repair places in Ashton which might just offer some underpaid employment. Anything would be better than signing on once a fortnight, although the Chav spotting in the Job Center is truly awesome.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 04:01 CST
2nd February 2005
We have laptop
I'll blog properly tomorrow, but this is just a little "Hi" from Wigan. I am now lap-topped up but ISP'edly challenged. Dial-up here is just not an option. I have an ADSL modem arriving in the next few days (probably middle of next week) and from then on, normal service will be resumed. Until then, it's a case of if the electrons feel like letting me.
Toodle pip.
Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 18:05 CST
